by Kris Tualla
Oskar brightened. “I would indeed!”
As Torvald continued his conversation with Oskar, Martin looked to Dagny. The moment Torvald switched to English, her demeanor shifted to something between anger and despair.
“Har du sovet godt, min dame?” he asked. Did you sleep well, my lady?
“Ja, takk deg,” she replied. “Og du?”
Martin’s lips curved in a wry smile as he kept one ear on Oskar’s conversation with Torvald. “I am afraid the bunk wasn’t built for one as tall as myself,” he responded in Norse. “My legs were rather stiff when I awoke.”
Dagny smiled again, this time with more enthusiasm as if she shared his plight.
Martin reached upward and stretched. “I have a habit of slouching, I’m afraid.”
“As do I,” she blurted. “It has always been hard for me, being the tallest girl in any crowd.”
Torvald clapped Martin’s shoulder, much more harshly than was warranted for a friendly gesture. “What about you, sir?” he asked in Norse. “Will you come play cards with us and practice your English skills as well?”
Martin shrugged, displacing Torvald’s grip. “Perhaps. But I should warn you, I’m not good at cards.”
“Then you may practice that skill as well!” Torvald laughed. “Until later, then.”
Oskar grasped Dagny’s hand once more, holding her in place. “I look forward to our next meal and the delightful pleasure of your company.”
Again Dagny’s puzzled gaze shot to Torvald. “Th-thank you. Good day.” She retracted her hand and fisted it against her chest. Torvald led her away.
Oskar blew a long sigh. “She’s beautiful.”
“More than Anna?” Martin snapped.
Oskar didn’t seem to notice his peevishness. “Different from Anna. But a possibility nonetheless.”
Martin laced his fingers to keep them occupied. “Happy hunting, Oskar. Or perhaps I should say ‘fishing’ since we are on a ship.”
Oskar turned to face him. “You don’t play cards?”
“Well…” One side of Martin’s mouth curved upward. “I have an uncle who always advised me not to reveal too much about myself to strangers, especially when gaming is involved.”
Oskar chuckled. “That is probably wise advice,” he admitted. “Next you’ll tell me that you speak English fluently!”
Martin threw back his head and laughed.
***
Dagny was fuming.
How did Torvald believe it to be in any way acceptable to switch languages in the middle of an introduction and proceed to hold a lengthy conversation in words she didn’t understand? In her convent upbringing she would have been whipped for such flagrant inconsideration for her fellow man. Woman.
Whomever.
At least Martin was kind enough to engage her so she didn’t have to just stand there, dumb like a statue. Dagny blushed at the memory.
But then Torvald switched back to Norse and interrupted. Not with the territorial sort of attitude that she would expect from her betrothed, but with an invitation to play cards.
Cards? Games of chance? And offered under the guise of English practice?
Something about that didn’t feel right, but Dagny was so inexperienced with anything in the male realm that it was very possible this arrangement was completely acceptable. After all, none of the men in the conversation seemed taken aback.
That left Torvald’s rudeness, plus his complete lack of response when Oskar kissed her hand so familiarly, as fuel for her smoldering irritation. Why didn’t Torvald act like he loved her? Perhaps her refusal to share his bunk before their vows were spoken, much less bed him, had set his feelings aside.
“That cannot be. He isn’t so weak of character,” she murmured as she fixed his pallet. The second mattress arrived while they were walking the deck and Dagny was determined to make her future husband comfortable.
If he was cooling toward her because of her stance against swiving with him before marriage, she needed to show him that her other traits were just as valuable. No, more valuable. A dutiful wife’s worth went far beyond mere bedsport. She was to be a helpmeet, to complete her husband. And Dagny had every intention of fulfilling her role.
When the bed was made, Dagny sat at the little table and waited for Torvald to come collect her for the midday meal. As she did so, an idea so obvious sparked in her brain, that she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.
“I’ll learn English now,” she whispered. “I won’t wait until we are in America, I’ll learn it on the journey!”
Better yet, she wouldn’t tell Torvald. What a wonderful surprise! Imagine how relieved he would be to discover she was able converse in their new home. She wouldn’t need to rely on him every moment of every day for even the simplest of interactions. He would be free to establish himself and begin providing for her. And their children.
Dagny smiled, quite pleased with her decision, and convinced that her certainly-by-then husband would be very proud of her initiative. The only consideration now was finding someone who was willing to teach her.
“I shall begin by following him to the games this afternoon,” she resolved. “At the least, I will determine which husbands speak English. Then I will search out their wives.”
Unwilling to wait idly in the cabin any longer, Dagny stood, straightened her clothing and her shoulders, and made her way to the dining room.
***
As it turned out, Torvald was already helping himself to the buffet. Dagny bit back the bad-tempered words that crowded her tongue and gave her fiancé a smile instead. She crossed the space to stand beside him and lifted a pottery plate from the stack.
“The mattress was delivered and I made up your bed,” she offered. “I think you will be quite comfortable until—”
“Thank you, dearest,” he interrupted. His smiling brown eyes held her gaze. “I knew I could count on you to turn our cabin into a home.”
Dagny felt the blush warm her cheeks. “When will you speak to the captain next?”
“Soon.” He kissed her temple. “Soon. I promise. Would you like some fish?”
“Yes. Thank you,” she murmured.
She handed Torvald her plate and he filled it for her, asking her preferences as he did so. Then he led her to an empty table and held her chair as she sat.
“Your mood is much improved,” Dagny observed.
Torvald grinned. “My afternoon promises lively diversion.”
“You mean the games?”
“Yes.” He forked a load of fish into his mouth.
Dagny spread butter on a thick slice of brown bread. “How many men will participate, do you think?”
Torvald shrugged. “Fewer today than tonight.”
That surprised her. “Tonight?”
He nodded. “I expect the numbers will grow each afternoon and evening at first, then decrease until only the best players remain.”
“So you will be gaming every afternoon and evening?” she clarified.
“That is my expectation,” he replied before taking a bite of his own bread.
Dagny’s shoulders fell. “What am I to do with my time when you are so engaged?”
Torvald gave her a lopsided grin. “Anything you wish to do.”
“But…” Dagny searched for words that wouldn’t spark a fire. “But I don’t have anything to do.”
Her fiancé waved one unconcerned hand and sopped up his plate with the last crust of bread in the other. “Find the other women. Certainly they have brought along some sort of industry, even if you didn’t.”
“I didn’t think to,” she replied softly. “I imagined we would spend our time together.”
Torvald wiped his mouth on a napkin and leaned into her ear.
“My darling girl,” he murmured. “We cannot be together every minute of every day.” He stood, then, and kissed the top of her head. “I shall see you at supper.”
As she watched him walk away her determination to learn En
glish solidified. “You’ll see me sooner than that,” she muttered.
An outburst of feminine gaiety tugged Dagny’s attention to a table on the far side of the room. Oskar and Martin sat with two ladies, one blonde, and one with riotous red curls. Oskar waved his hands in the air, enacting some sort of situation which the blonde apparently found hilarious. The redhead watched him with an inscrutable expression. Martin leaned one shoulder against the wall, his mouth hidden by a loose fist. When Dagny turned toward him, his eyes shifted to hers, but no other part of him moved.
Dagny froze, unsure of what to do. Should she smile? Ignore him? Or would she be expected to cross the room and acknowledge him? She settled on rising to her feet, dipping a polite nod, and exiting the area without looking back.
***
Martin struggled with the decision of how to spend his afternoon. On one hand, he was very curious about Torvald and the card games that Dagny’s brother arranged. Oskar was going and repeatedly encouraged Martin to join him. However, a little warning thought kept waving its hands inside Martin’s mind; and that thought shooed him away from showing too much interest too quickly.
He snorted. Onkel Brander, get out of my head.
Instead of going to the salon where the games were to be held, Martin returned to his cabin and dug through his trunk until he found the book he purchased before he left Arendal. It was a hefty novel by a man named Henry Fielding and published a year and a half earlier. The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling was touted as a comedy, and Martin expected to enjoy many relaxing afternoons on the voyage in the company of this intriguing character.
As he left his cabin, he heard the deep male rumblings of conversation wafting from the back of the hallway. Making a sudden decision, he turned and strolled toward the noise.
The gathering space at the rear of the ship was clearly intended for men. Heavy wooden chairs lined a group of square tables, which were being shoved together as he watched. Small portholes provided a modicum of light, and the air was already thick with pipe and cigar smoke. Martin pulled a deep breath, finding recollections of his evenings with Oxford students within the pungent aromas. He rested for a moment in the pleasant memories.
“Lord Hansen!” Torvald called out, disturbing his reverie. “Have you decided to join us?”
Martin lifted his book. “Not this time. Perhaps another.”
Torvald didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention to the men settling around the tables.
“He doesn’t want to appear overly eager,” Martin mused, retracing his steps away from the salon. “Very smooth.”
Climbing to the deck, Martin breathed in an entirely different set of memories. Arendal was a seaport, tucked at the end of a small fjord. Home to him always meant saltwater, wind and the constant slap of waves—until the fjord froze solid in winter.
He doubted he would ever see Arendal again. And yet, this path was the only one that made any kind of sense to him. Martin was simply compelled to follow his passions, as surely as if an unseen hand pushed him from behind. And his passions lay in building things.
Martin walked around the deck, avoiding the cluster of women and children on the rear platform, until he found a large coil of rope which held promise. He sat in the center of the rope circle, stretching his legs over one side and turning his back to the warmth of the sun. As the heat of that shining star seeped over his scalp and his shoulders, he opened his book to the first page and began to read.
Chapter Six
Dagny stood in the passageway and listened to the mix of Norse and English in the men’s voices, and screwed up her courage to walk into the salon. Torvald had not invited her, but he hadn’t ordered her to stay away either.
All she wanted to do was watch and listen. To spend time understanding her future husband’s interests as a devoted wife should. And to make a start on her goal of learning English by trying to decipher the bits she heard.
“This is ridiculous,” she whispered to herself. “Be strong for once. Simply walk in as if you belonged.”
Dagny straightened her shoulders, stiffened her spine, clasped her hands in front of her waist the way the convent sisters taught her, and strode in.
The congenial rumble of masculine conversation died amidst a creaking shift of chairs.
“Dagny?” Torvald said, rising to his feet. “Is something amiss?”
Dagny forced a stiff smile. “No.”
Torvald’s eyes narrowed. He moved around the gathering, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then why are you here?”
The realization that she had made a severe social blunder sent blood rushing to her cheeks. “I only thought to watch you play.”
Torvald’s expression eased. When he reached her side, he took her arm. “I’m afraid the conversation in this crowd isn’t fit for women’s ears,” he demurred. “May I escort you back to the cabin?”
“I know my way!” she snapped. His fingers tightened on her arm, pressing the warning into her flesh. “I—I only meant that you needn’t inconvenience yourself,” she added.
“Aw, let her watch a round or two,” one of the men said. He jammed his cigar into his mouth and spoke around its stinking stump. “I’m sure she’ll be bored soon enough.”
Dagny coughed. The smoke in the room made her eyes water. Perhaps this wasn't her best laid plan to date.
Torvald shifted to English and said something that made the men laugh. Then he steered her toward the doorway.
“Darling girl, why don’t you seek out the women aboard?” he murmured in a tone which indicated that this was far beyond a mere suggestion. “Perhaps you can learn more about what to expect when we reach America, eh?”
Dagny ground her teeth so hard they hurt. Better that than to blurt what she was thinking at the moment; those words would only embarrass Torvald and herself.
“An excellent idea, my lord. I will take it under advisement.” Dagny whirled away from her fiancé, yanking her arm from his grasp, and strode at a measured pace down the passageway. She did not look back. Even when another round of male laughter chased after her.
“Seek out the women?” she fumed. “You can bet I will do exactly that. Perhaps they can teach me more than you’ll wish I knew!”
Dagny stomped through all parts of the ship which Torvald told her were safe before she found a cluster of ladies on the rear deck. The older of the half-dozen children on the voyage played with each other, while two toddlers dozed on their mother’s laps. The women smiled as she approached.
“May I join you?” Dagny asked.
One matron slid sideways and patted the bench beside her. She said something Dagny didn’t understand.
“Do any of you speak Norwegian?” Dagny asked.
“Bare litt,” answered a petite brunette. “Gjør deg taler Engelsk?”
Dagny shook her head. “Men jeg vil lære.”
“But I want to learn. Say it,” the brunette instructed. “Si det,”
Dagny repeated the English words slowly, looking for similarities to Norse. Or Latin. In the convent she learned the ancient language and the idea occurred to her it might prove helpful.
The brunette nodded. “That is a good start.”
“That is a good start.” Dagny repeated, grinning. “Det er en god start?”
“Yes!” She shifted the sleeping child draped over her lap. “My name is Mary Whittlestone. I come from the north of Scotland, and we’ve visitors from the Orkneys and Shetlands. That’s where I learnt a bit of your tongue.”
Dagny caught several of the words. “My name is Dagny, uh, Haugen,” she stammered over the unfamiliar surname.
“Welcome to our club,” Mary said.
‘Welcome’ was obviously velkommen. “Takk du,” she replied.
“Thank you,” another woman added, speaking slowly and clearly. “In English it’s pronounced thank you. My name is Maude. I come from London.”
As the afternoon progressed, Dagny repeated everything that was said to her. After a
while the women’s conversation picked up speed, however, and Dagny was lost. No matter, she told herself. She had made a start. And every journey started with taking the first step.
***
Torvald gusted into their cabin like a spring wind. His cheeks were flushed, his brown eyes sparkled, and a wide grin pinched the corners of his eyes in a devilish way. He looked so breathtakingly handsome that Dagny almost forgot she was unhappy with him.
Almost.
“Here you are, my darling girl!” he exclaimed before wrapping his arms around her, lifting and twirling her in the tight space. He set her down and his lips covered hers, pulling her into a long, luscious kiss which reminded her of every reason why she had gotten on this ship to begin with. His mouth tasted of whisky, and his skin smelled of tobacco.
Dagny’s resolve to be cool towards the man crumbled. She hated being so weak. But her heart pounded, and parts lower warmed with his sensual attention. She didn’t want his kisses to end.
Torvald pulled away from her. Her eyelids lifted heavily and she required a moment to focus on his face. “Did you find somewhere to spend your afternoon?” he asked. His voice was delightfully husky.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He smiled. “Where?”
“I found a group of ladies gathered on the rear deck,” she said. “They wanted their children to play in the fresh air.”
Torvald loosened his shirt and poured water into the basin in preparation for washing. “And what did you ladies talk about?”
Dagny frowned a little, unprepared for the question. “Well, some of them spoke English so I couldn’t converse with them,” she deflected.
“And the rest?” he pressed.
Dagny gave him a small shrug. “I listened mostly. I have never spent any time with married women, so their conversation was quite instructive.”
Torvald paused in his ablutions. “In what way?”
Dagny scrambled for an answer. She settled on, “How to keep their husbands happy.”