He waited, caressing her cheek slightly, but seemingly unable to ask what she wanted. It was as if he knew what was coming and feared it.
Elsa pressed on. It was now or never. “I have heard that many wives travel with their husbands.” Peder’s hand fell from her face. “I so want to see the world with you, Peder. I would like to travel with you.”
Peder grimaced and looked across to the Massachusetts. “I don’t know who has filled your head with such foolishness. I disagree with Smith. I think it is foolhardy to take women along on voyages when they’re better off safely tucked at home.”
She rose. “Safely tucked? You speak of women as if they are children.
And there is no such place as a safe place. Why, I could die in a carriage wreck or from a disease that sweeps through our tidy Maine village.”
He turned to her, his face stern, color rising from his neckline. “Elsa, I …” He stopped himself, obviously thinking twice about what he had to say. He took her hand and gathered a deep breath. “Sweetheart, you know I want nothing more than to be with you day and night. In a few years, after Ramstad Yard is in full swing, I will. Until then, I do not think it is a good idea. There are many dangers for a woman at sea. It could be a rogue sailor when I’m not around to protect you. And you speak of disease—but we encounter many more diseases in port than you ever would in Camden, to say nothing of the storms.”
Elsa turned away from him, battling the urge to argue. He was her husband, after all. Her mother had spent years ingraining in Elsa and her sisters to trust in their chosen mate’s judgment, to abide by his decisions. But still, this was much more difficult than she had anticipated. How could what Peder wanted be so different from her own desires? Did he not wish to be with her as much as she desired to be with him?
She glanced up at him quickly. He was staring at her intently, his face a mask of concern. They had never argued. Would this be their first?
“Tell me about Maine again,” Elsa said, changing the subject. Maybe with time Peder would come to see her side and agree to take her with him. For now peace was more important. He had a whole ship full of people he had to worry over. She would not be one of them.
Peder gave her a tentative smile and began the familiar refrain. As he did, he gestured toward her chair, encouraging her to sit. As soon as her head was against the backrest, his work-roughened hands were on her forehead, gently, lightly sliding downward, closing her eyes. She smiled. By closing them, she could imagine her new home.
“Her coast winds back and forth,” he was saying, “providing harbor after harbor in which to build my beautiful ships. But on a picturesque harbor sits a town called Camden-by-the-Sea. Her coast is sheltered by a massive island called Vinalhaven. It is not far from Portland, where you can go to buy dresses and such. But you won’t want to leave. Our land stretches up a wide, treeless hillside, perfect for the shipyard, and at the top, the trees begin. Just inside that forest is our home. We’ll leave a strip of land clear for the front yard. Imagine! Our yard stretches straight into the Atlantic!”
“And the house?” she asked, feeling calmer by the minute.
“The house?”
Elsa opened her eyes. “The house. What does it look like?”
Peder frowned and placed his chin in his hand. “The house. A good question. But I can’t seem to remember.”
Elsa gave him a sardonic smile, catching on to the fact that he was toying with her. “Draw it. Maybe it will help you remember.”
“Yes, a good idea.” He motioned for her to move her legs aside and sat on the end of the chair. He immediately began to sketch. In the distance, from the fo’cȇsle, Elsa could hear the sailors singing a somber song as they worked.
Just one year ago tonight, Love
I became your blushing bride
You promised I’d be happy
But no happiness I find
For tonight I am a widow
In the cottage by the sea.
Elsa stared at Peder as she listened to the words. He was holding out his sketch of a cartoonish shack, obviously a joke, but his grin fell fast as he too heard the words. He knew what was coming.
“I’ll not sit in some cottage awaiting news of your death, Peder Ramstad. I could not stand it. I’d rather die beside you than slowly die alone.”
Peder took her hand. “I understand. But I swore to your father that I would take care of you, protect you. I don’t think taking you along on my voyages would be living up to my promise.”
“I am a grown woman, Peder—and I am your wife. I want to be with you. My father would understand that.”
Peder sighed. “I will think it over. All right?”
Elsa nodded, thankful that he was at least listening to her. Her heart soared with hope. “Yes. Think on it.”
It was only after he left her side that she remembered Peder had never sketched their real home.
Kaatje walked the perimeter of the ship, enjoying the sight of the Massachusetts beside them as they slowly passed her. It reassured her to remember that they were not all alone out here in the great Atlantic. She looked down at the silvery-blue waters racing by, thinking of Astrid somewhere beneath the waves. Oh, how she missed her friend! Elsa was still dear to her, but her mind was on her new husband, not Kaatje’s ongoing troubles.
She frowned as she thought of Soren. Even in such cramped quarters, he had managed to make himself scarce, telling her that the small cabin made him feel claustrophobic. He often left her for hours at a time, helping sailors tar the ropes or carry out other duties, he said. But Kaatje couldn’t help but wonder. No, she told herself, do not allow yourself such thoughts. Surely he could not be with another woman. Where would they go? She laughed out loud then turned in embarrassment, afraid she had been overheard.
No matter. No one was near her. Up ahead, she spotted Tora with Knut and Lars. Knut played with Tora’s parasol, running around and around it, while she looked on with a bored expression and shifted Lars to her other shoulder. Even with two small children in tow, Tora looked glamorous. Her shiny, dark hair was tied up in a chignon and anchored with an elegant ivory comb. She was dressed in a charming blue princesse dress, made of silk, and over it, she wore a sleeveless polonaise of ivory. It fell gracefully over the short train, emphasizing the girl’s slim figure. Oh, to come from money like the Anderses, Kaatje thought. Never had she owned a dress such as that.
Putting her envy aside, Kaatje smiled and approached Tora. Perhaps some time with Astrid’s children would bring back memories of her friend in a tender way.
“Tora!” she called as the girl turned to walk aft with the children.
Tora turned to see who called and then immediately glanced away. That is odd, Kaatje thought. Still, the girl stopped and waited for Kaatje.
“I thought I’d spell you with the children,” said Kaatje. “Why don’t you rest for a bit?”
Tora looked at her, and Kaatje thought she saw a hint of derision in her eyes. She ignored the troublesome feeling. The girl was just difficult, that was all. She was probably still resenting her position with Kris, especially now with two children. In Kaatje’s mind, though, Tora’s consistently petulant demeanor spoiled her beauty.
“That would be fine,” Tora said with a graciousness that sounded a bit forced. “I’ll return in an hour if that is all right with you.”
“Fine, fine. Go enjoy yourself.”
Tora left her side with no further word.
“Hmm,” Kaatje said to Lars, who seemed to be flourishing on goat’s milk. “At least you’re a content little baby,” she said, kissing his forehead. “She could have it much worse.” She looked over to Knut, who looked bereft without the parasol. “Come, son, let’s go find my husband. He’ll throw you high into the air and catch you at the last minute. That should cast away your doldrums.”
Knut looked hopeful and placed his tiny hand in hers. “Where is he?”
“I do not know. Shall we play a game of cat and mouse? Let us pre
tend we’re the katt, and he’s the mus. Now be very quiet,” she said with her finger to her lips. “We’re on the hunt and must sneak up on him before we pounce!”
A smile spread across Knut’s face. “Let’s go!” he screeched in Norwegian.
Kaatje smiled as the boy pulled her along. Somewhere she knew Astrid would be smiling at her son’s delighted grin.
Tora was on her way to her bunk to take a brief nap when she met up with Soren in the passageway to the hold. He smiled lazily at her as he held the door, and she edged past him, allowing her body to touch his. It was a subtle movement, but unmistakable. Soren let the door shut behind them, and they were alone in the darkened hall.
“In there,” Soren said in a low voice, eyeing her hungrily.
“In Kaatje’s room? What if she comes in?”
“She is out on—”
Just then, Nora Paulson came through the narrow passageway, studying them both before passing. She turned at the door. “Since you’re apparently free from your duties, Tora, perhaps we should have your English lesson now.”
Tora looked at her, hoping the woman could see the daggers in her eyes. But her voice was innocent. “Oh, thank you, Nora. But I’m afraid I have just a moment to myself before I have to get back to Kaatje and the boys.”
“To Kaatje?” Nora said pointedly. “Where is your wife, Soren?”
“On deck,” he said. “I thought I’d just grab her shawl.”
“Ah,” she said, apparently mollified with the thought that he was getting back to his wife shortly. When she was gone, they smiled at one another like naughty schoolchildren.
Then, before anyone else could come upon them, Soren pushed Tora into the small cabin that he had shared with Kaatje since Astrid’s death. His lips were upon her neck, sending delightful shivers down her spine before the lock clicked in place.
“Soren, I do not think we should continue to do this,” she protested lightly.
“You say that every time,” he purred in her ear. “Tell me you do not like this.”
Oh, he was thrilling. And Kaatje was such a fool to let a man like this stray. Just one more time, Tora thought, dismissing a niggling thought. Surely this could not be wrong. Surely something wrong could not feel so … so right.
Peder drew a line on his chart and then wrote in his logbook, constantly scratching out his mistakes and moving on. Keeping the log was typically a job for the mate, but Peder enjoyed it. Today, however, his mind was elsewhere, for although they were making great time, the approaching coast brought forward issues he had to face. First there was Elsa and her clear desire to sail with him. And then there was Karl. He had to be forthright with his friend about Ramstad Yard and the financing his father had offered him.
Deciding not to tarry any longer, Peder invited Karl to lunch. “Come,” he said, “it will be good for Kris to have his turn at the wheel. Nothing like a ship at his fingertips to remind a man of the goodness of life.”
Karl paused, as if searching for a reason to say no, but then shrugged. When Peder stopped to think of it, his best friend had not sat at his dinner table in over a week. Peder had taken to his suggestion of entertaining others, but now felt poorly about it. Karl probably felt ousted, his rightful place occupied by others. Karl’s cabin had even been taken over by the Janssens after Astrid’s death! Never mind that his first mate had insisted that the pregnant Kaatje remain in a comfortable berth; Peder should have intervened. Kaatje was well now. And the first mate deserved preferential treatment.
As soon as they were seated, Cook brought two steaming platefuls of farikal, a slow-cooked dish of cabbage, mutton, and black peppercorns.
“Elsa is not joining us?” Karl asked after Peder had blessed the food.
“No. She ate earlier at my request.”
Karl’s eyes darted to his.
“I need to talk over something with you.”
Peder took a few bites, then looked over at Karl, who was eating slowly, studying his friend’s face for clues to what this was about.
“I am afraid I have a confession to make and wished to do it in privacy, Karl.”
His first mate waited, placing his fork on his plate and wiping his mouth.
“You see, I’ve dreaded doing this because I was afraid of your reaction. I am afraid it will upset the applecart, as our new countrymen say.”
“Just say it, Peder. Out with it.”
Peder looked him steadily in the eye. “On our wedding day, my father gave us a gift.”
“And?”
“He told me that he would finance Ramstad Yard, top to bottom.”
Karl searched Peder’s eyes for several seconds as if to see if he was joking. When Peder merely returned his stare, waiting, he shoved his chair back with a loud scrape and stood abruptly, his face flushing in anger. “And you told him no, right? That we had obtained our own financing? That we had an agreement, sixty-forty?”
Peder lost his nerve and dropped his gaze. Karl’s response was everything he had feared. “No,” he said softly. “I accepted his gift.”
“And you waited until now to tell me? Why so late, Peder?”
“This is difficult, obviously. I knew you’d take it hard.”
“Take it hard? Take it hard! I’d say I have just reason to take issue,” he said, pacing. “Peder, I’ve worked alongside you for years. I’ve scrimped and saved to get my 40 percent. For what? You’re telling me Ramstad-Martensen Yard is a thing of the past. Oh, yes, stand aside for the mighty Ramstads! I should’ve known old Leif couldn’t keep his sticky fingers out of his son’s business.”
“Now just a minute—”
“So that’s it? I am out?”
“No, no! Karl, I want you as my number one man. I need you there.”
“Your number one man? But not your partner—”
“It will almost be like having a partner.”
“But my dreams of building steamships? No, no. You will set them aside for sometime later, in favor of your romantic sailing ships. It’s over, Peder.” Karl raked his hands through his hair. “It’s 1880 and sail is on its way out. Steam is our ticket to the future.”
“There is still room for sail, Karl. These ships are cheaper to build, more reliable in many ways—”
“There you go! You’ll never admit sail is dying. Sure, there’s room for some new schooners. I can see that there might be some money in hauling cargo in the big old tubs. But steam, Peder. That is where we would make our yard successful. You hold on to sail because your father loves it. And with his money, I’d wager that we will never see a steamship leave Ramstad Yard.”
“I will make sure of it. Karl, I respect your views—”
“Aye, but not enough to hold to the dreams we forged as boys, eh? No, I guess friendship comes after finances in the Ramstad family.” He strode to the door.
“Karl, wait. Truly, I want to work this out with you.”
“You have made your decision, man. Now I have to make mine.” He left without another word, closing the door soundly.
For the third day in a row, Elsa ate lunch with Peder in silence. Ever since his blowup with Karl, her husband had been morose, and Elsa had been forced to cancel their nightly dinner parties. He had made their guests so uncomfortable that she had begun making excuses to the various passengers, begging off for one night and then the next. Not that Peder seemed to notice. He didn’t even seem to notice her. Or had she done something wrong too?
Tonight she had dressed in one of her finest dresses, hoping to catch his attention. Her mother had ordered three new gowns from Copenhagen for her as a going away present, and she had been saving them until they got to America and were in more gracious surroundings. The one she wore tonight was an evening dress with a shorter skirt, or what they called a quarter train. The bodice and skirt, however, were still the long and sleek look—an unfortunate, confining feature in Elsa’s mind—and were made of a beautifully shaded turquoise lampas, trimmed with turquoise blue satin and pale, stra
w-colored surah. The sleeves were quite daring and short, and she wore matching straw-colored gloves. Still, Peder had not commented. Perhaps it was her lack of a decent bath in the last month. She was used to bathing at least twice a week and did her best with the basin of water, but oh, how she longed for a steaming copper tub!
Elsa placed her napkin by her plate and sat back in her chair to study her husband. He leaned over his plate, shoveling in the food. His eyes were ringed as if he had suffered from loss of sleep in the last ten days. Elsa concluded that it was not that he lacked interest in her, it was that he could not stop thinking about his friend and the breach between them.
“You know, you could just say no to your father,” she began.
He looked up and scowled at her. “Say no to the most assured road to success? He’s promised me twice the money that Karl and I could raise together.”
“But is what Karl said true? Will you feel like the American Ramstad Yard is truly run by your father? Wouldn’t there be joy in building something totally your own?”
“This will be more my own than what I would share with Karl.”
“But you made a promise, Peder.”
“Enough!” The anger in his voice and the pulsing veins at his neck unnerved her. Never had he raised his voice to her. Seeing her surprise, his voice softened. “Forgive me. I did not mean to yell. But I am making what I think is the best decision. Karl will come around. He can still own 20 percent of a much bigger, promising shipyard.”
“But at what cost? You said yourself that you would make all the decisions.” Elsa rose and went around the table to kneel by his side. “Peder, he is your best friend. Since boyhood. Do not let it fall aside as you move forward.”
Peder grimaced and shook his head. “I do this for you, Elsa.”
“I have what is important to me,” she protested. “I appreciate that you wish to honor me, but turning away friends will not make my gold seem more shiny. I’d rather wait. Build the business slowly. And keep our dear friends.”
Peder stood, his face a mask of iron. “I have decided. It is my business, not yours.”
Northern Lights Trilogy Page 11