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

by Kris Tualla

  The fact that he was naked was less a choice than a necessity. His arms felt like logs, his legs like stone columns. His eyes closed of their own accord. His breathing slowed and he wondered briefly if it might stop.

  No, his heart beat strongly, his bowels had calmed, and there was no more headache. No more pain anywhere, for that matter. He was definitely on the mend.

  All he needed was sleep.

  ***

  Dagny stayed in the salon longer than she expected. No new cases of dysentery had manifested, so now it was a matter of caring for the remaining passengers until they were healthy enough to return to their own cabins. The final tally would appear to be ten survivors out of nineteen sickened adults, and two survivors out of the four ill children.

  “And stopping the infection at only nineteen passengers,” Frank admonished.

  Dagny allowed a small, resolute nod, unsatisfied that anyone’s life slipped through her hands.

  “And then there’s the crew,” Frank added.

  Dagny frowned at the young man. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she wondered how much worse this outbreak had become. “What about the crew?”

  A smile shaped his mouth making the peach fuzz on his upper lip more noticeable. “I told them about the hand-washing. At first they thought you were crazy. But when they noticed that your passengers were doing so well, they paid attention.”

  “Did they start washing?” Dagny asked, incredulous. “And wearing the drapes?”

  “No drapes,” Frank clarified. “But they did wash their hands.”

  “And?” Dagny yelped, irritated that Frank didn’t simply say what he meant without her prodding him.

  “And they only lost four. On a ship packed this tight, that’s a miracle.” Frank saluted Dagny. “You are a hero in my eyes, ma’am.”

  “I’m no hero,” Dagny objected. “I only did what the nuns said would please God.”

  “And then you taught those things to us,” Frank pointed out.

  Dagny’s gaze passed through the room, stopping at and evaluating each remaining passenger. Three were still in a dangerous state and would require overnight attention. The other four should rest comfortably until morning.

  She made the responsible decision. “Go on to bed, Frank. I’ll stay here.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  Dagny turned to Astrid. “No,” she said. “It’s my charge.”

  Astrid shook a finger at Dagny. “Sara was here all day and I napped. Now it’s my turn. I can see that these three get their water while Frank rests.”

  “And I’ll come back to relieve her,” he stated firmly. “So we don’t need you.”

  Astrid tied her drape over her face. “Go to bed Dagny. You’ve done more than enough for one day.”

  “Is this another mutiny?” Dagny demanded, though her unsuppressed grin betrayed her tone.

  “It is.” Astrid pushed her toward the doorway. “Go.”

  Now Dagny stood in the hallway outside her cabin door and listened. Martin’s soft, rhythmic snores confirmed that her husband was soundly asleep, much to her relief. The man needed his rest even more than she did.

  She eased the door open.

  The lamp still burned as brightly as it had when she left the room. Martin’s clothes crumpled in a chaotic heap on the table. Dagny stepped into the room and peered at the bed.

  She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Martin lay on his back, one shoulder to the wall and the other arm draped over his eyes. The blanket was pushed down to his waist, his bare chest rising and falling in an unhurried cadence.

  Dagny pushed the door shut, trying not to make any sound which might awaken him. Because if her instincts were to be trusted, her husband wore nothing under that blanket.

  She stood in the cabin, unsure of what to do.

  Turn down the lamp.

  Dagny did, leaving just enough light to see her way around the small space. With her back to the bed, she began to undress.

  She managed to strip down to her chemise, put on her silk night gown, and remove her chemise from under it without ever standing naked in the room. She folded her clothes and put them aside while she fought a fierce battle within herself.

  Martin was asleep. All Dagny needed to do was lift the blanket as she climbed into the bunk and take a good look at the mystery of his manhood. Unfortunately that required she leave the oil lamp lit. If he awoke he was certain to ask her why she didn’t turn it all the way down.

  Perhaps she could say she was simply straightening the covers before turning off the lamp. As she thought more about it, that pretense might prove to be her best strategy. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimmed light. The task should only require but a moment, and her curiosity would be sated.

  Dagny pulled a steadying breath. She leaned over the edge of the bunk. She lifted the edge of the blanket and stared at what lay beneath it.

  She wasn’t certain what she expected. From the nuns’ stories she thought the thing might be a vitriolic shade of green and have scales.

  Instead, she saw a tuft of brown frizzy hair. Extending from that thatch was a thick, fleshy appendage, maybe half a foot in length. It rested between his legs, serene and unassuming; decidedly non-threatening, and not at all frightening.

  Martin’s breathing kept its steady pattern. No other part of him moved. As a result, Dagny grew braver.

  She moved to the end of the bed to look at him from another vantage point.

  She had seen dogs and cats and other male animals, so she assumed there needed to be some similar structure to a human. One of Martin’s knees was bent, opening a space between his thighs.

  The fuzzy hair thinned a little but still covered the pouch beneath his member. The bulges inside were much larger than any dog she had seen.

  Like chicken eggs.

  Dagny ached to touch it. She wanted to see if it felt as soft as it looked. She wanted to watch it transform to the hard, hot thing she had grasped through her husband’s nightshirt. She wanted to see what it looked like then.

  She sighed and lowered the blanket. Another time.

  It was going to happen. As soon as Martin was fully recovered from the flux she would ask him to love her the way a husband loved a wife.

  Dagny was determined not to be timid when that time came, but to welcome him and participate as fully as she could. She would ask him for direction, ask him what she should do—and what she should not do.

  She would be naked with her husband, the way Eve was naked with Adam. And no matter how hard that might be for her, she would not allow herself to feel shame.

  Dagny turned the oil lamp all the way down. She lifted the blanket and climbed onto the mattress beside Martin, turning on her side and pressing her back against his side.

  Martin inhaled, stopping the guttural rumble of his breaths. His arm flopped away from his face. He shifted onto his side until he was curled along her back.

  He kissed her neck.

  His soothing rhythm resumed.

  Dagny smiled.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  July 4, 1749

  After three solid nights of sleep in his own bed, Martin felt like himself again. His appetite was normal, his body was functioning as it should, and he had energy when he awoke with the sun. He wasn’t sick very often in his life and grew impatient quickly when he was on the mend. This time, however, he forced himself to take his healing seriously.

  Because now he had a wife. A wife he was in love with.

  Martin smiled as he strolled the deck. He had slept naked beside Dagny for these last three nights. She hadn’t made a comment about it, but she pressed her body against his as they slept. When he woke the first morning, and she was curled against his back, he knew her fears were subsiding.

  His next strategy was to undress in front of her. While he gave her privacy to ready herself for sleep, when his turn came he changed in the cabin while she waited for him in the bunk. He didn’t look at her, just
casually disrobed, put his clothing aside, and washed himself before getting under the blanket with her.

  He knew she was watching; he wanted her to. He wanted his body to become familiar to her. An easy, relaxing presence from which to build intimacy. Because intimacy was on their near horizon.

  This morning Dagny was releasing the last of the dysentery victims and dismantling the sickroom. Her time would be free once again. She would be able to rest. With the crisis passed, she would be in a mindset amenable to focusing on their marital relationship. He needed to be ready.

  Martin pulled a deep breath and hissed it out between his teeth.

  With that very personal part of his life moving forward in such an acceptable manner, he needed to begin to think about what they would do once they arrived in Boston. His original plan to simply drift from city to city seemed more than a bit irresponsible when he was dragging a wife along with him. He would be fine staying in the upper rooms in whatever tavern he came across, but didn’t feel right asking his bride to do the same.

  That meant he needed to decide where to visit—three or four cities at the most. He would make his decision from there. He must examine the local architecture, and ask about both common building materials and the availability of skilled laborers. Once he made his choice of location, he would search out local architects and ask about the possibility of working with them until he could strike out on his own.

  Of course, the string of pink pearls buried in his chest would help, but the gems existed in a finite quantity; their value must be parsed out judiciously.

  “Have you forgotten me so soon?”

  The teasing query shook Martin from his thoughts. He turned his head and smiled at Oskar. His friend sat in the sun, leaning against a stack of crates.

  “My new cabin mate is prettier,” Martin quipped. He extended his hand. “How are you feeling?”

  Oskar gripped the proffered palm and shook it. “I’m recovered, thanks largely to your wife. And you?”

  Martin lowered himself to sit next to Oskar. “The same.”

  The pair of men sat in quiet camaraderie. The sun soothed while the salt breeze freshened. Oskar looked at Martin from the corner of his eye.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked, his voice low.

  Martin stared at the expanse of water. He didn’t have to ask what Oskar referred to; he knew. He planned to give a logical response, one that made his choice so clear that no man could challenge it. Instead, he blurted a truth he had not yet acknowledged.

  “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he admitted. “I was smitten the first time I saw her.”

  Oskar gave a soft chuckle. “When the opportunity arose…”

  “I took it. Yes,” Martin conceded.

  “Regrets?”

  Martin squinted at Oskar. “None. In fact I thank God every day that she accepted me.”

  “You are blessed, my friend,” Oskar said. His expression faltered, and his head turned to gaze into the distance.

  “Are you still spending time with Anna?” Martin asked. “Or Floss Pedersen?”

  Oskar scrubbed his palms over his face. “Anna has gone into mourning since Torvald died. Floss has been acting as her nurse, seeing that she eats, sleeps, that sort of thing.”

  That was interesting. “So Anna and Torvald were intimately involved?” Martin clarified.

  “According to Floss, yes.” Oskar clapped his hands and jumped to his feet, ending that conversation. He stretched in every direction. He bent over and touched his toes. Then he began to trot in place.

  Martin stood as well. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready.”

  The cryptic response was not very helpful. “Ready for what?”

  Oskar backhanded Martin’s chest. “This may be my only chance at beating you. I was sick a day earlier, so I recovered a day sooner.”

  Martin tossed his head back and laughed. “You want to race me?”

  In answer, Oskar shoved Martin toward the back of the ship. He whirled and loped toward the front.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Martin called after him.

  Oskar spun and spread his hands, taunting Martin with a broad grin. “Are you conceding victory to me?” he shouted.

  Martin laughed again. “Hell, no.”

  He strode toward the back of the ship wondering if this was a stupid idea. He felt strong, true, and the race course took less than two minutes to complete. This exercise shouldn’t drain him. In fact, he justified, it might even get his blood flowing more vigorously.

  Martin reached the back of the ship, hopped up and down a few times, and bent over to touch his toes, just as Oskar had. When his body felt loosened, he grabbed the back railing and waved at Oskar. The hand which his friend used to hold the forward railing swung forward, indicating his start.

  Martin took off running, following the route he and Oskar laid out. Ship’s stern to bow and back again. To the ladder, down to the passenger deck, circle the cabins one-and-a-half times, up the ladder. He heard Oskar’ footsteps in the hallway, but he couldn’t see if he was ahead until after the two men resurfaced on the deck, touched their starting point, and barreled toward each other.

  The finish would be close. Closer than Martin expected, and his pride was nettled by it. When he and Oskar passed each other, the advantage went to Oskar.

  “Ha! I did it! I beat the mighty Martin Hansen!” Oskar’s good-natured gloat made Martin determined to settle the score to his own advantage.

  “I’m warmed up now,” he challenged. “Care to go again?”

  Oskar shrugged, smiling. “I’m game. I’ve got my victory.”

  “Same start or switch?”

  Oskar’s mouth twisted as he considered the question. “Same start, I think. We both have an advantage that way.”

  Martin nodded and turned toward the stern. When he got there, he took off his boots and stockings, and rolled up the cuffs of his trousers. Running barefooted would be easier to manage.

  This time when Oskar waved, Martin tossed up one hand and bolted.

  Retracing his course, Martin concentrated on lengthening his stride to take advantage of his longer legs. He jumped down the ladder instead of taking each step. When he turned into the hallway, a pair of women chatted at the other end.

  “Make way!” he bellowed as he raced toward them. They squealed and scurried out of his path. When he ran past his own cabin, Dagny stood in its open doorway, hands on her hips.

  “Mart—” was all he heard.

  “Can’t talk!” he barked.

  Back around and up the ladder, three steps at a time. Onto the deck.

  He glanced at the other hatch. No sign of Oskar. He ran to the back railing and turned. Oskar had surfaced and was only a few feet from the bow. Martin sprinted down the deck, arms pumping and leaping over obstacles. It was an easy victory.

  Martin slowed his pace, turned around, and walked back toward Oskar. He was panting and sweating in the humid warmth of the intense sun. By now, a crowd had gathered—one which included Dagny. Martin couldn’t discern whether the squint under her shading hand was from irritation, or merely the unforgiving light.

  Oskar offered a hand and Martin shook it. “I see you chose to run without boots. No wonder you won so handily.”

  “I won because I’m faster,” Martin replied.

  “Are you certain?” Oskar teased. “I won the first race.”

  “Two out of three!” someone shouted. A few other voices added their support.

  Martin looked at Dagny. The last thing he wanted to do right now was put her off her mood. She wasn’t giving him any indications one way or another about what she thought he should do.

  “Anyone want to make a wager?” Oskar called out. “What about you, Hansen?”

  Martin put his hands up. “I’m not a gambling man. That’s entirely up to you.”

  Dagny seemed to relax some when she heard his words.

  “But you’ll run,” Oska
r prompted. “Yes?”

  He looked at Dagny again and waited. Her brow lifted slightly in question.

  Martin paused to evaluate how he felt. A quick assessment proved that he felt healthy. Alive. Vibrant. He smiled at his wife.

  After a brief moment, she gave him a tiny nod. He winked his understanding.

  Then he grinned at Oskar. “Yes.”

  A burst of activity exploded at his agreement with men calling out their wagers. Several minutes were required to sort it all out and get the figures written down. Martin used those several moments to keep stretching, simply because it felt so good to move.

  Dagny appeared at his side. “You won’t do anything foolish, will you?”

  “No,” Martin assured her. “I feel very well.”

  She twisted toward the stern. “Are those your boots? Shall I take care of them?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Martin untied his shirt and pulled it over his head. The sea breeze on his sweating skin felt wonderful. “Will you hold this as well?”

  Dagny’s eyes traveled over his damp torso as she accepted the garment. “I’ll bring you some water.”

  Martin watched the entrancing swing of her backside as she marched to the stern railing and collected his boots. She disappeared down the back hatch. A minute later, she reappeared, rising out of the front hatch with a dripping mug and the blue scarf.

  Martin smiled. He had his wife’s favor.

  ***

  Dagny reminded herself not to stare. Or stammer. These past nights she had enjoyed watching the play of Martin’s muscles under his skin as he undressed for bed. Her curiosity concerning his manhood’s usual state had been quite satisfied, and his unabashed nudity seemed natural now—in the privacy of their cabin.

  Out here on the deck was a different matter altogether. True, her husband was not nude. But every part of him from his hips up and his knees down was on display for every man and woman to see. If Martin was plump, or scrawny, or somehow misshapen, Dagny didn’t think she would be so unnerved.