by Kris Tualla
Dagny’s mouth opened, and shut. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving two wet trails of moonlight. “I’m so…” her voice trailed off.
Martin waited. When no additional words emanated from her, he asked, “So, what, Dagny?”
Her gaze slid down, away from his.
“Alone.”
The word was tiny, spoken in the softest of murmurs. And yet it revealed an enormity he didn’t expect and couldn’t imagine.
“What about Torvald?” Martin asked the relevant question. Though he felt he understood the deficiencies in that man’s character, Dagny obviously cared for him. How could she feel alone? Torvald was right beside her every day.
Dagny’s shoulders slumped with defeat. “I’ll tell you. But you’ll hate me afterward.”
“I won’t hate you,” Martin assured her. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, wishing that simple gesture could fix whatever else was out of place in her world.
Her eyes lifted. “You will. It’s my own fault, really. I was a fool.”
Martin lifted his hands in question. “Will you at least allow me to make that judgment on my own, and not condemn me prematurely?”
Dagny tucked her lips between her teeth and held them there. Her internal struggle played over her face so clearly that Martin wanted to grab her shoulders and shake the information out of her. He could not imagine this beautiful, intelligent woman doing anything so horrible that she would rather take her own life than face it.
And yet, he waited.
Jaw clenched, hands fisted in his lap, heart racing. He waited.
Dagny pulled a sudden breath and her words rushed out. “Torvald-won’t-marry-me.”
Martin’s clenched jaw fell slack and his hands went limp. But his heart felt like it would burst from his chest. “Did—did you say Torvald won’t marry you?”
She nodded, her eyes wider than a full moon. “He said we would be married when we got on the ship—but then he said the captain was too busy—and now he won’t even ask him anymore!”
The ramifications of Dagny’s words slammed against him. So many questions jostled for verbal position that Martin didn’t know which to ask first. One thing was clear: Torvald and Dagny were assuredly not brother and sister. Why did Torvald claim they were?
“You are sharing a cabin…” Martin began.
“But not a bed!” she declaimed. “I’m still untouched, though I know no one would ever believe me.” Another wet trail of light flowed down her cheeks. “I swear it’s true, Martin. I have always slept in my own bunk.”
“I believe you. I do,” he assured her. “But I still don’t understand—”
“Dagny!” Torvald’s sudden shout made her jump. “My, God! Dagny, where have you been?”
Dagny struggled to her feet as her fiancé ran toward her. She didn’t look at Martin.
He rose to his feet more slowly.
Torvald grabbed Dagny’s shoulders and pulled her into a rough embrace. “When I couldn’t find you I thought you might have met with an unimaginable accident!”
Dagny looked at Martin over Torvald’s shoulder. Her expression begged for his silence.
He complied, standing still until he was addressed.
Torvald straightened his arms. “Dagny? Answer me! Where have you been?”
“I—I wanted to be alone, so I sat by my trunk,” she stammered her cryptic explanation. “In the bottom. Then I came up here.”
Torvald turned to Martin as if noticing his presence for the first time. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“I came on deck to use the head. When I finished, I saw Dagny sitting alone.” Martin dipped his chin as he offered another possible version of the night’s events. “I did not believe it safe for her to be out here by herself, so I sat with her.”
Torvald heaved a sigh, seeming to have come to a relieved conclusion of some sort. “Thank you, Hansen. That was very gentlemanly of you.”
“My pleasure, sir. Now if you will excuse me?” Martin spun on his heel and left.
June 14, 1749
Martin didn’t sleep well after his terrifying encounter with Dagny. He was still baffled she would think her life so ruined, that tossing herself into the ocean was a desirable path. Granted, Martin’s first impression of Torvald’s less than distinguished character was proven—a fact which gave Martin both satisfaction and despair simultaneously. Yet in that light, he had no trouble believing Dagny’s story.
And despite what she said about not being strong, Martin felt it required some measure of backbone for Dagny to stand up to Torvald and refuse his bed until the vows were spoken, no matter what the circumstance. To Torvald’s credit, he had not forced himself on her. Though with the open transoms above each cabin’s door, any cries for help would draw an immediate response.
So Torvald and Dagny were not related. Nor were they married. Martin made the assumption that the name Haugen plus Torvald’s claim to be a lady and lord were fabrications as well. And why not? Every person on this ship was headed to a new life on a far continent. Man or woman, they could be anyone they wished to be.
Martin couldn’t help but wonder what game of chance Torvald played now. And why would he gamble Dagny’s future in the process?
***
Dagny did not say a word to Torvald when he escorted her back to their cabin. Nor did she speak to him after she dressed for bed, though he tried to engage her in conversation. Once he doused the little cabin’s lamp and settled on his bunk, Dagny succinctly laid out the situation, in the bluntest way she could think of, so he would not misunderstand.
“I saw you leaving Anna Solberg’s cabin.”
Torvald sat up so quickly, he hit his head on Dagny’s bunk. “Skitt!”
She smiled a little in the dark, in spite of her heartbreak.
“It was a business meeting!” Torvald insisted.
“I may be a virgin, raised by nuns,” Dagny stated with a calm that surprised her. “But I’m not stupid.”
Torvald snorted. “No? Well you don’t seem to understand that men—all men—have certain needs.”
Dagny rolled her eyes. “Like a back-alley mongrel? Humping against any bitch that comes along?”
Torvald drew a deep breath in through his nostrils, and blew it out again. “What does that say about me, Dagny? Have you thought about that?”
“Yes. I have. Good night, Torvald. This conversation is finished.” Dagny rolled onto her side, facing the cabin wall, and waited. Her pulse rushed in her ears and she struggled to keep her breath even and quiet.
After a moment of stunned silence Torvald got off his bunk, dragged his trousers on by the dim light from the transom, and left the cabin. He didn’t come back before Dagny succumbed to the emotional exhaustion of her turbulent day.
She slept late in the morning, missing breakfast. Her stomach grumbled so loudly she was certain the entire ship could hear it. She hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours, and that, combined with her brush with death yester eve, left her shaky.
Of course, the prospect of facing Martin in the harsh light of day weighed on her as well. She glanced at the little round window in the cabin.
“The gray light of day, more like it,” she murmured. No wonder she slept so long; the weather outside was overcast with dark, heavy clouds which portended rain. It was the first inclement day of the voyage. Dagny felt it an appropriate metaphor for her life.
The cabin door opened and Dagny clasped her dress in front of her, shielding her night clothes from the intruder’s view.
Torvald straightened and he looked relieved. “Pardon me, darling. I’ll wait outside until you are dressed.” He backed out and pulled the door shut.
Having already brushed her hair and washed, Dagny hurriedly donned her gown and laced the front of her over-bodice. She looked briefly around the floor for her second slipper, before remembering she lost it into the sea.
“Skitt,” she whispered, copying Torvald. It was a good word. The
nuns would be outraged. Dagny sat on the chair and put on her boots before she let Torvald in.
“I’m gratified to see that you slept so well,” he gushed once she allowed him reentry.
“Thank you, but I am about to faint from hunger,” she replied.
“I’ll escort you to the dining tables as soon as I tell you what I discovered today.” Torvald knelt in front of her chair and gripped her hands in his. “I’m afraid that I owe you an enormous apology. And I give you my word as a gentleman that I will make every bit of this up to you.”
“Are you apologizing about Anna?” Dagny asked, letting her hands lay limp in his. For now.
“No—well, yes. Of course I am,” he insisted. “It was wrong of me to dally with another. I beg your forgiveness for that as well.”
Dagny’s gut clenched, for the moment silencing its demand for food. “What do you mean as well?”
Torvald gazed at her as if she was the adored taskmaster, and he an errant puppy. “I spoke with the captain this morning.”
Dagny’s mood brightened. “When might he marry us?”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Torvald cleared his throat. “I’ve made a grave error.”
Her brightness dimmed. “What error?”
“It seems I misunderstood maritime law,” he said carefully. “The captain does not have the authority to marry us once we have reached international water.”
Dagny withdrew her hands. She jammed fists into her lap to keep from slapping Torvald across the face as hard as she could. “So had you pressed him at the start, we would be married now?” she accused. “But now because you did not, we can not be married until we are a few miles from Boston?”
He affected a contrite expression. “I am afraid that is the way of things, yes. I am so sorry, my love.”
Dagny rose to her feet and glared down at her still-kneeling fiancé. “It seems that I shall have to reconsider your proposal, Torvald. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to find food!”
She stormed out and slammed the cabin door behind her.
Chapter Twelve
Martin paced across the ship’s forward deck, rail to rail. The forced inactivity of this voyage was expected, but he was beginning to feel like a caged animal. At least when the sun shone, the oceans breezes blew against him, and the ship rocked along like a galloping horse, Martin felt as if he was doing something physical. Even though his actions extended merely to keeping his balance, some of his muscles were engaged.
On this day, the horizon was a blur and a canopy of gray pressed down on him. It felt like a tomb.
He longed to break a sweat. To run full out across an open space until his legs burned. To lift or climb or bend a stallion to his will. Something. Anything. Martin needed to move with purpose. His body ached with it.
“Where are you going?”
Oskar’s voice yanked Martin from his depressing reverie. He faced his cabin mate’s amused grin. “I just need to do something physical,” he admitted.
Oskar sauntered closer. “Do you?”
He glanced toward the stern of the ship. His fist shot toward Martin and thumped him hard in the chest. “Race you!” Oskar yelped and took off running.
For a startled instant, Martin remained rooted in place, watching Oskar’s retreating back. With sudden and delighted understanding, he launched himself into action, bolting down the deck. He leapt over coils of rope, dodged casks and rain barrels, and nearly caught Oskar before slamming into the rear railing alongside his friend.
“I demand a rematch!” Martin laughed. “You had me at a disadvantage!”
“Of course I did!” Oskar retorted, smiling broadly. “How else could I outrun those long legs of yours?”
Martin cocked a brow. “Ready?”
The moment Oskar let go of the rail, Martin was off. He threw himself fully into the race, stretching his stride as far as the cramped space allowed. He hurdled the obstacles in his path—and called out a warning to a pair of surprised women before they stepped in front of him.
This time Martin ran up the port side and Oskar up starboard, so Martin had no idea how the other man was faring until he reached the open space near the bow of the ship. When he grabbed the gate to the ship’s head, Oskar was about five yards behind him.
Martin laughed again. When Oskar stopped beside him, he clapped Oskar on the shoulder. “That was fun!”
Both men stood, hands on hips, breathing hard. Oskar tilted his head and regarded Martin. His expression turned mischievous. “This has possibilities, you know.”
“Possibilities?” Martin repeated. “What sort?”
“Men bet on horse races, don’t they?” Oskar posited.
Martin snorted. “Are you suggesting they bet on us?”
“Not only us!” Oskar replied.
Martin could practically see the ideas churning in Oskar’s head. “You want to stage races and have men wager on the outcomes?”
Oskar shrugged. “Why not? What else is there to do?”
His cabin mate had a point.
“I’m amenable, I suppose. As you say, there aren’t many other diversions,” Martin admitted. “But just running up and down the deck isn’t very exciting.”
“So let’s extend the course, as it were. A sort of steeplechase!” Oskar enthused. “Down to the deck below and up again, that type of thing. What do you think?”
Martin clapped Oskar’s shoulder again. “If you want to arrange such a competition, I will gladly be one of your ‘steeds’!”
Oskar rubbed his hands together. “I’ll propose the event to the men at the games this very afternoon. Will you help me plan the route?”
Large, heavy drops of water began to pummel Martin’s face. The rain which obscured the horizon earlier had caught up to the ship with a vengeance. “I’ll help you,” Martin shouted over the sudden pounding of water on wood. “Let’s go someplace dry to do so!”
***
Dagny looked up from her porridge to see two wet men tumble into the dining area, swiping rain from their faces and shaking it from their hair. Martin’s grin-crinkled gaze swept the room and landed on her. His smile shifted, dimming a little.
“Good morning, Lady Haugen.” His greeting was warm and—thankfully—held no hint of ridicule.
“Good morning, Mister Hansen,” she replied, ordering her pounding pulse to slow without success. “Might I surmise from your current state that the rain has reached us?”
Martin pointed at the low ceiling. “That, and the rumble from the deck,” he teased.
Dagny gave him a shy smile. “I suppose that was also a clue.”
Oskar stepped around Martin and approached her table. “May we?”
Dagny felt her cheeks catch fire. The one man she wished to avoid after her embarrassing and admittedly unwise actions the night before was now going to spend the next part of this depressing day sitting across the table from her.
“Of course,” she demurred. To do otherwise would raise questions she had no desire to answer.
Oskar turned to Martin. “Would you care for coffee?” he asked. “I’m having some.”
Martin’s gaze slid briefly to the other man. “Yes, thank you.”
“Don’t you want to change out of your wet shirts?” Dagny suggested, hoping for a reprieve to cool her cheeks and slow her rebellious heart.
Martin took the seat facing her. “No,” he said with a shrug. “Oskar?”
The other man held two steaming mugs and walked with care toward the table. “I’m fine. Thank you, my lady, for your much welcomed concern.”
Martin grunted and accepted one of the cups.
“What were you two doing on the deck?” Dagny knew the question sounded rather brainless, but she was eager to keep the subject of conversation away from herself.
Martin blew on his coffee, obviously expecting Oskar to answer that question. Dagny waited, having nothing else to say. As Oskar’s impish silence grew to the point of rudeness, Martin leaned forward
with a resigned sigh.
“My esteemed cabin mate challenged me to race him the length of the ship,” he offered.
“I beat him,” Oskar blurted with a grin.
“Only the first time, when you caught me unawares!” Martin grumbled.
Oskar shrugged. “Even so. Now tell her the rest.”
“Why me? It was your idea.”
“I want to hear how it sounds when I’m not explaining it.”
Martin gave Oskar a look of such complete disbelief that Dagny laughed with delight at his stupefied reaction. “What is this idea?” she prompted. “It must be quite unique!”
Martin shook his head. “Unique, it is. I might also call it harebrained, and perhaps a touch, well, touched…”
“You agreed to it, remember,” Oskar prodded.
Martin rolled his eyes and smiled sheepishly. Dagny found both actions adorable and her discomfort eased some.
“That I did,” he admitted.
“I still have no inkling as to what, specifically, you are talking about,” she reminded him. “Please enlighten me so I may know whether I should embrace the notion, or lock myself in my cabin for its duration.”
“A race,” Martin began. “Or rather, a series of races. Steeplechases, really, involving running, jumping, climbing… that sort of thing.”
It was Dagny’s turn to be stupefied. “When? Where?”
“On the ship!” Oskar injected.
Dagny looked from Oskar, to Martin, and back to Oskar. “How in the good Lord’s name do you expect to do that?” she asked when her voice had worked its way past her incredulity. “And more importantly, why?”
Oskar spread his hands. “Because we don’t have horses, obviously.”
Dagny blinked. Oskar’s plan was dawning on her. “You expect men to wager on who might be the winners?”
“I do.” He looked quite pleased with himself.
Dagny swung her gaze to Martin. “And you will be one of the competitors, I suppose.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “I am rather fast.”