“Adolfo!” the other sailor returned.
“Well then, Adolfo,” she said, settling him back onto the blanket, “I think that is all I can do for you.” She swaddled him in another blanket, then placed a hand lightly on his forehead. “Father God, I ask that you bring your healing presence to this ship and keep Adolfo safe in your arms. Restore his health, Jesus. In your blessed name I pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” Tobias said from the doorway. He watched her with something akin to awe on his face. “Ain’t nobody ever prayed over me like that, ma’am.”
“Ever had such a nasty accident as Adolfo?” she asked, rising and coming over to examine his arm.
“No, ma’am. This is about as bad as I’ve had it.”
She studied his arm, the awkward tilt of a bone in his forearm as it protruded at the break, making a huge lump under the skin. “I assume we must get that bone back in line in order to set it,” she said to Tobias. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach.
“Yes ma’am.”
“How do you want to go about it?”
“Any way you see fit, ma’am.”
“All right. It would be better on a hard surface. Why don’t you stretch out by Adolfo in the study? That way, if you pass out, I will not have to move you, and you’ll be warm. Just a minute. I will get another blanket for the floor.”
“You needn’t—”
“Nonsense, Tobias. You deserve a little pampering,” she said, giving him a sad smile. She felt like an executioner marching a prisoner toward the noose. She would soften the blow as much as possible. He followed behind her like an obedient child, lying down on the rough wool blanket when she waved toward it.
She knelt beside him, bracing herself as the swells outside built to new heights. “Let’s get this over with before we cannot stay still long enough to do so.”
“Whenever you’re ready, ma’am.”
Elsa studied his beefy arm, looking at it from all angles before deciding on a course of action. Tobias never took his eyes from her.
“If you’ll permit me to say so, ma’am, it’s an honor to be attended by you.”
Elsa smiled at him. “Thank you, Tobias. But you may not say the same after I do what I must.”
He was silent as she traced over his skin with her fingers, gently probing. Deciding, she took his forearm in both of her hands, pushing down on the top protruding portion while pulling upward from the other side, farther down. Tobias howled. Elsa felt dizzy. After a moment, he opened his eyes. “Sorry about that, ma’am,” he ground out. “You did right. Cap’n got anything stronger in here than water?”
Elsa grimaced and shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Then how ’bout one of your prayers?” he asked woozily. “I could use a little sleep. Might feel … better when I wake up.”
“Certainly. Those I have in plentiful supply.” She prayed all the while she wrapped his arm in dress strips and sterling serving utensils. When she was done, he raised his head a bit to see it.
“Fanciest splint I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he mumbled, then passed out.
Peder had seen few storms as fierce as this one. He had passed the Horn twenty-two times in his years as a sailor, but this storm threatened his crew with plunging temperatures, frightening swells of sixty feet, and fearsome winds. All three hundred lines screamed like tortured animals, while the entire ship seemed to be bending, straining, groaning as it battled the heavy seas. He made his way toward the bow, wanting to make sure the anchor stayed lashed. In awe he watched as the bowsprit, normally fifty feet above the water, knifed through a rogue wave that caught them all unaware. The wave rose high above the deck, like a gigantic, angry grizzly on her hind feet.
Peder grabbed for the nearest lash and wrapped it around his waist, praying his frozen, stiff fingers could make fast the hitch knot before the wave enveloped him. He was just in time, sucking in a breath that held as much water as oxygen. He coughed violently, wondering if he would suffocate before the wave passed and he could again try for air.
After what seemed like minutes, his head emerged from the wave, his waist burning from the lash that held him fast to the mast against the wave’s tremendous force. He looked around, certain the Sunrise had capsized from the force of the wave, but God bless her, she was still upright. Awash, but upright. He felt a surge of pride that she was a Ramstad ship. His high feeling was short-lived.
“Man overboard!” Yancey was less than a foot away from Peder, but he screamed over the wind to be heard. Peder nodded and followed him amidships. A frightened boy clung to the safety netting over the port side, too terrified to move. Riley was making his way to him. Peder blinked against the spray, desperate for the men, knowing there was little time before another wave came and pulled them both over the side.
It was the look on the boy’s face that warned him another wave was upon them from behind, but it hit before he could brace himself again. He dived for the railing, holding on tightly, but the wave sucked him under, pulling him down the deck in a desperate rush past his own sailors.
Miraculously, two lashed-on sailors reached out from either side and clung to his jacket and waistband until the wave passed. With a low growl in his throat, he clambered to the edge and looked over the side. Riley hung by one leg from the netting. The boy was gone. Screaming his fury as if challenging the devil, Peder ran aft and, without another thought, jumped for the rigging above the net. Hand over hand, he made his way to the outermost part of the yard then hung like a circus acrobat on a swaying trapeze.
“Riley!” he screamed over the wind. “Riley!” He grabbed the lash hanging at his side, and unlooped it until it was full length, just barely reaching Riley’s waist. Beyond the mate, the waves swelled and passed his head like circling, curious sharks on the hunt. It was like looking at a man with one foot in the grave, not wanting to die but unable to see any alternative.
“Riley!” Peder screamed, salty spray filling his mouth. As if hearing the voice of God, Riley wearily looked his way. His eyebrows shot up, and he stretched for the lash. Reaching it, he pulled himself upright and back onto the netting. He glanced at Peder, communicating with him silently. They had but one chance before they were both dead men. He jumped upward, catching Peder’s hand.
The two swayed from the momentum and the force of gale winds. Sheer determination and brute strength kept them from letting go. Using Peder as a ladder, Riley pulled himself up over his captain, reached the yard and, hand over hand, made his way back to the ship. Peder followed him, and sailors handed them each a lash as yet another wave bombarded them.
When it was past, Riley leaned close. “I lost the boy!”
“But we did not lose you!” Peder returned.
“You abandoned ship!” Riley yelled, shaking his head in wonder. “I owe you my life!”
I could do little else, Peder thought grimly. What was he supposed to do? Sit there and watch as his first mate followed the boy into the swirling, deadly seas?
Peder ran astern, hoping to catch sight of the boy and throw him a line, but he saw nothing. The lad was gone and, in the cold waters and giant seas, as good as dead.
The next day the Sunrise sailed along at a good clip. About fourteen knots, if Elsa had counted them right as the sailors hauled the chip log aboard, measuring their speed. The storm was over, and once again the Sunrise had proven seaworthy. Unlike other captains, who considered a man overboard as yet another given of the trade to ignore, Peder led a short memorial service for Edmundo, the boy lost at sea. Elsa’s heart swelled with pride over her husband and his methods. His devotion to his crewmen earned him nothing but respect and a love that would have any of them giving his life to save his captain’s.
She supposed that that was why Riley had told her what Peder had done during the storm. Although Peder felt he had owed Riley a debt for saving the ship from the last storm and his wife from Stefan, Riley believed that Peder’s saving act was twice the job. Peder had laid aside his one duty as capta
in: to never abandon ship. He had risked all that he had worked for. Sailors needed to believe that their captain would always be there for them. Much as she had impulsively dived into that harbor in the Indies, so had Peder acted. Yet his act held a hundred times the ramification. Everyone on the ship knew it.
Prior to the memorial service earlier that morning after the storm was beaten and the Sunrise was on safe waters, Riley had thanked Peder. Elsa, bundled up, was at last allowed on deck and witnessed it all.
“Cap’n,” Riley said, approaching Peder and Elsa. “I owe you my life, sir.”
“Nonsense, man,” Peder said, shaking his head. “I did what any man would have done for you, yet ignored my duty to my ship. I take no pride in what was done.” He squared his shoulders and stared into the mate’s eyes. “We will not speak of it again. Tell the men. Not one word, ever again.”
Riley nodded once, understanding, as Peder walked off. Elsa had kept after Riley until he had told her all of it, leaving no detail to the imagination. Her heart pounded in fear for her husband, for Riley, for how close they had both come to following Edmundo’s path into the deep.
“I told you, missus, and now I will keep my promise to the Cap’n,” Riley said solemnly. “Do not ever tell ’im I told you about it. But to my mind, it is good for a wife to know of what stock her man is made. Our cap’n is a fine man.”
“I know, Riley. Do not worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
She looked after Peder, watching as he sighed heavily and looked out to sea. He would wrestle with his decision for years to come. But not one of his men would ever speak of it again.
Tora and Trent were invited to a harvest dance, but few involved had ever handled seed or rake, she mused. Not that she had either. She simply saw the irony of it all. It was like having a ship christening with no ship. Despite its ironic nature, and true to form for the Saint Paul upper class, the ball was at the Gutzian mansion and being given by people of discriminating taste. She mourned the fact that it would be her last in Saint Paul, yet did everything she could to hide it from her escort.
Trent had agreed to her plan, an unpleasant surprise, and was allowing her to go west. Why had he not reacted as she had anticipated? Tora was sure that her threat of going would make him propose. Perhaps he was bluffing, playing his last card. Perhaps when she actually stepped onto the Northern Pacific tomorrow, he would bend his knee and ask her to be his wife. Yes, that was it, she decided. Surely he did not intend to let her go. He simply was curious to see if she herself was bluffing.
Well, I’ll show him. I’ll go all the way to Montana Territory if I have to, to earn his respect. She found herself alternately excited and horrified at the idea. Tora could see herself doing as she had said to Trent, performing as liaison for Storm Enterprises in setting up new ventures in new towns. Yet she also had been reading dime novels of late, and Captives of the Wild Frontier, gunfighters, Indians, and the United States Cavalry filled her head. Was she prepared to face the dangers ahead? Part of Tora wanted to toss her head at the challenge—of course she could handle it; the other part made her toss and turn at night in her sleep, or lack thereof.
“Why, good evening, Mr. Storm,” said a coquettish blond as they passed.
“Good evening, Miss Grant,” Trent said benignly.
It had not taken long for Tora to notice that her beau drew the eye of every available young woman in the Twin Cities and beyond, nor that all those women looked down their noses at her. They hated her. Hated her for what they could not have. Trent Storm. Yet if he did not propose, did Tora truly have him? It nagged at her soul. Was she doing the right thing in leaving?
She looked up into his eyes as he whisked her onto the dance floor. The small orchestra, a tight group elegantly dressed for the occasion, played a lovely, soothing waltz. He held her so confidently, looked at her so intently, that Tora was able to think of no one else. What was this within her? She wondered at the feeling that made her at once sick to her stomach and high as a kite at simply being on Trent’s arm. It went beyond what she had once felt for Kristoffer. That was more like friendship. This was … She abruptly stepped away from him.
“What? What is it? You look pale, Tora.”
“Forgive me, Trent,” she said, as he led her off the dance floor. “I think I need to sit for a moment. Excuse me while I go find the ladies’ sitting room.”
“Certainly.”
What was wrong with her? she wondered as she left him. Perhaps she needed to eat. Knocking briefly at what she knew was a ladies’ lounge, Tora entered. Three young women looked up at her: Alicia Hall, Giselle Gutzian, and Audrey Campbell. Oh dear. She had stumbled into a private lounge, not the one most of the guests used. Alicia moved to block her view of the coffee table, but not before Tora saw a pile of white powder.
“Excuse me,” she said hastily. “I was in search of the ladies’ sitting room and the necessary.”
“In there,” Audrey said with a nod toward a door. Her eyes were hazy, as if she were sleepy.
Tora rushed past and closed the door. After pouring some water from a pitcher into the basin, she splashed her face, and felt a bit better. She stared at her features in the gilt-edged mirror, wondering what Trent saw in her. The girls outside were giggling, but Tora ignored them. She had to figure out what she was feeling. Was this love? She felt desperate to remain with Trent, but furious that he would let her go. It was more than what he could provide her, she decided with some surprise. It was the man himself. She was falling in love with Trent Storm!
Tora smiled and saw something in her eyes she had never seen before. Joy? Was this what she had been seeking all along? A knock startled her.
“Just a minute. I’ll be out shortly.” She opened her beaded purse and dabbed on some lip cream and powder. Then, taking a breath, she opened the door.
It was Alicia. Her eyes now held the same gauzy haze as Audrey’s.
“It’s all yours,” Tora said, brushing past to make her way out.
“No, you don’t,” Alicia said with a giggle. “We want some answers.”
Tora turned to face her. Alicia was about the same height. She felt the other young women come up behind her and felt trapped. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, relax, darling,” Alicia cajoled. “Why don’t you come on over here and share in the bounty first?” Her tone was light, inviting. Her words easy, if a bit slurred. Too much champagne? Tora wondered. She had been dying for a glass herself, but Trent was a teetotaler. Perhaps they had a bottle in here. No doubt the Gutzians had purchased only the finest from France.
Alicia led her by the elbow to the coffee table. Tora felt simultaneously suspicious and lured by the chance of sharing something with these women she wanted to befriend, not fight. She glanced at the white powder on the table, uneasy. “I really should get back to Trent.”
“Trent!” Audrey cackled. “Why, the matter must be very serious if you are on a first-name basis with Mr. Storm.”
“Of course it is,” Alicia answered. “Our little Tora Anders has snagged the heart of dear Trent. You must tell us how you’ve done it, Tora. We are amazed at your ability.”
Tora searched her face, but she seemed honestly interested.
“But first, to be a part of our circle, Tora, you need to partake.” Alicia handed her a sterling silver tube as if she knew what to do with it. Seeing Tora’s confusion, Alicia said generously, “Through the nose, darling. Take a big sniff of the laudanum up your nose. Inhale as deeply as you can. It will take care of your headache.”
“I do not have a headache,” Tora said. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she definitely did not have the upper hand. She looked around the room as if casting about for an anchor.
“Well, of course you don’t, silly,” Audrey said. “None of us had a headache either, and now we won’t until morning! Think of it as a precautionary measure.” She tilted her head down and giggled.
Audrey looked free, easy, happy. If all these fine
, upstanding women of society were doing it—whatever it was—why shouldn’t she? She had been trying to get in their good graces for months, and now they were welcoming her. She dipped her head and inhaled.
The powder burned as it entered her nostril, and she twitched her nose and shivered. That set the women to laughing hysterically. Within seconds, Tora felt lightheaded, free. She giggled along with them, and when Alicia gripped her arm, she did not pull away.
“Tell us,” Alicia said conspiratorially. “Tell us the truth, Tora. How did you come to Minnesota? And how did you snag Trent Storm? We want to know it all, darling. Start at the beginning. I bet it’s that adorable accent that got to him. Norwegian, isn’t it? Why, you sound just like my own beloved.”
A warning bell rang in Tora’s head from a great distance. But feeling as she did, nothing could hurt her, she decided. Suddenly she felt she had it all—wealth, beauty, and apparently, by their reaction, wit. She was welcome! She was a part of them. And so, Tora began to tell them her story as if she were speaking with her sisters, trying hazily to stick to the story she had told Trent.
Alicia sighed and snuggled closer to her on the love seat as if they were dear friends. “But before that, darling. Before that horrible disaster on the sea. You’re from Bergen, are you not? I believe you once knew my fiancé, Karl Martensen.”
What is the harm? Tora asked herself, having a more difficult time focusing by the minute. She giggled. “Of course. He was in love with my sister,” she said. She frowned as Alicia stood, her eyes narrowing. What had she said? Why was she so angry?
“Your sister …” she dimly heard Alicia repeating. “Well, isn’t that interesting?”
And then Tora fell into a blessed, deep sleep.
Karl approached the group of men encircled by a ring of smoke from their Turkish Orientals, the cigarette of choice. In their offices most seemed to chew tobacco, but the women preferred them to smoke in their presence rather than spit. Karl refused either form of tobacco, as well as the glass of Monongahela whiskey that John shoved into his hand.
Northern Lights Trilogy Page 33