“That explains all sails set,” Riley said, chewing thoughtfully. “You might’ve let me—”
“Peder,” Elsa interrupted, “we cannot live in fear of the man. It is one thing to avoid Dutton, another to run from him. Let us go to the authorities.”
“I am still mulling it over. I’m not afraid to tell you that the uniform throws me off. Now, he might be an impostor, or he might be the genuine article. Perhaps he’s even a decorated officer. This far from home, who would the authorities listen to?”
“Well, at least we three could identify him. Why not take him on? It is unlike you to run from a fight.” The words were out before she could stop them.
“I cannot explain it. I could find no peace over the idea of staying in Hawaii and confronting the …” he paused, glancing at Kristian, “and all I could think of was how I nearly lost you to his henchmen on that island, and how I now have two of you to protect.”
Elsa was silent, considering his dilemma. The drama of that West Indies night when Mason Dutton and his men attacked the Herald came flooding back. Mason Dutton and his crew had swarmed the Herald, weapons drawn, in a brazen attempt to take over the ship and kidnap Elsa. Peder had indeed nearly lost her; he had lost his best friend, Karl Martensen, in the process. She could understand Peder’s urge to flee rather than fight in Hawaii. But how long would it haunt them?
“What do you think he has up his sleeve? Do you believe he was an officer five years back?” Riley was asking Peder.
“I have no idea. I am all at sea,” he said, using the common sailor’s expression for confused. “If he was an officer for the Royal Navy, why were he and his entire crew in civilian clothes?”
“On leave?” Riley asked.
“Perhaps. But for what period of time could he manage that? And his ship was not Navy issue.”
“So he became an officer since that time.”
“It might be.” Peder took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “For a man like Mason, it would increase the stakes. He likes the game, more than anything. It’s all like a grand chess match.”
“Mama, I want more beans,” Kristian said, ignoring the conversation around him.
Elsa served him, resisting the urge to encourage the child to say “please.” “I still think we should confront Dutton if we see him again. This cannot go on forever. And what purpose would it serve for him to come after us? He tried before and lost. Why would he not go after easier prey?” Elsa put in.
“Because the pot got sweeter,” Riley said, staring into Peder’s eyes as if understanding what he was thinking. “Forgive me, ma’am, for saying it this way, but there’s you, a grand fish that got away, and then there’s Peder, who made Dutton turn tail and run. Neither sits well with a man.”
“We didn’t exactly defeat him. He left us wounded and got away!”
“There is no pride in that,” Peder said. “There is pride only in victory for such a man as he.”
Elsa sighed and set down her fork. “I refuse to run from him.”
“We will run until I decide what to do,” Peder said firmly.
“There are ways—” Riley began.
“None of which are appropriate to our ways,” Peder interrupted. “I appreciate your impulse, Riley,” he said more gently, “for I would like to throttle him myself. But I need to wait on the Lord for his way in this.”
Fearful once again, Elsa bowed her head and stared at her plate. In all the time she had known Peder, there were few times when he was not confident about his next move. As much as she hated arguing with him—oftentimes finding him bullheaded and unwilling to consider her viewpoint—it gave her confidence to see such assuredness in his own mind. To see her husband falter made her heart skip a beat.
She glanced over at Peder’s desk, at the nautical book, knowing her hidden article about Mason was beneath. Perhaps it was just the answer for them. If they could not take on Mason Dutton themselves, the public could do it for them.
Days later, confident in her decision, Elsa finished her article on Mason Dutton. Perhaps now she could put the scoundrel out of her mind for good. Peder would be furious with her at first, but it would be months before the article appeared, and probably weeks after that before Peder would get wind of it. By then, Elsa hoped the authorities would have taken appropriate action to bring the man to justice—and save her marriage from too much strife. Why, this was exactly the reason that Peder still lobbied to keep her and Kristian ashore. She would not back down now!
She smiled as she tucked Kristian in for the night and donned her cloak for a stroll on deck. They had made land way down west that afternoon, and she hoped for another glimpse of Japan by moonlight. She was not disappointed.
Riley joined her at the lee bow rail. “That point there,” he said, raising a finger to the horizon, “that’s Omae Saki.”
“Saki means cape, correct?”
“Aye,” Riley said, a note of pride in his voice. “Been studying the language, ma’am?”
“A few words in Japanese Words and Phrases for the Use of Strangers.”
“A good resource,” Riley said. “Still thinkin’ about traveling about a bit?”
“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. “Oh, Riley,” she said, gripping his arm. “Look at that!” She pointed at a reflection in the sky, like a cloud of smoke with fire glowing in the midst of it. “Is it a volcano?”
Riley chuckled. “Fusi Yama. It’s still ’bout a hundred miles off. But she’s a sight. Half of her is crowned in snow. I think it’s but the moonlight reflecting off of that snow, not fire.”
“I can see why the Japanese carve its image on everything possible.” She had seen it on the many pieces of furniture and curios that Peder had brought back in years past. “She must be quite a sight by morning light.”
“She’s quite a sight now,” Riley said. He brought fingertips to his cap brim and nodded once at her. “G’night, ma’am.”
“Good night, Riley.”
“Ma’am.” Riley hesitated a moment. “If you wish to take an excursion while we’re here, I’d be happy to escort you if the cap’n isn’t available.”
“Thank you, Riley.” As Riley left, she stared off at Fusi Yama, considering her article and drawings in their room, already packaged and ready to post. If only God could send the northern lights here, to this foreign land, as a sign that all was right with her decision! That she wasn’t causing more trouble for Peder. All at once, she longed for her father, for home, for the secure. To be able to trust in his wisdom instead of her own. But she was an adult now. And while she missed the security of her father’s protection, she also knew she was a woman who wasn’t afraid to take risks, to find new adventures. She thrilled at the sight of a land never seen before, waiting to be explored. And explore it she would.
In typical Victorian fashion, Elsa attacked exploration like a new business venture. She had read many books that had exhorted their readers to work at the experience, to truly study the people and places, and come away richer for it. So her sketch book was constantly out as she captured one scene after another. She considered herself fortunate that Kuma, her Japanese guide, was as adept at entertaining Kristian as she was at helping Elsa discover new and fanciful corners of the city. By week’s end, she had seen much of Yokohama, and had made several important new friends. One family had even invited her and Peder to stay with them at their mountain home.
She was just completing an article for the Times when Peder came in, sighing heavily. “Seven weeks!” he said, obviously disgruntled. “How can it possibly take seven weeks for a vessel to discharge her cargo?” He sat down at his desk and opened his logbook, obviously disgusted. “I do not wish to trade here too often,” he said.
Elsa set aside her lap desk and went over to him, placing her arms around his neck. She kissed his ear. “You need to get away. Off this ship. Come with us. We’ve been invited to a lovely mountain home by a fine family. It will do you good.”
“I cannot, Elsa. Who w
ill see to the business at hand?”
Rebuffed, Elsa let her arms slide away and stood up stiffly. “Riley. Your first mate. You remember, the man who should be taking care of such things while his captain embraces life with his family? He works for you, Peder. Why not let him do his job? It must drive him crazy, having you in the midst of it all, meddling.”
Peder was silent for a moment, and Elsa took a breath, wondering if she had overstepped her bounds. But then his shoulders began to shake and laughter followed. He turned and smiled at her, then rose to take her in his arms. “Elsa, Elsa. What would I do without you?”
Kristian emerged from his room, wiping his eyes as he struggled to awake from his nap. He ran to them and Peder picked him up, nestling the boy between them. “Hi, Papa,” was all he said.
“I hear we’re taking a trip together,” Peder said, looking Elsa in the eye.
“To the mountains?” Kristian asked, wide-eyed.
“To the mountains,” Elsa said, smiling.
They left the following day. Elsa waited in an open carriage with Kristian as she watched Peder giving Riley last-minute instructions in apparent detail. She could tell that Riley struggled to remain patient with his captain as Peder went on and on. She pulled out the pocket watch from his coat on the seat beside her and called to him. “Peder!”
He glanced her direction and, seeing the watch, nodded once. Thank goodness they needed to catch a train to Tokyo, or Peder would talk all day. She exchanged a glance with Kuma, who struggled to keep Kristian in the carriage. “Peder!” she called again.
He turned away from Riley a moment later and hurried down the gangplank. “All right, all right,” he said, climbing in and taking a delighted Kristian to his knee. “Let us get to the train station!” It seemed to Elsa that time rushed by as they boarded for their short one-hour train ride and then their journey on the jinrikishas up the bumpy path of Mount Atago. How good it felt to be away from the water and with her family! Even Peder seemed to relax as the hours and miles melted away thoughts of the case oil, still languishing in the hold.
“We are here,” Kuma said over the edge of her jinrikisha to Elsa and Peder as they turned off the main road and down a thickly wooded path. The girl was not more than twenty, and dressed in the common kimono, rather than the more popular Western dress. Elsa appreciated that although Kuma had been educated and earned a good wage as translator and guide, she had not rejected her Japanese heritage.
The Saitos were a wealthy family, and their mountain home sat amid impeccably kept grounds. A lush lawn set off groomed trees as the forest grudgingly gave way to the property’s borders of precisely placed stones in a wall of about three feet in height. Here and there the hot pinks of lotus blossoms in bloom and the deep purple of another flower caught Elsa’s eye. As they drew closer to the house, the garden became more dense and sculpted, with waterfalls cascading into delicate pools and tiny plantings. Peder smiled at Elsa and nodded. “Incredible.”
She could only nod in agreement.
“I would wager you’re thinking about your canvas and oils.”
“Or at least my sketch book. Oh, Peder, I could spend days here.”
He smiled and placed an arm around her. “We’ll stay as long as we are welcome.”
The Saitos were gracious hosts, attending to the Ramstads’ every need: taking their shoes when Elsa, Peder, and Kristian entered their beautiful home; offering countless cups of tea; and giving them a detailed tour of the estate, explaining through their translator not only the uses and names of the things they saw but the fascinating history of their ancestral home. By early evening, Elsa and Peder felt at home. After a traditional Japanese dinner, and stilted but eager conversation through Kuma, the families said their good nights.
Mrs. Saito’s final gift to Elsa that evening was a nod toward the bathhouse. Urged by her gentle gesticulations, Elsa slid open the surprisingly sturdy door of rice paper, and followed a rounded stone path through a heavily shrouded garden. There, in the midst of a smaller private garden, surrounded by high walls covered in fragrant flowering vines, was a tall redwood tub, steaming in dusk’s waning light. Four servants emptied their last offerings to the tub and bowed toward Elsa, excusing themselves.
One waited until the others left, and then gestured toward a changing screen and a silk robe hanging over its edge. Unable to deny herself the luxury, Elsa eagerly moved forward and accepted the woman’s help in removing her gown and corset. She hoped Peder and Kristian would not miss her. Just a half-hour in the steaming water would do her a world of good, she thought. The smoke from the train, the dust from the mountain road, sweat from the excessive heat over the last days—all would melt away in that wonderful tub!
She expected the servant to disappear when she moved toward the redwood tub, but instead she moved to pick up lush towels from a nearby bench and place them on the edge. Then, ceremoniously, she lit three candles in delicate torches, casting a soft glow across the sanctuary. Lastly, she raised a bottle and sprinkled five droplets of a rich, fragrant oil into the tub. Only then did she nod at Elsa and excuse herself. Smiling, Elsa moved forward, disrobing and sliding into the hot cauldron. How long it had been since she had had the opportunity to bathe in such luxury! Shipboard, they were reduced to sponge baths and, when she could manage it, perhaps a basin of two inches. This, this was heaven.
She did not know how long she soaked there, letting the warm waters soothe away aches and pains, when she heard a snap and crackle of leaves underfoot. Her eyes widened, and she whirled in the tub, terrified that Mr. Saito or some servant might unknowingly enter the bathing garden and embarrass them both. Out of the shadows came a man, and Elsa’s heart stopped momentarily.
It was Peder. A slow smile spread across his face, his teeth white in the glow of the lanterns. “I knew I was right to let you talk me into this,” he said softly.
Elsa smiled back, feeling mischievous. “You’ll probably want to bathe too.”
“Already done it. While you were escorted here, and Kristian to his bunk, Mr. Saito and I shared a pipe and then a steam bath. A brisk splash in the stream finished our manly bathing task.” He drew nearer, picking up a bar of soap from the bench. “Your hair?”
Elsa smiled again. “That would be divine. The perfect end to the perfect day.” She settled back against the side of the tub as Peder soaped up his hands and then scrubbed her scalp until there was a thick lather. Then he let his fingers massage the long tendrils, working his way out to the ends and letting the bubbles drop into the water in thick globs. For fifteen minutes he worked on her hair, almost putting his wife to sleep. She breathed deeply, just thinking about the pleasure of giving in to dreams right then and there, when he dunked her.
She came up, sputtering. “Well, thank you very much.”
“Needed a rinse. Oh. Still some more.” He dunked her again.
This time she came up splashing. He laughed, wiping the water from his face. “I suppose I deserve that.” He leaned closer to her, resting his chin on his hands as he stared over the edge into her eyes. “I do love you, Elsa Ramstad.”
“And I you, Peder Ramstad.”
“You are the finest thing I have ever been given in life. I treasure you. You know that, right?”
“Most of the time,” she said. “When you are not obsessing over the ship.”
“I will try not to obsess too often.” He leaned closer and gave her a long, tender kiss. It was a moment Elsa knew she would never forget.
“As long as you steal away with me to mountain cottages once in a while,” she said, still closing her eyes, relishing the memory of their kiss, “you may obsess once in a while.”
“That’s good to know,” he said, smiling. He rose and opened up a towel. “Now, shall we retire?”
“I suppose,” she said reluctantly. “As enticing as you are, husband, it is tough to leave this bath. Do you think we could bring it aboard?”
“Right,” Peder said. “I can just see Riley�
�s face now.”
Elsa giggled. “Or Cook’s. Can you imagine how many pots he would have to boil to fill this up?”
“I’m afraid it will have to be a fond memory. Come now. I’ll brush out your hair.”
His promise brought her out of the water, and Peder surrounded her with the huge towel. “I think it’s Egyptian,” he commented, fingering the lush cotton.
“A Norwegian woman in an Egyptian towel, surrounded by an exotic Japanese mountain bath. Quite the globetrotters we are.”
“Aye. Come, wife. We might be far from home, but my mind is on hearthside matters.”
Elsa smiled. “Coming, husband.”
three
Kaatje kissed her sleeping girls and pulled the rough wool blanket to their chins. Despite the heat of the summer days, the night temperature dipped and grew chilly, oftentimes enough to warrant a fire in the hearth. Tonight Kaatje could have gone either way with the fire, but she was feeling lonely and wanted the cheery crack and snap, as well as the light, to keep her company. She sat staring into the flames for a long time, thinking about Soren, remembering the tilt of his nose, the sparkle in his blue eyes. What had become of him?
Glancing at her slumbering girls, Kaatje rose and walked to the kitchen sideboard. Behind the sacks of flour and sugar, and beneath a loose board, she pulled out her last letter from Soren, cradling it to her chest as if it were he, instead, in her arms. She did not know why she hid it from her daughters, only that it was hers and hers alone. Her last connection with the husband she had lost long ago. Her daughters had yet to learn how to read, but regardless, she wanted it all to herself.
Sighing, she sat down in her rocker and straightened the two sheets of paper she held in her hand. One was from Soren, crumpled and yellowed with age and handling. It had been forwarded by the postmaster in Dakota to the Skagit Valley postmistress. The other page was smaller, a note from the proprietor at a place called Kokrine’s Trading Post, Yukon River, Alaska.
She straightened out the first and read the words, words she could have recited from memory. But seeing his fast, elaborate scrawl was like touching the man. So she read it yet again.
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