Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “Very well.” Trent stood. He shook the shorter man’s hand, dismissing him. “One other thing. Find out what you can about Tora’s child. The one she gave up before arriving here.”

  Joseph grimaced. “I will do my best, sir. I’m afraid I failed you in not ascertaining the child’s mere existence before. Makes it hard for a man to promise he can find the child.”

  Trent nodded sadly. “Do what you can. And send me weekly updates, will you?”

  “Certainly. Good day, Mr. Storm.”

  “Godspeed.” Trent turned toward the window as Joseph exited, thankful for the detective’s discretion. Not once did he question going, nor why Trent wished to know of the woman he had left behind. No trace of emotion was visible on his face. Perhaps that was why he was so good at what he did. He was able to blend in, fade out, and no one ever knew he was there.

  He was the antithesis of Tora Anders.

  Tora walked through the newly constructed walls of her soon-to-be roadhouse, savoring the smell of fresh-hewn wood and sawdust. It was a glorious August day in Spokane, Washington Territory, and her new hotel was coming along famously. Another month and she would be ready to receive her first customers. Getting to this place had taken some doing, but it was all working out just fine. She smiled as she envisioned writing out a check to Trent Storm, reimbursing him for the “loans” she had taken from Storm Enterprises. She had worried that he might cut her off someday and had been wise to “prepare.”

  “Tora! Tora Anders!” a man called. The voice was familiar, but Tora could not place it. Frowning, she walked down the steps to what would eventually be the main lobby, when Andrew Aston caught up with her.

  “Why, Andrew! What are you doing here?” she asked in wonder, going to him for a quick kiss. Her gladness was fleeting, however, as he turned to allow her lips to touch his cheek, but nothing else. “What? What is it?”

  “I have some urgent business to discuss with you, Tora,” he said, his face remaining hard. Dark shadows hinted that he probably hadn’t slept in days.

  “Certainly,” she replied, dread edging her voice. “This way. There is a bench in the back where we might find a bit of privacy.” She led the way through the carpenters, ignoring the fact that all workers had stopped to listen in. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her heart to its normal pace, unwilling to panic until she found out what Andrew had to say.

  As they sat down, Andrew pulled off his bowler hat, dusty from the road. He twisted it, round and round, in his hands. “I have some bad news, Tora.”

  “Oh?”

  “I need to call in your loan. Board of directors is demanding it.”

  “What? On what basis?”

  “On the basis that it appears you have used funds taken from Storm Enterprises without permission.” He whistled and cocked his head a bit, then glanced at Tora in wonder. “Trent Storm is involved in too many businesses in Montana and elsewhere to not have very long fingers. It’s been made clear that you’re no longer in his employ. You haven’t been since June.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at her.

  Tora shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “I told you we had had a parting of ways. I don’t see what import that has. This is my new building, made primarily with the loan I took out with your institution. As long as I make my payments, what do you care how I obtain the funds?”

  “If only it were so simple.” Andrew rose and paced. “They know, Tora.”

  “Know what?”

  “You’ve used Storm’s name for more credit here. You told people it was for the Storm Roadhouse, when it was in your name, not his. That’s how you’ve obtained the money you’ve needed for rock, lumber, nails, and labor. Our money went solely toward the real estate.”

  “I don’t know where you’ve gotten your information, Andrew. But have you looked at my location? Just a block from the railroad station, closer than Trent’s! I’ll beat him here! I’ll own this town!”

  “Is that what this is all about? Beating Storm?”

  “Certainly not,” she said, raising her chin. “This is about Tora Anders coming into her own.”

  “On Storm’s credit. It’ll shame him, blacken his name. He’ll be furious.”

  “By the time he finds out, I’ll write him a check and all will be well. I am aware that this is big business, and surely you yourself have seen things done in a more … roundabout fashion.”

  “I beg to differ. Trent deals in a straightforward manner. And he already knows of your … indiscretions. He was the one who wired the board of directors.”

  Tora stilled, chilled to the bone. How? How on earth had he found out? She had been so careful! She cleared her throat, determined to gain control of the situation again. Tora smiled up at Andrew. “Surely you don’t believe all this. Why, Andrew, I don’t know what I’ll do if your bank cuts me off! Look at this!” she said, waving about her. “It’s going to be glorious! A fine investment!”

  “One we can’t afford to make,” Andrew said, meeting her eyes. He reached inside his pocket and drew out a paper, handing it to her. “Your loan is due in fourteen days.”

  Tora whipped the paper from his hands, angry now. “You will be speaking with my attorney shortly.”

  Andrew nodded once and placed his bowler hat back on his head. “Very well. Tora … I … I’m sorry about this.”

  “As well you should be. Good day, Mr. Aston,” she said haughtily, walking quickly toward the hotel. “I’ll thank you for leaving my property immediately.”

  It took two weeks for Tora to understand the depth of her difficulties. In Spokane, she could feel the squeeze of Storm Enterprises’ long arm. Word was spreading that she had double-crossed Trent, a leading employer and investor in the new, growing region. When she returned to Helena, things worsened. Where once she was the leading socialite in town, in two short weeks she had become an outcast. No one came to call; no one answered her pleas for help. Worse, news arrived that her mining investments were failing—the first had had a major cave-in and would be weeks in recovering; the other had yet to yield more than a pittance in silver.

  With payments on her house, carriage, mining investments, and roadhouse property loans coming due at once, Tora was suddenly in a panic. She had no savings account, and her extravagant lifestyle had eaten up any extra cash she had. That morning, she had let two of her maidservants go, holding on to Sasha in one last, desperate measure. She refused to let Sasha go! She refused!

  Angrily, she pulled on her white lace gloves and hat and left the house for Andrew’s bank. He would see her side of things and fight for her. She would make sure of it.

  Even if she had to propose marriage herself.

  five

  Karl leaned out the stagecoach window, ignoring the August dust. He was too excited to let anything upset him today. In a sense, he was coming home. Even the dust smelled clean, honest. After receiving a letter from Kristoffer, forwarded to him in Helena, Karl looked for the first opportunity to come to the Washington Territory. It was here in the Skagit Valley that his fellow Bergensers had moved. Here he would see old friends for the first time in over five years!

  He gazed around at the thickly wooded hills that protected the verdant valley. From edge to edge were healthy crops of peas, wheat, and potatoes. Karl smiled. God had favored the Bergenser farmers at last. His thoughts went from the valley farmers to the shipbuilders in Camden, and back to Norway and his family. He felt the smile fade from his face as the image of Karl’s father came to mind. They had not parted well. Karl felt a tug of guilt. In many ways his father’s words—though spoken in anger—had proven prophetic. He had been right about his son way back in 1880; he had seen the sin within Karl, the hypocrisy. Even though he wouldn’t have admitted his lust for Elsa, his father had seen it plainly. And he had called himself a Christian. He wasn’t worthy of the name. Was he even worthy to see these old friends?

  It was too late now. The stagecoach driver brought the rig into town so fast that Karl wondered how he woul
d stop without hurting someone. He needn’t have worried. “Whoa!” the driver yelled at his team, as the passengers around Karl scrambled for a handhold to keep them from joining the others on the far bench. The coach came to an abrupt halt, jostling all the passengers.

  Karl was the first out. “Kind of reckless, don’t you think, coming in like that?” he asked, leveling a reprimanding gaze at the driver.

  The driver merely glanced at him and then turned to toss down his satchel. “Move along, mister. You do your job, and I’ll do mine. Don’t like how I do my job, don’t ride on my coach.”

  “I’ll consider the wisdom of that,” Karl said, turning toward the crowd down the street. Apparently, there was some sort of festival going on, judging from the number of people, the noise, and the banner across the street. Small towns like these thrived on festivals—a chance to see neighbors and make merry—as a good remedy to summer boredom. He had seen such events countless times before, in countless small towns he traversed, looking for the next business opportunity.

  Karl had just spotted the small two-story hotel across the street when someone screeched out his name. “Karl! Karl Martensen!” Out of the crowd came Nora Gustavson, lugging in either hand a boy of about four and a girl barely old enough to walk. Her eyes wide in surprise, she let go of their small hands and covered her mouth, and shook her head as if Karl were a vision.

  Karl laughed heartily, the first laugh of its kind in quite a while. It was so good to see his old friends. Yes, this was like coming home. “Karl! Hey, everyone! It’s Karl Martensen!” Out of the crowd came familiar faces: Birger and Eira Nelson, Nora’s husband Einar, Nels, and Mathias—rechristened “Matthew” upon arrival in America—proudly bringing his homely bride forward to meet Karl. Finally, Kaatje and her two small girls emerged. He embraced or shook hands with them one by one, exchanging small talk with each as he went, finally ending with Kaatje. He gave her a gentle hug and then crouched to solemnly shake hands with each of the girls.

  “Where’s Soren?” he asked, as he rose and the crowd dissipated. Nora and Einar left them for a moment to retrieve refreshments.

  “He is away,” Kaatje said, her face inscrutable.

  “I see,” he said, deciding to leave it at that. “Well, I had better get cleaned up or you are liable to disown me. I’m just going to check into a room over there,” he said, nodding at the hotel.

  “Oh, there’s no need for that,” Kaatje said, hands on her hips. “Come and stay in our hayloft.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Kaatje,” he said gently. “But with your husband away, it might not look proper.”

  She nodded, flustered when she realized her invitation was inappropriate.

  “But I would take you up on dinner.”

  “That would be fine,” she said, looking pleased. “About six?”

  “I’ll be there. Just give me the directions before you leave town.”

  Einar Gustavson gripped him at the shoulder, distracting him from Kaatje. “Martensen, what brings a seaman like you to town?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you, Einar, I’ve been away from the oceans for some time. I’ve been building steamship businesses along the riverways. Mostly along the Northern Pacific route. Facilitating loading, passengers, that sort of thing.”

  “Ah, I see,” Einar said, nodding sagely. “Sounds fine. You and Peder parted ways, then?”

  “Yes,” Karl said, looking away into the distance so as not to betray too much. “Some time ago. I hear his shipyard has been a great success.” He paused, then changed subjects. “It was a letter from Kristoffer that let me know where you all had settled. Thought I’d come up for a visit since I was in this part of the territory.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you, man. Come out and share a meal with us before you leave.”

  “For sure, Einar.” He glanced up to see Pastor Konur Lien approach. “And I’ll have to get a church service in too,” he said with a grin, shaking the pastor’s hand.

  “You had better intend to do so,” Konur said. “It’s so good to see another Bergenser’s face!”

  “For you? Think about me! You’re surrounded. Why, you have half a congregation from Bergen here, pastor.”

  “And the other half is from the community. God has been gracious.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Dakota Territory didn’t work out, I take it.”

  “Hard going, there. Dry soil. Just when we got decent crops to harvest, the locusts came. I took it as a sign from God. So far, it has been a wise decision to come here. Going on four years now. And we’re all alive and healthy. Many of our people have growing farms.”

  “I’m pleased to know it is so,” Karl said. “Now I had better secure a room for the night. I’ll be by to catch up with you and Amalia, pastor. As well as for Sunday services.”

  “Good enough, Karl. God bless you.”

  Karl paused a moment as Konur left his side. It struck him that it had been years since he had set foot inside a Christian sanctuary, and again, his father’s warning rang in his ears. When he had left Peder, it was as if he had forgotten about God too. He hadn’t prayed or sought out God’s guidance as he once had. How hypocritical of him—to greet his old pastor as if nothing had changed!

  When everything had. When he had.

  After renting a gentle, strong mare from the local stables, Karl rode out Main Street dead east, as Kaatje had directed. He had bathed that afternoon in lukewarm water and secured his belongings in a decent room, if a bit run-down. Better than the pleasure of being clean again was the comfort of a small town, a small town where friends surrounded him. It was a picturesque evening, with long, warm streaks of sunlight edging through the plants and grain as if direct from heaven. And for the first time in a long while Karl felt some sense of peace.

  When he reached the Janssens’ farm and turned onto their lane, the girls ran out to greet him, barefoot, but with their Sunday dresses on, if he guessed right. They gave him bright smiles, and Karl was a bit startled at the physical differences in the two. He hadn’t noticed how dissimilar the two sisters were when he had seen them in town. It puzzled him. But both were cute as buttons and sweet as honey, as Brad would say.

  “Is this the Janssen farm?” he asked, when they arrived at his side, a bit breathless. He pretended not to recognize them as they nodded madly, their eyes big. “Well, I was a bit confused when I saw such pretty young ladies come to greet me. Here I thought you were just two little mites!”

  “No, sir,” Christina said. “I’m almost six years old.”

  “Six! Why that’s practically ancient. Have you heard of the great pyramids?”

  Christina shook her head in confusion.

  “Well, they’re what we consider old. But they can’t be more than a few years older than you.”

  “How old are you?” Jessie asked.

  Karl laughed. How long had it been since he had stopped to think about how old he was? Birthdays had come and gone, with little or no recognition from him or any of his friends. “Almost thirty, I believe.”

  “Thirty!” Jessie cried.

  “No, don’t be so surprised,” he said, nodding at Kaatje as she came to the front door. “Why, I’d bet your mother was almost that age.”

  “Mama, are you thirty?” Christina asked. She ran to her and took her hand.

  “I hope not. No, I think I have a couple of years.”

  Karl dismounted, tied the reins of his horse outside the house, and walked toward Kaatje. “Interesting how someone’s age is vital when you’re young, and not so interesting once you’re old.”

  “Tell me about it. Come. Come in, Karl. I have some coffee on.”

  “Sounds great,” he said, following her inside, ducking as he came through the doorway. “It’s beautiful out here, Kaatje. And it looks like you have a good little farm going. How long is Soren away?”

  Kaatje paused before answering, and Karl, for the first time, wondered what was going on. Why did a farmer leave in the middle of g
rowing season? “He’s been away for some time. Sit. Sit down, Karl.”

  “Oh? How long?”

  “Four years.”

  “Four years!” He could feel himself blush as the girls stared at him intently. He sat down at the table and forced himself to soften his tone, to carefully choose his words. “That’s an awful long time to be without your man. So … so you’ve been bringing in the crops yourself?”

  She sat across from him and passed him a tin mug of steaming coffee. “And clearing, planting, weeding, watering, fertilizing … Not without the help of the other Bergensers, of course.”

  “But still, they had their own crops. I take it that the bulk of the work has been left to you.”

  “We help make pies,” Christina volunteered.

  “Mud pies,” Kaatje said with a small smile.

  “And I take care of Nels and Hans and the chickens,” Jessie said.

  “Our horse and hog,” Kaatje explained.

  “Well,” Karl said, “that about covers things, doesn’t it? Good thing your mother has done so well in the fields while you two were minding the house.”

  Both girls nodded solemnly. Karl stifled the desire to ask where Soren had gone, and how he could do such a thing to Kaatje, to his children. There was no sense in bringing up the unpleasant memories in front of the girls. Besides, who knew what Kaatje had told them? He would find out later, after they had gone to bed, and figure out some way to help them.

  “Are you hungry, Mr. Martensen?” Jessie asked.

  “Starved,” he admitted. At once, all three of his hostesses jumped up to serve the meal. In short order, there was a thick beef stew, lefse, and a fresh apple cut in fours on the table.

  “Haven’t seen food like this in ages,” Karl said.

  “Would you bless it for us?” Kaatje asked.

  Karl hesitated, reminded once again that he had no right to ask anything of God. Then he said, “Sure. Heavenly Father, we ask you to bless this family, and this food to our bodies. Amen.” He figured God could not say no to that—who was more worthy than these three?