Leaving Norway: Book 1: Martin & Dagny (The Hansen Series - Martin & Dagny and Reidar & Kirsten)

by Kris Tualla

  “Is everything packed?” he asked instead.

  “Yes. We are ready,” she assured him. “Ready for our new life together.”

  Judging by his stomach and its current distance from breakfast, at least an hour passed before the majority of their fellow travelers exited the ship. Martin held Dagny’s arm as they descended the plank and stepped onto American soil. He led her to their trunks and told her to stay in place while he found a carriage. She sat on her chest, looking exactly as she had a lifetime ago when he first saw her on the pier in Christiania.

  “Go on,” she told him. “I’ll be right here.”

  ***

  Dagny watched her tall husband weave his way through the throng of bodies and cargo. He was easy to spot at nearly six-and-a-half feet, his bronze hair hanging loose to his shoulders. She smiled and drew several deep breaths, keenly aware that she inhaled American air. An adventure without limits lay before them, and she would experience it all with her beloved husband.

  “Are you Dagny Sivertsen?” a startling voice asked in Norse.

  She turned to see who had spoken to her and froze. For a terrifying moment she thought she faced Torvald’s ghost. The shock of the apparition held back her words.

  “Dagny Sivertsen?” he repeated.

  A second look brought differences to the forefront. Greener eyes, thinning hair, a scar on his chin.

  “Who are you?” she countered.

  “I’m Torvald’s brother. Do you know him?” the man demanded.

  Torvald’s claim to have a brother in Boston floated into her recollection. The casual statement had been tossed into a more pressing conversation and she had forgotten it was even made.

  The realization that this man was probably as underhanded and scheming as his brother slammed into her awareness on the tail of that memory. Dagny glanced in the direction Martin disappeared, willing him to return posthaste.

  “Madam, do you know my brother or not?” he barked.

  “Yes,” Dagny admitted.

  He looked askance at her. “Are you Dagny?”

  “Yes, but how do you know me?” she asked, unwilling to admit more just yet.

  “He sent me a letter. Said what you looked like and that you and he was a-sailin' on the Seehorst. That there is the Seehorst is it not?” He pointed at the ship.

  Dagny looked over her shoulder in an effort to slow time. “Yes. It is.”

  “Is Torvald coming?” The man’s patience was clearly waning.

  Dagny returned her regard to the brother. She allowed the brief twinge of sympathy that snaked through her chest to show on her face. “No. I’m afraid he’s not.”

  The man scowled. “What? Why not?”

  “I am sorry to tell you—what is your name?” she stalled.

  “Tell me what?” he snapped, ignoring the question.

  “Your brother died of dysentery a fortnight ago,” she said gently in spite of his rudeness. “He was buried at sea along with eleven other victims.”

  The unnamed brother recoiled as if struck. “Dead? Torvald is dead?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Dagny watched in fascination as the man’s expression shifted from shock, to grief, and then to gleeful greed. Her initial assumptions about his character appeared to be quite correct. She glanced around again for Martin.

  “As next of kin, I guess I’ll claim my brother’s belongings,” he said. “Where is his trunk?”

  That was a question Dagny honestly couldn’t answer. The trunk had nothing to do with her, and she certainly did not want any of its contents—even if she had a right to them as Torvald’s ‘sister.’

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know,” she said with an apologetic shrug.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” he growled.

  “If my wife says she doesn’t know, then she doesn’t know,” Martin’s strong baritone rolled over her shoulder; relief flushed Dagny’s core. “What exactly are you asking about?”

  Another incredulous recoil. “Your wife?”

  Martin stepped between Dagny and Tor’s brother. “And who are you?”

  The brother straightened when faced with Martin’s stature. “Jorund Heimlich, Torvald Heimlich’s brother.”

  “Oh, I see.” Martin stroked his cleanly-shaven chin. “Your brother, Tor Valdheim, died onboard of the bloody flux and was buried at sea.”

  When Martin used Torvald’s real name, Jorund looked as though he might experience an attack of apoplexy. “His trunk?” he croaked.

  Martin waved at the vessel creaking behind them. “The captain has it.”

  Jorund’s affected indignation almost covered his fear. “I demand that it be handed over to me as his kin!”

  Martin dipped his chin. “I’m sure that could be arranged. Ask any of the crewmen.”

  He gave Jorund his back in dismissal and offered his hand to Dagny. “The gentleman behind you will take our trunks to the carriage.”

  Dagny stood and watched the burly cab driver heft her trunk onto his shoulder while Jorund stormed off.

  “I hope that’s all we see of that scoundrel,” Martin muttered.

  “He is expecting the jewels,” Dagny said. “What do you think he’ll do when he finds out they are confiscated?”

  He gave her a grim smile. “I only hope we are gone before he does.”

  The cab driver seemed to take an unusually long time to return for the second trunk. Dagny wondered if he stalled to receive a higher fee for his efforts, or if something else delayed him. When he finally reappeared and lifted Martin’s trunk, her husband tucked her smaller chest under one arm and lifted his own satchel with the other.

  “Follow him,” Martin instructed. “And I’ll follow you.”

  The laden trio wound their way through the crowd and Dagny understood what took the man so long. Everyone on the pier either had a task they were hurrying to complete, or no task at all other than standing in the way of those who did. A queue of carriages waited on the street beyond the warehouses.

  Dagny saw her trunk strapped to one of them and followed the driver in that direction. He swung Martin’s trunk to the ground before lifting it into place beside hers.

  A cry, a grunt, and the thunk of wood hitting the cobbled street shot fear through her belly. She spun to see what had happened.

  “Martin!” The scream tore her throat.

  ***

  Martin tumbled to the ground. The assault came from behind, his attacker shoving his overburdened body forward. He dropped both Dagny’s trunk and his satchel as he reflexively threw his hands forward to break his fall.

  In a blink, he rolled and jumped to his feet. Jorund faced him, pistol in hand. Martin held his hands wide in a stance of surrender.

  “What do you want from me?” he bellowed.

  “I want what is mine!” Jorund bellowed back.

  “I don’t have anything of yours,” Martin declaimed, pulling back his tone. Unarmed and with a pistol pointed at his belly, now was not the time to antagonize his assailant.

  “Maybe not, but you stole it from me. And now you owe me.” Jorund waved the pistol.

  “I need time,” Martin bluffed. “I don’t have it with me.”

  Jorund’s glance bounced from trunk to chest to satchel. “Where is it?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  The gun wobbled. “How will I get it?”

  “Meet me tonight.”

  “Where?”

  Martin looked at the cabby, standing beside Dagny and watching with overt suspicion. “Name a landmark everyone in Boston knows. Then finish loading the carriage.”

  The cab driver shrugged. “The Common.”

  Martin turned his attention back to Jorund. “Meet me at the Common tonight at sunset.”

  Jorund lowered the pistol. “Southwest corner.”

  “Southwest corner,” Martin confirmed, certain he could find the spot.

  The pistol moved up again and pointed at his face. “Do not thi
nk to cross me, Hansen.”

  He knows my name. Skitt.

  “If you are late to our meeting, don’t come crawling back making more demands,” Martin declared. “Or I’ll kill you.”

  Dagny gasped behind him. Jorund’s eyes shifted to her.

  Martin stepped so close that he grabbed the pistol from Jorund’s distracted grip.

  “Touch her, and you’ll wish I’d killed you,” he growled.

  Jorund sneered his disdain. “Boston is my town, Hansen.”

  Martin stepped back and held up the pistol. “That may be true. But I have your weapon. Now get out of my sight before I use this lead ball on you and keep the money myself!”

  Jorund backed away, his expression murderous.

  “Get in the carriage,” Martin ordered Dagny over his shoulder. He reached down to retrieve the spilled luggage and tossed it inside the cab after his wife. Then he pulled himself in.

  “Where are we going?” Dagny asked, her voice sounding very small.

  “This cab driver recommended an inn. After what just happened, we’ll get out of the carriage at that inn, then hire another carriage to take us to a different inn after he has driven away,” Martin explained.

  She still appeared worried. “What will you do at sunset?”

  Martin pressed his lips together and stared out the window.

  “I have no idea,” he admitted.

  ***

  They settled into the third inn that Martin took her to. Dagny spent the afternoon unpacking and repacking their coffers, and she sent several of their garments to be cleaned. Martin said they would be staying for at least ten days, so the effort was worthwhile.

  She hated to tell Martin, but she felt vaguely unwell. Disoriented and dizzy—and those sensations upset her stomach. When Martin came to their room after disappearing for the afternoon, Dagny was lying on the bed with a wet cloth over her eyes.

  “Dagny?” He sat on the bed beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  She lifted the cloth, knowing she couldn’t hide anything from him. “I feel like the floor is moving.”

  Martin looked relived. “Is that all? You had me worried.”

  “What is it?” she asked, not at all certain his easy dismissal of worry was warranted.

  “We were on a moving ship for a month and a half. You ceased to feel that motion, did you not?” he posited.

  Dagny hadn’t thought about it, but now that he brought it to her attention, she realized he was right. “Yes. I didn’t notice it after a few days.”

  “It’s the same thing now, but in reverse. Now we need to become accustomed to the ground holding still,” he explained.

  He said we. “Do you feel it, too?”

  Martin chuckled. “I do. The sensation can be quite disconcerting.”

  Dagny sat up, slowly. “I am glad to hear that. How long will it last?”

  “We should both feel normal in a couple of days,” he assured her.

  “I hope so. I didn’t keep all of my midday meal down,” she confessed.

  Martin smoothed her hair. “Don’t worry about my meeting later, either. I have a plan.”

  Her eyes widened. “What is it?”

  “Flawless,” he bragged.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Martin had just lied to his wife.

  He didn’t do it to deceive her; it was the sort of lie which protected her tender sensibilities, and soothed her disorientation, so Martin felt justified in telling it. The truth was he had no plan whatsoever.

  He paced through the city streets, easily found the Common, and considered going to the local authorities to explain how Jorund, a complete stranger to both him and his wife, accosted and threatened them at pistol-point during their first hour in Boston. While that might be enough to get the man arrested, it probably wasn’t enough to keep him there for any length of time. That would only serve to rile the man up—and a riled up criminal was not something Martin wished to deal with.

  The second option was to meet Jorund at the southwest corner of the Common and somehow throw him off his claim. While Martin would bring the loaded pistol he took from Jorund for protection, he assumed Jorund would bring another. Martin had no desire to engage in a duel of wills and lead balls knowing that outcome would be disastrous as well.

  Only one obvious option remained. Martin thought it brilliant.

  “Won’t you tell me more?” Dagny pressed.

  Martin smiled at her. “When the sun sets tonight, I will be here. With you. Enjoying our supper.”

  She quirked her brow. “You aren’t going to meet Jorund?”

  “No, I am not,” he stated. “Let the man stew. I don’t owe him one damned thing, and I’m not about to risk my life to tell him that.”

  Dagny gave a sigh of tempered relief. “What if he finds you?”

  “We are only two people. There are sixteen thousand people living in Boston. Plus, we changed cabs twice and drove in different directions before we settled in here,” Martin clarified. “So we would be hard to track.”

  Dagny looked at him like he had flung the stars into the sky of his own volition. “How did you know to do that? Wait!” She threw up a hand. “Your uncle, right?”

  Martin grinned. “So you do listen when I speak.”

  Her gaze turned sultry. “I hang on your every word, my dearest husband.”

  “We have an hour or so before supper…” He let the sentence hang.

  Dagny laid back on the bed. “Might you wish to welcome me to America?” she suggested with an alluring smile.

  Martin’s body was already responding when he began to unfasten his flies. “I do believe it to be my husbandly duty to mark this memorable occasion.”

  “I am so pleased you agree.” Dagny pulled the hem of her skirt to her waist. “Do hurry, darling.”

  ***

  Dagny sat at the cloth-covered table in the dining room of the inn and tried to understand the English menu. Martin had chosen a very nice establishment for them to lodge in, explaining that for their first weeks in America, their new marriage warranted the expenditure.

  “After this, we’ll stay in more modest locales,” he confessed. “But for our inauguration, I wanted to enjoy a bit of luxury.”

  “If you are certain you can afford it, I have no objection,” she demurred. She looked at the crystal candelabras hanging from the ceiling, the gleaming silverware poised at her elbows, and the embroidered napkin on her lap. “I am quite pampered.”

  “Do you know what you want to eat?” he asked.

  “What is this?” She pointed at the menu.

  “Squab. That’s baby pigeons,” he translated. “Babyen due kjøtt.”

  “And this?”

  “Venison is deer. Hjortekjøtt.”

  Dagny chewed her lower lip and frowned at the words. “Perhaps just soup and bread. Something soothing to my stomach.”

  “They have a fish soup made with cream.” Martin looked up at her. “How does that sound?”

  She smiled. “Perfect.”

  Martin patted her hand. “You’ll feel better soon. Perhaps if you take an extended walk tomorrow, that will help. I am starting to feel better after doing that today.”

  Dagny nodded. At this moment the floor was thankfully staying put. She hated to think of wasting another meal.

  The soup was delicious, as was the bread with salted butter. Her belly showed no signs of rebellion so Dagny ate her fill. She passed on the coffee, however, and sipped tea with cream in its stead. The room was full of people chatting over their meals. Dagny listened to the cacophony of conversations, catching English words she understood scattered throughout. This transition would not be so difficult.

  “Did you find anything interesting on your walk today?” she asked in English.

  “I did. I found two architects and I stopped in to chat with them both,” Martin said. “They both agreed that there is a lot of building being done in Boston.”

  “That’s good,” Dagny commented.
“Where will we go next?”

  “Philadelphia, and possibly Baltimore.” Martin sipped his coffee.

  “How far is that?”

  “Philadelphia is three hundred miles from Boston, but Baltimore is only a hundred miles further.”

  “It’s the middle of July. When does the weather turn?” She wondered if summers in their new home were as short as Norway’s.

  “I’m not certain,” he admitted.

  Dagny freshened her tea. The idea of traveling again so soon wasn’t in any way appealing, so she was glad they were staying in Boston long enough for her to regain what Martin called her land legs. Martin waved to the server and paid for their supper.

  Dagny’s gaze idled around the room as she drank the rest of her tea. A sleepy sense of well-being was seeping through her core, fed not only by the delicious supper, but by Martin’s delightful swiving skills beforehand. When her eyes landed on a man outside the door, however, every bit of her calm disappeared.

  “Skitt,” she hissed.

  Martin looked at her. “What’s amiss?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Who?” Martin asked, though his expression proved he knew the answer.

  “Jorund. What do we do?”

  “Down that hallway,” Martin tilted his head, “is a private room for ladies to relieve themselves. Go there, and then circle around to the stairs. I’ll meet you in our room.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  Martin winked. “A different way.”

  Dagny stood slowly so as not to draw attention to her motions. She strolled in the direction Martin directed her before hurrying up the stairs. When she reached their room, she sat on the bed, waited, and prayed.

  ***

  It would do no good to speculate over how Jorund found the inn, Martin told himself as he climbed onto the roof over the inn’s kitchen. The key now was to keep his head in the confrontation which was sure to follow.

  Martin reached up and pulled himself to an open window, glad to see it was at the end of a hallway and didn’t lead him into someone’s room. He climbed inside, then ran up the stairs to the third floor and the room he shared with Dagny.