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

by Kris Tualla

  If only he could hold her now. That was no longer possible. Even if he was allowed to visit her, he would hate her for being so unfathomably stupid. She didn’t have a single friend left in the entire world.

  Dagny stared at the breakfast tray and made a decision. This resolve would stick. She rolled to her other side and faced the wall.

  I should have jumped.

  Death would have come faster.

  ***

  Martin listened to Torvald outlining plans for the shipboard races to the group of men who normally spent their afternoons and evenings gaming in the salon. Obviously Torvald wanted to distract the passengers from Dagny’s attack and outburst, accusing him of not being trustworthy. If he succeeded in starting the races, everyone on the ship would witness them, and hopefully be so caught up that they would talk of nothing else. Including the woman who broke into their trunks and stole their jewelry.

  Initial interest was encouraging as several men asked questions and indicated that they might be interested in competing—provided they had a day or so to practice. Torvald’s gaze slid to Martin’s. He held out one hand in Martin’s direction.

  “Mister Hansen designed the course. He can walk you through it.”

  “My cabin mate, Oskar Busk, is as capable as I,” Martin demurred. He really did not want to be linked too closely with Torvald for more reasons than he had fingers on which to tick those reasons off.

  “We’ll both do it!” Oskar volunteered. “We can start at either point and demonstrate how the courses cross!”

  Martin groaned but turned it into a clearing of his throat when Oskar frowned at him.

  “Do you agree, Mister Hansen?” Torvald asked, effectively pinning him to the task.

  Martin shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere else today.”

  The men in the room chuckled.

  “Split yourselves into two groups,” Oskar instructed. “You’ll walk through once with me, and once with Martin.”

  Martin turned and left the salon, heading toward the steps to the upper deck. He really didn’t care if anyone followed him.

  Of course, they did. The quicker of the men jumped up and accompanied him. Martin led them up the ladder and to the stern of the ship. He explained how he and Oskar planned the route, and another passenger suggested that the participants run in opposite directions so they didn’t jostle each other over the edge of the ship’s railing and plunge to their deaths.

  “Brilliant fellow!” one man complimented. “Who is he?”

  Martin felt a jolt go through his frame. It was hard enough to keep Dagny from his thoughts as it was; now he wanted to shout that she—a woman—was the ‘brilliant fellow’ in question. Martin knew she would be in his mind every step of this exercise. He wasn’t happy about that.

  “He’s one of the crew, actually. I don’t know his name,” he lied. Martin waved at Oskar who was standing at the bow with a smaller group of men.

  Oskar waved back and the two groups began to move. The men traced the path from one end of the ship to the other, down the steps, circling the cabins, up the steps, to one end of the ship, ending in the center of the deck. All along the way, the men commented on how incredible the idea was to start at opposite ends.

  “I really want to congratulate the seaman whose idea this was,” the same man pushed. “Might you find him for me?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Martin mumbled. He turned and called out, “Men? Switch leaders!”

  Martin faced the stern of the boat and steeled himself to retrace the route. Walking past Dagny’s cabin was like walking past an orchestra of blaring trumpets. The chain and padlock on her door blasted for everyone to hear the guilt which Martin knew was severely misplaced.

  When he approached her door for the second time in a quarter hour, he could not drag his gaze from the heavy glint of metal on her door. He strode by, his jaw clamped closed, not saying a word in response to the men who commented casually that, thankfully, all of their precious items had been returned.

  Martin knew he should do something to lift the blame from Dagny. That was problematic, however. No matter what he said, her reputation would still be destroyed.

  “Thank you, Hansen!” A man clapped his shoulder when they stood once more at the finish. “How many days will we have to practice?”

  Martin looked at Oskar. “That’s up to Lord Haugen. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me? Oskar can answer your other questions.”

  Martin spun and walked away. He needed to think. And he needed to be alone to do so.

  ***

  The early supper bell rang, startling Martin by its proximity. He lifted his head from the table in the dining area where he found coffee and solitude for the past two hours. Families began to trickle in, so Martin stood, stretched, and headed down a hallway.

  It was Dagny’s hall, not his. Skitt.

  The open padlock caught his notice. He stopped a mere two yards from her door, his heart thudding uncomfortably. The door opened and a cabin boy came out, balancing a tray of food. Martin stepped up and took it from him.

  “Thank ye,” he said. Then he turned around and relocked the door.

  Martin glanced up at the open transom, choosing not to speak where he suspected Dagny could hear him. Instead he whirled and carried the tray toward the dining room. Hurried footsteps followed him.

  “That’s my work!” the boy objected. Martin ignored him until they reached the open space.

  “Why are you taking away her food?” he asked, setting the tray on the closest table.

  The boy looked worried. “I brung her supper just now. This is her midday meal. She didn’t eat her breakfast neither.”

  “She hasn’t eaten anything?” Martin clarified. “Since when?”

  “Since she got locked in yesterday,” the boy answered. He looked like he might cry. “She’s a nice lady, no matter what they say. I don’t want her to take a bad turn, ye ken?”

  Martin nodded and worried his lower lip. He walked away, choosing to avoid his nest, and instead made his way to the open deck.

  He knew he could probably clear Dagny’s name. All he had to do was tell the captain that he believed Torvald to be the culprit and why. If he did so, the fact that Torvald was not Dagny’s brother—that they were not, in fact, related in any way—would need to be made known.

  The truth that Dagny had boarded a ship and shared a cabin with a man who was not family to her would sully her reputation almost as much as being accused of the thefts. No one would believe that she hadn’t been intimate with Torvald. She would be considered ruined. Even if they did believe her, what sort of unmarried woman would agree to share a cabin under those circumstances?

  No, if the passengers knew Dagny and Torvald were not siblings, she would be as ostracized as she was now behind padlock and chain. And that relationship would need to be made clear, because if Dagny had been blamed by her actual and guilty brother, she would still be thought culpable by family association.

  Martin dragged his fingers through his hair, fighting the wind for its direction. His head ached and his chest hurt. He didn’t know what to do. He looked over his right shoulder at a cluster of mothers and children making preparations to descend on supper.

  “I wondered where she spent her mornings of late,” one of the women said before shouting and gesturing at her son. “Paul! Get down from there! Now!”

  Martin turned to face them fully. Her designation of ‘mornings’ ticked a switch in his brain. He approached the gathering, affecting a soft, curious expression.

  “Pardon my asking, ladies, but why her mornings only?” he asked.

  The bustling cluster of women regarded him in bulk. The one attempting to corral her son glanced around as if soliciting permission to speak. Another spoke for her.

  “Because she spent her afternoons here, with us. Practicing her English,” she explained.

  “And ‘of late’?” Martin prodded.

  “Not that it’s any business of you
rs,” the first woman huffed.

  The woman who spoke up shot her a sharp look. “It’s all of our business then, isn’t it? We are either victims of the thefts, or know those who are. It’s a small world on a ship.”

  The first woman flipped her wrist in dismissal.

  The second woman faced Martin again. “She sometimes helped us in the mornings, with laundry and such. After a week or so, she stopped coming.”

  “She was so nice. So sweet,” a young woman added, her tone sorrowful. “I cannot believe what has happened.”

  Martin bowed his thanks. “Neither can I,” he said. “Thank you for your time.”

  ***

  Skitt.

  Skitt skitt skitt skitt skitt.

  Martin lingered on the deck, missing his own supper. The sun set in a muted haze of pinks and oranges before giving way to the soft, dark blue that covered the ship like a glass bowl. The brightest stars prickled through here and there; because the summer sky never grew black, their weaker cousins remained invisible.

  After the late supper was finished, Martin would visit Captain Gilsen. There was no way he could live with himself if he let Dagny be punished for crimes she did not commit, not when he was able to provide both a witness and an alibi.

  He would describe to the captain everything he saw Torvald do, and pray the man believed him. If required, Martin would also confess to his morning English tutoring sessions with Dagny in the hold, and tell Gilsen to ask the women passengers about Dagny’s actions in the afternoons. With her time thus accounted for, the captain must see that she could not have committed the thefts.

  It was true, however, that Dagny would be a marked woman through his description of their meetings, as certainly as she would be by confessing that Torvald and she were not related. Secretive meetings, no matter how innocent, always cast suspicion on those involved.

  Men and women alike would much rather believe a torrid love affair was happening right under their noses. In fact, that would be an alibi they would not only believe, but embrace. Simple tutoring to surprise her ‘brother’ was not going to satisfy any of their salacious minds.

  Martin scrubbed his hands over his face. It would seem that both of the men Dagny relied on to take care of her, instead had put her in danger. That fact made him physically ill. He couldn’t be a part of such fundamental betrayal of her trust. She didn’t deserve that from him, a near stranger. And she, certainly as hell was hot, didn’t deserve it from Torvald who claimed to love her.

  The other man apparently had no such convictions concerning his fiancée. Martin would not be surprised if he discovered that Torvald seduced Dagny’s affections and companionship for the sole purpose of throwing the evidence of his actions on her if those actions were discovered. The realization that Dagny would most likely be abandoned in Boston tore a jagged rip through every one of Martin’s expectations.

  Skitt.

  No.

  SKITT.

  There was no hope for it. None. As much as the idea blasted a canon ball through his plans, the only way to save Dagny’s life and reputation might be to confess to something that never happened.

  And then accept the consequences.

  Like the man he desperately hoped that he was.

  Chapter Eighteen

  June 20, 1749

  Dagny opened her eyes. They ached anew from pumping her seemingly bottomless supply of tears. The purser stood in her cabin. He wrinkled his nose.

  “Get up. Wash yourself and change your clothes. The captain wants to see you.”

  “Why?” Dagny croaked.

  “He didn’t tell me.” He pointed at the untouched tray of food. “Eat something before you faint again.”

  The man stepped out the door and a woman stepped in. One of the younger married women if Dagny remembered correctly. She closed the door. There was no sound of chains locking them in.

  “You can’t just lay here and not eat,” she said gently.

  “That’s where you are wrong,” Dagny answered, her voice rough. She closed her eyes. “That is exactly what I can do.”

  Soft hands encased hers, surprising her. She opened her eyes and looked at the other woman without deciding to.

  “I’m here to help you dress and make certain you eat,” the woman said.

  “What is your name?” Dagny whispered. “I don’t remember.”

  “Sara.”

  Dagny heaved a ragged breath. “Tell me, Sara, why does anyone on this ocean care if I dress or eat?”

  “Because the captain orders it. And you don’t want to give the gossipers any more snippets to talk about by appearing in your current condition.” Sara began to unlace Dagny’s dress. “I hope you have another gown. This one needs cleaning.”

  Dagny didn’t have the strength to battle with Sara, either in her body or in her heart. She allowed the woman to undress her, and pointed to the little chest which held her three other gowns.

  “Wash first,” Sara insisted.

  The fresh water in her pitcher was warm today. Something unusual was happening. Perhaps they decided to hang her anyway and this was her last public appearance. That would be a blessing.

  As depressed as she was, Dagny found the warm water against her face, neck, and arms soothing. Sara slipped the clean gown over Dagny’s head and laced her in.

  “Sit. I’ll fix your hair while you eat.” Sara pushed Dagny into the little wooden chair.

  The aroma of the hot food tickled its way into Dagny’s appetite and set her mouth to watering. She only picked at the offerings, well aware of the havoc too much food would play on a long-empty stomach.

  Sara had a light touch and gently worked the tangles from Dagny’s hair. It felt good to be ministered to in such a way. Now Dagny was certain she was about to die.

  Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, she prayed silently. I let my desire for worldly things overtake my good sense. I commend my spirit into your hands.

  Sara handed her a cup of fresh, cold water. “From the rain,” she explained when Dagny looked surprised.

  “Thank you, Sara,” Dagny murmured. “You have done a fine thing today. God bless you.”

  Sara gave her a soft smile and touched her cheek. “And may He bless you as well, my lady.”

  Dagny shook her head and rose on unsteady legs. She put her hand against the wall to balance herself. “There are no blessings left for me, I’m afraid. Shall we?”

  ***

  Dagny grew stronger the closer she came to Captain Gilsen’s cabin. She took Sara’s advice to heart, and walked with a straight back and upward-tilted chin. She clasped her hands in front of her waist, in the manner of the nuns. Her gaze was steady and focused in front of her. She didn’t acknowledge anyone she saw from the corners of her eyes.

  Let them talk about my prideful ways if they want. At the least I don’t appear weak.

  Sara knocked on Captain Gilsen’s door.

  He opened it.

  Dagny stepped inside.

  The purser’s presence was understandable. The first mate’s wasn’t a surprise. But what in God’s good name was Martin Hansen doing here?

  Martin came to her and grabbed her cold hands in his big warm ones. His deep blue eyes bore into hers as if to impart some crucial nugget of information. She did not understand his message, if indeed there was one.

  “I’m sorry, darling, I had to tell them the truth,” he said carefully.

  Weakness flooded Dagny’s frame again, turning her bravado to water.

  “What truth?” she demanded. Was he going to bury her further? As if that was even possible.

  His gaze was so intense he didn’t even blink.

  “I told Captain Gilsen that whenever your—brother,” his eyes narrowed slightly, “left you unchaperoned, that you and I stole away together.”

  None of his words made any sense. Dagny had no brothers, and Martin knew it. Perhaps the time she spent imprisoned in the cabin and starving herself had addled her mind.

  Sh
e gave her head a small shake, though it was enough to make her dizzy. “Martin, what are you talking about?”

  “Dagny, sweetheart, you don’t need to pretend anymore.” He tilted his head toward the captain. “He knows everything. And we’re here to make it right.”

  Dagny fought to draw a deep breath against the pressure that constricted her chest. Tiny gnats flew through her vision, threatening to obliterate it. She tightened her fingers in his.

  “Martin tell me, please, what have you said?”

  Martin led her to a chair and sat her down. “Might you give her a cup of wine?” he asked the purser.

  Captain Gilsen nodded. The man went to the captain’s sideboard and poured a glass of red wine. He pressed it into Dagny’s hand.

  She stared at it, confused as to why it was given to her.

  Martin lifted her hand so the cup touched her lips. “Take a sip, my love. Your nerves are understandably distressed at this news. But it was the only way to clear your name.”

  Dagny gulped the wine. Its warmth settled in her belly and leaked into her chest. It was easier to breathe, now, and she no longer felt near to collapse. She handed the empty cup to Martin. His words hit her consciousness.

  “You cleared my name?” she rasped, frowning.

  Martin shrugged and looked embarrassed. “Well, the part about the thefts.”

  Dagny glanced at the other men. They all looked embarrassed and wouldn’t meet her gaze. She felt a surge of hysteria bubbling up from her chest. Whether it would cause her to laugh or cry was unclear. Her heartbeat stuttered.

  “How?” she squeaked. “And what other part is there?”

  Martin knelt in front of her so his eyes were level with hers. He held her hands again, so tightly it hurt. If he hadn’t looked so distraught, Dagny would have pulled away. His words tumbled out like a life-ending avalanche.

  “I told them that we spent time together, mornings in the hold, without your brother Torvald’s knowledge. When we were there I—I seduced you and took your maidenhead. I have ruined you. Captain Gilsen has agreed to marry us here, now, so that these wrongs may be set right. These other two gentlemen are to act as legal witnesses.”