Deep Harbor

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Then he spied the letter addressed to Trent. He picked it off the floor, wiping away the dirt that smudged its surface. Mister Trent Storm, she had written in a clear, concise script. Joseph decided to open it—perhaps it would give some clue as to her whereabouts. It was critical to know where she had gone and if she was in trouble. And it was critical to know right away. Swiftly he read the letter.

  These were not the words of a woman who was saying good-bye. They were honest words written from the heart, a heart’s apology, a heart that was missing Trent. Had she turned a corner? Some corner Trent had been waiting for? Joseph knew, deep down, that something monumental had happened to Tora before writing these words. And after.

  He turned to go. He would send a messenger with the letter directly to Mr. Storm. And he would track down Tora Anders.

  Decker used Tora until they reached the railroad days later. He offered her to his friends, but they declined, apparently embarrassed. Thank heaven for small mercies, Tora thought distantly. She no longer felt as if she inhabited her body, so tired and abused was she. She did not know when her trial would end, and when Decker hustled her aboard an empty railway car, she despaired that he was coming with her.

  “I’m afraid I’m headin’ in a different direction, Tora,” he said, tipping his hat as if he were a gentleman suitor saying good-bye rather than her abductor. “I want you aboard this train so we can gain some distance. Don’t think about squawkin’ to the sheriff. I’ll be long gone, and you’ll just be a used-up prostitute as far as he’s concerned. Not that I didn’t appreciate your favors.”

  Tora scrambled to the other side of the car, receding into the darkness as Decker stood in the doorway, his massive silhouette visible against the moonlight. She trembled from the cold, but more in fear that he might use her one last time. She couldn’t believe that he was leaving her, letting her escape from him!

  “Don’t get off this car, Tora,” he said quietly. “It’ll leave in an hour or so. Going straight to Seattle, you are! You strike me as a city kind of girl. You’ll like it. If you get off here, I’ll kill you. And if you tell any tales about me, I’ll hunt you down and kill you later. Understand me?”

  Tora nodded, her throat dry.

  “Understand me?” His voice rose. “I’ll find you again.”

  “Yes. I understand you,” she said, with a voice that came from the depths of desperation.

  Decker straightened and nodded again. “Good. Happy trails, Tora. Maybe we’ll meet again.”

  “Only if I have the pistol and you’re at the other end,” she said, suddenly fiercely angry.

  Decker laughed uproariously and hopped off the train. “Now you do as you’re told and stay in this car. I swear, if I see your pretty head peek out I’ll have to shoot it off.”

  Tora did not respond. Decker disappeared from the doorway, and Tora did not dare to look out. She did not know how far they had traveled by horseback in the last few days, but they were a good distance from Spokane. When she thought about it, she could not care. All she could think about now was the relief of being away from her kidnapper and how utterly, completely lost she was.

  Days later, a railroader found her half-frozen body in the car and yanked her out, practically dumping her on the tracks. She groaned and winced at the aches in her body.

  “Tramp,” he spat out and turned to walk away.

  Tora’s throat was so dry she could barely speak, but she attempted to do so anyway. “W-wait. Wait!”

  The man turned around in dismay, obviously disgusted at himself for speaking to such a woman.

  “Where are we?” she asked, flinching at the ache in her throat.

  “Seattle. You’re in Seattle, Washington Territory. Not that you paid for your passage here. Now get out of here before I call the sheriff and have you locked up.”

  Numbly, Tora found the will to stand. It was late afternoon, judging from the slant of the sun, and if she spent another night without a blanket, she knew she might die. Looking down at her dress, she closed her eyes. She did look like a tramp. Her dress was in dirty, stripped rags. With aching arms, she felt her head. Parts of her chignon still held, but most of her dark hair was down around her shoulders. From what she could see of the long strands, it was full of barbs, knots, and straw. She started to laugh, a small giggle that built to a doubled-over, hysterical laugh. Another railroader passed by, shaking his head, which made her laugh all the harder. They thought her a tramp. A crazy, no-good vagrant with no place to go. And what was she other than that?

  She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and made herself start walking. She needed a bath and a roof for the night. She needed sanctuary. Where would she find that in such a large, bustling city? She was terribly weary, weak from lack of food and water. Tora decided water would be first on her list to find. Forcing herself to take step after step, she made her way off the train tracks and toward the throngs of people. She wove through them, searching each face to ask for a bit of water, but none would look at her. Eventually, she was past the station and wandering the streets, looking blankly at sign after sign, hoping that someone would tell her where to go. Give her some food.

  It was getting dark, and Tora was growing more chilled by the minute. It was clear that no one was going to help her. Knowing she could not walk more than a few steps without collapsing, she looked up at the nearest building. A stable. She turned and walked in as if someone were guiding her. The stable master was talking to a client. She walked right past the two of them, to the very back, where there were several empty stalls, and went into one with fresh hay. She paused only twice, once to scoop her hand into a startled horse’s bucket of water and allow the cold, fresh liquid to flow past her aching throat and then to steal a half-rotten apple from a table nearby, no doubt meant as a treat for one of the stallions.

  Hearing the stable master finish his business, she scurried into the stall, wincing as the rough wood squeaked on its hinges. She paused there for a moment, half waiting for him to call out “Hey! You there!” but no call came. Tora managed to take the three remaining steps toward the back and cover herself with hay as she swallowed the apple practically whole, rot and all. Seconds later, she was asleep, feeling safe for the first time in days.

  Tora was jolted awake as the enraged stable master grabbed her by the hair and began dragging her out of the stall. Then he grabbed her arm and pulled as she struggled to get to her feet. She wondered if she had just fallen asleep, since it seemed to be about the same time as when she had curled up in the hay, but dimly surmised that she had slept for more than twenty-four hours since the horses were in different stalls than the night before. The stable master threw her out on the street, where several ladies stopped to gape at her.

  “Stay out of my stables, tramp! This is no hotel!”

  Tora would have died of embarrassment a month ago at such treatment. Now, all she could think about was what she would do next. She crawled to the nearest lady. “Please. Please. I have nowhere to go. Please help me.”

  Stiffly, the woman pulled her fine silk skirt from Tora’s dirty hands. “Come, Sara,” she said to a younger lady by her side. “I do not want you seeing such sights.” The younger woman did as she was told, but a third lady remained.

  Tora turned to her. “Please.” She searched her tired mind for a stronger word, a word that would get through to someone, anyone. It came to her. “Mercy.”

  The woman, who had turned to follow her companions, visibly faltered. She searched her purse for a coin and threw it at Tora’s knees. “I do not know what has happened to you, miss, but pull yourself together.”

  She walked off and Tora fought off another urge to laugh hysterically. As if she had the means to pull herself together! She picked up the coin and rose, dusting off her skirt. A penny. Perhaps it was enough for another apple, not a rotten one stolen from the beasts. She had to eat something and soon, or she would not be able to think at all.

  She went to a corner store and hungrily
looked at the foodstuffs. But the merchant threw her out, saying, “Get out! Get out!” as if shooing away a stray cat.

  “I have money!” she yelled, waving the penny before him. “I simply wanted to purchase an apple!” How could people be so un-just? So unfair? So unchristian? She checked herself. How often had she treated people the same?

  An apple dropped at her feet. “There’s your apple. Use your money for the good sisters at Our Lady of Hope. They’ll give you a bath and help you get on your feet again.”

  Tora bent to pick up the fruit, uncaring of its dusty condition. “Our Lady of Hope?” she asked in confusion. Hungrily, she took a bite, dimly aware that she would have once frowned upon others for doing the same in public.

  “Up the street,” he said in obvious irritation. “Are you stupid as well, woman? Get yourself to the Catholics. They have a mission for people down on their luck.”

  Tora sucked in her breath and knelt at his feet. “Thank you! Thank you! I tell you, I just need a bath and a night’s sleep—”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, his voice a little less gruff now. “Get on with it, then, and away from my storefront.”

  She nodded. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” She turned to wander up the street, ignoring the lewd comments from men entering and exiting the saloons, and the contemptuous glances of the more sophisticated crowd. At the end of the road sat a brick cathedral, its tower standing straight to the sky. In the doorway was a warm light, and as she drew closer, there was a sign—“FOR ALL GOD’S CHILDREN IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE.” She did as directed and followed the path around to the kitchen in back of the building. There, more than twenty people who had obviously been living on the street waited in line. A heavenly smell filled the air.

  “What’s that?” she asked in wonder of the man nearest her. “What’s that incredible smell?”

  “Why, that’s soup, sister. You new here? They feed us every night. You being a woman and all, they’ll give you a bed tonight, if there’s room.”

  Soup and a bed, Tora thought dreamily. Surely this is of God.

  fourteen

  December 1886

  Kaatje quickly settled into Elsa’s elaborate home with the girls, feeling as if she were on some dream holiday. Here in Seattle, she had her own four-poster bed and an indoor lavatory at the end of the hall. On each floor, no less! The house had been wired for that modern miracle of electricity, but each hall lamp also was connected with the house gas supply, to be used when the electricity failed. Which it often did. But even the luxury of lamps that never needed refilling was a marvel to Kaatje. How could she ever go back to her dimly lit, modest home and be content again? she wondered.

  Yet when she thought about it, she yearned for her house in the Skagit Valley. It was cozy, warm, and sufficient for their needs. This winter would be a good experience for her and the girls. And returning to the place they belonged would be a good lesson as well. There is a place in the world, Kaatje thought, for the haves and the have-nots. For now I’ll enjoy pretending I’m one of the haves!

  She leapt out of bed and hurried to her robe and slippers, provided by Elsa of course. Since arriving, Elsa had purchased three new dresses for her and each of the girls, as well as underclothes, new shoes, and other necessities for city life. When Kaatje had protested, Elsa whispered, “It’s my way of helping. It makes me happy, Kaatje. Would you rob me of such joy?”

  Looking into eyes she had seen filled with tears too often of late, Kaatje had acquiesced. God has given me friends who give generously, she decided. I will give back in other ways. With that in mind, she hurried to the door and down the grand staircase. In the kitchen, she found Mrs. Hodge just pulling fresh rolls from the iron woodstove, filling the house with heavenly, yeasty smells. “Those look divine,” she said, stooping to sniff over the pan.

  Mrs. Hodge shooed her away, reminding Kaatje of her dear aunt who had raised her in Bergen. She smiled back into Mrs. Hodge’s falsely disapproving face. But Kaatje knew the woman took delight in pleasing Elsa and her guests. “You’ll not be having one until everyone else rises,” she said.

  “Then I’ll go and roust them immediately.”

  “Under no circumstances!” Mrs. Hodge said, genuinely alarmed. Her frown faded to a grim smile when she figured what Kaatje had done. “Well all right, just one. But you’ll wait until I have a proper cup of coffee brewed for you.”

  “Of course,” Kaatje said, sitting at the rough kitchen table. “Mrs. Hodge, how long have you been working for the Ramstads?”

  “Since five years back. Worked for them in Camden when my dear husband—God rest his soul—was killed on board a Ramstad ship in a freak accident. I was beside myself, not knowing what I and my two boys would do. Then dear Peder—God rest his soul—convinced me to come to Seattle with them. Wanted someone trustworthy in the new house, you know. We knew enough good folk in Camden-by-the-Sea to find a suitable replacement, and I jumped at the chance for employment.”

  “They were blessed to find you.”

  Mrs. Hodge blushed to her hairline. “You’re kind, miss. I’d say the same thing of you. God knew what he was doing to send you to the valley for Elsa to go to in her time of need.”

  “I need her just as much as she needs me.” Then, “You’ve never been tempted to remarry?”

  “Ach, no. There never was anyone like my Phil, and never will be again, I’m afraid. Got my two boys raised, and they’re off to find their fortunes.”

  Mrs. Hodge poured two cups of steaming coffee, pried out a sticky roll from the pan, and sat down with Kaatje to watch her eat.

  “You’re not having one?” Kaatje asked, taking a bite immediately. It was full of caramel, pecans, and cinnamon, and the dough was decadently rich. “Mmm, Mrs. Hodge, these are incredible.”

  “An old recipe,” she dismissed. “I’ll have one later. There are plenty more.”

  “But none right out of the oven!”

  “There’s something to be said for delayed gratification.”

  “And immediate gratification.”

  The two smiled at each other. Kaatje decided to take a chance. “Mrs. Hodge, when you all moved west, did the Ramstads bring any Christmas decorations?”

  The housekeeper smiled ruefully. “You’ve noticed it too, then. Elsa can’t seem to make herself get out and purchase any this year.”

  Kaatje nodded, chewing, thinking. “It probably feels unfair to her to be celebrating anything in the wake of Peder’s death.”

  After a moment, Mrs. Hodge said, “I have some household cash for such things. Elsa brought none of her decorations from home, leaving them there in case they returned for the holidays. Perhaps you and I …”

  “That would be marvelous!” Kaatje enthused. She had been trying to figure out how to scrape together enough money for decorations and still be able to purchase presents for all. If Elsa could not find it within herself to prepare for Jesus’ birth in suitable fashion—making the house and hopefully the occupants festive—then Kaatje and Mrs. Hodge would take care of things.

  “I’ve been thinking of pine swags for the staircase,” Mrs. Hodge said conspiratorially.

  “Beautiful! And a huge wreath for the front door!”

  “My nephew can get a tree.”

  “Get a huge one. One that will near the ceiling of the parlor!”

  “Why, that’s nearly fifteen feet!”

  “Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, you’re right. It would look foolish to have anything smaller. And you and the children should go downtown to find decorations. We’ll string popcorn and cranberries here, of course, but a tree in a house such as this deserves some city baubles and lots of candles.”

  Kaatje smiled and clapped her hands. “Oh yes, lots of candles! On the tree and throughout the house! They’ll love it. It will look just grand!”

  Two days later the house was transformed. The tree was in place, the swags hung from the staircase rail, and a wreath graced the door. Elsa, for the first time
in months, was laughing and singing with the rest of them, apparently forgetting for but a moment that Peder was missing. And so it begins, Kaatje thought, remembering how it startled her when she first stopped noticing that Soren was not present.

  The children ate more popcorn than they strung—as well as too many of Mrs. Hodge’s Christmas cookies—and Kristian and Christina were sent to bed early to tend to their aching bellies. The others stayed up, talking about the Christmas cantata and past celebrations. The distraction and hubbub were good for them all, Kaatje decided, smiling at the shine on Jessie’s face. The girl was relishing this time with her aunt and cousin, though she didn’t know Kristian was a blood relative. She had taken to the boy much as she did every animal that entered their barn, carefully tending to the younger child’s needs and joyfully playing with him from dawn until dusk. They would miss one another once the Janssens left for home.

  When the children and Mrs. Hodge had turned in for the night, Elsa and Kaatje were left to sit beside the crackling fire, a more quiet, relaxed atmosphere for stringing. They enjoyed the compatible silence for a while, each in her own private thoughts.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” Elsa said, letting her hands rest on her lap. “It would not be much of a Christmas this year for Kristian, had you and the girls not come.”

  “It’s the best present of all for me to be here,” Kaatje returned. “You know how dear you are to me, Elsa. And you have treated us like royalty since we arrived. We’ll never want to go home!”

  “That would be fine with me,” Elsa said, carefully studying her next piece of popcorn for a suitable place to puncture. “Why don’t you stay?”

  “And leave my farm? Let the ground lie fallow?”

  Elsa shrugged. “Perhaps. For a time.”

  Kaatje waited until she looked up again. “Elsa, our place is there. This is a dream of a holiday for us, but it cannot be forever. You need to find your own walk again too.”

  Elsa looked away and into the fire. “Where? I wish I was as sure as you! You have a place. Someplace to return. Someplace where … you’re sure of yourself.”