Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “And your English lessons, Soren? Are you working with Nora and the others?”

  “English! Just listen to my new words! When the sperra, or should I say ‘spar,’ becomes entangled with the rigging, they say it’s ‘running afoul.’ ” He paced, puffing out his chest, enjoying the captive audience. “When they say ‘to be all at sea,’ they mean confused. When things are slow, the sailors get together and ‘spin a yarn,’ meaning to tell stories. Oh, this is a grand place, America.”

  Kaatje giggled, feeling energized just having him near. “We are not in America yet.”

  “I feel like we are. As soon as we entered the Herald, we were in a different world.”

  “I feel it too,” she said, looking at him with love in her heart. It was if he had been born anew, baptized into a new country. Oh maybe, just maybe, this would work!

  “I better go and let you rest. I’ll just take these,” he said, bending to retrieve the tin pails.

  Astrid made a weak protest.

  “No, no,” Soren said, grinning. “There’s not room to swing a dead cat in here, and you need to get rid of this foul-smelling stuff. I will be right back.”

  As he closed the door behind him, Astrid’s weak voice carried up to Kaatje. “He’s like the wind, that one.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “How do you keep up with him?”

  “I don’t, I fear. Sometimes I worry I’ll lose him. That I can’t keep up, and someday he’ll just run off, like a kite that’s lost its string. I’ve had dreams that I run and run to try and catch him, but he just keeps smiling that impish grin of his and disappearing again. It makes me feel nearly hysterical. I wake up covered with sweat.”

  Astrid was silent for a moment. “You cannot live in fear of losing him, Kaatje. I know. Watching Kristoffer go to sea all these years put the fear of God in me. The months apart, the concern that he’d never come home again, threatened to sicken me. Finally, Pastor Lien gave me a prayer that worked for me. Gave me some measure of peace. Maybe it would work for you.”

  “I would like to hear it.” Kaatje stared up at the glass prism above her, which looked like a huge, faceted diamond. It had been placed upside down through the wooden deck above, leaving it flush with the flooring and pointing down toward the passengers below. Each facet of the six sides shed a shard of light, and in some ways, it reminded Kaatje of Christ. It comforted her to think of it that way, at any rate.

  “Pray with me, Kaatje,” said Astrid then plunged into her prayer. “O God, we ask that thou wilt be with our husbands, whether we are near or far from them. Protect them, Father God, giving them an extra measure of wisdom before they act. Thou art the author of peace and lover of concord, in knowledge of whom standeth our eternal life, and in whose service is perfect freedom. Defend us, thy humble servants, against all assaults of our enemies, so that we, surely trusting in thy defense, may not fear the power of any adversaries; through the might of Jesus Christ, thy son, our Lord. Amen.”

  Kaatje swallowed hard. Never had she heard anyone pray with such sweet assurance that God was listening. It was as if Astrid believed God was her friend, not … God. Kaatje was just working up the courage to ask her about it when there was another knock, and Soren burst through the door again. He was opening his mouth to say something when he gave Kaatje an exaggerated “shh” with his finger and pointed down at her companion. Obviously, Astrid had drifted off to sleep as soon as she finished praying.

  Soren set a pail down beside Astrid and another on a peg beside Kaatje’s bed. A faint whiff of salt water wafted over her, and she gave him a grateful smile, her lids heavy.

  “Maybe you need some rest too,” he said.

  Kaatje nodded sleepily. A nap sounded enticing. The conversation with Astrid had left her weary. In fact, it seemed difficult to remain awake anymore. Before Soren could kiss her again, she was asleep, dreaming of mighty angels around her husband, protecting him from something she could not quite see.

  With the help of two sailors who looked at her alternately as both a tiresome child and a tempting mistress, Tora retrieved her meager stores of food. That evening she ate alone on deck. Sitting in the fore-castle—or fo’c’sle, as the sailors called it—with her back to the foremast, Tora could ignore the problems at hand. From her vantage point, all that lay between her and her American dream was a steel bowsprit stretching out to the open sea, seemingly pointing the way home. The truth was that her food provisions would run out within days. She would be forced to go to Elsa and ask her for help. Tora cursed softly under her breath and leaned her head back against the mast. How Elsa would enjoy that moment. She thrived on feeling superior to Tora. Well, she would see who would end up on top. She might be the captain’s bride now, but Tora had bigger goals in mind. Someday, Elsa would come to her.

  For now, she choked down dry flatbread with water and forced herself to think of the future instead of her meager meal. Looking far out to sea, she observed the different patterns on the water, caused by either wind or current, she could not tell. Away from the ship, it was more difficult to discern the swells that plagued the Herald. If she kept feeling this nauseous, she wouldn’t need any rations from her miserly sister. But she was happy for the wind. The wind that filled the topgallant, topsail, and forecourse sails above her, like clean sheets in a spring breeze, and meant that she was inching her way to America.

  “Pardon me, miss,” said a sailor at her elbow. She dragged her eyes away from the horizon to the pesky man.

  “Yes?”

  “Cap’n wants to see you. I have orders to escort you to his cabin immediately.”

  Tora looked him up and down, idly wondering if it was worth the effort to sweet-talk him into taking her for a walk instead of to the captain. But his face was resolute, and he studiously avoided her gaze. There was little doubt he knew she was the stowaway and the cause of Vidar’s imminent departure.

  “Very well,” she said, rising to follow him.

  He led her to the captain’s quarters, where he left her in the sitting room and then departed immediately without a word. Tora, despite her resolve, felt her mouth water at the smells of roast beef, onions and vegetables, and fresh bread. It just made her angrier that her sister could deprive her so. She was family! She should be treated like the princess to her sister’s queen!

  Tora saw Elsa lean over to one end of the table, hidden behind the cabin wall, no doubt to tell Peder that his sister-in-law had arrived. Elsa wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and then set it to one side. She rose and entered the sitting room, followed by Peder and their dinner guests, Einar and Nora, and Birger and Eira Nelson. After polite good-byes, the foursome departed quickly, as if wanting to get out of the way of the executioner’s blade.

  As the door closed, Peder spoke. “Vidar has been punished for his indiscretions.”

  “I know. I think it is a barbaric practice,” Tora said huffily. She looked at Elsa with accusation in her eyes, blaming her for not intervening as promised.

  “Not as barbaric as some captains,” Peder said. “I have known a few who would have thrown him overboard, and you as well.”

  Her heart skipped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “It is not a matter of daring, Tora; it is a matter of doing.” He stared at her, and she noticed that the deep smile lines that were almost always present were conspicuously gone. His dark green-brown eyes stared at her dully. His mouth turned down at the corners. Obviously Peder Ramstad was a man one should not cross. Even her most potent little-girl glance, known to melt the toughest of men, failed to soften his gaze. She squirmed and looked to Elsa for relief.

  She was little better. “I have found a decent answer to our dilemma,” Elsa began, folding her hands in her lap.

  Observing this composure, Tora had to admire her sister a little. Since her engagement, Elsa had gained an adult countenance that made her seem secure, peaceful, sure of herself.

  “An answer? To what?” Tora inquired.

  “To how y
ou should pay for your passage, just as the other good people aboard ship have done.”

  “I will repay you, Elsa. I promise—”

  “Kristoffer Swenson has stepped forward and offered to pay for your passage. In return you will care for young Knut for the duration of this trip and assist Astrid with Knut and their new child once in Maine. For six months.”

  Tora was dumbstruck. Her mind raced as she searched for a good argument. “That’s nothing more than indentured servanthood!” she cried.

  “You deserve much less generosity,” Elsa calmly informed her. “Men who stow away and are not thrown overboard are often not only flogged, but sentenced to seven years of servitude aboard ship. By all rights, Peder could make you work for him until you turn twenty-three.”

  Tora stood, her fists clenched at her sides. “I would like to see you try and flog me,” she said to Peder. “I know of at least four men aboard this ship who would stay your hand.”

  Peder’s look turned from formidable to glowering. He too rose, towering above Tora’s slender frame. “Do not make mutinous threats, Tora. A ship is a different world from Bergen. There is a clearly drawn line and a rigorous order. Do not threaten me again,” he said, shaking his finger in her face, “or I will spank you for the spoiled child you are.”

  Elsa rose and edged between them, reminding Tora of her mother. “You may go now, Tora. But you are to report to Cook at five tomorrow morning.”

  “Cook?” Tora squeaked.

  “Agree to the arrangement with Kristoffer and report to Astrid’s cabin at seven, or to Cook at five. And you will be nothing but a gentle, courteous servant to whichever one you choose.”

  “I will do no such thing!” Tora shouted, grabbing her skirts and giving the two of them what she hoped was a murderous glance. “I have never heard of anything so unfair!” With that, she exited the cabin and slammed the door behind her. She rushed to the fo’c’sle and looked out across the starboard railing to America. Oh, America, America. The Herald couldn’t reach her fast enough.

  Peder had watched his wife in wonder during the scene with Tora. She handles herself so well, he thought. Already, she is a woman of substance. Yet as soon as Tora slammed the cabin door, she wilted on the love seat. He sat down beside her, gently urging her to relax and place her head in his lap. She did so, and he wordlessly unwove her chignon until her hair—the color of a morning moon—lay in waves over his knees and thighs. He ran his fingers through the silky strands, pausing at her scalp to massage her skin.

  “You did your best,” he said as she sighed heavily.

  “Yes. But was it enough? How did I go from newlywed to parent in two days?” She smiled wearily up at him.

  “What can I say? I am especially virile.”

  They laughed together softly, finding relief in humor.

  “She looks at us with those doe eyes of hers and thinks she can get out of anything. It is time she finds out that she is responsible for her actions … before it’s too late.”

  “I think she gathered that that was your stance,” he said, slowly moving his fingers to trace the delicate lines of her sculpted jaw, chin, and nose. He moved on to her lips as she closed her eyes, obviously relishing his touch, visibly relaxing. “She will figure it out soon enough, sweetheart. Do not worry.”

  “It is difficult not to worry about Tora. I am afraid—”

  He cut her off, pulling her into his arms, unable to keep from kissing her any longer.

  She smiled up at him as he leaned back again. “I take it you have something on your mind other than my sister.”

  Peder nodded. “I have the fairest Anders sister on my mind.”

  “I like that about you,” she said, giving him an impish grin. “Your distinct taste in women.”

  With that, Peder gently picked her up in his arms and stood. “It is difficult to focus on a captain’s duties when one has honeymoon thoughts on his mind.” And without another word, he carried her into their bedroom, shutting the door tightly behind them.

  Karl took his turn at the wheel later that night when all was quiet above deck, the passengers sound asleep in their bunks, along with the sailors who were not on duty. Tonight there was a warm breeze that reminded Karl of a Polynesian island and a waxing moon that threw a bright trail on the shimmering waters of the North Atlantic.

  Night was Karl’s favorite time aboard ship, a time when he could almost imagine he was on the Herald alone, ready to conquer the world with such a vessel beneath his feet. Oh, to be captain! Everything in him yearned for it, and he knew it wasn’t far off. By owning 40 percent of the Ramstad Yard, by rights, the next ship off the Ramstad ramp would be his.

  The watch had rung four bells for ten o’clock when Peder joined him, standing silently behind and to his left, doing as Karl was, lifting his nose to the gentle headwind, enjoying the gentle pitch of the ship like a friend’s welcome laughter. They stayed that way in companionable silence until Peder broke their private thoughts with words.

  “It is good to be on our way.”

  “Yes. It is at moments like this that I long for my own ship.”

  Peder paused. “I understand.”

  “I still think that we should consider a steamship as the next project. Sail is on its way out. I know you love it, Peder, but we must be realistic. As your partner in Ramstad Yard, I must insist upon it.”

  Peder coughed and changed the subject. They had been over the same ground many times. “How are the ill faring?”

  “Most have recovered from their seasickness,” Karl said, glancing at him. “A few will suffer all the way to Boston. But the most worrisome are Kaatje and Astrid.”

  “Is it their condition?” Peder asked delicately.

  “I suppose,” Karl said with a nod.

  “Does Cook have anything that could help them?” As was customary, Cook also served as doctor and carried a chest of supplies to help remedy a variety of ailments.

  “He gave me a bottle of tonic tonight.”

  “Let me take over here,” Peder said. “You go see to the women, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” Karl said amicably. He turned to leave.

  “Karl,” Peder said.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s something I need to talk about with you.”

  A note in Peder’s voice sent a chill of foreboding down Karl’s back. Did he know about his feelings for Elsa? Had he seen the growing admiration that Karl had tried so valiantly to hide? Karl halted his wild concerns, willing himself to face whatever was at hand. “Yes?”

  Peder looked down at the deck flooring, and after a moment of hemming and hawing, finally said, “It’s nothing. We’ll speak later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, yes. It can keep.” He dismissed his friend with a look and Karl turned away, feeling ill at ease. Peder was not one to keep things back. What was he hiding? Something told Karl it was not Elsa.

  He walked to the water barrel and poured fresh water into two tin cups for the women below. He knew it would be tough for them to get it down. He also knew that if they didn’t start retaining some fluid soon, both mothers and their expected babes could die of dehydration. After days at sea, they were already perilously weak.

  Karl entered the dark passageway that led to his cabin and the rest of the passenger hold. The thick, oily smell of the kerosene lamps that lit the passageway—as well as the stagnant, spoiling aroma that arose from the bilge—filled his nostrils. It made him feel a bit nauseous himself when he paused to think of it. Knocking twice, he entered the cabin after a feeble voice bid him welcome.

  Kaatje and Astrid looked even worse than yesterday, if possible. Even in the warm light cast from the flame of the lantern, both women were ghastly gray. Karl pasted a smile on his face and found himself speaking loudly, as if by his voice’s power he could infuse life into the women.

  “Fresh water,” Karl said, holding out the two cups.

  Both women groaned, but sat up. />
  “You need to drink as much as possible, if not for you, then for your babies.”

  They nodded and accepted the tin cups as he offered them.

  “Are you feeling any better?” he asked hopefully.

  “I am afraid not,” Kaatje said. “But thank you for inquiring.” She reached out to touch his hand. “I am sorry that we have displaced you in your own cabin. We could move to our place in the hold now.”

  “No, no,” Karl said in dismissal. “Just focus on feeling better. I am fine.”

  He looked at Astrid. “Are you at all better?” She simply shook her head.

  “Well, I do not know if you’re interested,” Karl said, pulling a bottle from his back pocket, “but I have a bottle of Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters, sent to you from Cook. He picked it up in New York.” Karl leaned closer to the flame to read the label. “Hostetter’s Celebrated Stomach Bitters. A pure and powerful tonic, corrective, and alternative of wonderful efficacy in disease of the stomach, liver, and bowels …”

  “Please,” Kaatje said, holding up her hand for him to stop. “It sounds terrible.”

  “It says here that it cures seasickness,” he tried.

  “I do not think we’re interested,” Astrid said wearily. “Thank you very much for thinking of us, though.”

  “I would fear for my child,” Kaatje said, leaning back against her pillow.

  I’m afraid your child is going to get hurt in other ways, Karl thought, but shrugged and nodded. “You women know best. I’m going to send Cook down with more broth. You really do need to get something down very soon.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Martensen,” Astrid said. She closed her eyes. Yes, she was undoubtedly in bad shape. His eyes raced to Kaatje. She too was fading.

  “I will leave you two to rest, then. Good night.”

  Both women mumbled a soft good-bye.

  He tiptoed out of the cabin and shut the door with as light a touch as possible. He was making his way up the passageway when he almost ran into Elsa. He reached out to steady her and had to remind himself to remove his hands.

  “I’m sorry, Elsa. I did not see you.”