Northern Lights Trilogy

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “I can’t, Tora. The sight of him makes me crazy. I have my own peace to make with him and God, and it won’t happen today. If you’re to go to him today, I cannot go with you.”

  Tora pulled a handkerchief from her waist pocket and crumpled it in her sweaty hands. “Call your men then. I must go right away, or I won’t be able to go at all.”

  Trent’s eyes told her he understood. “I will go with you to the jailhouse. And I will wait for you right outside. But I cannot go in.”

  Tora agreed. He took her hand, and they walked toward the jailhouse, stopping only at the railroad station where two burly men who worked loading cargo agreed to come with them. They asked no questions, and Tora looked away as Trent paid them each a dollar. “You will see that Miss Anders is escorted out if the prisoner becomes unpleasant? Your presence should persuade him to be decent.”

  Their glance at each other told Tora that they thought it an odd mission. But mission was what it was. There was no way she could get around it.

  The men followed behind them, not speaking, and they walked into the jailhouse. A deputy sat outside, in a chair by the door, dozing. Trent cleared his throat, and he stirred. “Mr. Storm. Good to see you, Mr. Storm.”

  “A pleasure, deputy. My fiancée would like a word with her attacker. I would appreciate it if you would escort her and her bodyguards inside.”

  “Sure, Mr. Storm. Want to give him a piece of your mind, lady?”

  “Something like that,” she murmured as she walked through the open door.

  Decker was sitting on his dirty cot, staring at her through the bars as if he’d expected her to come calling. He rose and nonchalantly walked toward the only thing that separated them, wrapping a bar in one of his huge hands, the other still encased in a white sling to keep his shoulder still. “Well, hello.”

  He leered at her, and the men behind her stepped to her side.

  “’Fraid to be alone with me anymore, eh?”

  “Miss Anders,” said one of the men, “shall we leave?”

  “No,” she said, clearing her throat when the word came out too quietly. “Give me a moment.”

  “You will address Miss Anders with respect,” her second bodyguard demanded.

  “Got your package,” Decker said, ignoring him, his eyes only on Tora. “A Bible. Never had a Bible before.” With that statement she could see a crack in his harsh facade. It dawned on her that he was a person, just like her. Suddenly her fear of this evil man receded a bit—he wasn’t someone to be dreaded; he was someone to pity.

  “I hadn’t carried a Bible before I got to Seattle either,” she said in reply.

  His eyes searched hers, and she stalwartly refused to look away. He did first.

  “Don’t know what you want with me. I’m as good as hung. With the pretty fiancée of Mr. Trent Storm pointing her finger at me anyway.”

  Tora swallowed hard. “That may well be. But perhaps that’s the best reason to open that Bible.”

  Decker laughed. “For what? To find out God wants me hung and gone as much as you?”

  Tora shook her head. Suddenly she knew why she was there. Why she had to be there.

  “No, Decker. For mercy. For mercy on your soul.”

  “Ah, Tora.” He clutched his breast melodramatically. “Your thoughtfulness touches me. But I don’t need mercy. There’s no mercy for men like me. I’m on a train straight to hell, and I’m gonna ride it in, hootin’ and hollerin’.”

  “You cannot mean that. No one wants to be eternally damned.”

  He gave her a condescending look. “I’m at ease with it.” His eyes searched hers, and Tora could take no more. She turned to go, then paused, her bodyguards by her side.

  “Start with John, Decker. If you open that Bible, start with the book of John.”

  “I’m not makin’ any promises.”

  She left without another word.

  Trent was waiting outside. “Are you all right?”

  Tora nodded, but reached a shaking hand out to him. She felt, rather than saw, him dismiss the men.

  “I’m glad. Let’s get you home. It’s over.”

  Tora had not the heart to tell him he was wrong.

  It had just begun.

  nine

  September 1888

  They were off the western coast of South America, having sailed successfully around the Horn, and the September noon skies held as much heat and moisture as they did in July in Camden. The Majestic, however, sailed through the calms of Capricorn on steam power, ignoring the still waters as if the winds were pushing them at eighteen knots. At this rate, they would reach San Francisco by month’s end, another Ramstad shipping record.

  Elsa pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her waistband and wiped her brow. Perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades under her dress, sending a shiver down her spine. As had become their custom these last few days, she walked with her children to the bow to take in whatever breeze they could. Thank goodness they wouldn’t have to sit in these waters for days on end again as they had when solely under sail power.

  It was then that they heard the thundering explosion below, the impact of the sound taking Elsa’s breath away. The ship shuddered as if grounded, and, pulling Kristian close, Elsa instinctively ducked and covered Eve with her body. Splintering wood shot past them and into the water. She grunted as another chunk hit her squarely on the back.

  “All hands! All hands!” Riley screamed, blowing three short blasts on his whistle.

  “All hands on deck!” Eric echoed.

  Men swarmed everywhere, and though Elsa wanted to help, she also wanted to keep her children clear of the possible fire. She knew boiler explosions could be deadly, taking a whole ship and her crew down in minutes.

  Preparing for the worst, she set her children against the foremast and sternly told them to stay there. Then she ran back toward the boiler room, squinting her eyes against the smoke to ascertain just how bad it was. The boiler room and deck had a massive hole in it. Fire shot upward, and a chain of sailors had made a bucket brigade. Others battled the tongues of flames with wet blankets.

  They were in a race. A race for their lives.

  Since she could not leave her children unattended for long, and the men were doing all they could to put out the fire, Elsa set about preparing the lifeboats in case they had to abandon ship. She went from one to the other, working on all ten boats’ ropes to make sure they could easily slide down to the cooling Pacific waters below. She scanned the coast five miles east. Judging from her maps, there wasn’t a town within thirty miles.

  She continued to glance back at the foremast, making sure the children were staying put. They did, eyes wide.

  “Cap’n,” Riley said, suddenly at her side. “It’s bad, but we have a chance. I think we can get it under control.”

  “Good. Hold on to her if we can. Lifeboats are ready.”

  “Very well.”

  “How many dead, Riley?”

  “We had two men down in the boiler room. If they’re alive, they’re prayin’ they’ll soon die.”

  Elsa swallowed hard and nodded once. “Any injuries?” “Two others.”

  “Bring them aft, and I’ll tend to them.”

  “Aye.” He ran away to do as she bid.

  Elsa moved back to her children. “Kristian, I need you to do me a favor. Riley is bringing back some injured sailors. They’ll be in a lot of pain. Can you keep your sister busy? Teach her some knots?”

  Kristian nodded obediently, lips clamped in a worried expression.

  She reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “I want you to stay near and try to keep Eve from seeing the sailors. But I want you nearby, in case we have to get into the lifeboats, as we practiced.”

  He nodded again.

  The men came then, one sailor screaming in agony, the other moaning. Eve covered her ears in fright, and Kristian hurried her to the front of the ship. Elsa, feeling torn, turned to the sailors and examined their wounds. “Get
their clothes off of them. They might still be smoldering!”

  The sailors immediately set to their task.

  “I need my bag from the cabin. Can you get to it safely?” She looked up at Samuel, a broad-shouldered man who had been with them for a year.

  “Aye, Cap’n. Think I can.”

  “Good. Go.”

  She turned to another. “We’ll need some fresh water and clean sheets. Fast.” He left without further command. “You two, stay here and try to hold these men down. They’re hurting themselves with their writhing.” The others did as she bid, and Elsa carefully examined the wounds on the man who screamed in agony. She grimaced. There were serious burns across his face and chest. The other one, the one semiconscious, had similar burns across his back.

  “These two were outside,” explained a sailor. “This one turned in time, but was knocked into a mast by the explosion. He might not be right in the head.”

  Elsa nodded. She wiped the sweat from her brow and dimly noticed her perspiration dripping down on the man’s wounds. Samuel returned with her huge bag, and she quickly opened the black leather case. In one corner was a wooden box that Elsa carefully lifted out. She flipped it open. Inside were many glass bottles, and she desperately searched for laudanum to sedate the still-screaming man. His cries were getting to her, threatening to break her like nothing before. Her hand shook as it passed each one. There.

  She poured some onto her handkerchief and quickly held it over the man’s nose and mouth, holding her breath as he gasped, practically pulling the thin cloth into his mouth, exhaled, and then breathed in again, immediately calming. In moments, he dozed. “Is he still breathing?” she asked, moving down to his chest.

  Samuel bent at the sailor’s mouth and listened. “Barely.”

  “Good. Do the same for the other man.” She examined the man’s chest, grimacing as white and black skin peeled away like burned roast. The smell of roasted flesh threatened to make her gag. “Where is Cook?” Cook often tended to the ill on her ship; he would know what to do.

  “He’s on the bucket brigade. Said he’d come if you wanted.”

  She shook her head. “I think we’re all right. There isn’t a whole lot we can do for these men but calm them and clean their wounds. Then we’ll wrap them.”

  “Mama?” came a timid voice behind one of the men around her.

  “Kristian, it’s all right. We’ll be all right. Now go back to your sister.” She didn’t look up while she spoke, intent upon cleaning the wounds and getting the men bandaged before they awakened again.

  “But, Mama, Eve has to use the toilet.”

  “Kristian!” she said, losing patience. She looked up—smoke swirled around her child. “I cannot help her right now. Tell her she’ll have to wait.”

  The sailor’s skin pulled away as she touched it with a cloth and water. Elsa shuttered, suddenly unsure. Was it better to leave it, or get rid of it? It seemed logical that it would be best to strip the blackened skin away, leaving the wound clean and ready for healing. Old, rotting skin would only complicate matters, right? “I need Cook after all,” she said to Samuel. “I’m afraid I’m making a poor decision.”

  “Right.” He was off.

  As he left, Elsa glanced toward her children. They were not there. “Kristian?” she cried, rising. She couldn’t help the panic in her heart. Last time she had looked away from her family during a crisis aboard ship, she had lost Peder. Forever. “Kristian? Did anyone see the children? Kristian! Eve!” She looked wildly about.

  “Ma’am,” said a sailor. “He was talkin’ about his sister and the necessary…”

  “Oh no. No! They’ve gone to my cabin. Stay with these men and wait on Cook!” She ran toward her cabin. The fire was nearing the door, the heat so fierce it was difficult to push past it. Could they have gone in there? Or were they turned back by the fire? She didn’t want to go in and get trapped herself if they weren’t there. “Kristian! Eve!”

  She glanced at the fire brigade and wondered if it was her imagination or if they were actually making progress. It was then that she heard a muffled “Mama!” and a child crying. She ran to the tiny cabin window, but the velvet curtains were pulled shut. “Kristian! Call if you’re in there!” If only she could see inside!

  “Mama!” It was louder this time and coming from…behind her. She whirled in relief, running to the lifeboat at the side of the ship. She whipped back the tarp and gasped at the sight of her children huddled at the bottom.

  Kristian looked up at her in misery. “She couldn’t hold it, Mama. She’s all wet.”

  “That’s all right, darling,” she said, holding out her arms. “Come. It’s not time to abandon ship yet.”

  “Is the Majestic sinking?” he asked in wonder as he jumped to the deck. “We came back to the cabin to go to the water closet and saw the fire.”

  She reached out her arms again for her little girl. Her dress was wet at the bottom, but Elsa didn’t care. She was there! Alive! “Children, I must go help those sick sailors. Come with me. They’re not screaming anymore.”

  They hurried forward again, and Elsa glanced over her shoulder and suddenly stopped. “It’s out! The fire’s out! They’ve done it!” She let out a cheer, lifting up her arm as she did so. The sailors who heard her cheered too. After seeing Cook tending to the men at the bow, she ran to the middle of the ship again, her children firmly in tow.

  Her smile quickly faded. It made her heart sink. There was a terrific hole in the center, out of which a huge column of smoke arose. With a crew of twenty-five, Elsa could barely believe that they had only lost two, with two more injured. Here and there, she spotted a crew member with a bleeding brow or forearm, but nothing serious.

  Riley came up to Elsa. “Fire’s out, Cap’n. For good. We saved her.” His white eyes and teeth beamed at her out of a blackened face of soot.

  “Very well, Mate,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. “A fine job, Riley,” she said, more softly. “Who’d we lose?”

  “Ian Dougherty and Elmer Simms. Fine men.”

  “Aye. Let’s retrieve the bodies and prepare them for a funeral on the morrow.”

  “I’ll see to it, ma’am.”

  Elsa watched briefly as he walked away. What would she have done without Riley? Or Cook? She had given Mrs. Hodge shore leave for the voyage to Norway, and they were soon to pick her up in Washington. This proved that Elsa needed another woman about to help mind the children. Oh, Peder. I wish I had you around.

  She shook her head. There was no use pining for a dead husband. He was gone. And Elsa was left to make the best of things, on ship, on shore. She stood there, watching the men continue to douse the smoldering fire, the carpenter surveying the damage, Riley shouting orders. And she was suddenly bereft. Lonely. Alone. She longed for a man at her side, the steadying heartbeat against her own in an embrace. She wanted to be held as her children clamored for her to hold them now. To be loved. To be comforted. To be known.

  Karl awakened in a cold sweat, searching his cabin walls in a frantic effort to ascertain that all was well. He was sure he had heard a boiler explosion. He went to his cabin window and threw open the sash, letting in San Francisco’s early morning light. Below, he already could hear the men working on the ballroom.

  He didn’t know why he had felt the need to leave the hotel in the city last week. But he could not help himself. Between his days spent avoiding the Kenneys, and his nights of anxious dreams, he felt like a listing ship. Between wind and water. Exposed. Off kilter. Maybe it was the deep desire to be at sea again, on his way to Alaska. Instead, he was stuck here—here in a place where Mara hovered near and he seemed to get more and more stuck in the mire of his own making. Perhaps if he stayed on his ship, he reasoned, it would encourage Antonio’s men to work all the harder. Karl had sidestepped Mara’s invitation to the ball, saying he thought he would be putting out to sea by then, but with each passing day, he knew that he would not get out of California in time. He we
nt to the private bathroom that featured a copper washtub and a matching wash basin, splashed his face, and washed his hair. He took a cloth, soaped it, and washed his body. Being clean made him feel ready to take on the day.

  Donning a smart suit of trousers and a jacket, and pulling on a bowler hat, he glanced in the mirror and guffawed. With his hair reaching his shoulders in gentle waves and an earring in one ear, he looked like a pirate dressing up as a gentleman. Karl picked up a leather strap and quickly pulled his hair into a neat ponytail, tucking the ends under his jacket collar. Then he pulled the wide gold loop out of his earlobe and left the cabin, heading directly to the ballroom.

  “You wantin’ breakfast?” called his cook from the galley as he passed.

  “Not today, Cook!” he returned. Today he was going to get his ship in order. In order so that he could leave the bay within the month. Before the Harvest Ball. His city clothes felt restraining, and once again he longed for the freedom of the sea. For shirts open at the collar, for hair free to wave in the wind. He sped down the circular wrought-iron stairs, the shortcut to the ballroom, and opened the huge mahogany doors, both at once.

  The workmen paused to look back at their employer, then went back to work. There was progress, yes, but not as much as he had hoped.

  Antonio hurried over to him. “Captain Martensen, have you—?”

  “I thought you would be three-quarters of the way done by now,” he said, exasperation just under the surface in his voice. He could see that his pacing only made the workmen nervous. But they should have been so much further along!

  “Yes, but—”

  “We are scheduled to be out of here by month’s end. Will you be on schedule?”

  “We are doing our best. We ran into—”

  “I’m not sure of that, Antonio. You and I made a deal. You saw the plans. You know what I expected. Are you now telling me that I cannot leave because you cannot fulfill your part of the bargain?”

  “No, I am not saying—”

  “Are you telling me that I will have to remain here, possibly missing my first scheduled trip out of Seattle, because your carvers can’t put in a little extra time?”