Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  It was no longer enough to distract her from worrying over Tora and the forthcoming child, or the aching distance she felt from her husband, compounded by the sour note on which they had parted. She looked north to the dark, foreboding clouds that had gathered close to the shore and were moving steadily toward Ramstad Yard. Had Peder encountered another storm? The thought left her sick with worry.

  Elsa turned her face from the clouds, choosing to focus on the hope that would come from the south, and there, on the horizon, was a wisp of a ship. The Herald? Her heart leaped. There was no telling for sure, but something within her knew. He was coming. He would be home soon. She let out a little shriek of glee and rushed back downstairs for Peder’s telescope. Returning to the top floor of the turret, she focused the glass with shaking hands, and her feeling was confirmed. It was Peder!

  “Thank you, Father!” she cried, clasping her hands and looking heavenward. Then she rushed downstairs again. Suddenly, a multitude of things clamored for her attention, things she wanted to accomplish before Peder came home, most notably preparations for a fine dinner. She needed to find the roving fishmonger and his cart, stop by the butcher’s, then afterward, the baker’s. She hoped he had some fine flatbread left! She would make Peder’s favorite, corned trout, if the vendor had any fresh fish. If not, she’d make his second favorite, pork roast with brown onion sauce.

  She would not go to the wharf to meet him; however, it might be unseemly for the captain’s wife to behave so. And Peder seemed overly aware of such social niceties, to the point of coming across as priggish at times. Take, for instance, his refusal to allow her to wear dungarees aboard the ship, despite their practicality.

  Besides, it would do Peder good to make him come looking for her. She was still a bit angry at the way he had left her after their argument, commanding her like a king in his castle. But she would make their home seem like paradise, coercing him never to leave again—or at least to take her with him when he did. She would put Cook to shame!

  Elsa grabbed her purse and left the house for the stables behind it. There was no time to summon the neighbor, who had agreed to help her with tasks such as this. She could harness the horse herself and be on her way in the time it would take to fetch him. The horses stomped and nodded their heads as if in greeting when she opened the door, making her laugh then coo her hello. She chose her favorite, Muskatnøtt, named for his nutmeg color, and whistled to him. She readied the buggy and was out on the road in no time at all.

  Peder was concerned when Elsa did not turn up at the wharf as they docked. Surely word had reached her by now. Was she still so angry at him? He was mollified by the fact that it seemed childish and unseemly to run into one another’s arms in front of others, but it did not take away the sting. Surely her absence was meant as a barb.

  He sighed, happy to hand over the responsibility of the cargo to Karl. He had only one thing more to do before he headed home to Elsa; he needed to speak to the harbor master about docking the Herald for a few days. Peder intended to make one quick run to Bangor for lumber and get it to New York before the winter weather settled in. He shook the rain from his coat and looked to the gray sky as it continued its soaking mist. All right, before the real winter weather settled in, he amended. He and Karl wanted a bit more cash in the bank before they turned full-time to shipbuilding. It would allow them to buy more shares in their own ships and thus a greater share in the cargo profits.

  “After a while,” he called to Karl, taking his leave.

  “After a while,” Karl said, crossing the bridge to shake his hand.

  “Godspeed, friend. I hope all goes well in New York this week. Get the top price you can for the sugar.”

  “As always.”

  “And do not gather so much information on steam that you come home and pester me to build your ship first.”

  Karl smiled with him. “Off with you, man. I will send you a cable when I reach the city in two days.”

  “Good enough.” He waved over his shoulder, eager to get home to Elsa and know where they stood. He hoped there wasn’t too deep a chasm between them. He ached to hold her close and kiss her as never before.

  Kristoffer nodded and smiled at Peder in greeting as he walked down the plank. They gripped hands fiercely. “Got the mold loft done, Cap’n.”

  “Very good,” Peder cried, clapping him on the shoulder. “And the caulker’s shed?”

  “All set. We even have the ship ramp complete. Need a ride home?”

  “No, thank you, Kris, I think I’ll get my land legs and walk.”

  “Very well. See you tomorrow then.”

  Peder bid him farewell and walked through the wharf, into the small town, and down its curvy, cobblestoned main street. By the time he stopped to speak with the harbor master and arranged to dock the Herald for a few days, the rain had quit. He reached the end of Main Street within five minutes and smiled as Ramstad Yard came into view. The mold loft had shiny new shingles on its roof. The young pine siding looked yellow and fresh, and when he raised his nose to the air, the ocean breeze carried to him the smell of new construction.

  Down lower, closer to the water, was the caulker’s shed, or rope house. And even farther down the slope was the completed ramp on which the Ramstad ships would be crafted, a long, sloping slide that angled at the prescribed five-eighths of an inch per foot. This angle did not lend too much pressure to a growing ship, but allowed it to slide into the water once it was fully crafted and released.

  Peder grinned. Yes, Ramstad Yard, America. All his dreams were coming to pass.

  He turned and looked toward the house. From the chimney came a small, wavy tendril of smoke, making his home look all the more inviting. In the window burned the soft light of a kerosene lamp. So she had seen him arrive. Surely this was a form of greeting. With renewed vigor, he walked toward his home and wife, and, hopefully, dinner. His stomach rumbled in response, and his body tingled at the thought of holding Elsa at long last.

  At that moment she opened the door, a vision in her violet gown, and it sent him running. It was as if the world and its cares faded at the sight of her and her smile. All that mattered was holding her in his arms. He raced up the front steps two at a time and rushed to her. Before she could speak, he bent his head and kissed her, crushing her body to his.

  When he could finally bear to release her, he hastened to speak first. “Forgive me, Elsa. I’m sorry I left with harsh words between us. After our argument, we should have come to some resolution. It was terrible to be gone from you all these weeks, fearing that you were still angry.”

  “Oh, Peder. Of course I was angry. But I was sorry, too, that we parted in such a manner. It was horrible, these weeks apart … not knowing if … let’s never do that again.”

  “Agreed.” He pulled her into his arms for another fierce embrace then gazed into her eyes. “I never knew I could feel this way, Elsa. I never knew it would be so good to see someone.”

  “It’s glorious, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  “It is.” He sniffed the air. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes. The fishmonger had no trout, so I had to settle on pork in brown onion sauce.”

  “Oh, the sacrifices I have to make! Come, wife, let’s go into our home, eat our dinner soon, and retire early.”

  “You are tired?” Elsa asked in consternation.

  “Not at all,” he said with a grin.

  When no one came to the door at her knock, Tora entered the house and smiled at the sound of the Ramstads arguing. Well, well. And the Herald had only just docked the day before. “Hello?” she called halfheartedly, really wanting to find out the cause of the commotion before she presented herself. Perhaps they were arguing about her, in which case she wanted to be forewarned. She crept toward the open library doors. Elsa had no house servants as yet, so Peder obviously assumed that they were discussing something in private. Tora could see Peder’s back as he sat at his desk and glimpsed Elsa as she
paced before him.

  “Surely on such a short run, it would make sense for me to accompany you,” Elsa was saying.

  “On the contrary,” Peder retorted. “For such a short time, it is wiser that you stay at home. I’ll be home within two weeks, Elsa!”

  “And I told you that I am tired of being at home. Alone.”

  “That is unfortunate.” He looked down, as if carefully constructing what he had to say before speaking. “What exactly did you anticipate when you married a sea captain?”

  “I don’t know. Not this. Your homecomings are lovely, but what sort of a marriage is that? After the winter, I’ll see you … what? Three weeks of the year?” Her voice was high and tight.

  “Only for a short time, Elsa,” Peder said, speaking as if she were a child.

  “For three years, you said!”

  “For three short years,” he reiterated. “Then I’ll be home with you and our children, watching over Ramstad Yard.”

  Tora leaned back against the wood-paneled wall. So darling Elsa didn’t have everything she wanted. That was a first. She chastised herself for being so malicious; her sister, after all, had not yet agreed to care for her unborn child. She needed Elsa, so she would play the dutiful, good sister and win her over. She’d play the victim with Peder. Her only hope was surprise. They must suspect nothing about her plans for escape, or she would be trapped in dreary Camden for the rest of her life.

  “And when you launch each ship?” Elsa was saying, beginning to sound hysterical. Tora peeked in again. “Somehow I cannot see you sitting on the porch with me while a new ship takes her baptismal trip. Nor do I want you to!” She sighed. “Peder, you were born for the sea. I don’t wish for you to be shackled to our home.”

  “This is hardly a home in which I’d feel shackled,” he said irritably.

  “Of course not!” Elsa said, wringing her hands. “You misunderstand me. Ramstad House is lovely. But my heart is not here.” She rushed over to him, knelt, and placed her cheek to his thigh. “My heart is with you. Please, Peder, please. I want to travel with you. I want to make a life with you—at Ramstad House when we are at home, on the sea when we are not.” She looked up at him, her face wet with tears. “Do you not miss me when you’re gone?”

  Tora chose that moment to enter. She backed up, coughed, and called “Hello” as if she had already done so several times. She entered the library and came up short, as if surprised by the scene before her. “Oh! Pardon me! I called,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. “Kristoffer is home with the boys, and I thought I would come say hello to my dear brother-in-law.” She looked from one stricken face to the other. “I am intruding. Forgive me. I will return later.”

  “No, Tora,” Elsa said, rising and wiping her cheeks. She studied Peder’s stoic face and looked away, clearly miserable. Her voice was tight, as if on the verge of crying. “You may stay. I would say we are at a standstill in this discussion. Pardon me while I go get some air.” She stopped at Tora’s side and looked back at Peder. “Greet my husband. Stay for dinner.” She lowered her voice. “But hold your news until I return.”

  “Very well,” Tora said with a shrug, moving to settle into a library chair.

  “Elsa—” Peder called.

  “I need some air, Peder,” she said from the hallway. “I’ll return in an hour. I want to take Muskatnøtt out for a ride.”

  Peder allowed her to go then began looking over some paperwork. Tora could tell he wasn’t reading, just holding the papers to cover his distress. “What is your news, Tora?” Peder said wearily, setting down the paper and rubbing his eyebrows with one hand. The front door slammed.

  “She asked me to wait—”

  “What news?” Peder roared, rising and leaning over the desk.

  Tora’s hand flew to her throat. How dare he take such a threatening tone and pose with her! She had to stay the anger that begged her to respond with, “Temper, temper. She’s merely referring to my pregnancy.” That would put the overbearing man in his place! But she knew it would also work against her. Instead, she used the rush of emotion to work up some tears.

  Peder sat down, narrowing his eyes at her with a suspicious expression.

  “Really, Peder, my nerves cannot take such violence.”

  He sighed and pursed his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you, just … Perhaps you should wait for your sister.”

  “No,” she said, wiping a fat tear from her cheek. “It is all right. We are family now, right?” She took a deep breath. “What I must tell you is that I am in a delicate condition.”

  “You mean—” Peder began, his face coloring.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I’m afraid Soren Janssen took advantage of me one night on the ship. I was horrified, of course, and wanted nothing more than to forget it ever happened. I never told anyone because I did not wish to hurt Kaatje. That day you found us in the passageway, he was trying to force himself on me again.” She warmed to the story as it came closer to the truth, and she could feel the righteous indignation she knew would sway Peder.

  “I had narrowly escaped him. He came on me in the cabin as I napped. Can you imagine?” She fanned herself, as if wanting to waft away bad memories and push back her tears. “I made it to the hallway and told him to never get near me again, when he slapped me. It was then that I called for help.” Tora looked down quickly, wanting Peder’s image to be of a young girl wronged, a victim in his presence.

  He did not speak for a long minute, then said, “This is the truth, Tora? Look at me.”

  She raised her eyes to his, knowing her future hung in the balance. It was difficult, but she managed to hold his gaze. “Yes,” she said, nodding then looking steadily back at him. She blinked rapidly. “Every word.”

  Karl rode his rented mount high into the hills above Camden, following a faint path with fresh tracks. It was no wonder that someone else rode here. It was beautiful and haunting amid the tree skeletons and their autumn crop on the forest floor, a thick blanket of faded fall colors. He turned at a switchback and climbed higher, hoping to eventually reach the top of this hill and find some place to contemplate his future. By tonight, the Herald’s cargo would be unloaded and ready for the train. He would leave for New York tomorrow. His departure could not come too soon. In Camden he could think of nothing but Elsa. It threatened to drive him mad as he paced his hotel room in town, until he had finally settled upon the idea of an afternoon ride.

  It had been a good idea. The air refreshed him, cleansed him of his obsessive thoughts. Time and again he turned wandering romantic notions to the business at hand—building the schooner then his steamer. He had his work cut out for him in research, for none of the Bergensers had worked on a steamship, and few in Camden knew much more.

  Karl’s mare raised her head and whinnied as they walked, and he could detect an increased energy in her gait, as if she smelled a pile of grain in her stall and was hurrying toward home. It was soon clear what had inspired her. Up ahead was a brown mare, the color of nutmeg. His heart skipped a beat. Surely, this was not Peder’s horse. The last thing he needed was to come across Peder and Elsa in such a romantic setting. He didn’t think his heart could bear it.

  But his heart would have to bear much worse. For as he neared, he could hear a woman weeping, and his brow furrowed in concern. Was it Elsa? Was she injured? He made a sound low in his throat, urging his mount to a stop, and leaped to the ground. He scrambled up the hill, following the sorrowful sounds, slipping on damp leaves. At last he reached the top and emerged to find a clearing of granite that looked over the forest below and the harbor beyond it. The vista was glorious. But it was not the view that stopped his heart. It was Elsa. She was alone, sitting on a huge, flat boulder, her arms on her knees, her head on her arms. Her body shook as she wept, and the sight and sound of her distress tore him apart.

  “Elsa?” he asked tentatively. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants.

  She looked up, and a sob caught in her th
roat. Quickly she tried to wipe away the tears and make herself presentable. “Karl,” she managed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was out for a ride … I came across Muskatnøtt—”

  “And you heard me,” she finished for him.

  “Are you all right? I will leave you in peace, but I wanted to make sure.” He reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief.

  The act of kindness seemed to tip her over the edge, and she began to cry again. Haltingly, he sat down beside her. He swallowed hard. “Elsa, what is it? What is the matter?”

  She stood suddenly, wiping her cheeks with his handkerchief. “It is that Peder,” she spat out. “He is so obstinate; he refuses to take me with you on this next voyage. You’ll only be gone two weeks! It is an easy voyage, but even so, he refuses to allow me along!”

  She paced angrily back and forth along the edge of the boulder, and Karl held his breath, wondering at the image of her against the view beyond. Even disheveled from her ride and weeping, she was worthy of a portrait. He wanted to pull her into his arms. But a still, small voice told him his role was that of a brotherly friend, no more. She was not his to take. Nor would she ever be. The thought of it threatened to make him weep himself.

  Elsa stopped suddenly and studied him. “What do you think of that, Karl? Is he not being overly protective? If I were your wife, would you not take me along?”

  Dear God, Karl prayed silently, running his hand through his hair. Does she know what she asks? Is this of you, Lord? Or is this sweet torture of the devil? He dared to look up at her. “Do not ask me that,” Karl said.

  “Why not? You are first mate, are you not? His dearest friend. Perhaps if you agree with me, you could persuade—”

  “Elsa!” he said, a bit louder than he had intended. “Stop,” he said, lowering his voice and coming to his feet. “You do not want me in the middle of this. It is your marriage. A private matter. And it is up to you and Peder to determine the right thing.”