Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “Stefan? Is not Riley more promising?”

  “Do not argue with me, Elsa. It is simply not done that way.”

  She stiffened beside him. “Do not treat me like one of your sailors.”

  Peder sighed. His head was beginning to throb. “It is my decision to make and my responsibility. Riley is a good man, but Stefan has rounded the Horn twice as many times.”

  Elsa, blessedly, was silent on the matter. “Get some rest,” she said curtly, covering his shivering body with the blankets. Within seconds he slept.

  Two weeks after leaving the West Indies, the Sunrise sailed into São Salvador, Brazil. It was a lively seaport town, but Elsa was in search of only one thing: a doctor. Peder grew more ill by the day, fading in and out of consciousness. She had done her best to tend to him, but knew he was in desperate straits.

  As they left the ship, Stefan and Riley walked on either side of her. Two other sailors walked behind, and both were armed. In a town of olive or dark-complected people, the sight of a fair-haired woman caused quite a stir. People reached out to her hair, and though the men batted their hands away, some still touched her. By the time they reached the center of town, Elsa’s chignon had come undone. Unable to pin it back up without the lost hairpins, she allowed her hair to fall over her shoulders.

  “You should always wear it down, Elsa,” Stefan said, looking at her boldly, open admiration on his face.

  Elsa frowned at the first mate’s familiarity. Riley scowled and stepped between them. “This way, Missus Ramstad.”

  They turned and walked down a narrow alleyway, led by a small, half-dressed boy who had been promised two bits if he would get them to a doctor. Peder was too ill to move, so they had no choice but to bring the doctor to him. Besides, who knew what other illnesses lurked in a poorly kept city such as this? Elsa refused to risk Peder getting a secondary infection.

  The boy paused in front of a doorway covered by a bright-colored cloth. He turned and grinned, holding out a hand for his reward.

  “Le’ me go in first, ma’am,” Riley said, stepping in front of her.

  He emerged minutes later, looking grim. He spoke in broken Portuguese to the boy. The boy nodded. Riley looked back at Elsa. “Only doc in town, I’m afraid.”

  Elsa took a deep breath and walked through the curtained doorway. Inside, people moaned from benches that lined the small, dimly lit room, and there was an awful stench. An old woman waved them into an inner room, and as they passed through into an open courtyard, Elsa felt some hope. But her hopes were soon dashed as Riley introduced the doctor. The man grinned, showing his few remaining, stained teeth. His fingernails were rimmed with dirt, and as he took her hand to kiss it, she had to fight the urge to yank it away. She must try to be gracious, for this man might be Peder’s only hope.

  Then she looked around, examining the room closely. There were dead cockroaches in the corner and mud on the stucco floor. The examination table had dried blood on it, and there were rusty instruments on a nearby table. Elsa looked no farther. “We’re leaving,” she announced.

  “Wait, Elsa,” Stefan said. “Maybe it’s not so bad if we remove the doctor from this place.”

  Elsa looked at Riley. “Ask him how he treats malaria.”

  The despicable doctor listened to Riley and reached for a mask and a rattling shaker then a jar of dried leaves.

  “Why, he … he is a witch doctor,” she said in disbelief. Suddenly the room felt closer, a sense of evil oppressing her heart. “We’re leaving. Now.” Without another word, she turned and walked out, hurrying, wanting to run.

  The men caught up with her outside in the alleyway. She took deep breaths, wanting to claw at her high-necked collar. Her heart was pounding with fear. Everything in her warned against this nasty, evil place.

  “He might be our only choice,” Stefan said.

  “He’s not much of a choice at all, in my opinion,” replied Riley, looking belligerently up at Stefan. “Let’s abide by the lady’s choice.”

  Stefan looked from Elsa’s determined face to Riley then shrugged. “Fine. If the Cap’n dies, it’s on your heads.”

  “Listen to me, Stefan,” Elsa said, infuriated at his insolence. “If I thought that man could help my husband, I would be the first to drag him to the Sunrise. But he’s a witch doctor. I can do better than that by simply looking at Cook’s books on doctoring.”

  “Fine,” Stefan said, offering his arm. “Now can we get you back to the ship?”

  “Fine,” Elsa said, ignoring his proffered arm and stepping forward.

  Riley left them three blocks later to search for fresh fruit, corn-meal, and fresh water. They still had quite a bit in supply, but since they were already here, he thought it best to restock. Stefan agreed and sent him away.

  As they resumed their walk, Stefan and the other two sailors again protecting Elsa from the crowd, Stefan looked at Elsa admiringly. “You’re not afraid?”

  “No,” she said, swatting at a hand on her shoulder, wincing as someone tugged at a lock of hair. “They are simply curious.”

  “You realize that if we were not here, you’d be carried off ?”

  She glanced at him and bristled, not liking what she saw in his eyes. He was looking at her as if he would like to carry her off. Was this what Peder had feared? That he might not be around to protect her from wanton sailors? Well, she could stand up for herself. After all, his best friend had kissed her! If she could deal with that, she could certainly fend off a few misguided souls. With this thought, an idea took root. A little Bible reading would do the whole crew some good! That would put a damper on this sinful mate’s wandering eyes!

  Within minutes, they reached the docks and their longboat. As the sailors rowed them away from shore, Elsa breathed a sigh of relief. They had not found a doctor, but they had at least returned safely. The sailors would return for Riley later and board with fresh fruit, which Elsa could grind up and spoon into Peder’s mouth. Also, she would reread Cook’s doctoring books to see if there was any remedy she had missed.

  Later that night, dressed in her nightgown, Elsa sat at the desk and struggled to read the dim letters on the yellowing pages of The Contemporary Medical Journals of John B. White. The flickering light of the kerosene lamp, the rocking of the boat, and Peder’s loud, rhythmic breathing soon lulled her to sleep, her head resting on her arms over the book.

  It was the creak of the door that awakened her. The lamp still burned, and she raised her head. Then she saw him. “Stefan! You frightened me! What is it?” she asked, pulling a shawl about her shoulders. “Is everything all right on the ship?”

  “Fine,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  He walked over to Peder, touching his forehead and shaking his shoulders. Her husband didn’t wake. “How long has he been unconscious?”

  “All day,” she said uncertainly. “What is it, Stefan? What do you want at this hour?”

  He turned to her, a slow smile forming. “Why you, of course.”

  “Pardon me?” Her heart stepped up to a staccato beat as he took one step toward her then another. Elsa stood and backed away. She raised her chin, trying to portray all of the courage that she could not find in her heart.

  “You were involved with our previous first mate, were you not? Why not be my companion?”

  “I was not! I do not know of what you speak!”

  He took another step toward her, and Elsa desperately thought of weapons she could reach to defend herself.

  “The captain turned a blind eye on you two on that island, but I did not. Karl wanted you for himself. I could see it in his eyes. You must have spurned him. That’s why he left.”

  “How dare you speak to me this way! I take offense at such audacity! First Mate Martensen saved me from the pirates. That is all.”

  Stefan’s angular face softened, and he raised his hands toward her in a conciliatory manner. His small eyes roamed over her then to Peder. “Come now, Elsa. We’re friends, right? Yo
ur husband is out cold. I thought you might need some comfort.”

  Elsa bumped into the far wall and edged back toward the desk. On it was a sharp letter opener beside her pen. “Get out, Stefan. You have misinterpreted past events and have made a fateful decision tonight. I am removing you as first mate.”

  “You cannot do that,” he said with derision. “You have no power.”

  She lunged toward the paper opener and quickly held it out like a knife. “I do. I am strong, not some waif waiting for you to take advantage of her. Riley!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

  In seconds, Riley and three others burst through the door. They studied Stefan and Elsa in wonder.

  “Stefan has made inappropriate advances on the captain’s wife,” she said with shaking authority. “Put him in chains. I am removing him as first mate and taking charge of this ship. You, Riley, will be my first mate.”

  Riley paused for a moment, a slow smile taking over his face. He sheathed a knife that Elsa saw for the first time, then turned to the others. “You ’eard the cap’n! Put the man in chains.”

  Stefan looked at her with a combination of shock, dismay, and malice. “You will need me around the Horn. Nobody’s done the Horn as many times as I. You’ll need me!” he yelled as they led him away.

  Trembling, Elsa sank into her chair. Riley watched respectfully from the door. “One adventure after another, eh missus?” he cajoled, as though trying to ease her fears.

  “Yes, Riley. One adventure after another. Let’s review our course first thing in the morning, all right? I want you to teach me more about charting. I think I’m getting rather good at it,” she said.

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n,” he said jovially. Then softer he added, “Get some rest, eh missus?”

  “Yes, Riley,” she said. “And Riley?”

  “Aye?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  the sorrowing spirit sings

  April–November 1881

  With the early spring thaw came renewed health for Christina and an uneasy truce between Kaatje and Soren. Believing that they would make good money on their combined parcels of land, Soren had purchased a pair of oxen by paying down a little and securing a note for the rest. This debt made Kaatje nervous, but Soren seemed to know what he was doing and would tolerate little argument from her anyway. Wanting to live in peace, Kaatje elected to say nothing.

  With Christina strapped to her chest in a sling, Kaatje hoed the soil to plant a garden. She enjoyed being outdoors, with the aroma of freshly tilled soil and the sight of Soren in the distance, clearing the land. He had insisted on tilling their new land first, and Kaatje agreed. If ultimately they could only hold on to one homestead or the other, she would prefer the new lot with the clapboard shack rather than their original quarter of land with the dirt-floored soddy. This section also had the creek nearby and the barn.

  Old Lady Engvold had sniffed when she stopped by that morning, intoning that the previous Norwegian homesteaders had been driven out by their own greedy foolishness. “If they had started with a dugout or a soddy,” she said, “They would still be here.”

  “It is my gain,” Kaatje said, trying to maintain her jovial mood.

  “Drafty, though, isn’t it?”

  “A bit more than the soddy. But it has a better roof—and a floor. I have much to be thankful for.”

  “ To each his own,” Old Lady Engvold said, flicking the reins over her horse’s back. “Another day,” she said.

  “Another day,” Kaatje mumbled, forcing herself to wave. Why did the old woman have to be so grim?

  She thought back over the encounter as she hacked and pulled at the dark soil. Perhaps the old woman was lonely, bitterly lonely, after the winter. Still it was spring, time to leave winter’s shadows behind. Kaatje looked across the field, shielding her eyes as the baby stirred against her. The late afternoon sun cast Soren’s form in silhouette. She, too, would leave her winter shadows behind, Kaatje thought.

  April had been an exhausting month. Blisters upon blisters swelled on Soren’s hands even though he wrapped them in rags. Thirty acres had been cleared by fire, rocks had been stacked into neat piles at the corners of their property, and the land plowed. Tomorrow Soren would begin working the soil down with the disc and drag behind the oxen, while Kaatje followed behind with a sack of grain, broadcasting the seed.

  When all the clearing and planting was finished, it would be time to begin the process of putting up hay. By fall they would have ten head of cattle, according to Soren’s plans, and needed as much of the rich prairie grass as they could put up to feed them through the winter.

  Despite this backbreaking, agonizing work, Soren still had the energy to pace after dinner. Most nights, he would take a lantern out to the barn, bring out their weary oxen, and plow until he could not stand. Tonight, however, Soren paced back and forth in their small house, too weary to plow, too agitated to sit. His steps made the floorboards creak, making it difficult for Kaatje to concentrate on her hardunger. She looked up from her needlework to watch him, until he caught her gaze.

  Tears threatened. It was happening again, just like in Bergen. Kaatje knew the signs: boredom, agitation, restlessness. Soren gradually would become short with her, pacing their home like a lion at the Bergen zoo.

  “What?” he asked, obviously itching for an argument.

  “Nothing.” She returned to her needlework. Christina rustled in her cradle then settled down again. Beside Kaatje, a fire crackled in the stove, sending out a comforting heat, for the spring evenings were cool. Still Soren paced.

  Kaatje was fearful, wondering who his next conquest would be. Claire Marquardt? She hoped not, for it might kill Fred to find out. Or maybe Fred was like Kaatje, so used to his spouse’s indiscretions that it almost felt routine, this pattern of straying and remorse and forgiveness.

  “I have to leave, Kaatje.”

  Her eyes flew up to meet his. “Wh-what?”

  “I have to leave. I’ve been thinking. It is the only way. The railroads are paying so well that if I go and work for them for a few months, we’ll have enough to really make our way at this.”

  “What are you talking about? We have enough seed, don’t we?”

  “Yes, but as I figure it, only for about forty acres.”

  “But you have only cleared thirty. One man can’t be expected to do more than that.”

  He walked over and knelt beside her. “You are thinking small, elske. I want to be big, a grand farmer, not some two-bit immigrant. I want to show Old Lady Engvold that I’m not as foolish as the previous homesteaders. I want to pay off the oxen and buy you a matched span of geldings to pull a new carriage. I want to tear this cold house down and build you a snug log home. To do that I need better equipment and money to hire out some work. And I’ve been thinking—with the contacts I could make on the railroad, I could find a better deal on our cattle.”

  Kaatje felt as if the air had been driven from her. “Just what have you been told you could earn?”

  “A good bit. Enough to hire out some work and put away some money for next year’s crop. As I figure it, we could plant sixty acres next year and buy a cradle and scythe to cut hay. No more sickle. Who knows? Maybe I could even convince others to go in on a threshing machine. We would save so much if we didn’t have to hire it out. Lots of farmers about these parts do it, Kaatje. It is the way they make it.”

  Rage built in Kaatje’s chest, and when she stood, she was shaking. “We are finally home, Soren. Together. Alone. And you cannot stand it!”

  “I never said such a thing!”

  “You intend to leave me all summer?”

  Soren was on his feet now, scowling at her. “It would not be all summer—”

  “How long?”

  “Just until July. I will be home for harvest.”

  “Well, that’s a relief !” Kaatje said, tossing up her hands. She wondered at the tone of sarcasm in her voice. “I was worried you
would leave that to me and Christina.” Soren’s face grew darker, but Kaatje could not curb her anger. “How do I know this is not a ruse?”

  “A ruse?” Soren asked in a low voice.

  “An excuse to find some other woman. How do I know you’ll return?”

  Soren’s face grew red as the fury took over, “I intend to go and earn money so I can make a better life for you and my child, and what do I get? Not the respect and love and gratitude that I expect,” he spat out, “but blind accusations and disrespect! Everything I have done,” he said, shaking a finger at her, “I have done for you.”

  “Including Laila? And all the others? How about Claire Marquardt?” The words were out before she could stop them. Suddenly she felt empty, yet relieved of her burden.

  Soren raised his hand, threatening to hit her, and Kaatje cowered. His own motion, and her reaction, seemed to anger him more. Without saying another word, he turned on his heel and left the house.

  It was with some relief that Tora received a second letter from Storm Enterprises at the end of April. She reread the return address, repeating Trent Storm’s name over and over. His writing was masculine, strong but clear, and Tora envisioned him as a savior from her desperate circumstances. Her baby, Jessica, for once was utterly at peace as she napped in the old pram. Tora ignored the maternal pride that swelled in her heart at caring for her own flesh and blood, concentrating on the fact that the child and the boys held her from what she wanted, truly wanted. She frowned down at the three of them.

  Lars was on her hip, and Knut was teasing him, pinching his toes until he shrieked. She batted Knut’s hands away. “Stop it,” she told him firmly then looked up at the postmistress, Judy Gimball. Her hands had shaken as she accepted the letter from the nosy woman, who always looked at Tora as if she wore a scarlet A on her breast. Along with all the other townspeople. She was sick of Camden, sick of them. Tora quickly turned to leave.

  Unable to walk all the way home and not know what Mr. Storm had to say, she stopped in front of the mercantile and sat on the front stair. “Go choose a candy for yourself and for Lars,” she directed Knut, and with a whoop, he went dashing into the store. She opened the letter, which was written on fine stationery, giving the envelope to Lars to distract him, and wiped the perspiration from her forehead.