Leaving Norway: Book 1: Martin & Dagny (The Hansen Series - Martin & Dagny and Reidar & Kirsten)

by Kris Tualla

  Gilsen looked tired. “So you have said.”

  “Why isn’t he here with me?” she asked. “Then you could ask him.”

  Captain Gilsen rested his palms on his thighs and met her gaze with a steady one of his own. The expression on his face and the look in his eyes frightened her beyond measure. He didn’t appear angry or threatening. He didn’t even seem to be judging her, though that was the true nature of this interview.

  He looked sad.

  “I did ask him,” he said carefully. “Torvald says he had never seen that necklace before you wore it to supper yester evening.”

  The room began to sway. “No,” Dagny insisted. Her voice sounded distant, as though she was hearing only its echo. “No, that’s not right.”

  Through the fog in her mind, Dagny heard a sharp pounding sound. Gilsen moved away from her. The cabin door opened. Two men entered. Dagny raised her head, and focused on the purser now standing inside the cabin.

  “You asked me to question the crew about any passengers they saw making regular trips to the hold,” he said. “This man says he’s seen a couple.”

  Dagny’s fingers and toes began to tingle. She knew what the sailor was about to say. And he would be telling the truth. A truth that would convict her of a lie.

  Captain Gilsen motioned the sailor closer. “Do you know who they were?”

  The younger man bobbed a nod. “Purser Birk, here, he took me to the dining hall so’s I could get a look. I pointed them out and he’s got the names.”

  Gilsen moved his regard to the purser.

  “One is Martin Hansen. It seems he went down daily,” the man said.

  Gilsen frowned. “I don’t believe he is mixed up in this business, though I do wonder what business he was about. We’ll need to investigate that further.”

  Birk nodded his agreement and turned back to the sailor. “And the other?” he prompted.

  The sailor blushed right through his sun-darkened skin. He tipped his head in Dagny’s direction, but he didn’t look directly at her. “That’d be the lady there.”

  “This lady, Dagny Haugen, is the woman you saw making regular trips to the hold?” Gilsen pressed. “Look at her and be certain.”

  The sailor’s cheeks darkened even further. “There’s only forty-eight passengers, Cap’n. Some of them’s bairns, and some of them’s men. A pretty woman like her gets noticed, you know?”

  Gilsen nodded. “Thank you. You may go back to your post.”

  “Wait!” Dagny yelped, panic spurring her outburst. “What about Torvald? Did you ever see him?”

  The sailor glanced at the purser. “I saw him once, only. He went down and came up carrying a pair of lady’s slippers.”

  “Were those yours?” Gilsen addressed Dagny.

  “Yes,” she said firmly, trying to believe that by some miracle this snippet of information might exonerate her.

  Gilsen turned back to Birk. “Did you ask Haugen about that incident?”

  The purser nodded. “I did. He said he saw some unusual items wrapped in cloth in her chest, but common decency kept him from pawing through Lady Haugen’s personal belongings,” he explained, adding, “He said the slippers were on top.”

  Dagny felt herself falling, but didn’t feel herself hit the floor. The next thing she knew, she was facing the low ceiling of the cabin. Gilsen was shouting for water. The sailor was gone. The purser handed the captain a wet cloth.

  “Did I faint?” Dagny asked, embarrassed to her core and hoping she sounded coherent. She tried to sit up, but Gilsen pressed her shoulder and held her down.

  “Rest a moment, Lady Haugen,” he said. He laid the wet towel across her forehead.

  Purser Birk handed him a mug of water. Captain Gilsen slid his arm under her shoulders and tipped her forward. He held the mug to her lips and Dagny took a long swallow.

  “Thank you,” she rasped.

  “Might you be able to sit in the chair again?” The captain’s voice was kinder than she might have expected.

  She gave a little nod. “Yes.”

  The two men helped her back into her seat. Dagny felt numb. Her emotions were in a tumble and she was so shocked she couldn’t sort them out. Torvald, with his lies, had pushed her under a carriage. One charging forward at full speed, and with a team of massive draft horses in the traces. The worst part of it was there was nothing she could do about it.

  Captain Gilsen cleared his throat and handed the water back to Birk. “Do you understand what happens next?” he asked her.

  Dagny wagged her head slowly. She truly had no idea, but she knew that considering the evidence of the stolen items in her trunk, her subsequent accusation, and the testimonies from Torvald and the sailor, that whatever followed could not be good.

  “You are officially under arrest and charged with multiple occasions of theft. Because you are a woman, you won’t be hung.”

  Dagny gasped and the hand that covered her mouth shook visibly.

  “You will be locked in your cabin for the duration of the voyage and turned over to the Massachusetts authorities when we dock in Boston,” Gilsen continued. “Do you understand?”

  Dagny nodded. Silent tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Captain Gilsen pulled a long sigh. “Lady Haugen, do you have any evidence that might prove your innocence?”

  “No.” She hadn’t enough strength to say more.

  The captain nodded to the purser. “You may take her now.”

  Dagny rose on unsteady legs. She looked into Gilsen’s eyes, compelled for some reason to ask, “Did you find everything that was missing?”

  The captain blinked. “Yes.”

  Dagny swallowed and dipped her chin. “That’s good,” she whispered. “That’s good.”

  Purser Birk took her arm and led her from the captain’s cabin.

  ***

  The door to Dagny’s cabin was already being fitted for a lock. The sight of it made her cheeks so hot they hurt. She lowered her gaze, ignoring the curious stares of passengers in the hall who were drawn by the sound of clanking chains and pounding wood.

  Torvald shoved the door open from inside, knocking into the sailor doing the work. He stepped out without apology, his satchel in hand. She looked up at him, unable not to.

  “Thanks to you, Dagny, I have to change cabins,” he sneered.

  A red haze crowded Dagny’s vision. She broke from the purser’s grasp and, with a guttural growl and clawed fingers, launched herself at Torvald. She was desperation, heartbreak, and fury combined; she threw all of her height and strength into him.

  “Ow! Stop!” Torvald cried. He dropped his satchel and batted her hands aside.

  Dagny’s thoughts focused on pummeling Torvald, the man who claimed to love her and then robbed her of everything. She felt like a wild animal, heedless of the onlookers, determined to draw blood. Only when Birk and some other man contained her arms and pulled her back did she see that she succeeded.

  Torvald fished his pockets for a handkerchief. Three tracks of gouged skin down one cheek dripped blood on his shirt.

  “You bitch!” he shouted as he pressed the linen to his wounds. “Are you insane?”

  Dagny shook violently with the aftermath of her outburst. Yet from someplace deep inside her, an assurance welled up and claimed her mind. She relaxed her body and felt an immediate loosening of her captors’ grips.

  “You will be rewarded, Torvald, for all you have done,” she declared with frightening calm. “Rest assured. You will not get away with this.”

  Torvald’s expression attempted disdain, but only achieved shock. His skin paled. His chin lifted in defiance of her words.

  “I’m not the one arrested and locked away, though, am I?” he taunted. He spun on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd without waiting for her to attack him again.

  Dagny met the gazes of the crowd, this time with more determination than she felt. “Watch him,” she said. “He cannot be trusted.”

  She p
ulled her arms from the weakened grasp of her jailors and strode into her cabin. She pulled the door closed by herself. The sound of the metal chain clanked loudly in the stunned silence of her audience.

  ***

  Purser Birk turned to Martin. “I thank you for your help.”

  Martin nodded, shaken by what he had just seen. Dagny was berserk with rage and Martin thought he had an inkling why. That didn’t make it easier to witness.

  “I’ll need to ask you some questions, however,” the purser continued. “Will you come with me?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Martin followed him to the ladder and down the narrow steps to the crew’s quarters.

  He was eager to ask questions of his own about what had transpired. Why, exactly was Dagny arrested and locked in her cabin for one. He heard rumors that she was the jewelry thief but knew with the utmost certainty that wasn’t so. And yet, he couldn’t come to her aid unless he understood what led the captain to that conclusion.

  Birk halted and waved a crewman closer. “Is this the man you saw going down into the hold on a daily basis?” he asked.

  The sailor bobbed a nod. “Aye. That’s him.”

  “Thank you. Go on back to your business.” The purser rounded on Martin. “Can you explain yourself?”

  Martin smiled his understanding, relieved that this was the only question he needed to resolve. “I can. Come with me.”

  Martin led Birk down the next ladder to the hold. Once they stood side-by-side in the darkened space, Martin pulled bits of flint from his pocket. He held them up.

  “Let me light my lamp,” he said.

  The purser’s bafflement was amusing, but Martin knew he wasn’t playing games. He turned and wound his way back to his nest. He used the flints to light the oil lamp, then turned the wick up. He held the lamp over his head.

  “Come on back and see,” he beckoned the other man.

  With a twisted expression, the shipman followed Martin’s path. His regard passed over the pallet of silks, the little table made from a few planks, the papers, graphite sticks and drawings.

  “What is all this?” he demanded.

  “I think of it as my nest,” Martin began. “I come down here to be able to think without being disturbed. I’m an architect by training, so I design buildings I’d like to build. See?”

  Martin handed the oil lamp to Birk. Then he unrolled some of his drawings and held them flat for the purser to see. The other man leaned over and held the lamp high.

  “You drew these?” he asked. “They are rather impressive, I have to say. Must have taken some time to do.”

  Martin shrugged. “They will be impressive if I ever have the chance to build them. That’s why I am going to America. A new continent needs news buildings, doesn’t it?”

  Birk straightened. “Yes…” He looked around. “You came down here every day?”

  “I might have missed a day or two, but for the most part I have,” Martin responded as he rolled his drawings up and tucked them away. “Have I violated a law?”

  “By being here?” The man scratched his head. “No, suppose not. Not that I’ve seen anyone else do such a thing in my experience.”

  Martin grinned. “That’s a relief.”

  The purser swung his head around and looked toward the passenger trunks. “You have a good view of the stage of the crime.”

  “What crime?” Martin asked, after being handed the opportunity to do so.

  The shipman began to work his way forward through the cargo, still holding the lamp. Martin followed, well familiar with the path and not needing more light than what spilled down the steps. The other man explained the situation to Martin over his shoulder.

  “Yester evening, Lady Haugen wore a necklace to supper. It was recognized by Missus Fitzleary, you see, who said she had one exactly like it and thought she owned a unique piece.” Birk had achieved flat footing and turned to face Martin. “But when she opened her trunk to make the comparison, her necklace was missing.”

  “So the necklace Lady Haugen was wearing was stolen?” Martin acted as if he knew nothing and frowned as he stepped next to the other man. “Why would she wear a stolen necklace in front of its owner?”

  The purser shrugged. “Couldn’t say. But this morning we searched all of the passengers’ trunks and several items of value were missing.”

  “Did you find them?” Martin pressed.

  Birk lifted one brow. “We did. All of the missing valuables were in Lady Haugen’s chest.”

  “Couldn’t someone else have put them there?” Martin suggested in an attempt to shift suspicion.

  The purser handed Martin the lamp. “That’s possible. Did you see anyone else down here?”

  “I saw Lord Haugen a few times. He seemed to be putting something in the lady’s trunk.”

  The shipman clapped Martin on the shoulder. “We have already heard his testimony. Says he took things out. Says she has always had a bit of a problem. Says that’s why he was taking her to America.”

  Martin was staggered by Torvald’s unexpected claims. Either Dagny was a compulsive thief, or Torvald was a consummate liar. Martin knew which version he believed.

  “Did you ever see the lady fiddling with the trunks?” Birk asked.

  Martin shook his head slowly. “Never. Not once.”

  “Hmm. Well it seems she must have come down when you weren’t here.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The crewmen on the next deck said that after the first week or so she came down every day.” He turned toward the ladder and began his ascent. “Thank you for showing me your nest—I can tell the captain you had nothing to do with the thefts.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  June 19, 1749

  Dagny lay flat on her back on the bunk that Torvald had slept on. Now that she was alone, there was no reason to climb up to the smaller shelf. The cabin boy came and removed her supper tray, untouched, and optimistically replaced it with breakfast. He did the same with her pitcher of water and her chamber pot. Dagny hadn’t used either of them.

  In fact, she hadn’t moved from the bunk since yesterday after she was accused and arrested. After she bloodied Torvald’s cheek. After she closed herself inside the cabin which was now her prison. Her mind was numb, unable to comprehend her current state, nor how she came to reach it. And whenever she started to think about it, she began to cry.

  Now her eyes ached. When the tears came, they stung. The neck of her blouse was dampened by their stream because she didn’t care enough to wipe them away.

  I should have jumped.

  That regret scolded her endlessly throughout the dark night. Over and over she berated herself for being such a coward. If only she had been able to loose her other hand, she would be with the angels now, not in hell.

  Though the nuns taught that killing oneself was a mortal sin, Dagny read enough of the Bible to know that particular rule wasn’t written anywhere. She trusted God to know and understand her position, and to see that her life on earth was hopeless.

  She also knew that He knew it was her own damned fault.

  Tears seared her eyelids again. They dribbled down her cheeks and into her ears. She rolled to her side.

  There had always been a little voice inside of her suggesting that perhaps running away with Torvald might not be the best plan. A voice which she continually shushed and ignored. Stubborn to a fault in this particular case, she forged ahead with her plans and preparations. She wrote her goodbye letters. She packed all of her worldly goods into her trunk.

  Then she went down to the pier in Christiania and placed her future solely in the hands of a man she had known for only eight weeks. A man who was so sophisticated in his conversation. So knowledgeable about the world. Too handsome for his own good, and too seductive a kisser for hers.

  He was too good to be true. Now Dagny understood that description to be a literal one.

  Even if she had listened to her internal warnings, she would have expect
ed her worst punishment to be a marriage where she fell out of love. Never did it occur to her that the man she was engaged to might be a criminal.

  A criminal, not looking for a wife, but looking for someone to pin his guilt on if his crimes were discovered. The moment she was told that all of the stolen items were in her trunk, Dagny knew what Torvald had done. Why he was so insistent that she accompany him on the voyage. And why he didn’t marry her the day they sailed, waiting until it was too late to keep his promise.

  Would he have abandoned me once we reached America?

  Dagny inhaled sharply, a wet and sniffly sound.

  She realized of a sudden that he might have. He wouldn’t need her any longer. Once they landed in Boston he could retrieve his plunder and disappear, leaving her penniless and completely alone. He didn’t even know she was learning English, believing her incapable of communicating in their new home.

  The ironic truth stabbed her gut. Her secret English lessons with Martin, anticipated as a happy surprise for her fiancé, instead provided the evidence which proved her guilty of the crimes that same fiancé committed. Dagny huffed a mirthless chuckle. Her best intentions had indeed paved this hellish road.

  Martin. He was the last person she wanted to think of. Skitt.

  Her resolve was useless. That man’s face pushed its way into the theater of her mind. Eyes so blue that a summer sky would be found lacking by comparison. Heavy hair, threaded with gold, copper, and a few unexpected strands of silver. Half a foot taller than she. A solid yet lean build.

  Martin’s voice echoed in her ears. Lilting in Norse. More formal sounding in English. Kind. Honest. She sighed.

  Martin is honest.

  Dagny imagined his arm tightening around her, pulling her off the ship’s railing. She fought him at first, misunderstanding his purpose. Then she collapsed against him, sobbing out a betrayal that turned out to be only the topmost piece of the very dangerous iceberg called Torvald. Martin held her, not too tightly, but tightly enough that she felt safe for the first time since leaving the convent.