Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  She stared back at him silently. “You speak from experience?” she asked, smiling thinly as if she knew.

  “Of course not,” he said, flustered.

  “You do. So there it is. You know my secrets, and I know yours, Karl Martensen.” She leaned closer. “Or at least you think you know my mind.”

  “Ah no,” he said. “I would never claim to get inside the labyrinth that is your mind.”

  “Stay out of my life, Karl. You’ve said your piece, now be gone with you. Off to your lonely rented cottage to sadly dream of my sister.”

  Why had he gone after her? Concern and care for a friend had opened him up to attack. He did not want a skirmish with Tora Anders. He simply wanted her to leave Kristoffer alone. He raised his hands, feeling the muscles in his jaw work. She was infuriating.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, “nor do I care to. As you said, I’ve said my piece. But I want to say one more thing. If you will not tread lightly for Kristoffer’s sake, do it at least for the boys. Think what you are doing to them.”

  He turned on his heel and left the circle of lantern light before she could respond. The cool darkness welcomed him, and he breathed deeply for the first time since entering Ramstad House earlier that evening.

  Elsa awakened with the sun, thinking of Kaatje and Soren and how desperate her friend must feel. Even when Peder left her for the sea, she remained in a comfortable home with neighbors close at hand. Kaatje was all alone. Elsa rose, built up a fire, then sat in her bedroom window seat. She picked up Kaatje’s letter and read it yet again.

  25 November 1880

  Dear Friend,

  I thought of you several times tonight, missing your company and wondering when and if we might someday celebrate this American Thanksgiving together. I hope you spent the day surrounded by dear ones as I had hoped to do. Soren insisted that we spend the day with our new neighbors, Fred and Claire Marquardt, Mrs. Engvold, and Walter Van Der Roos, since we see the Bergensers every Sunday, and I agreed. It was a most awful day.

  We were just sitting down to the table in our tiny house when some other neighbors stopped by. We quickly made room for the four of them, although there was hardly enough of the tykmelksuppe and ham and potatoes to go around as it was. They are a nice but terribly poor Norwegian family who have been on this Dakota land for four years. They are moving away to Montana Territory, where they have relatives. This is a terrible time to move, but they appear to be desperate, unable, I suppose, to even last the winter. I wish them Godspeed. Snow is just around the corner, and they have quite a few miles to cover before reaching a warm home and a welcome.

  But that is not the worst of it. Soren has it in his mind that we should apply to homestead their land. Can you imagine? What is one man to do with 320 acres? I am told that one man can only manage thirty acres. Yet I try to remain silent. It is a man’s place to make such decisions. Soren has grand ideas, and I do not have the heart to stop him. But what if this wide, vast land overwhelms him? What if, in trying to manage too much, he cannot manage any? It frightens me so! The only bright spot of the day was that Soren got so excited about this idea that he scarcely noticed our pretty neighbor, Mrs. Marquardt.

  I am sorry to delve into such personal matters. I beg your pardon if this offends you. Soren would think that speaking of it to our Bergen loved ones was most rude and unforgivable, but I needed to speak of it to someone, so I turned to you, my friend. I will look for a letter from you, Elsa. As always, I send a kiss and a hug.

  Your loving friend,

  Kaatje

  Elsa walked over to her desk and dipped her pen in the inkwell to respond.

  15 December 1880

  Dear Kaatje,

  Thank you for your letter. I too find myself afraid over some of the decisions that Peder makes about Ramstad Yard, consequently putting us on shaky ground. I console myself that people do not get ahead by not taking risks. Does that help you at all? It is a risky thing, this life. And the only way through it is forward. I pray that Soren’s decision will later prove wise and that you find peace.

  Elsa crumpled up the paper, smudging the ink. She rose and threw it into the fire. Her words seemed trite, too light for what Kaatje was obviously experiencing. Did she herself not know a similar angst? Peder continued to insist on sailing without her, and the thought of it made her feel lost. And she hoped he would consider Karl’s plans for a steamer shortly. She sighed, feeling helpless so far from Kaatje. I commit this to your hands, Father, she prayed silently, staring up at the ceiling of their bedroom. Please, Jesus, take care of Kaatje. And be with Soren. Help him to be a wise and caring husband. She turned to stare at Peder, still asleep in their large four-poster bed. Help him to watch out for Kaatje as Peder does for me.

  Elsa felt guilty for her continued desire to travel with Peder. After all, it could be her out on the Dakota plains, living in a dismal soddy with a husband whose dreams were bigger than the state could hold. Peder had put his dream into action, and as a result, she had a beautiful home with loving neighbors. But she could not help herself. She loved Peder with all she had in her and wanted to be with him always. “As long as ye both shall live,” she whispered, repeating her vows to honor him. Yet this had little to do with honoring Peder; he was being unreasonable, fearing for her so.

  She got up from the desk and walked over to the bed. She sank down on her side and, with a delicate hand, reached out and traced Peder’s profile, a hair’s breadth away from his skin. His nose was long and straight—aristocratic, as some would call it. His chin was strong, and the stubble of his beard glistened in the dim light of dawn. A brown curl of hair lay against his forehead, and the rest of his hair was tousled this way and that. She often struggled not to laugh aloud when he rose, looking so silly with his hair mashed in places and on end in others.

  He blinked and smiled at her hand so near his face. He took her hand in his own warm one, kissed the palm softly, and turned to her sleepily. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, love,” she said.

  “What has you up so early?”

  “Thoughts.”

  “Of what?” he asked, opening his eyes again.

  “Kaatje. Soren. Tora. Us.” She lay back and looked up at the ceiling, visualizing each face as she mentioned the names.

  “There is little you can do for Kaatje and Soren. They must make their own way.”

  “I know, but she is due soon and so far away. And Tora…what will she do? She has not even spoken to Kris yet about her … indisposition. Who will care for her and the children? It won’t be me. But how can I turn away? Unless …”

  “What?”

  “Unless I take her babe to sea with me.” She sat up again and studied him intently. “I still want to go with you come spring, Peder.”

  Peder frowned and pulled his hand away. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran his hand through his unruly hair. “It is only December, Elsa,” he said tiredly. “All of this is conjecture. Let’s cross our bridges when we get to them, eh?” He glanced over his shoulder at her.

  She sighed and looked back at him. “All right. When we get to them. But hear me when I say this, Peder. You will not order me to stay at home again. If we come to that decision mutually, all right. But I will not be commanded like a sailor on your ship.”

  Peder rose, angered at Elsa’s open defiance. But when he looked at her, his heart softened. She was beautiful in her simple night shift, looking more like a girl than a grown woman. Her hair fell down over each breast in golden waves, and her eyes were larger than usual as she dared to meet his gaze. His heart nearly tore in two at the thought of leaving her again. And she did really love the sea and was doing more and more painting. Getting quite good at it, in his opinion. Other captains brought their entire families with them, but taking Tora’s child was a whole other matter. His thoughts flew to the father. Peder dearly desired the chance to beat Soren Janssen to a pulp. It would kill Elsa if she knew.r />
  “She hasn’t told Kristoffer yet?” he asked.

  Elsa sighed. “I told her she had to tell him within the month or I would do so myself. Honestly, dealing with her is like dealing with a child. I feel like a parent.”

  “A mischievous child with child.”

  “Yes. She is not equipped to raise her own son or daughter. It would be a travesty to turn our heads.”

  “But you’ve said yourself that the only way Tora will learn will be to face the consequences of her actions.”

  “But then I wonder if that is fair, considering her allegations against whoever … forced himself upon her.”

  “I vacillate over the decision as well,” Peder said, pacing, “but truth be known, I doubt the girl’s story.”

  “True …” Elsa muttered.

  “Has she come right out and asked you to take the child?”

  “In so many words. It’s part of what irks me—she assumes I will, absolving her of all her problems. She’s acting quite odd. I don’t know if she’ll even remain in Camden for the duration of her pregnancy if I refuse the baby. Her obligation to Kristoffer is up this month.”

  “Where would she go?”

  “I don’t know. She has little or no money.”

  “I cannot imagine her here, Elsa.”

  “Peder, she is family.”

  He looked at her quickly. If Tora was in the house, then perhaps it would be better for Elsa and him to leave together on the Sunrise. Then the girl could find her own way, and they would be spared the pain of watching her. But there was time enough to tell Elsa that he might allow her to sail with him. For now, they would simply agree to disagree until he felt some peace about the decision.

  It was mid-December before Tora finally found the courage to tell Kristoffer. With each passing day, it became clearer that Kris felt something for her, and she knew he would not take the news well. She chose to do it in the evening when the boys were in bed and Kristoffer was preparing to leave for the mold loft where he slept.

  “Kristoffer, wait. There’s something I need to speak to you about.”

  He turned to her, his eyes soft in the warm light cast by the fire. He had a hopeful expression on his long face as he took two steps toward her. In his hands he twisted his hat. “There is something I’ve wanted to say to you, too, Tora.”

  “Wait,” she said, holding up her hand and sitting on the edge of the rocking chair by the fire. “Let me talk first. I don’t believe you will have much to say to me afterward.”

  Outside the rain began pounding on the roof in earnest, with drops that sounded the size of marbles.

  “If this is about you leaving at month’s end—” he began, sitting on a stool near her.

  “No,” she interrupted. “This is about you and me. These have been better months than I expected, Kris. You have been kind to me. But I will go at the end of the month.”

  “You don’t have to. You could stay—”

  “No. I will go,” she rushed on. “You see, Kris … I’m expecting a baby.”

  His mouth dropped slightly, and even in the dim light, Tora could see him blanch. He shook his head then placed his head in his hands. “I have been so stupid,” he said. “It was right in front of me all along.”

  Disbelief turned to anger, and he rose, pointing his finger at her. “I was beginning to care for you. But you are … You’re nothing but a little …”

  She jumped to her feet, immediately defensive in the face of his growing fury. “What? What were you going to call me, Kristoffer? Did you ever stop to think that I was wronged? Hurt? Taken without my consent?” Righteously indignant, Tora was beginning to believe her own story.

  The words hung in the air between them for several moments. Then Kristoffer’s brow furrowed further, and his eyes darkened. “Out,” he said in a low voice. “Get out. Consider our deal done.”

  Tora shrank against her chair. He expected her to go out into that rain? Into the night?

  “Out!” He stepped toward her and gripped her arm, painfully pulling her to her feet. He dragged her to the door and, grabbing a shawl from the peg by the door, shoved it into her hands. “You can come back for your things tomorrow, but you will not spend another night under my roof.”

  With that he cast her out, shutting the door behind her.

  Tora scowled, enraged that he could treat her so after all she had done for him and the boys. And in the rain! Quickly she raised the shawl over her head, but she was soaked in seconds. She had not anticipated his reaction. She had not even had time to tell him her story, to win his support! If Elsa and Peder had believed her, surely she could have convinced Kris. But he had appointed himself judge and jury! And he called himself a Christian…

  Fury and confusion soon brought her to tears. Pride kept her from pounding on his door or going to her sister. She needed time to think. But where?

  A light at the top of the hill shone like a beacon to a lost ship. Karl. Maddening as he was, he would not turn away a hysterical, wet woman from his door. She looked over to Bessie and Richard’s home to her left, and to the right, at Bjorn’s and Mikkel’s houses. All were dark. Karl it is, she decided.

  Karl was sitting by the fire, sleepily reading The American by Henry James, when the knock sounded at his door. It so surprised him that he was instantly awake and on his feet. He had not anticipated Tora, but there she was, weeping, soaked, and hysterical. She looked up at him through her long lashes, and her blue eyes drew him in. If he stared at those eyes long enough, he could pretend she was Elsa. As if in a dream, she rushed into his arms, and he awkwardly embraced her.

  Her cold, small body saturated his own clothes, and Karl backed away from her.

  “Come in, Tora,” he said grimly, gesturing toward the fire. “You’re soaked.”

  “He threw me out! Out into the rain!” she sobbed, taking his chair by the fire.

  It was so cold out, Karl had thought the rain might turn to snow by morning, and Tora only had a wet dress and shawl about her. She shook so fiercely that after a moment he grew concerned.

  “You must get out of those wet clothes. Go into the bedroom, wrap yourself in the blanket from my bed, and come back to the fire. I’ll pour you some tea.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice shaking from the tremors that racked her body.

  In a moment she returned, her bare neck and shoulders peeking out from the blanket. Karl averted his eyes. Whatever had pushed Kristoffer to do this to her must have been fierce, and Karl refused to be taken in by her.

  “Why don’t you tell me about it,” he said, as if speaking to a child.

  “There’s nothing to tell! The man’s a tyrant!” Her hand trembling, she raised the tin cup to her lips and sipped the hot tea.

  “I don’t believe you, Tora. Kris is one of the most levelheaded men I know. Now what did you do?”

  Tora gave him a malevolent look and stared back at the fire. She raised her chin.

  Here it comes, Karl thought, a bit amused by her antics. At least it provided some distraction from his long, lonely evening.

  But she did not have the chance to say a word. A pounding at the door stopped her, and she looked fearfully over her shoulder.

  “Kris?” Karl asked her calmly, raising one eyebrow. He sauntered over to the door and opened it. Kristoffer stood in the doorway, rain dripping off his soaked hat and onto his oilskin coat.

  “Karl,” he said with a brief nod. “I’m looking for Tora. We had an argument and …”

  His voice trailed as Karl stepped aside, letting him view Tora before the fire. Too late, Karl realized what Kris would see: Tora’s naked shoulders above a blanket. With a roar, Kristoffer charged him, tackling him to the ground and taking the wind out of him. Kris punched him before he could regain his equilibrium, but Karl caught Kris’s next fist.

  “Wait! It’s not what you think!”

  “It is! I’ve seen enough—”

  “Kris! She came to me soaked and shivering. She had
to get out of her wet clothes. We were only talking.”

  Kristoffer looked from him to Tora, who now stood by her chair watching them as if they were a stage show. “Is that true?”

  She nodded, seemingly speechless for once.

  Kris, obviously feeling like the village idiot, rose and helped Karl to his feet. “I … I am sorry,” he said, clearly miserable.

  “No worry,” Karl said, massaging his sore jaw. “Tora just seems to bring out the best in people.”

  Together they looked at her, and she raised her nose in the air. “If you think I am going home with you, Kristoffer Swenson, you have another think coming.”

  “Tora, I … uh … I was unfair. I should have let you tell me how it happened.”

  “How what happened?” Karl asked.

  “How she …” he began, but then, embarrassed, refused to say more.

  “How I became pregnant,” Tora said defiantly. She stared at Kris then at Karl. “A man took advantage of me aboard the Herald.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away. “But my agony’s not over, is it? I still have the trial of a situation like this to bear over and over again. How am I going to live? What will become of my child?”

  Kristoffer’s jaw worked as he made his way over to the sobbing girl, while Karl put two and two together. Tora pregnant. The Herald. Soren Janssen. It all figured, and Karl said a quick prayer for them all. God help them, this was a mess. And Kris believed her story.

  Karl felt torn, not knowing what to do. Tora looked up at him with those big blue eyes that sent him careening back to thoughts of Elsa, clearly begging him not to say more. And Kris … well, Kristoffer needed her. He needed a wife and a mother for his children. And Tora, since Soren was another’s husband, needed a father for her child. Maybe if they married, it would be the best solution for all. So he kept his mouth shut as the two spoke quietly by the fire.

  They left together moments later after Tora had put on her wet dress in the bedroom while Kris once again made his apologies for jumping to conclusions. As Karl shut the door behind them, he said another prayer of thanks that it was not he who was mixed up with the girl.