Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “Yes, sir. I appreciate you trying.” He turned to walk up the street again.

  “Where ya headin’?”

  “The Third Street graveyard.”

  “The graveyard? This time of night?”

  “I have an old friend … it’s been too long. I have to take care of this tonight.”

  The stable master looked twice as guilty upon hearing this new revelation. “It’s not a far piece. About five blocks north and two west.” Karl raised his eyes in surprise. “Guess I didn’t need a horse after all.”

  “All the same, I wish I could let you one. It’s not a night for a walk.”

  “Good night,” Karl said, turning away. As the rain fell again over his shoulders and the light from the stable master’s house receded, he shivered. He passed saloon after saloon, his steps becoming more leaden by the moment. He needed something to warm him from inside, a little liquid courage. At the next saloon, he turned and walked straight to the bar.

  “Whiskey,” he ordered from the bartender as he pulled off his hat.

  The bartender poured, and Karl downed it in one swallow. “Again,” he ordered.

  Obediently, the man poured a second, a third, and a fourth before Karl waved him away. Slapping a bill on the counter and his hat back on his head, he stood and immediately felt the dizzying effect of the alcohol. Stupid, he thought, hating himself. Weak. Can’t even do this one last thing for Peder without a little false help, can you? He concentrated on trying not to weave as he made his way back out into the Seattle night.

  Somehow, he made it to the graveyard a half-hour later. He struggled with the flint and lamp in the rain, but finally got it lit. Peder’s grave was easy to spot, being so close to the wrought-iron fence. He saw the anchor Elsa had mentioned, and knew it was his. Silently, he made his way into the burial grounds and knelt in the mud by Peder’s grave. Over the mound was a soft layer of new grass.

  For a long time, he felt nothing but emptiness as he remained on his knees. “Peder,” he muttered. “I made a mess of things, didn’t I? You and I were going to conquer the world together. We were going to be there for each other until we were old men. But I left you. I deceived you. And then I didn’t have the guts to face you again.”

  He reached to trace the marker at the head of the grave. Rain sizzled and steamed as it hit the hot glass of the lamp, but still the flame flickered on, giving the scene an otherworldly feel. Karl smiled and spoke. “If anyone saw me here, old friend, they’d think I was crazy.” He talked to the headstone as if Peder sat there instead. He could see his face, his hair, his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, Peder. I wish I had come to you earlier. I wish I had asked your forgiveness. I wish—” His voice broke as he wept. “I wish we could have had another chance to be friends. To be brothers. You meant so much to me. Forgive me, brother, forgive me.”

  Karl sank his fists into the muck around the grave and flung it to the sky. “Why, God? Why?” he screamed. “Why couldn’t you have given us one more chance?”

  He stared upward, trying to see the sky as if, in his fury, he could face God himself. “Why?” he screamed again. And then he gave in to weeping, curling up in a ball as the rain beat down upon his back.

  He awoke to the creak of wagon wheels and the suspicious stares of the few passersby about at this hour. The rain had stopped, but it was barely light and bitterly cold. Stiffly, he rose from the grass of Peder’s grave. He dimly remembered going to the saloon the night before but precious little afterward.

  What was he doing here? What was he doing with his life? Where was he to go? He knew something had to change. He could not go on as he had. He was on the edge of a revelation—a new phase in his life journey—but he had not a clue of where to begin. He stared at Peder’s grave marker and wondered again about the anchor. Who chose that? Elsa? Why? Because he was a sailor? It seemed a shallow reminder of the man … Peder was much more than that.

  Peder Ramstad had been stalwart and strong, faithful, unmoving at times. Like … an anchor.

  Like … God in a way.

  How long had Karl been sailing without an anchor? Ever since he had given in to his desire for Elsa over what he knew to be right. Sailing without an anchor, without Peder, and more important, without God. Once again, it was as clear to Karl as the northern lights on the North Sea. It was the reason for his listlessness, his weakness for drink, his overwhelming sense of loss, the desire to gain possessions about him that might help him feel anchored.

  Karl smiled for what felt like the first time in a long while. “Thank you,” he whispered, looking up at the gray clouds that were moving south. Once more, he traced the anchor on the gravestone. “Thank you too, friend. I’ll always miss you, brother. There was no one like you, nor will there ever be again.”

  Karl did several things upon returning to town: he stopped by the telegraph office to wire Brad and tell him he was going away for some time; he purchased a Bible at the nearest store, since he did not remember where he had left his old one; and he ordered a bath. Feeling clean and forgiven, refreshed as if he had had a full night’s sleep instead of an hour in the rain, he spent the day reading his Bible and praying. He ate downstairs at five o’clock and returned to his room to pray. Not on his knees, but spread-eagle on the floor before his God until sleep overtook him.

  He awakened the next morning early, packed, and walked to the docks. He signed up to serve as a sailor on the first schooner he saw, never mentioning his prior experience to the captain. To Karl, it felt like he was reborn. Starting over again.

  And never had he felt the exhilaration he did that October morn the Silver Sea was towed out of the sound and set free upon the Pacific’s waves.

  twelve

  Elsa found that Kaatje’s tiny home was soothing to her soul, a cozy, healing balm to her grieving heart. Thoughts of returning home depressed her. She could not imagine climbing back into the huge four-poster bed without Peder. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving; thoughts of previous holidays together brought her even lower. When she had been in Seattle for the funeral, it was as if she had been in a stupor, a deadened, dreamlike world that held such memories at bay. Now her grief was sharp as a knife, each memory as clear as if it had occurred yesterday. Oh, Peder, Peder, she found herself saying to the ceiling, what am I to do without you?

  While the reality of his permanent absence sank in with each day that passed, Elsa had a difficult time understanding what her place in the world was now to be. For years she had been the captain’s wife, Kristian’s mother, an occasional columnist for the New York Times. Now it was as if everything but her role as mother had receded like the tide, leaving her with scattered, shattered shells that, if she could just pick up and make sense of them, would tell her what to do next. She felt so utterly alone, it chilled her. Only Kaatje’s warm, loving ministrations and the children’s antics kept her despair at bay. But she had to face the truth; the five of them were painfully cramped in the tiny house and she would soon need to go home.

  “Elsa!” Kaatje called as she opened the door. “Elsa—”

  “Yes?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “I was just finishing up these dishes—”

  “I’ve been calling you! Didn’t you hear me? We have a new baby in the family!”

  Elsa smiled. “A baby?”

  “Yes, that old Mr. Goat turned out to be a Mrs. Goat young enough to bear another!”

  They laughed together, and Elsa grabbed her coat. She shivered as they left the house, still toasty warm from the morning’s baking and the fireplace embers. It was cold enough for snow, surely, and the ground was frozen solid beneath their feet. Before them was the glorious new barn that Karl had had built for Kaatje, with the understanding that the ancillary railroad he was building could store supplies there. No supplies had arrived yet, and Elsa doubted any ever would.

  And she doubted that the extra material that arrived by “mistake” was anything of the kind. Karl had insisted that Ka
atje use it to build another room on her house. When he stubbornly left the lumber out in the rain as if he truly was never going to return for it, she had hired a local man to do as he had bid. It was that extra room that Elsa now shared with Kaatje. Elsa was deeply thankful for Karl’s generosity. Kaatje deserved every kindness that came her way.

  She wondered at the woman who walked beside her. Although larger in stature than Kaatje, Elsa felt like a mouse compared to her lioness. Kaatje had come through abandonment, a lost farm, another trek west, and establishing a new homestead, to get to where she was now. Where had she found the strength? As Kaatje opened the door to the new barn, an aromatic wave of fresh-hewn lumber wafted about them.

  “Kaatje,” Elsa began. “How do you do it? Day after day, you make this farm work, you prepare food for the girls, you remake old clothes into new for them. Where do you find the strength?”

  Kaatje smiled and looked down, as if a bit embarrassed. Then she looked at Elsa tenderly. “You’ll find the strength too, Elsa. I promise you. Look at you now. You’ve made it this far, three months after you lost your sweet Peder. Day after day, you put one foot in front of the other, and pray that God will make a path for you. And hasn’t he done just that?”

  Elsa thought for a moment and nodded. “He has. He has been faithful.”

  “And he will continue to do so.” Kaatje drew her in so she could close the barn door. In the far corner, they could hear the children squealing in delight and laughing. “No doubt you’re feeling terribly lost. That too will wane. Gradually, life begins to feel all right again, even without your spouse. It’s like losing a limb. You just have to get around without it, and eventually it somehow feels all right again.”

  At Elsa’s horrified expression, Kaatje patted her arm. “Not all the time, of course. Sometimes you remember, and you ache for that limb. But in the day-to-day living, God teaches us how to do it in a new way. And somehow, that’s all right. It becomes all right.”

  Elsa felt her furrowed brow relax a bit. She followed after Kaatje, wondering at her wisdom. Surely she would never forget Peder! The thought of not being able to remember his smell, his embrace, his laugh pained her. But right now, it was practically all she could think of. Perhaps one had to forget, just a little, in order to live without constant pain and grief. But I am not ready, Elsa thought, shaking her head. I’m not ready to let my beloved go.

  She joined her friend on the rough-hewn bench that had been moved into the new barn. They were far enough away from the children to speak frankly, but close enough to enjoy watching them with the mother goat and her tiny, bleating kid. “Is that how you’ve done it?” she asked Kaatje. “Forgotten Soren, so you can move on?”

  Kaatje smiled gently. “I didn’t forget him on purpose. It’s just that gradually, the minute-by-minute memories fade into hour-by-hour memories. Eventually those fade into day-by-day, and those in turn go to week-by-week. That is where I am now. I remember Soren—and you probably think I am crazy—but I still ache for him once in a while. But it’s only once in a week that I do so. Life,” she said, waving before and around her, “takes over. God heals the pain. And clears the way for a future.”

  “Which will be …?”

  “I don’t know. Lately, I’ve felt the urge to head north; to see if I can find out what happened to Soren. Like you still hoping that Peder somehow miraculously survived that storm, I still wonder if my husband is alive.”

  “But if he is alive …”

  “Yes. If he is alive, he has abandoned us. If I know that for sure, then I can say good-bye to a marriage that was apparently never as important to him as it was to me. And if he is dead, I can bury him in my heart. But if he is alive—” Her words faltered.

  “If he is alive …” Elsa encouraged.

  “If he is alive and he sees me and the girls, there might be some chance of reconciliation.”

  Elsa swallowed hard. How could Kaatje desire reconciliation with such a man? She was certainly a better woman than Elsa to pursue such a dream.

  “You don’t approve,” Kaatje said softly.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Because of Tora?” she whispered.

  “Because of her and all the affairs that went on before her. How can you love such a man?”

  “You think I am weak?”

  “I simply don’t understand.”

  “At times, I do not understand myself. I seem to have this undying hope that Soren will see the light, to live as we have been taught, and to cherish his family—whether by me or another—as the gift of God it is. I want to look him in the face once more and give him that chance.

  “I have grieved for him as you grieve for Peder now. I don’t believe it will hurt as it did once. But I have to give him one more opportunity to redeem himself. If he turns from me, so be it.”

  They were silent for several long minutes. “And what happens when he sees Jessica?” Elsa asked at last. “He doesn’t even know she exists.”

  “Unless he received one of my letters.”

  “Do you think that is why he disappeared? He could not confront the evidence of his own sin?”

  “I do not know. That is why a part of me wishes to go, I suppose. To find out.”

  Elsa took Kaatje’s hand. “I am so sorry for the burden Tora laid at your feet.”

  Kaatje looked at her quickly, as if surprised and a bit offended. “Look at her, Elsa. Look at your niece! Isn’t she exquisite?”

  Elsa looked across the room at Jessica, so lovely, so natural with the baby goat and its mother. “She is beautiful. From the inside out, thanks to you.”

  “She is a gift. At first I could not believe the injustice of it all,” Kaatje murmured. “And then I realized that in the darkest moments of life Christ bestows upon us the grandest presents of all.”

  Kaatje and Elsa prepared their contribution for Thanksgiving dinner the next morning—pressed cod and cabbage in sour cream—and bundled up the children for the ride to church and then to the Gustavsons’, who were hosting the meal. It was during the service, as they sang a hymn of thanks together, that Elsa nudged Kaatje in the ribs. Kaatje gave Elsa a puzzled look and silently reminded her to keep still in church.

  Instead, Elsa leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Why don’t you and the girls winter with me in Seattle?”

  Kaatje smiled, thinking over the outrageous possibility. What about her farm? Her animals?

  “Einar would take care of the place,” Elsa whispered again, as if reading her mind.

  Kaatje fought the urge to giggle, caught an older woman’s disapproving stare, and felt like a young girl again in Bergen. Elsa was forever getting her in trouble in church there, too. She shot Elsa a look that said, We will talk about this later.

  Elsa nodded, smiling, and went on singing, obviously proud of herself for planting the seed. It would be good to get off the farm for the winter, Kaatje thought, to see the city and experience life with Elsa again. Elsa’s visit had brought back the sisterhood they had shared as children, and the thought of her leaving left Kaatje feeling a bit down. If Einar would care for the animals, what was to stop her?

  After the service, Matthew greeted them outside and handed Kaatje a well-worn letter. “Postmaster asked me to give this to you a couple days back,” he said offhandedly.

  Elsa took one look at the postmark and retorted, “So why didn’t you? Two days ago? Can’t you see it’s from Alaska?”

  Matthew looked stupefied and backed away as if Elsa and Kaatje were two caged cougars about to escape. Elsa pulled her to the wagon, ignoring their friends’ curious stares. “Open it, Kaatje. Open it.”

  Kaatje felt dizzy, bewildered. Her hand shook. “I cannot.”

  “Do you wish to do so later?” Elsa said, apparently wondering for the first time if Kaatje desired more privacy.

  “I do not know.” She placed one hand to her forehead, feeling the dampness of perspiration even in the cold afternoon air.

  “Come on,
ladies!” Nora called. “Dinner’s waiting!” Her face was so jubilant that it felt distantly interesting to Kaatje to watch as it fell. Obviously, her own expression screamed that something was wrong.

  “What is it?” Nora asked. “What’s the matter?” She murmured something to Einar and scrambled down off the wagon without waiting for assistance, then hurried over to them. “What?”

  “Kaatje got a letter from Alaska,” Elsa whispered, conscious that others were staring at them curiously.

  “Oh—” Nora said, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. “From …”

  “It’s not Soren’s handwriting,” Kaatje mumbled.

  “Come,” Nora directed, taking charge as usual. “Come to the house, and you can go the back bedroom and have some privacy,” she said loudly, looking about them, “to read the news. Good or bad, this is Thanksgiving Day, and you have your friends about you, Kaatje.”

  “Thank you, Nora,” she said. She looked up at Elsa. “Let’s do as she suggests.”

  Quickly, Elsa gathered the children and they headed out to the Gustavsons’ farm. “Stay out of those pies, Kristian,” Elsa warned over her shoulder as they drove, but Kaatje heard her voice as if through a layer of dirt. It was muffled, distant. Her mind was in the Dakota Territory, the last time she had seen Soren. He had been so beautiful, so full of life. Was this the letter that would end it?

  All the way to the farm, Kaatje remembered one day after another she had shared with Soren. None of the bad days, of course. All the good ones. And they were so sweet. He had been dear to her heart, and she supposed she held out more hope that he lived than she admitted. All at once, they had arrived at the Gustavsons’, and huge Einar easily lifted her to the ground. “You can go on in, Kaatje,” he said tenderly.

  Nora waited at the door and took her coat, even as she waved down the hall. “Now you go and read your news. Do you want some company? Elsa?”

  Dear Nora always did have an uncanny sense of what people needed. “Elsa. It would be good to have her with me.”

  “Elsa! Elsa!” Nora called.