Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  Later that night, Kaatje returned to the main room after tucking the girls into bed in the back room. Karl sat in the rocker, a mug of tea in his hands, staring into the fire. Warm, flickering light reflected on his face, and Kaatje felt content to have her old friend here. He apparently enjoyed it too, judging from the two hours they had all lingered at the dinner table, and the hours since. It had been good to have an adult to talk to, someone who cared about her as a dear friend. Did he miss having a family as much as they all missed having a man about the house?

  “Well, they’re all tucked in and fast asleep.”

  “They probably were out as soon as their heads hit the pillows. Their eyes were drooping for the last hour.”

  “They enjoyed themselves,” she said, pouring herself a mug of tea and joining him by the fire in another chair. “I have not heard them giggle like that in a long time.” She hesitated and then looked up at him gratefully. “I haven’t had that much fun in some time, either.”

  “Nor I,” he said softly. He looked at her endearingly, and Kaatje felt safe, known, loved. “As one childhood friend to another, may I ask you a question?”

  Kaatje nodded, half dreading what was to come.

  “Why did Soren leave?”

  She paused, then said, “Wanderlust, I suppose. Originally it was to work on the railroad, to get some extra cash for the farm. I think that the farther he got from home, the more free he felt. He loved me and Christina,” she rushed on. “I am sure of it. But his desire to see other places, to get his hands on the wealth ‘just around the corner’ got to him. He’s always believed he could be rich. And he’s always looked for the easy way to that wealth.”

  Karl was silent, as if considering her words. “It’s a trap,” he said at last. “I take it he’s mining, then?”

  “Along with half the territory’s men, I think,” Kaatje said. “Last I heard, he was in Alaska.”

  “They say that’s where the next big strike will be.”

  “And if they keep saying that, Soren will stay put. He was trapping and trading to make his way in the meantime.”

  “He sends home some support?” Karl asked carefully.

  Kaatje smiled gently. “Karl, I have not heard from him in over four years. I’m not even sure if he’s alive. Lately, I’ve had this wild idea …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Wild idea?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “What?”

  “I … I just have been thinking about going.”

  “To Alaska?”

  “Crazy, is it not?”

  “Why?”

  “To try and find Soren, I guess. But there is something else. It’s as if God is urging me to go.”

  “With two small children?”

  “I said it was crazy.”

  Karl studied her, and Kaatje squirmed under his gaze. “All my life, I’ve thought of you as one of the most sensible people I know, Kaatje. If God is directing you there, maybe you should listen. I hear if you’re good with a gun, have a trade to take with you, and bring decent supplies, you can make a go of it up there.” His words of encouragement stunned her. But they were soon followed by: “That isn’t to say I love the idea of you going alone. It is rough territory, Kaatje, rougher than you’ve ever known.” His expression grew more concerned the longer he thought about it.

  Kaatje laughed it off. “And where is God leading you these days?”

  “Changing the subject, are you?” Karl paused, thoughtful yet somehow sad. “God … it’s been as long since I heard from him as since you last heard from Soren.”

  So that was it. Despite his bravado and ease in making them all laugh, Kaatje had noticed the lonely look in his eye. It was as if he were exhausted, searching. “Oh?” she asked softly. “Haven’t heard or haven’t been listening?”

  “Perhaps both,” he said wearily. “I haven’t exactly felt worthy of talking with him.” He shifted in his seat as she remained silent. “I did something terrible years ago, Kaatje. Something that God couldn’t forgive.”

  “There is nothing that God can’t forgive,” Kaatje said gently.

  Karl stood, obviously agitated, and leaned one arm against the mantel, staring into the fire. “I was in love with Elsa,” he said softly. “I kissed her.”

  “Oh,” Kaatje said, remembering that Elsa had told her in a letter that Peder and Karl had parted ways. “And she …”

  “Made it clear I had made a terrible mistake. I made some excuse to Peder and jumped ship. He still hasn’t forgiven me. At least I don’t think so. He never wrote back to me after I wrote him, asking his forgiveness.”

  “And you think that God cannot forgive you for that? Go to Peder, ask his forgiveness face to face, like a man, then ask God the same. Have you forgotten the Christ? Karl, man, this is what he died for! Your greater sin is pride for not going to him!” Kaatje surprised herself with her vehemence. But wasn’t this exactly what she feared kept Soren from returning home to her and the girls? Fear that she wouldn’t forgive him?

  Karl looked up at her, obviously startled by her straightforward words, then back at the fire. “I suppose you’re right. I wrote once—”

  “It is not enough. It’s still eating you alive and keeping you from the Lord. From Peder. Go to him. Go to him, Karl. They’re just south of us! In Seattle. I think they’re due home in the next month or two. Settle it, once and for all.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, sighing and sitting back down in his chair. “This is why I came to the valley, Kaatje. Only here do friends know me well enough to yell at me.”

  Kaatje smiled. “What are friends for?”

  “I’ve missed you, Kaatje. I’ve missed all of you.” There was no hint of flirtation in his voice, merely kinship. “I wish I could find a fine woman like yourself or …”

  “Elsa?” she finished for him.

  “Or Elsa,” he said, as if testing out the words. “There are no finer women than you.”

  “There is a woman out there for you,” Kaatje said with utter confidence. She felt she must make it clear that she intended to honor her marriage. And it was obvious to her heart that Karl would never be anything more to her than a dear friend. “I know it. But you have to clean out your trunk first. You’re carrying an awful weight.”

  “I agree,” he said gently. “Well, I’ve made more than a nuisance of myself, staying so late. I’d best be off.”

  “It was a pleasure, Karl. Please, come again before you leave.”

  “You can be sure of it,” he said with a smile, placing his hat on his head and pulling on his coat.

  Kaatje grabbed a shawl and followed him out the door. “You’ll be able to find town? There’s but a sliver of a moon.”

  “I’ll find it.” He hesitated, then moved closer to kiss her softly on the cheek. He mounted his horse and nodded once at her, then reined the mare into a trot off down the lane, and Kaatje listened until she could no longer hear hoofbeats. In the silence of the night, after such a full evening of talking, laughing, and companionship, Kaatje suddenly felt bereft.

  She touched her cheek, remembering the soft scratch of Karl’s beard and how Soren’s cheek once felt against hers. How long had it been since a man had kissed her? Since Soren had held her in his arms? She ached for the feel of being held again, for the warmth of a man’s body enveloping her own. To be with her husband. To belong again.

  Where was he? What would it take to find him if she went to Alaska? “Please, Father,” she said, sinking to her knees and beseeching the skies with outstretched arms. “Please, Jesus. Send me word. Let me know if he’s dead or alive. Let me know if I should keep hoping. Please, Father. I beg of you! I beg of you!”

  There was no response as she continued to stare for some time up at the black night sky alive with a million stars. Slowly, her arms sank to her sides. But she had no tears to weep tonight. She felt empty, and utterly alone.

  You could go, came the Voice. You could go.

  Kar
l rode back to town, thinking of Peder, Kaatje, Elsa—a deluge of thoughts coursed through his head at once. It had been a long time since he had felt so stimulated, invigorated by honest conversation and laughter. Bradford Bresley, his business partner, often did that for him, but their work kept them apart. Brad had married Virginia Parker and settled down in Butte, Montana, concentrating on their efforts in the Midwest and the mountains, while he, the single man, volunteered to go farther west and see what enterprises he could drum up there.

  It had been years since he had spent more than a day or two with the Bresleys, and then conversation was mostly about business. When he thought about it, Karl had isolated himself from those who truly knew him, anyone who could ask the questions that mattered. It was little wonder that he felt lonely and hollow.

  Karl raised his head and breathed deeply. The land smelled good, of damp peat and grain heated by the afternoon sun and then cooled by the evening breeze. He knew this valley could do so much more. To the north was a wide, shallow bay, in which barges came to load up the farmers’ harvest and ship it down to Seattle. But the railroad was inefficient in getting the crops there, and Karl began visualizing how he and Brad could improve shipping and, in turn, help his fellow Bergensers prosper. It was not an enterprise of charity; they would no doubt find a handsome profit for their labors. But it was too broad an enterprise for their resources. He would need to contact some investors to find the cash necessary to accomplish such goals. Trent Storm immediately came to mind. It was just the sort of thing they had discussed in Helena.

  He would spend the next months surveying and researching the project. But tomorrow he would wire Brad and Trent. From the profits, he would easily be able to help Kaatje and the girls. They needed so much—a new barn, an addition to the tiny house. More animals to help them make it through the winter. He knew Kaatje would be too proud to accept such grandiose charity from another. So Karl would just have to find a way to do it anonymously.

  He frowned as he thought of her words once more. Soren loved Christina and me. What about Jessie? How could the man have left any of them? Kaatje with her red cheeks and kind, gray eyes? Christina with her blond curls and fast way of speaking? Vivacious Jessie with her all-consuming love for animals? Kaatje had not heard from him in four years; why, he had probably never even met his second daughter! Once again he wanted to throttle the man for his idiocy, for his lack of responsibility.

  Then Karl laughed at himself. Soren wasn’t the only one who had run from those who cared about him. Soon Karl would have to face his own responsibility. Kaatje had been right. Since Peder had not contacted him, he needed to go to his old friend. And beg his forgiveness. On his knees if he had to. His resolve made him feel more free than he had in years.

  six

  August 1886

  They had been at sea more than two weeks, heading straight for Washington Territory and their newest home, confident that the Japanese wares they purchased in Yokohama would sell better there than in the waning markets of San Francisco or New York. Besides, it would get them home by late August and give Peder a chance to see how his employees and projects fared at their new sawmill in Seaport. From there, Peder would take a load of lumber to the East Coast, check on their shipyard in Camden-by-the-Sea, and they all might be able to get back to Seattle in time for Christmas—their first in the West.

  More and more Peder allowed his ships to travel through the winter months, their hulls sufficiently reinforced to handle the more inclement weather. But he still hesitated to take his wife and child along, especially with Elsa expecting again. Either way, Elsa decided, she would be happy; in her new home in the delightful Washington Territory, or in her cozy home in Camden, near dear old friends.

  It was with these happy thoughts that Elsa put paint to canvas, blowing up a small daguerreotype of Peder and Kristian in samurai costume to a much larger, colorful format. Her intent was to ship it to the Ramstads in Bergen for Christmas. She was just painting Kristian’s wooden sword, a miniature version of his father’s, when Peder entered the study and placed his arms around her shoulders. He kissed her cheek and studied the painting. “I cannot believe you talked me into doing that, or that you intend to send it to my parents.”

  His tone held none of the disgust of his words. “You loved it. Admit it,” she said, dipping her brush in a deep gray for emphasis along Peder’s sleeve.

  “I did it for you.”

  “And your son. He still plays with that sword, threatening his stuffed bear with dire consequences if he doesn’t obey.”

  “Every man needs another to command. Luckily, I have a crew, since my wife won’t listen to me.” He rose and walked to his desk.

  Elsa smiled. “Come now. Your parents will adore this painting. Not only do they get to see their son and grandson, but they get to show you off to their friends and neighbors as obvious world travelers. These photographs are all the rage. Few have an oil painting, to boot.”

  Peder guffawed, but Elsa knew he was secretly pleased. She smiled again at the photo at the edge of her canvas. Father and son looked remarkably alike, and she knew one day Kristian would be just as handsome as his papa. Would he sweep some girl off her feet as Peder had done to her? What would he do? Captain a ship for Ramstad Yard? Or something entirely different? Her heart leapt at the thought of seeing him go as their own parents had watched them leave Norway. Certainly, it had been difficult enough to leave on the Herald for America—but what would it feel like to be the aging parent left behind?

  Her thoughts returned to her mother, her sister Carina, and the burial plot of her father she had yet to visit. “Peder,” she said carefully, “what if we delivered this painting in person? What if we went to Bergen for the winter?” She turned on her stool, getting excited at the idea. “Think of it! How grand it would be to introduce Kristian to his grandparents, his cousins! To see Carina and Garth married. I’m dying to see my mother—”

  Peder’s face squelched any further words. “I’m sorry, love. It’s impossible. Maybe next year.”

  “How often have we said that?” Elsa asked, irritated. “Next year, next year. Always next year. My mother might be dead before I get home again.” She turned back to the painting, but did not lift her brush.

  Peder approached and placed one hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry to disappoint you again, love. It’s just that we barely have time to get home, unload our cargo, and get to Camden to see to business. Add a trip to Bergen and I’m afraid we’re risking heavy winter seas. I won’t risk it. Especially with you expecting again.”

  “So we’re back to the old argument.”

  “Yes, we are. Are you not a bit afraid? If not for yourself, then for our children?”

  “I could have the baby in Bergen. What it would mean to my mother!”

  Peder’s hand left her shoulder. “If we made it to Bergen. I will not risk it, Elsa. I will not risk you and my children. We will winter somewhere safe and consider a trip in the new year.”

  “But, Peder, with the new hulls, the new ships Kristoffer is turning out—”

  “No!” he said, then lifted a hand as if to soften an unintendedly harsh tone. “No, Elsa. Do not ask it of me. I could not bear it if anything happened to you, or Kristian, or this new babe. I want our lives together to be long. Can’t you understand?”

  She looked up into his eyes, noting for the first time the sweat upon his brow. Elsa rose and entered his embrace, staying there for a long time. “I understand, Peder. Perhaps you are right.” She pulled away and looked into his eyes. His face was pale and he looked ill. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I thought I could beat it. Surely these fevers are nearly over.”

  “It could be years, the doctors said.” Malaria had struck Peder years before; but still every few months he suffered through recurrent fevers.

  “I hate it. It weakens me.”

  “It will end someday. Come. Come to bed, love.” She tenderly helped him undress and slide under the c
ool cotton sheets. Grateful, Peder said nothing but merely acquiesced to his wife’s ministrations. She poured a basin full of water and rinsed a cloth in it, then placed it on his brow. Within minutes, he was breathing in the heavy, steady rhythms of sleep.

  Several evenings later, Elsa coaxed herself to sleep, trying to drive from her mind that Peder was once again delirious with malaria’s fever and that Riley had earlier that day muttered darkly, “Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” Something dire fast approached. And Elsa knew she needed to be rested to handle it.

  She was awakened by the increasing climb and crash of the Eagle’s hull. Lighting a lamp, she looked behind her at Peder, who was soaked in sweat and obviously unconscious. In the corner, swinging in a hammock as calmly as King Neptune, Kristian remained fast asleep, oblivious to the dangers just outside their cabin. Grimly, Elsa pulled on a pair of dungarees and Peder’s oilskin jacket and pants, rolling them up at the bottom. The jacket was huge on her, but it gave her a better chance of remaining somewhat dry as she helped Riley and the crew.

  Over the years, as Peder grudgingly taught her about the art of sailing, Elsa had become more and more proficient. She learned everything from tarring the ropes to reefing the sails to charting a course. Elsa found her education thrilling, and delightful fodder to send home via the Times. Her audience was alternately aghast and delighted to hear of her hanging from the topmast or sliding down the edge of a sail, not to mention a woman donning trousers to safely go where men usually went.

  Together, she and Peder had weathered storm after storm, many worse than this one, and her confidence had grown. Were she to round the Horn again at the helm, she could stand there as proudly as any sailor aboard the Eagle. Especially with Riley beside her.

  She supposed it was he at the wheel, if her eyes did not deceive her. It was dreadfully dark outside, and from the feel of things, the Eagle was sailing close hauled upon the wind, lying over. If they leaned much farther, they’d be upon their beam ends in no time. Determined to help, Elsa stepped outside.