18 December 1881
Darling Kaatje,
I am alive and well in the interior of Alaska. This is a fine land and I have found my way, making my living as a trader, and eventually, I will do so as a miner. The railroads had no future for a man like me, so I moved on after we got through Montana. I was so close to Alaska, with winter soon upon us, I could not see the wisdom in returning to Dakota, knowing our friends would see to your and Christina’s safety and well-being.
There is word of gold strikes all around me, and I am confident that soon I will find the perfect place in which to stake a claim and make us rich. You and Christina will be able to join me, in a grand house here, or I will come home to you a wealthy man. This is what I was born to do, Kaatje. I know that now. Farming has no end to it. I am willing to roll up my sleeves and work like any other man, but for what? Farming is endless in its strain and hardship. Mining, a man works, and then a man sits back and enjoys. This is what I want for us.
Already gold has been discovered on the Kenai Peninsula, Kasaan, Sitka, and near Juneau. You see? I am surrounded! Truly, it is only a matter of time. I will write again soon.
Always,
Soren
Blinking back a tear, Kaatje stared into the fire for a while, then turned her attention back to the other, shorter note in her hands.
5 February 1882
Mrs. Janssen,
I am sory to report that yur husband has not ben seen around these parts in some time. Last we saw, he was hedin to Fortymile and hasn’t ben herd from sinse. I will keep yur letter in case he comes this way agin soon.
Cordilly,
Malcolm Heffner
Kokrine’s Trading Post
She had heard, of course, nothing since then, despite the fact that she had sent numerous letters to any address she obtained rumored to have gold in Alaska. Someday, perhaps one of those letters would be answered. Until that day, she didn’t know what else she could do.
You could go.
The Voice in her heart startled her. She shook her head at such nonsense. Go to Alaska? What would she do with the girls? The farm?
Rent the farm to others. Take the girls.
Kaatje’s heart pounded at such preposterous thoughts. This was not of God! It was wishful thinking, fanciful dreams of reuniting with her husband. She grew angry at herself. Why, they had not even been happy when they were together. Soren was a philanderer through and through. What would happen to the man when he became rich on gold and sat idle? Nothing good, that was sure.
She rose and walked to the door, pulling it open angrily and striding to the well outside. Hauling up a bucket of fresh, cold water, she splashed her face again and again, even as the tears came. Kaatje braced her hands on the stone facing of the well, gasping for breath. Why did she put herself through this? Why did she repeatedly read those letters? It never made her feel any better, simply lost and angry and sorrowful. She threw the bucket down the shaft with all the strength she could muster, finding only mild satisfaction at the splash far below.
Turning and leaning against the well wall, she dried her tears and studied the cabin—looking warm and cozy in the night—her breath frosting in the cool evening air, and the stars high above it. She spotted the North Star at the end of the Little Dipper and stared.
You could go.
“And do what?” she cried aloud, shaking her fist at the sky. “Wander around, looking for my lout of a husband? He does not deserve it!”
You need to know.
“I need to know nothing of the kind! I need to know my children are well and fed. How would I know that on a road in Alaska?”
You could go.
Kaatje sank to her knees and sobbed, so suddenly overwhelmed and weary that she sank to the cold, damp grass as she wept. “I cannot, Father. Do not ask it of me. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”
She did not hear the Voice again. Only silence.
It had been a very wet spring and early summer, and that day at the church potluck, Kaatje found herself grinning.
“You think this is funny? Struggling with rot here in this soggy land?” Einar grumbled at her as she set a plate of lefse before him.
“I do,” she giggled. “Just think. When we first got to the Dakota Territory, all we did was complain about the dry land, the lack of rain. But here we get too much!”
The table of men and women laughed too, and Kaatje’s smile grew. These people were her family, her security. They had been her stronghold when Soren left, filling the hole that his absence created. What would she have ever done without them?
“It is good to see you laugh, joke, Kaatje,” Nora said, a toddler on one hip.
“It is good to have a reason,” she said as they walked back to the kitchen. The Gustavsons’ home, one of the largest in the area, had a huge dining room that could seat eighteen. Consequently, they often hosted church suppers and the like. Their house felt like a second home to Kaatje.
“You’re a quiet one today,” Nora said.
“You mean when I am not making people laugh?”
“Yes. Is something bothering you?” She handed Kaatje another steaming dish.
Kaatje grimaced as she looked at the plate. “Yes. Lutefisk. Ish!”
Nora laughed through her nose. “Ah well, then, I suppose you’ll tell me when you are ready. Just know I have a listening ear for you.”
Kaatje gave her a tender smile. “I know, friend. Thank you. This is something I need to wrestle with myself first. When I’m ready to burden another with my troubles, you’ll be the first to know!”
“I’ll be waiting.” Kaatje felt Nora’s warmth and caring. Her friend would be the perfect teacher for the valley’s children, once her own were old enough to attend school. Knowing Einar, he would build a special schoolhouse for his wife, and they would have one of the best schools in the Washington Territory. The closest school was now an hour away by wagon.
Kaatje sauntered over to the window and stared out at the verdant valley. God had surely brought her here. To raise her children. To protect them. Why would he want her to go away again? To some place that might endanger them all?
four
July 1886
Three weeks after Trent had disappeared from her life for good, Tora sat staring in her looking glass, wondering at the woman’s image reflected there. She was still beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than the day Trent hired her on at Storm Enterprises. But there was a hint of sorrow around her eyes, the first she had ever noted in her face. Grim, she drew her ivory-handled brush through her long, dark hair and pinned the last coil on top of her head. She would not be sad forever, she knew. She had a life to lead, and it would be a fine one, with or without Trent Storm.
Sasha knocked on her bedroom door and peeked in. “Mistress? Mr. Aston is here to escort you.”
“Fine. Tell him I will be down directly.” Sasha disappeared from Tora’s mirror image and she powdered her face once more. Standing, she smoothed the lace frills at her waist and fingered those at her plunging neckline. She affixed a small hat—trimmed with ribbons and feathers—atop her elaborate hairdo, dabbed some more coloring on her lower lip, and pulled on long gloves. Trent would have liked this feminine finery. Making a small sound of disgust, she willfully banished all thoughts of the man.
She had done nothing but cry for those first days after his departure. Now she was simply angry and anxious to get back at him. Tora gave her reflection a small smile. Plans were already afoot to preempt his next roadhouse in Spokane. The world would see what would happen to a man when he dared spurn Tora Anders.
Tora grabbed a small beaded purse from her bed and went to the top of the stairs. She grinned when she saw Andrew Aston, dapper this evening in a sharp-looking suit and hat. His coat had the fashionable bound edges of the day, rounded at the bottom, and he carried a distinguished walking cane. Andrew’s curled mustache completed the ensemble, Tora decided, and the delightfully mischievous spark in his eye as he looked her over fro
m head to toe made him all the more daring. Yes, he would serve her purpose, as her escort as well as her banker. She simply had to play her cards right.
“Why, Mr. Aston, don’t you look fine?”
“Not as fine as you, Miss Anders, I dare say,” he said, placing his bowler back on his head and offering his arm. “Did you have a wrap?”
“No,” she said with a flirtatious smile. “I was hoping you could keep me warm—dancing this evening—so I’d have no need of it.”
He stared right back into her eyes, and for the first time, Tora noted they were a dark chocolate brown, like his hair. He smiled broadly and offered her his arm. “I’ll do my best. Shall we?”
They took Aston’s carriage to Mount Helena, the city park on the southwest edge of town. From there, they would be able to see the entire city and all of the fireworks that private citizens were sure to set off. It was a delightful, warm summer night, and for the first time in years, there was no threat of rain on this Fourth of July celebration to spoil the planned Chinese fireworks display. Tora still could not get over how her fellow Americans, many of them newly transplanted from other countries, went so wild over this holiday.
As they passed along the city street, it seemed to Tora that every window on it was hung with red, white, and blue swags of fabric. When they reached Mount Helena, little boys ran around with sparklers, giving the night a warm, magical aura. A band was playing the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” in the gazebo, and couples of all ages strolled the boardwalk paths, chatting and laughing. At one end of the park, a crowd of men gathered, shouting, cursing, and shooting their guns in the air on occasion. The sheriff and his deputies were nearby on horseback, keeping the riffraff from the respectable crowd, and watching the men with an air of indifference.
“I can’t tell you what it means to me to escort you this evening, Miss Anders,” Andrew said, pulling her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I have thought about this evening for an entire year, it seems.”
“Yes, well, I appreciate your persistence. It just so happens that your invitation arrived on the same day my heart was freed from another.”
“Trent Storm, I presume.”
“Yes. We’ve decided it was time to end our personal relationship.”
“And your business relationship?” Andrew asked delicately.
Tora knew the import of his question. Andrew’s bank had lent her a tidy sum for two mining investments, as well as the beginnings of her new roadhouse in Spokane. If she let on that Trent had fired her, it would only be a matter of time before the bank called her note. “That remains to be seen,” she said vaguely.
“Ah. I see.” He paused and cleared his throat, bringing them to a stop. “But you are receiving income from Mr. Storm?” He laughed uneasily. “I cannot imagine him cutting you off without a dime. After all, you’re the Storm Roadhouse Maven!”
Tora laughed and eased him forward, back into their languid walking pace. “That would be something,” she said, pleased that he had set himself up and there was no need for a lie. “And suddenly, I am free to cavort with handsome devils like yourself,” she said.
Andrew glanced at her quickly, obviously taken aback by her forwardness. “And I do consider myself a lucky devil.”
“Mr. Aston, I believe we are on the edge of something delightful,” she flirted.
Andrew guided her back toward the center of the park, where the mayor was speaking of America’s many attributes, and the import of keeping the country free. Yes, free for me to make my way, with or without Trent Storm, Tora thought. He spoke of how America was made up of the brave who fought for her, gave their lives for her. And I will give my life to get what I want. He spoke of her future, glorious and bright. And I will ride her future like the crest of a wave.
Cutting a ribbon, the mayor officially opened the evening games. There were three-legged races by torchlight, a pie-eating contest, juggling clowns, and a carousel, brought in at tremendous cost from Minneapolis via train. Children squealed and pushed their way through the crowd to be the first to ride the fantastic machine, while parents looked on and laughed. The music, once begun, was a delight to the ears, and the gaslights were indeed a sight. Tora smiled, feeling suddenly a child again herself.
“Would you care for a ride?” Andrew asked, smiling down at her.
“Oh no. Let the children go first. I will have my turn later.”
“Indeed. I’ll make sure of it. Would you care for some lemonade?”
“That sounds divine.”
“I’ll be back directly.” Tora watched him as he edged through the crowd toward the lemonade stand, shrugging at her when he noticed there was a line. Tora laughed. There was no doubt about it, Andrew Aston was the most desirable bachelor in town, and his attention was flattering. But he failed to move her deep down, as Trent had done. Had Trent killed her capacity for love, desire? She frowned at the thought. No, surely, it would simply be a matter of time before she could conjure up those feelings for someone else.
Yet she knew with absolute certainty that Andrew was merely a pawn in her game. She needed him, at least for the time being. And when she was done with him, she would discard him as she had others, waiting for the next man who could stir her. She would wait for love, and a man worthy of her desire. In the meantime, Andrew was a pleasant distraction.
“Well, boys,” a deep voice said behind her. “Ain’t she the picture of Venus di-my-lo?”
Tora glanced over her shoulder, unwilling to give the rabble-rousers who had obviously breached the sheriff’s boundaries more than a cursory glance.
“That’s Tora Anders,” one whispered loudly to the first. “Storm’s girl. Best steer clear of her.”
“That’s a shame,” said the first. “But she’s not with Storm tonight. Maybe she’s available.”
“You can bet I would never be seen with you,” she said primly, turning to face the man. He towered over her, but she refused to cower, facing his dark gaze without flinching. “I suggest you gentlemen move on.” He stood well over six feet tall, with the broad shoulders of a man accustomed to physical labor, and a face laden with scars.
“Well ain’t you the haughty-taughty type? I’d like to take you down a couple o’ notches.”
Tora could feel his rakish gaze as he looked her over. She stood still, silent, unwilling to give him any edge.
“Come on, Brice,” said his companion, “I wanna work come Monday, and I won’t if Storm finds out about this.” They must be cowboys, Tora surmised, employed on one of Trent’s ranches along the railroad lines.
“Maybe she won’t always be Storm’s girl,” Brice said.
Tora turned away from them, as if they were merely pesky flies she could ignore, when she saw Andrew approach, tossing the glasses of lemonade to the grass and reaching inside his jacket as if for a sidearm.
Brice, apparently spotting him too, said softly in Tora’s ear, “Ahh, the banker. Best be goin’. Evenin’, ma’am.”
“Miss Anders, are you all right?” Andrew asked, stepping between her and the retreating men, his hand still inside his breast pocket.
“I am fine. Don’t be silly. They were just a bunch of bored cowboys.”
“They will not bother this fine crowd anymore tonight.” He walked away, heading toward a deputy and speaking with him, using wild gestures.
“He’ll have them in jail, I suppose,” Tora whispered to herself. She reached inside her bag for a handkerchief, feeling suddenly weak. Her hand trembled, and it surprised her. She hadn’t realized how afraid she was until then. After a few moments, she regrouped, telling herself that Tora Anders needed no one’s protection, certainly not Andrew Aston’s, or Trent Storm’s.
As she searched for the linen handkerchief, Andrew returned to her and the fireworks display began, the crowd shouting in delight. In the dim light of a green-gold explosion, Tora looked up at Andrew and leaned closer to his chest, silently beseeching him to kiss her.
All at once, she needed
to know she was desired, and protected, and close to another, if but for a moment.
And Andrew happily complied.
A thousand miles away, Trent stared out his window over the Mississippi River and watched Duluth’s own fireworks display. Never in his life had he felt so miserable. He needed to know how Tora was, what she was up to. Even if she could not belong to him. A knock sounded at his door.
“Enter,” he said curtly, taking another sip of his drink. He glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, Joseph.” He perused the short, stocky detective and waved at the crystal decanter.
Joseph declined. “You wished to see me at once?”
“I did. Sorry to disrupt your Fourth of July celebration, but I have a proposition for you, Campbell. Please, sit down.”
The detective sat down on the edge of his chair, hat in hand, as if ready to spring.
“I need you to follow Tora Anders.”
“I see,” he replied without comment. “For how long?”
“Six months. Maybe a year. I want to know what she’s up to, how she’s faring. I want you to be nearby at all times, ready to help if she needs it.”
Joseph laughed. “If you’ll permit me, Tora Anders does not strike me as a woman who needs a rescuer.”
His words struck Trent to the core. A rescuer? He shook his head. “Call me a fool. I want her followed. I don’t trust her or her judgment these days—she’s a woman scorned. Doesn’t always make for the best decisions. Find out everything you can.”
“And the pay?” Joseph asked carefully.
“Double your normal rate, plus room and board. She was still in Helena, last I knew. But knowing Tora, it won’t be long before she moves on. She’ll have something up her sleeve; you can count on it.”
“Understood. I take it you want me to leave immediately?”
“As soon as possible.”
“I’ll need to tie up some loose ends, with my family and my business.”
“Why not take your family along? Rent a house in Helena. It would help you fit in better.”
“A good idea. I’ll run it past the missus. The kids would kill for the chance to see the Montana territory and get out of this humidity for the summer.”
Northern Lights Trilogy Page 39