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

by Kris Tualla

  He waited, silent this time, his features drawn and tight.

  Stop being such a coward and say it.

  “Martin Hansen, I have come to love you with all my heart.”

  ***

  Martin felt as though he had been punched in the chest. He blinked at Dagny in disbelief.

  “What did you say?” he croaked, needing to hear it again.

  Dagny faltered. “I know you don’t love me, Martin. But someday you might.”

  “No, Dagny, that—”

  She pushed her fingers against his lips. “Don’t say anything. Let me tell you this while I still have the courage.”

  Martin held her fingers in place and kissed them.

  Dagny took a deep breath. “I must confess, I noticed you the first day on the ship. I enjoyed talking to you, and our English lessons were the brightest hours of my day.”

  Martin gave her an encouraging look but didn’t speak.

  “The day you married me, I was so distraught that I hardly knew what was happening. The idea that you would give your life to save mine, well, I wondered what you hoped to gain for yourself.”

  “I gained—” He tried to interrupt but she cut him off again.

  “It doesn’t matter, Martin. The night I sat by your side and kept you breathing, I knew that your feelings for me didn’t matter. I knew then that I loved you and I would stay happily by your side for the rest of my life.”

  Martin blinked. Astonishment jumbled his thoughts and he didn’t know where to start. Dagny’s embarrassment became increasingly obvious the longer it took for him to conjure his response.

  “I have a confession of my own,” he managed. “It’s nothing bad!” he rushed to add when her expression grew alarmed.

  Her brow lowered. “What is it?”

  Martin cleared his throat. “When I was in a tavern on the pier on the day we sailed, I saw you through the window. You were sitting on your trunk.”

  “Oh.” She looked confused.

  “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my entire life, and for a moment I imagined you were mine.”

  Surprise gave way to shy pleasure. “That is very sweet. I had no idea.”

  Martin decided to be completely honest, and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I saw Tor that same day as well. He came down the tavern stairs with a whore. He was fastening his flies.”

  Dagny winced. “He swived her?”

  “I saw him pay her, so, yes. He did,” Martin admitted.

  Dagny sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I was such a fool.”

  Martin planted a kiss on her lips and waited for her to look at him again.

  “The part of this scene that made it stick in my mind so strongly was when he left the tavern and joined you. I discovered that this scoundrel was who you were waiting for.” Martin paused to collect his words. “Even though you weren’t mine, at that moment I felt I had somehow lost you.”

  Dagny stared at him. “What did you think when you opened my cabin door by mistake?”

  Martin’s mouth twisted to a rueful grin. “That I was the luckiest—and the most unlucky—man aboard.”

  “That explains your attitude toward Torvald,” she muttered. “Your justified attitude, I should say.”

  “I saw a side of his character that no one else saw, remember,” he clarified.

  She gave a conceding nod.

  Martin gentled his tone. “His character was clear to me, as was yours after we became acquainted. And when he showed his hand, blaming you for his crimes, I could not let you take that punishment. I knew what I had to do.”

  Dagny’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me what you hoped to gain by doing so. The truth, Martin.”

  Martin’s gaze fell. He wanted to give her the perfect answer, one she would remember for the rest of her life. He raised his eyes to hers, memorizing the ring of purest pale blue around the black of her pupils.

  “I did gain a wife I could be proud of. One of outstanding character, quick intelligence, and surpassing beauty. Someone to sleep beside me, bear my children, and entertain me in my old age.”

  Dagny’s lower lip quavered. Her eyes glittered with moisture.

  “You said that someday I might love you,” he whispered. “The truth is, I loved you before I even knew your name.”

  “That’s not real love, Martin,” she objected. “I was a stranger to you.”

  “That’s true as well,” he allowed. “But you are not a stranger to me any longer.”

  One tear rolled down her cheek. “Are you saying that you love me, husband?”

  Martin kissed the tear away. “I am so completely smitten, wife, that ‘love’ doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about you.”

  Dagny threw her arms around his neck and held him so tightly he was afraid she might strangle him. He shifted his body so that he rested over her, like a living blanket.

  “Thank you for accepting me,” he mumbled into her neck.

  He kissed her skin, moving his lips along her jaw to her mouth. He tasted the salt of her tears. Her breasts warmed his chest. His manhood stirred and her legs parted.

  Long-deprived, Martin recovered more swiftly than he imagined was possible. As he stiffened, Dagny’s hands slid down his sides to his hips. She pulled him against her.

  “Do it again,” she pleaded against his mouth.

  Martin’s tongue entered her mouth, and his cock slid into her still-wet quim.

  This coupling was slower, less frantic. Martin honored his wife with his body, and she responded with honor of her own. After Dagny reached her pinnacle, he allowed his own to bloom and consume him. The second experience was even sweeter than the first.

  When his senses returned, he regretfully withdrew before turning Dagny on her side. He curled his naked body against her back, in the position they had already adopted in the narrow bunk, and pulled the tufted blanket to cover them both.

  “I love you,” he murmured against her shoulder.

  “And I love you,” she answered.

  Martin fell asleep knowing that his life was going to be better than he ever imagined.

  July 13, 1749

  Dagny spent the last afternoon on the ship with the group of women at the back of the deck. Reinstated into their good graces after halting the fearsome dysentery outbreak with her strange practices, most of them forgave her for the lives that were lost. The atmosphere these last several days was muted, however, with the absences of two of the children and four of the mothers who fell victim to the bloody flux. Dagny prayed every night for their souls, thanking God for sparing her and the rest of the mothers.

  Now that her physical relations with Martin were so decisively established, Dagny felt like she belonged in the group of wives. As she became more comfortable, and spoke more easily in English, the questions about her situation began. Dagny determined to tell as much truth as possible because that was simply the easiest route to take.

  “I was raised in an abbey after my mother died,” she explained. “I didn’t know Torvald until I was grown.” Here came the unavoidable lie, “After my father married his mother.”

  “So you had no idea he was a notorious jewel thief?” one of the youngest women asked. Leaning forward with wide eyes, her desire for titillation was clear.

  Dagny’s face heated with embarrassment, though the source was her own foolish behavior and not the humiliation of a scandalous family member. “No, I did not.”

  “What did you think when the jewels were found in your trunk?” the girl pressed.

  “I was surprised, of course. But when he blamed me for the thefts, I went into a state of shock,” she answered truthfully.

  Another woman fixed Dagny with speculative consideration. “And then Martin Hansen stepped forward and revealed the true nature of your relationship?”

  Dagny’s gaze fell to the deck. “I was quite swept away and behaved imprudently. Mister Hansen acted the consummate gentleman and righted that wrong.”

  “
Are you sorry?” the first woman asked.

  “No.” Dagny smiled, then, unable to hold back her joy. “I never expected to be so completely happy in this lifetime.”

  She must have been smiling at the recollection because the woman seated next to her nudged her arm. “So what is it about your life that is making you grin so?” she asked.

  Dagny looked around the circle of expectant eyes all pinned on her. Her answer was too complex for English, so she reverted to Norse.

  “I have a husband who loves me well,” she began, pausing to let that double meaning sink in, “an adequate amount of money to begin our new life together, and we are landing on a continent with expanding colonies requiring buildings to be designed and constructed. I am quite hopeful.”

  ***

  Dagny shaded her eyes and squinted at the dark strip rising from the watery western horizon under the setting sun.

  “That is America?” she asked in English.

  “It is.” Martin stood next to her at the bow of the ship, his hand resting possessively on her shoulder.

  She loved how he staked his casual claim on her affections. She loved how he privately staked his claim on her body even more. Never in her twenty-five years did she foresee that she would leave Norway for the English colonies, much less find a husband—a true husband—along the way. Dagny decided that she would write to the nuns at the abbey, and tell them what happened to her. After the years she spent in their care, she owed them that much.

  Perhaps Martin would let her send them one of the smallest pink pearls as an apology.

  “When will we arrive?” she continued in English.

  “We will arrive tomorrow in the late morning,” he answered. “Are you ready to use your English skills?”

  Dagny blew out a hopeful breath. “Speaking in English will tire me. But I am ready to try.”

  Martin squeezed her shoulder and smiled his approval.

  Their secret English lessons had stopped by necessity when she was arrested. Martin made an attempt to keep her speaking the new language after the wedding, but the outbreak of dysentery within the first week of their marriage interfered. For the last nine days, however, after the flux was gone and their conjugal activities began in earnest, he insisted they speak to each other in English alone, and resort to Norse only when she became hopelessly lost.

  The tactic was working. Dagny could think in English now—simple concepts at any rate—and her mind acted like a spider web, constantly connecting ideas to words she already knew. She quickly discovered that Martin chastised her less if she defaulted to Latin when the English word was unknown to her. At the least, then he knew she was trying.

  The exception he allowed her was in bed, when their intimate whispers were exchanged. Dagny insisted on that dispensation, and Martin soon saw the wisdom in allowing her the ability to speak to him without restraint. Sometimes, her boldness even surprised herself.

  The sun lowered and the land rose. Dagny drew a deep breath as excitement and terror fought for the top spot in her emotions. Ever since she boarded this ship, the actuality of leaving Norway and beginning a life in a new land was a far-off concept. Though her experience on the vessel was fraught with unpleasant incidents, she still felt cocooned from the rest of the world. Almost as if none of what happened here was real.

  It was very real, however, and that reality was rising in increments before her.

  “What are you thinking?” Martin asked.

  Dagny hesitated, searching for the English words. “I am thinking that my new life will be a surprise.”

  Martin’s brow arched. “A surprise?”

  “Is that the wrong word?” she queried. “I meant, not like I think it will be.”

  “No, surprise is the perfect word,” he complimented. “How will you be surprised?”

  Dagny’s gaze moved back to the approaching land. “I don’t know. The colonies are English. I know Norway. What will the people be like? I know Norwegians. What will the land be like? I don’t know; I know Norway. The towns? The weather? The carriages? I don’t know, because all I know is Norway.”

  Martin rested his arms on the railing beside her. “I think the same things,” he admitted after a pace.

  Her head swiveled toward his. “You do? But you know England and you know English!”

  Martin tilted his head and made a tsking sound. “From what I have been told, the people in this land are not much like the people in England. They either chose to leave England for some reason, or they were born there and have never been to England.”

  Dagny nodded to indicate that she understood.

  “And,” he continued, glancing back over his shoulder, “as you can see on this ship, there are people from other countries going to America for their own new beginnings.”

  Dagny thought about that for a moment. “So perhaps the people in America are like you and me?”

  Martin grinned at her. “Dagny, I think you might be right.”

  Contentment began to push away the terror in her chest.

  “I am right about this.” She held up two fingers and crossed them. “I do not come to America alone, and you do not come to America alone.”

  Martin wrapped his hand around her extended fingers. “Together we will do great things.”

  Dagny shook their clasped hands. “You will build great buildings in America.”

  He sighed. His gaze returned to the solid horizon. “I do hope so.”

  ***

  Martin couldn’t sleep. He eased himself away from Dagny, pulled on his trousers and shirt, and left the cabin.

  The half-moon he stood under on the night he pulled Dagny from the railing had returned. It seemed impossible that just over four weeks ago he had done that. Furthermore, their marriage only enjoyed three-and-a-half weeks of duration thus far. Martin’s head swirled when he considered the haste with which his life had changed.

  Changed for the better. In spite of his early trepidation, he now held no reservations. In fact, one reason he stood on the deck tonight was to thank God for the events which occurred and reshaped his path.

  “You can’t sleep either?”

  Martin turned to face Oskar as his friend approached. “It would seem that the prospect of arrival had made this whole enterprise very real, of a sudden. Decisions like this, once made, are not easily unmade.”

  “As true as that is, I find myself so giddy I can’t be contained,” Oskar countered.

  “Have you made your plans?”

  Oskar nodded. “My ‘banishment’ income is generous enough for me to settle anywhere, so I think I’ll work my way south. Warmer weather suits my disposition, I believe.”

  “And will you be traveling alone?” Martin probed.

  “Alas, yes,” he answered, affecting a sorrowful mien.

  Martin laughed. “Why don’t I believe you to be sad?”

  Oskar’s eye crinkled. “Because, in truth I am not. My heart was bruised on this journey, but not broken. I believe that before us lies a continent of possibilities which might soothe my injuries.”

  “I expect you are right,” Martin concurred. “Though it was not my intent, I now find myself delightfully partnered as I move forward. That was a surprise and a blessing.”

  Oskar clapped his shoulder. “You did well, Hansen. There is no doubt there.”

  Martin held out his hand. “Tomorrow will be a mess of cargo and people. Let’s say our goodbyes now.”

  Oskar shook Martin’s hand firmly. “I doubt we will ever meet again, but I will never forget you.”

  “Nor I, you,” Martin replied.

  The men went below deck without another word.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  July 14, 1749

  Boston looked nothing like what they left behind in Christiania. There, Norway’s mountains rose behind the city; here there were only soft hills. Akershus Festning, the medieval fortress built on a tall stone bluff, towered over the fjord harbor and provided protection from intruders. Bos
ton’s harbor was protected by a narrow spit of sandy land which only protected her from the largest of the Atlantic waves.

  Martin scanned the city’s serviceable structures which he could see from the deck. Red brick was the material of choice, with most of the wooden trim painted white. He could see higher slate-shingled rooftops further inland and decided that was where he would seek out an inn for the week or so that he and his wife would tarry here.

  The plank from their ship, the Seehorst, was being extended and lowered now that the ship was securely tied. The passenger trunks would be taken off first and lined up on the dock to be claimed. He and Dagny would need to carry their smaller luggage from the cabin themselves.

  Before they disembarked, Martin made certain that the jewels from Tor Valheim’s trunk were locked in the captain’s safe for transport back to Christiania. He had both his letter for Brander and one of the signed lists of the stolen items tucked in his pocket. He planned to search out a ship to send the missive to Norway before they left the docks today.

  He also wrote a letter to his family, telling them of his marriage. He would write again when he settled in a city. Until then, there wasn’t anything to say which he had not already said in his farewell note.

  Clouds covered the day making the weather warm and heavy and the hour hard to determine. The other passengers began to crowd the deck, straining to glimpse their new home and those they expected to welcome them here.

  Dagny bumped up against him and took his arm. “This is a very busy place!” she said in lilting English.

  Martin kissed her hair. “Since no one is waiting for us, I thought we’d let the others off first.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, her eyes moving over the colorful crowd of sailors, longshoremen, ticket agents, passengers, and those waiting for passengers. “I am so glad to be here with you and not alone.”

  Martin had nothing to say to that. The idea that Dagny might have been stranded here was too real to make light of, and too unpleasant to consider.