Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  She laughed, her smile shining in her eyes. Karl dragged his own eyes away, concentrating on the bottle in his hand. “I just brought them fresh water. Tried to give them this. They’d have none of it.”

  Elsa took the bottle from his hand, lifting it to the light to read the label. Karl stole the moment to study her. What would it be like to hold her? His body ached from the effort of restraint. What if he lifted her chin right then and brought his lips to hers? Dear Jesus, God, help me! he cried silently.

  “I must go,” he said briefly, determined to get this madness under control. “I’m going to send Cook with some broth. Try to get them to drink. As much as possible. Their lives and their babies are in grave danger.”

  She nodded up at him with an earnestness in her eyes that drew him like iron to true north. He wrenched his eyes from hers and fairly ran down the passageway and into the cleansing, cool air of the Atlantic night.

  Elsa took up her position on the deck above the captain’s cabin, as she had for the past week, and sat down with a contented sigh. On her first day aboard, Stefan, the steward, had placed a wooden chair there for her after pointing out that the spot had one of the finest views on the Herald. She wished for the ease of a hammock, but knew that Peder would frown upon such an unladylike seat. Still, this was quite nice.

  Below her, she could see passengers walking the perimeter of the deck, the ladies’ parasols bouncing in the wind. Little Knut, hiding from Mikkel Thompson’s wife, Ola, ducked behind a barrel. Elsa watched as Ola called for him, obviously concerned. He laughed and she grabbed for him, but he ran away, apparently thinking that she was playing with him. Ola, a rather straitlaced woman in her sixties, did not appreciate his antics as Nora or Elsa might—or as Tora could, if she would cease her pouting and help care for the child. Elsa looked beyond them to her sister. Having refused Kristoffer’s offer like a petulant child herself, Tora leaned over a rail, peeling potatoes for Cook.

  Elsa turned her attention to more pleasant matters. Even ten days out to sea, the excitement aboard ship was palpable. Everyone hoped they were going to something better, and they were not yet far enough away from Bergen to be homesick. She thought of the towering mountains of Bergen, picturing the seven snowy peaks above granite hills, which, in turn, shot up from the deep fjord below. Yes, Bergen was beautiful. But the sea … the sea was an incredible vista itself. Miles and miles of water stretched before them. Yesterday Europe had faded from view, leaving her feeling like a gnat on an elephant, tiny aboard a moving, breathing giant. Yet there was something exhilarating in riding the wind and the water. It felt as if in some small way they had tamed the elephant just by being a part of it.

  As she pulled out her sketch pad, she thought of the story Riley had told her yesterday about what the gold miners had called seeing the elephant.

  “It was an ol’ joke, ya see,” he had said in his characteristic Cockney accent. “When a farmer heard the circus was comin’, he loaded his farm wagon with produce and hurried to town. On the way, he met the circus parade, led by an elephant. His horses bolted at the strange sight, tipping over the wagon and spilling vegetables all over the road. ‘I don’t give a hang,’ the farmer said, ‘for I have seen the elephant.’ ”

  Elsa looked up at the wizened sailor who had once been a forty-niner, still fit at what she supposed was well over fifty years of age. “What does that mean, Riley?”

  “It means ya go for the seeing of it as much as the doin’ of it, ma’am. Least to me, anyway. I come up short when it came to gold, but I was never sorry to have gone. That’s why I’m a seaman now. I’ve been a miner and a shop clerk. A man of the fields. But the sea. The sea is where I will spend the rest o’ my days.”

  “I understand,” she said, nodding. And she did. The ocean all about her was magical; thousands of nautical miles stretched beside them, before them, beyond them. It reminded her of what the desert might feel like, with a whole lot more water. “Is this what you felt like, Moses?” she whispered, facing the wind and feeling it caress her face. “I like it now, but forty years of wandering at sea might seem as intolerable as your own decades in the desert.”

  She looked up into the burgeoning sails and spotted a sailor in the crow’s nest. Yancey, she thought he was called. The wind billowed his shirt as fiercely as it ripped at the sails, but he looked happy. His eyes scanned the horizon, and occasionally he would shout an announcement like “Bark on the port quarter!” to indicate another vessel was in sight and its location.

  “Bark ho!” Karl would answer from his station at the wheel.

  Shifting her chair and taking up her pencil, Elsa sketched the man in the crow’s nest from her point of view. She got lost in her drawing and it was two hours before she looked aside again. When she did, Peder was behind her and stole a quick kiss before looking at the sketch in her lap.

  “What is this?” he asked, taking the pad from her fingers. “Why, Elsa, this is very good.” He looked from the pad to Yancey and back again. “I never knew you were such a talented artist.”

  She felt shy under his scrutiny and praise. “It is merely a hobby.”

  “It is more than that,” he said, leveling his mossy green eyes at her. He was clearly delighted with his discovery. “It is much more than that. Do you paint too?”

  Elsa shrugged and squirmed under his penetrating gaze. “I have never attempted it.”

  “You should. This is a gift. We should nurture it.”

  She smiled. She loved the way he embraced life. Another man might find a woman’s talent something to deride, but not her Peder. There was her husband, encouraging her to take it on and better her skills. “I used to want to be a shipwright.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You did? I never knew that.”

  “Papa frowned upon it. Said I should just focus on a woman’s duties of being a wife and a mother.”

  Peder laughed. “Well, I appreciate my father-in-law’s aspirations for you. But I do not take so much time to care for, do I?”

  “No. Especially since Stefan cleans up after you in the cabin and washes your clothes.” She waved at a clothesline that was quickly drying several of Peder’s white shirts. Their underclothes were pinned demurely on a line inside their cabin.

  “And what of your desire to be a shipwright?”

  Elsa raised an eyebrow and looked at him. Did he think it was all right to have such aspirations? Suddenly Ola emerged at the ladder that scaled the captain’s cabin, looking for Knut. “Have you seen the little urchin?” she asked in exasperation.

  “Let me dispatch a couple of sailors to help flush him out, Mrs. Thompson,” Peder intervened.

  As the woman nodded once and disappeared down the ladder, Peder turned back to Elsa. He leaned over and raised her chin, drawing her eyes to meet his gaze. “I appreciate you and all you will be, Elsa,” he said in a low voice. “I should have married you years ago.”

  His intensity embarrassed her. “When I was all of Tora’s age?”

  “Perhaps. You were a different young woman than Tora. But I wanted to be captain before I returned for you.”

  Elsa nodded and glanced over the ship. Peder’s mention of his role drew her attention to Karl. “Have you told him yet?” she asked.

  Peder followed her glance and frowned slightly. “No.” He paused, changing the subject. “There is an artist in New York I want you to meet,” he said. With that, he departed, obviously not wanting to discuss further the secret he still held from his best friend.

  Kaatje was getting better, and she was able to manage a brief trip around the deck, leaning on Soren’s arm. The fresh salt air felt wonderful against her skin and seemed to clear her head. She returned to the cabin reluctantly, but eager to check on Astrid. She seemed to be better too and had been able to hold down a cup of broth yesterday and again today, giving her hope. Soren set down the pail of fresh water near the bunks and left Kaatje with a tender smile and a pat to her stomach. Kaatje, feeling happier and more content
than she had in the last year, pulled up the one chair in the cabin and sat down beside Astrid’s bed.

  She took her friend’s hand. “Still feeling all right?”

  “It comes and it goes,” Astrid said wearily. “One moment I think I am past it, the next I worry that things have gotten worse. The good news is that this baby is soon due. I think it will be all right if she’s born early.”

  “You think it is a girl?”

  “I hope so. Can you imagine living with three men?”

  Kaatje giggled, happy to hear Astrid attempt a joke. Her smile soon faded though as Astrid wearily closed her eyes. “Kaatje.”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you bring Knut to see me today? Kristoffer keeps him away. He worries that he’ll tire me. But I miss him. It would do me good to feel his small arms about my neck.”

  “Yes. Certainly. Should I go see to it now?”

  “Perhaps in a while. Just after I take a brief nap. I should have the strength for the little terror then.”

  “You’re a good mother, Astrid. I hope I do as well as you have.”

  Astrid waved away her praise. “It is a natural thing, to love your child. I would do anything for Knut. You will do anything for yours. It is a God-love you come to understand. Suddenly, you realize how God feels about you when you look at your baby. I look at Knut and there’s such love … ah, look at me,” she said in disgust, wiping away sudden tears. “Just thinking about him makes me cry like a baby.”

  Kaatje smiled at her friend. She was so delicate, so thin … and such a good mother. Please, God, she prayed silently. Please let her get well.

  “Tell me a story, Kaatje,” Astrid said. “Tell me how you and Soren fell in love.” She moved her pillow, settling in.

  “There is not much to tell. I had been in love with Soren for years. Since I was twelve years old, I think, when he used to come to our farm to milk the cows for my father. Later, when my parents died of the influenza and I stayed with an aunt on her farm, he would leave a flower on the doorstep each morning. I got up very early one morning and caught him. When I asked him about it, he said, ‘I thought you might be sad. Flowers seem to make girls happy.’ Oh, how he stole my heart!” she said with wide eyes and a big smile, remembering.

  Astrid opened her eyes and smiled gently back at Kaatje. She took her hand and said softly, “I understand that he steals the hearts of many.”

  Kaatje withdrew her hand, feeling her face fall to a frown. “That is behind us.”

  “I hope so, my friend. It must pain your heart.”

  Kaatje searched Astrid’s eyes. There was nothing but compassion in them. Kaatje had not spoken of Soren’s indiscretions to anyone but Elsa, and even to her in limited fashion. Obviously, her secret was known to others. She nodded, quick tears welling at the corners of her eyes. “It does.”

  Suddenly, Astrid took her hand again, closed her eyes, and began praying. “Father God, we pray that thou wilt take Soren in hand. That thou wilt give him eyes for no one but his wife. And, Father, we also pray for Kaatje. That she can find forgiveness in her heart and trust in thy ways. Be a lamp to her feet, Father God, as she tries to find thy path.”

  “Amen,” Kaatje whispered.

  “Amen,” Astrid echoed. “Kaatje, would you get down my Bible and read some verses to me?”

  “Certainly.” She rose and took the old black leather Bible from the shelf above Astrid’s head.

  “Do you have a Bible?” Astrid asked.

  “No. I always love hearing from the Good Book, but I never have owned one. There never seems to be enough money.”

  “We must remedy that situation. Once in America, I’ll see to it.”

  Kaatje widened her eyes in surprise. “That is very generous, but—”

  “No, do not argue with me, Kaatje,” Astrid said gently. “Every believer needs a Bible. It is how we get to know God.”

  Kaatje wondered again at how close Astrid sounded to the Lord. How did she get to that point? Kaatje longed for the comfort the other woman seemed to take from her faith. “Where do I begin?” she asked.

  “Let’s see, a good one for us who will soon labor … go about two-thirds of the way back through the Bible to the book of Matthew and find chapter eleven, verses twenty-eight through thirty.”

  After searching for a few moments, Kaatje finally found the verses and began to read, listening to her own voice spill out words of hope. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

  Tora was furious. She could not believe that her own sister would allow this unfair, this barbaric situation to continue. The Queen, as she had taken to calling Elsa with derision, had sat above in her chair all afternoon while Tora peeled potato after potato with an old knife. Her fingers, nicked here and there, burned as she washed them with salt water. Cook, who never said a word—merely pointed at her next task and then ignored her—seemed to even resent her presence in the cramped galley.

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Then, feeling suffocated and woozy from the heat as another batch of bread came out of the giant cast-iron, wood-burning oven, Tora sank down on a stool. Cook was immediately at her side, motioning to the carrots that she had been chopping.

  Mopping her forehead with a wrinkled, damp handkerchief, she glared up at the old man. “I am tired,” she said loudly.

  He took her upper arm in his surprisingly powerful hand and, with a grip that was painful, pulled her upright. “You. Work.” It was more than she had ever heard him say.

  She placed her hands on her hips and looked defiantly down at him. At five feet, eight inches tall, Tora towered over the man, and she felt her chest fill with redefined power. Who was he to order her around? She was an Anders! Back home, she had had to do few chores, leaving most of the work to the maid and groomsman. And here, she was being treated like a common slave by this little, sweaty Chinaman. “I will not have you order me around, you small, meaningless man!”

  His eyes narrowed and Tora’s confidence suddenly faltered. “You. Work,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

  Tora inhaled through her nose and lifted her chin. “No. I’ve done enough—”

  His slap astounded her, cutting off her speech. She could feel the imprint of his hand on her cheek, and she was sure the little heathen had left a mark. Holding her stinging face, she narrowed her own eyes. “You will pay for that.”

  With that, she trounced out of the tiny galley and into the welcome cool breeze of late afternoon. Tears welled in her eyes at the injustice of it all. Surely Peder would not allow this to continue! Perhaps if she played it right, she could even get out of serving the rest of her prescribed punishment.

  She turned toward the helm, where Peder usually stood, and ran into Soren Janssen. He held her away from him by the arms and looked from her tear-filled eyes to the red mark she knew must be visible by the way his eyes narrowed. She thought about what a sight she must be, suddenly embarrassed under his handsome gaze. Yes, she thought, I can see why Laila let you kiss her. Unaccustomed to nervousness around men, she reached back to her neck, wicking away the moisture and freeing the damp tendrils.

  “Please,” she said prettily, “I need to see the captain immediately.”

  “Yes. Of course.” He took her arm and escorted her to Peder, who stood at the wheel.

  Looking casually from one to the other, Peder said to Soren, “Leave us.”

  With one look from her brother-in-law, Soren did as he was bid.

  Tora worked up some more tears, hoping the handprint was still visible. “Do you see what Cook has done? The little man dared to slap me!” She wrung her hands, trying to look as desperate as she sounded. Most men would rise to such an occasion.

  “Why?” Peder asked, his voice still casual, his eyes shifting back to the sea and then to the sails above
him.

  “Wh-what?” she asked, hating that her voice faltered.

  “I asked you why he slapped you.”

  Her eyes left his face and searched the horizon, as though she would find the right words there. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me the truth, Tora.”

  She tossed her head. “I needed a rest. I felt faint. He demanded that I keep working. I refused. For the sake of my health, of course.”

  Peder studied her until she looked down, in spite of herself. “You never challenged his authority?” he said.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do,” replied Peder. “Will he confirm your story?”

  Tora lifted her nose to the air. “In so many words.”

  She stood there in silence as Peder appeared to mull it over.

  “So? What is your decision? Will you end this mad punishment now?”

  Peder smiled and shook his head at her. “You really don’t understand the ways of the world, Tora, for all you pretend to do so. I am concerned for your welfare. That is the only reason we have assigned you this punishment. You have made a grown woman’s decision to go to America. I expect you to grow quickly into your woman’s shoes and make further decisions that are befitting a mature woman.” He studied her for a moment longer. “While I don’t subscribe to the idea that women should be manhandled, I do believe that Cook saw you acting like the pouting child that you still are. He treated you as he would anyone on the ship who does not pull his—or her—weight. Grow up, Tora.”

  With that he looked back out to sea and ignored her.

  Oh, the fury! Such anger built within Tora that she could swear the world was colored red. How dare he! How on earth had Elsa deigned to marry such a man! Even with all his faults, her father had never ever treated her with such disrespect. She took a deep breath and tried once more. “I think you owe me some respect as your sister-in-law.”

  Peder glanced at her briefly, then down at the wheel in his hands. “I take no pride in our familial relationship, Tora. Perhaps someday you will earn my respect. But not now. You have too far to go.”