by Kris Tualla
She smiled.
***
Dagny appeared at supper that evening with her hair pulled back from her face, but hanging loose to her waist. Martin prayed fervently that this would not become her new mode, because the beauty revealed by her less restricted appearance made it hard for him to take his eyes off of her. Torvald—and everyone else in view—would surely notice. That could not be helpful to anyone’s peace of mind.
Martin determinedly shifted his gaze to Torvald. The grim set of his lips proved his disapproval, obvious that he had battled and lost on this point of fashion. Martin glanced at the other women in the room to judge their reactions. Some were clearly put off. Others, however, touched their own bound tresses as if considering a rebellion of their own.
Dagny said she wasn’t strong; Martin doubted she had any idea how strong she truly was.
Throughout the meal, Dagny was quietly attentive to Torvald and hardly looked at Martin at all. When they had finished eating, however, she kicked his foot under the table and gave him a little frown. Torvald stood.
Dagny turned and asked him, “Are you going to play cards?”
“Yes, dearest.” He offered his arm. “May I escort you to our cabin?”
Dagny appeared conflicted. “Would you mind very much if I remained? I’d like another cup of coffee.” She kicked Martin’s foot again.
“I would be pleased to wait here and see her safely ensconced in your cabin, Lord Haugen,” Martin effused, picking up her cue. “Then I believe I’ll come join your games.”
Now it was Torvald who appeared conflicted. Obviously he wasn’t enthusiastic about leaving Dagny with Martin, but the promise that Martin would finally come to play in his lair was enticing. He dipped a brief nod.
“Thank you, Hansen. I shall see you shortly.” Torvald whirled, clapped another man on the shoulder, and wended his way from the dining area.
Martin watched him go. Dagny waved to the serving boy for two cups of coffee. Martin waited until the bitter brew was served before he looked questioningly at Dagny.
“I sat with the women today,” she said without preamble. “I asked them to slow down, and say that again. I even had them write down words.”
Dagny produced her folded note. “What I discovered was that though some words may look familiar, it’s the pronunciation that makes it hard.”
Martin was impressed. He said so. Dagny blushed.
“How can I help?” he asked.
“Will you bring your book tomorrow?” Eagerness lifted her features. “If I can see words and you tell me how the letters are pronounced, I think I can learn that much faster.”
Martin smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”
Chapter Nine
June 12, 1749
A week had passed since Dagny’s first English lesson. Already she had amassed a basic vocabulary and could construct simple sentences. But with the Germanic-Norwegian similarities, her knowledge of Latin, English being spoken all around her, and her single-minded determination, Dagny was progressing faster than either she or Martin expected. She was quite pleased with her burgeoning skills.
On the other hand, she was not at all pleased with Torvald’s continuing delays of their marriage. Every time Dagny brought it up, he brushed her concerns aside with excuses such as the captain was too busy, or that he had other pressing matters to attend to himself.
“We are on a ship,” she grumbled as she straightened their cabin. “You cannot truly believe someone is going to swim away before your business is finished.”
Why, then, did he keep putting off their nuptials while pressing her daily for sexual submission? Dagny dropped onto the small wooden chair in their cabin and tried to figure out Torvald’s logic. She wasn’t letting him have his way with her; that should be a reason to get the deed done quickly.
Unless he was getting his urges satisfied elsewhere.
“Could that be it?” The words escaped Dagny’s lips and her entire posture slumped.
While she was in the hold of the ship learning English with Martin, or out on the deck spending time with the women, was Torvald practicing bedsport with another woman?
“I have to know,” she stated, though her heart thudded painfully at the thought. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. “Don’t be such a coward, Dagny. Go find the truth.”
Resolute, she stood, straightening her skirt and tossing her loose hair over her shoulder. She opened the door to her cabin and stepped into the passageway. A glance at the transoms told her what she needed to do.
Stand silently and listen. Listen past the conversations at either end of the hall, the constant creaking of the wooden vessel, and the ever-present wind snapping the sails above. Listen for muted conversations. The sounds of movement with no words. Anything that seemed unfamiliar.
Sixteen cabins opened into this passage, eight on either side. Dagny set herself in the middle and stilled.
Most of the cabins appeared to be empty, their residents on deck enjoying the morning air, or conversing over coffee in the dining area. The male voices carrying from the salon at the back of the ship did not include Torvald’s.
Dagny knew Martin would be wondering what delayed her, but she pushed that knowledge aside. Once the idea that Torvald might be seeking comfort from another woman planted itself in her mind, Dagny was determined to discover its truth. She would do what was needed to set her mind at ease—or discover her fiancé’s villainy.
After nearly half an hour without hearing anything untoward, Dagny walked around to the second passageway. This one only had the eight cabins against the outer side of the ship; the backs of the eight center cabins formed the hall’s second wall. Again she stopped and waited.
Another half of an hour passed with excruciating sluggishness. Again, nothing came of the time spent. Defeated, Dagny moved toward the steps which led downward, deeper into the ship. When she reached the hold, she was surprised to see Torvald.
And he was obviously surprised to see her. “What are you doing down here?” he demanded.
Dagny glanced around and thankfully did not see Martin. “I—I wanted to get something from my trunk,” she stammered and forced a smile. “I’m so glad to find you here. Will you help me?”
Torvald’s eyes narrowed. “What did you need?”
Dagny’s mind raced through an inventory of her chest’s meager occupants. “My other pair of shoes. I’m finding that these sturdy ones aren’t necessary on the ship and I would rather save the wear on them…”
To make her point, she lifted the hem of her skirt and stuck out a foot.
Torvald grumbled under his breath, but turned toward the stacked coffers. “Which one is yours?”
Dagny was a little hurt that he didn’t remember but pointed to one toward the back. “That one. With the black lock.”
Torvald shifted trunks—dragging, lifting and grunting—until Dagny’s relatively small one was reachable. He turned to her, hands settling on his hips, and inclined his head toward it.
“Go on, then.”
Dagny’s jaw dropped. Her hands flew to her cheeks. “I’ve forgotten the key!” she yelped, hoping her acting was believable.
Torvald’s glare was hot enough to set her afire. “Dagny! How could you?”
She stepped forward and put her palms against his chest. “I’m so sorry, Torvald. But thank you for moving the trunks. I had no idea you were strong enough to do that on your own. I’ll come back later and switch my shoes.”
His glare cooled. “No, you’ll do no such thing.”
“But—”
“You will give me your key,” he interrupted. “Then I’ll come back and switch your shoes. I told you this wasn’t a safe place for you to be and I meant it!”
Dagny affected the contrite expression which had always placated the nuns. “I’m so sorry. But thank you for being so kind to me.”
Torvald wagged his head slowly. “You must obey me, Dagny. Always. I’m only looking out for your b
est interests.”
She nodded meekly. “I know.”
“Come on then,” he said as he gripped her elbow. “Let’s go.”
Dagny allowed herself to be escorted back to their cabin. She retrieved the little metal key to the lock on her trunk and handed it to Torvald.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Shall we eat now?”
Torvald palmed the key, its leather thong escaping over his thumb. “You go ahead. I have some business to attend to first.” He kissed her forehead; his physical apology for snapping at her. “I’ll bring your shoes up later.”
The couple left the cabin and headed in opposite directions. It was only then that Dagny realized she had no idea why Torvald was in the hold when she found him there.
***
Martin sat up on his secret pallet when Torvald and Dagny’s footsteps disappeared and lifted his unlit lamp. While he still didn’t know what circumstance had delayed Dagny’s arrival for such a long time, the time he did have alone in the hold had proved very interesting indeed.
When he heard Torvald’s voice and accompanying boot steps on the ladder, Martin quickly extinguished his lamp and settled back on the stack of fabrics. He could watch from his darkened corner and see some of what transpired in the lighted area near the narrow stairs.
Torvald wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by one of the older gentlemen who spent quite a bit of time in the salon playing cards and drinking whisky. Martin watched him win rather often and it occurred to him that the man might be cheating. Or that Torvald was truly an incompetent player.
Today that man was opening his trunk to show Torvald a piece of jewelry. Torvald made all the appropriate noises, exclaiming the necklace to be of superior quality.
“Thank you for showing me,” Torvald effused, handing the piece back to the man. “Now be sure to hide that deep inside your chest. You wouldn’t want anyone to see it and get ideas, should you need to open this again.”
Martin couldn’t see the man’s expression, but he clapped a hand against Torvald’s arm. “That’s good thinking, son!”
A few minutes passed while the necklace was safely buried. The trunk was closed and locked.
“Shall we?” the older man asked.
“Go on up, sir,” Torvald said. “I’m going to move your trunk a bit deeper, and I need to retrieve something from my own. It seems my gaming skills are being bested on this voyage.”
The man chuckled. “I could give you a few pointers, if you’d like.”
Torvald chuckled as well. “And I shall take you up on that. May I help you up the steps?”
“No need—I’m not that feeble yet!” the older man scoffed, though Martin heard the smile in his tone.
As the man made his way up the steps, Torvald did shift the chests around. He spent some time fidgeting with the lock on the other man’s trunk before he stood, tucking something into his pocket.
That was when Dagny appeared.
Martin was pleased at how deftly she handled the surprise of seeing Torvald, as well as the way she explained away her presence there. Either she was an accomplished liar, which didn’t seem to fit her character at all, or she possessed a quick mind. Watching how rapidly her English skills were growing, Martin bet on the latter.
Now that he was alone in the hold, and there was obviously not going to be a tutoring session, Martin wound his way out of his nest and headed up the decks toward the midday meal.
***
Dagny sat alone at one of the long tables and watched the two women at the other end. The blonde, called Floss Pedersen according to Oskar, always seemed to be smiling, pulling her red-haired friend, Anna Solberg along on whatever diversion she concocted. While Dagny guessed them to be around her own age, they clearly possessed more of life’s experiences. She wanted to befriend them, but was too shy to simply plop herself down and introduce herself.
When she boarded this ship in Christiania, Dagny expected to spend all of her time with Torvald, who would be her devoted new husband. And though he introduced her from the start as ‘lady’ to his ‘lord’ that implied relationship was still a façade. The fact that he had diversions—leaving her to her own devices—was a surprise as well.
The truth was, after growing up in a convent, Dagny simply didn’t know how to make friends. She never needed to. The other girls living there had been with her most of her life. And the older women who had taken vows of servitude to God were neither her confidants nor her companions. Even if Dagny had a chance to make friends, the nuns filled all of their days with endless tasks, study, and prayer in the chapel. There was no time left for play.
Dagny heaved a sigh and turned her attention back to her fish soup, though the blonde woman’s delighted laughter poked her loneliness. Perhaps once she and Torvald were settled in America she would find a friend.
Movement across the table lifted her eyes. What she saw lifted her spirit.
“Good day, Lady Haugen. Might I join you?” Martin asked.
“Of course, Lord Hansen,” she replied, maintaining his level of formality, lest anyone watching misinterpret his actions. “I welcome the conversation.”
“What has occupied your day?” he asked innocently, settling his bowl and tucking his napkin into the collar of his shirt.
“I was waiting for Torvald. I had a matter I wished to discuss,” she said carefully. “I did go looking for him, finally, and found him in the hold with our luggage.”
“I see,” Martin commented, placing an emphasis which Dagny understood. “Did he not join you here?”
Dagny shook her head. “He had other things to attend to. I hope someone might be kind enough to enlighten me as to what occupies a man’s time so thoroughly. As women, we are at a loss.”
Martin smiled and his eyes caught the light like finely cut sapphires. “Are you asking me to betray the secrets of my gender?”
“Only if they are secrets,” she countered playfully, entranced by the shifting blue in his eyes.
“Time will tell, Lady Haugen. Time will tell,” he said before spooning the soup between his grinning lips.
Dagny’s heart warmed and her loneliness dissipated. Though she knew that ladies were not supposed to be friends with men, Martin Hansen was the one person on this voyage who had exhibited kindness and respect from the moment they met. He treated her like an equal, not only a woman.
Now that he was her secret tutor, she was even more impressed with his easy manner and keen mind. The fact that he was so striking in his physical appearance only made it easier to like him. And he was tall. Dagny enjoyed being able to look up at a man for a change. It made her feel feminine, not like the troll next to all the petite girls in the convent.
She ate the last bit of her soup and set her spoon down. With a contented sigh, she glanced again at the two women down the table.
The red-haired one met her glance and held it until, startled and unsure what to do, Dagny looked away.
***
During her afternoon hours with the mothers Dagny engaged in simple English conversation, quickly discovering that the more she attempted to speak that language, the more willing the women were to help her. Her confidence thus buoyed, Dagny was able to laugh at her mistakes, and be bolder in her attempts to communicate.
And although it might be either her imagination or her increasing understanding, Dagny believed the women were speaking more slowly and more clearly. She had long finished knitting the scarf for Torvald—and had begun another just to keep her hands busy—when she realized that she was following their conversations without watching their mouths. Of course, her paper and graphite still had a permanent spot in her lap, a quirk which seemed to endear Dagny to the group. And she made use of those tools often. Now, however, a woman would reach for the paper and write a word down without waiting for Dagny to ask, so familiar had they become with her process.
Dagny would not call these women her friends, exactly, because their positions in life were so diverse from hers. But
they were friendly and helpful and that meant the world to her at this precarious point. At the very least, they were equipping her to move forward into the strange new land that awaited them all at the end of this journey.
Chapter Ten
June 13, 1749
Martin waited for Dagny in the hold the next morning, wondering if she would come. He had been sketching floor plans for houses for two hours thus far, dreaming of what he would build into his own perfect home, when he heard footsteps on the ladder. Covering his lamp, he waited to see who approached.
Torvald. And he was a man with a purpose.
First, he unlocked Dagny’s chest and flipped the lid open. Next, he unlocked one nearby. He gathered up several items from the second trunk and placed them in Dagny’s. All were wrapped in fabric pouches, the protective sort that jewelry would be transported in. He lifted Dagny’s slippers out and set them on the deck before he closed and locked her trunk. Then he closed the second, larger chest, grabbed the slippers, and hurried back up the narrow steps.
“Well, that was certainly odd,” Martin said softly.
He was still pondering what Torvald might be engaged in when Dagny stepped cautiously down the stairs. Martin noticed she was wearing the softer, lighter slippers which Torvald had retrieved.
“Martin?” she whispered.
“I’m here,” he answered, and began to work his way forward. “Have you come for your lesson?”
She looked unaccountably relieved. “Yes. Torvald told me he would be involved in a business meeting for at least one hour, maybe two.”
Martin pulled a small crate to the center of the open space for Dagny to sit on. Then he found one for himself.
“What were you doing back there?” she asked once they were settled.
Martin shrugged. “Imagining houses.”
“And drawing them?” Dagny leaned forward. “Will you show me?”