In front of the hotel, ready to enter a carriage of his own, was Gustav Rolfson, off to make calls on bankers and businessmen, launching his adventure in America.
“Go to the desk,” Eric ordered the driver, “and have Mrs. Rolfson summoned, please.”
“Yessir. And who shall I say—?”
“Mr. Sonnendahl. Ford Sonnendahl.”
“Yessir, Mr. Sonnendahl.”
The driver went on his errand. Eric waited in the carriage. And time grinned, working its vexing magic. He waited a minute, two. Hours passed in his heart, days. The driver did not return. What had happened? Eric hesitated to leave the carriage, lest he be recognized by hotel personnel, ruining everything. Still Kristin did not come. It seemed Eric had waited for a longer time than it had taken to cross the Atlantic in the wallowing Anandale.
The young driver came out of the hotel, sauntered toward his rig.
“I give ’em the message at the desk, sir.”
“It took this long?”
“Sorry, they was pretty busy.”
And then Kristin appeared in the hotel doorway, lovely as a vision. She wore a long blue dress, trimmed with white piping, and a small cape, also blue and white, clasped at her throat with a golden chain. She looked about, and in her expression he saw a tentative hope that dared not quite believe.
He gestured from the carriage window, and his wave caught her eye. She crossed the distance in the space of a heartbeat, and as she came to him, he knew she brought with her the past and future, both.
“Darling.”
“Oh, it is you!”
“I can’t—”
“No, wait. Driver, be off. Go up the river to Spuyten Duyvil, and don’t stop until you get there.”
“Yessir.”
The carriage began to move. Eric untied the knots by which the rolled-up window curtains were fastened, and they curled down softly, shutting out the street, the rush, the light. The cab was shut away from earth, a world unto itself, cushions deep and soft, the light itself conspiratorial, tender and gloomy and dusky red.
“Darling…” Kristin began again.
“No, don’t say a word. Not yet.”
He took her and held her to him for a long, long time, not even kissing her yet, just holding her, as if to convince the both of them that they were together at last. Time turned another face now, smiling benignly, and years fell away like floss, like thistledown in wind. Kristin was as she had been the first time they’d made love on the grass above Sonnendahl Fjord, and Eric’s suffering and hardship melted away in this mystical embrace.
Finally, they drew apart.
“Yesterday, when I saw you on the docks,” Kristin said, “you seemed so—”
“That was yesterday. Something has changed me. Your arrival,” he said. “Now I feel as once I was.”
Then, again, they held each other, hungrily, ecstatically. There in the jouncing carriage, moving slowly northward along the river road to Manhattan’s tip, Eric peeled from her the fine furbelowed gown Gustav had bought, and beheld after so long a time her golden body which so bewitched and haunted him. His fine clothes, too, he removed, and then wrapped the great cape around them both. “Here,” he sighed, breathlessly, “face me, like this, and, yes, come down upon me…so…”
And together they gasped in ecstasy and delight, as they were joined in body after so long a time. She felt him all the way inside, every nerve alive and throbbing; to him, her body had the soft, wet embrace of a primordial memory, offering, by a passage of infinite delight, the gorgeous rush of creation itself. But not yet. But not yet. All they had to do was cling to each other, hold onto each other, kiss. The jouncing and rolling of the carriage moved them, moved them with a conspiracy of its own, a pact of pleasure, and there was nothing and no one to put an end to it.
“Oh, this is too sweet, too slow,” cried Kristin, writhing upon him. “I cannot wait, I must—”
“No, no.” He calmed her, holding her tightly so she could not wriggle or move. “There is no rush, none at all. For after this time, there will be another, and after that another still.”
Kristin felt him inside her, growing and growing, as if he would burst, or she would. And she felt within her too the spark of old magic, that she had never known or even sought with Gustav, but which she had known with Eric in lost Lesja. The immense fire of pleasure began to burn for her, consuming her rational mind, living tongues of fire flicking over her body, until most of her body was lost to her, too, all of her body save where love was, and from there the fire came burning, fierce and hard. His eyes closed, Eric saw behind his lids the shifting colors of passion, dancing patterns of light, amber and red and blue and gorgeous violet, soft and hot. From a place so deep within himself it must be trackless, sourceless, he felt rising the very splendor of his strength and need, and cried out that it was to be. Kristin’s very mind had flown to a far place now, and she did not care. The cells of her body told her now now now was the time, and she twisted and rose in his embrace, upon him, twisted and fell, tossing about as if in the grip of an awful wonder. Their communion of pleasure began and throbbed again and again, sweet and divine. Never had they felt such glorious, enchanting surges, and far back in Eric’s mind was a dark flash of sadness that he had ever accepted the profane favors of Joan Leeds. Was this delight with Kristin not worth waiting for, no matter if it took all time to have and hold again? Yes, it was, and never would he weaken in the future.
Then he was gasping, and Kristin, still upon him, sobbed with joy in the aftermath of pleasure. So ardent had they been, so stricken with the needs of their bodies, that now they were wet with sweet perspiration, and he wrapped the cape more closely about them still.
“If I had to wait all those months for this pleasure,” Kristin said, “then maybe it was worth it after all.”
“We are together now. And we shall be from now on. I have a plan. Here in America, one might buy good land for very little. This very afternoon, we shall take a train west, to Pennsylvania, and I will hire out there until I have enough to buy a farm…if that is all right with you?”
“Darling, anything is all right, so long as we are together.”
“But there is only one problem right now. I don’t have quite enough for the train fare. I did, but I had to hire this rig, and—”
“Do not think about it for another moment. Save the time to love me again. We shall stop at the hotel before taking the train. I will take money. We have much with us, some in the suite, and some locked in the hotel safe. You will not have to work in Pennsylvania either, not for money to buy the land. I will take enough to buy the land.”
“Is that not dangerous?”
“No, it is my money as well as Gustav’s. I have certainly earned it.”
And so, with their future stretching before them like a golden meadow, the lovers partook of each other again.
At length, the coach halted, and the driver called down, “Spuyden Duyvil, sir, just as you wished. Care to step out and have a look.”
“No,” Gustav answered. “Just trun around and drive back to the city. The view is fine from where we are.”
Baffled, the young driver clucked to the horses and slapped their rumps with the reins. Mr. Ford Sonnendahl was certainly a man of changeable mind.
The carriage drew to a halt in front of the Madison Hotel in the roaring bustle of a New York noon. The late-April day was warm and perfect, and the streets were jammed with a happy throng, moving hither and thither. The dark cloaks of winter had been put aside, and bright-colored dresses and coats made a gay scene. Even a news-hawk in front of the hotel added his positive note to the day: “General Grant and the Union army advance in Mississippi,” he cried. “Read all about it. Union army floats downriver past the Vicksburg fortress in the dark of night.”
“Oh, darling,” said Kristin, just as she was to alight from the coach and enter the hotel to fetch the money, “will this terrible war affect us?”
“Not at all,” Er
ic assured her lovingly. “Mississippi is far to the south. There will never be any battles as far north as Pennsylvania.”
“It is high time things began to go our way.”
“And they have.”
Kristin walked across the short distance from curbside to hotel, waved briefly to Eric, and entered. He climbed down from the coach, and stood on the street, enjoying the warm feel of the sun.
“Just a jaunt over to Pennsylvania Station,” he told the driver, “and then—”
He meant to say, “…and then you can take the carriage back to the livery…” but he didn’t, because at that moment another glittering coach drew up, and Gustav Rolfson leaped exuberantly out of it. The two men were no more than fifteen feet apart.
Gustav had had a good morning at the Morgan Bank, had already made plans to go west to see the new oil fields. He was feeling prosperous and indomitable. Spying the expensive rust-colored carriage, he assumed at once that its owner must be of high class, both socially and in the mercantile sense. He doffed his hat in comradeship and respect, smiling. There was no way Eric could refuse to return the salute without giving offense, and, quite possibly, causing trouble. But if he did lift his hat, and remove from his face the shadow made by the hatbrim, there was little doubt that Rolfson would recognize him. Further, Kristin would be coming out of the hotel at any moment.
Eric thought fast. He doffed his hat, simultaneously bowing slightly, satisfying protocol for the moment, but showing Rolfson not his face but his head. When he recovered from the bow, he was safe again within the shadow of the hatbrim.
Rolfson turned toward the hotel entrance.
Kristin came flying out of the hotel, gloriously happy. “Eric!” she cried, her eyes on him alone, “Eric, I have it. Now let’s—”
“You have what?” Rolfson demanded, grabbing her arm and yanking her to a half.
She turned to him, speechless with surprise.
“Eric?” Rolfson wondered, aloud. He turned from his startled wife to the man near the rust-colored carriage.
“Take your hands off her,” threatened Eric, stepping forward.
Rolfson could not see the face clearly, but he recognized the voice and stride immediately. He felt, not with his ruined face but with his vengeful soul beneath, the cut of the riding whip, dropped Kristin’s arm, and leaped forward to do battle again with this lowly, despicable upstart.
Eric’s mind was pure and cold and clear. It did not matter that this was a busy street in a great city. He was ready for the moment. He would have been ready for this moment had it taken place in the mountains of Norway, in a back-alley bar, on the trackless prairies of North America. When the time come§ to demand recompense, you demand. When the time comes to pay, you pay.
Gustav Rolfson was about to pay.
He forgot that arrogance alone is not sufficient armor, and came toward Eric before his fists were raised.
“Eric!” Kristin cried.
Out of the hotel strode the clerk who, on the previous day, had come to the room to present Eric with the bill.
Down the street, trying to walk off a burden of raw anger due to a break-in at his shop, came tailor Leffert.
Gustav, unready, took a wild, high swing, and knocked off Eric’s hat.
“Gunnarson!” cried the clerk.
“You!” howled Leffert, recognizing not only his handcrafted suit of clothes but the man in them as well.
“Swine!” grunted Rolfson.
Eric did not spend his energy in words. Braced and balanced, he shot a straight right fist to the middle of Rolfson’s face, smashing and widening further that vulpine nose. Rolfson, thrown backward by the force of the blow, was unconscious even before he came to rest against the hotel’s foundation.
“Kristin, let’s go,” said Eric, stretching his hand out toward her.
She came to him, and he swung her into the carriage.
“Pennsylvania Station!” he ordered the driver, getting into the coach himself.
“That man’s a thief!” Leffert shouted.
“Eric, what—?” asked Kristin, disbelieving and bewildered. In her eyes Eric saw a glimmer of heartbreak. Somehow, because of things she did not understand—because of rash things he had done—their dream was not going to be.
Traffic was heavy, and the driver was having difficulty getting his team away from the curb.
“That man in the red buggy! He stole my clothes!” Leffert shrieked, even as he dashed toward the horses. The hotel clerk had the same idea. He, too, ran forward, and grabbed the horses by their bridles. The perplexed driver could only shout at them, wondering what was going on.
“Police!” someone shouted.
Gustav Rolfson came woozily to life, and propped himself on an arm.
“That blond man,” he moaned, “get that blond man. He’s a murderer.”
“Oh, my God…” Kristin said, near tears.
“God damn,” said Eric.
“What shall we do?”
“I’ve got to get out of here.” He remembered how he had had to flee once before, leaving Kristin in the stream bed, her leg broken, and men closing in. Now, here on the other side of the world, much the same thing was happening. “I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t explain now, but if I’m captured, it’s the end of everything. I’ll send for you, all right?”
“Police. A murderer!”
“That man in the buggy stole my clothes!”
“Mr. Sonnendahl, what should I do?” the poor young driver wanted to know.
“I’m going to a city called Harrisburg. It’s in Pennsylvania,” Eric told his beloved. “I’ll send for you from there.” He kissed her, no more than a touch on the lips. There was no more time.
“Kristin, get out of there,” muttered Gustav, staggering toward the coach.
Eric opened the door on the street side of the coach, and leaped into the roadway. He startled a team of horses drawing a supply wagon. The horses reared. Their driver cursed. Another team, coming from the opposite direction, veered to the side, frightened and confused by the man in the cape who dashed across the street in front of them. For a moment the whole area in front of the Madison Hotel was in a state of chaos, a condition exacerbated when Gustav opened the carriage door and pulled Kristin out onto the sidewalk, lifting his hand as if to strike her. But the young driver, beside himself now with anger and confusion, jumped down from his seat, onto Rolfson’s wide back, and drove him to the ground.
Two policemen rushed up, their clubs ready for action. Out of the subsequent babble they were able to deduce that a dangerous man had fled the scene. But by the time they realized it, there was no chance to give pursuit.
“He said he was going to the railroad station,” the driver said, helpfully.
Now I can’t leave New York by rail, Eric thought. A block from the hotel he had slowed to a walk. People paid him no notice, rushing past to see what the fuss at the Madison was all about. Knowing that the railroad station would be watched by the police, aware that all his plans had once again gone awry, he felt disgusted and ill. Was it more painful never to have experienced heaven at all? Or to have held it and lost it? He was thinking of Kristin. The answer was easy. It was more painful to have held her and lost her. The pain was brutal, almost incapacitating.
But he would not give way to it. He would not become weak again, awaiting the blow of whosoever chose to deliver it. His plight had become critical. He had to get out of New York. But if the police were looking for him—and he would be a fool to assume they were not—getting out of the city would be difficult indeed.
Yet there was one way.
He made his way down to the docks, sought out Sam Lapin’s office, and announced his decision.
“Well, Eric my boy. I knew you’d find the wit to make the right decision. Bobby will be so pleased. And the Union army will have one hell of a soldier in you. I can see that.”
Sam Lapin pulled a thick wallet from his hip pocket and counted out three crisp one-hu
ndred-dollar bills. “Now, don’t you be late in reporting,” he advised.
“Could I have some twenties,” Eric asked, “and an envelope?” He was thinking of tailor Leffert. “I have to pay a small debt before I leave, and I won’t have time to do it in person.”
“Why, certainly,” said Lapin, making the adjustment “Now, when you report be on the lookout. Your commander is a fellow named Randolph. Colonel Scott Randolph. Hard but fair. He’s from a very old New England banking family, fine as they come.” Sam Lapin stopped talking and looked at Eric in a fatherly way. “Maybe he can teach you a few things, at long last” he added dolefully.
Eric took the money, pocketed it, and turned toward the door.
“Oh, by the way,” called Sam. “I’m sure Bobby would want me to tell you good luck from him. But he’s away at a party now with some of his friends.”
Eric stepped through the open office door.
“Duck if you see a cannonball coming!” called Sam Lapin encouragingly.
Eric closed the door behind him.
IV
Kristin, who had seen Gustav Rolfson angry many times, had never seen him this furious. She was lying on the big double bed in their Madison suite when he entered, having returned from the ministrations of the doctor and consultations with the police. A wide white bandage crossed the bridge of his battered nose, anchored by tape to his cheekbones. His eyes were small and mean and red above the bandage, and gave him an aspect, indeed, of a wolf peering over a snowbank, seeking prey. He looked at Kristin. She was his prey.
“You were with Gunnarson,” he said, slowly unbuckling his heavy belt. “I learned it from the driver. You know,” he went on, drawing the belt from the loops on the waistband of his trousers, “Father always told me that if a woman gets a good beating early on in marriage, you don’t have to waste your time watching her too closely afterwards.”
Warily Kristin slid to the end of the bed, and prepared to get up.
Wild Wind Westward Page 23