Northern Lights Trilogy (100 page)

Karl glanced at Gerald, but it was clear that his friend was as intrigued as Hayden Stover about the opportunities to their north and was no longer thinking about matrimonial prospects for his daughter.
Perhaps it is for the best.
Karl clearly needed time to think his way out of his predicament. He liked Mara but was in no way ready to declare his intentions to court her.

“A man named Smith is indeed doing a smashing business along the Inside Passage. I have colleagues that are in the midst of building an inn in Ketchikan, specifically to cater to those passengers. Have you been to Ketchikan? The totem poles there are remarkable.”

“I bet it’s Trent Storm who spotted a business opportunity like that so early in the game,” Hayden surmised.

“Indeed, one and the same,” Karl affirmed.

“Ha! I knew it. That man is always a mile ahead of anything I think of.”

“Even so,” Karl said, cocking a brow, “you manage to do quite well for yourself.”

“Indeed,” Gerald agreed. “Imagine how Storm is making out! I suppose you are investing in the inn.”

“Sadly, no. Storm already allowed my friend Bradford Bresley as well as Kaatje Janssen to buy in. But I plan on giving Smith a run for his money. I’m picking up a new steamship in Panama next month that will top any other for luxury travel. It’ll sail between Seattle, Portland, and Juneau, stopping at Ketchikan every two weeks.”

“Now that’s a dandy idea,” Gerald said with admiration. “Won’t Smith be steamed? Pardon the pun!” The men laughed along with him.

“I am certain there are many other opportunities of the like,” Karl offered. “Along with the luxury steamer, I’m securing parts for several shallow draft steamers for the rivers. Alaska is untamed, remarkable territory, gentlemen, the best I’ve seen since coming to America. There are few riverboats, and more pioneers and miners by the day. Now is the time to act if you wish to capitalize on Alaska’s riches.”

“You’re still in cahoots with Bresley?” Gerald asked.

“Yes, Bradford and I are doing a fair amount of business. Trent Storm has invested in a portion of the steamers I’ll bring to Alaska via Panama.”

“Humph,” Gerald snorted. “Storm again. How come you didn’t come to me, son, if you needed investors?”

Karl smiled and ducked his head. “I would have, sir, had I needed investors. Storm and Bresley and I have been partners in the steamship business since our days in the Washington Territory. Bradford has leaned more toward mining interests; I still have two sailers; and Storm, of course, has his roadhouses. These days, we combine efforts only when it comes to steam.”

“You heading north soon?” Hayden asked. “I’d like to get the lay of the land, figure how I might take part of what is certain to come.”

“Are you sure?” Gerald asked, looking about at the growing number of men around them. “Why, isn’t that frozen monstrosity we purchased called ‘Seward’s Folly’? Some say that the man was a plumb fool for spending thousands of dollars on frozen tundra.”

Karl watched the men react, amused at Gerald’s incredulity. “I’ve heard tell of the same,” he allowed. “But it’s my opinion that the men who called Seward a fool are the fools themselves. Alaska is rich. Gold mines abound, and I’d wager it’s only a matter of time until they have a rush that equals California’s heyday. And if it isn’t gold—there’s a company doing a thriving business in sealskins. There are whales and salmon and other fish in the sea that would keep a hundred canneries in business…and the Interior.” He paused and looked around him. “The Interior is so beautiful that it can bring a grown man to tears. Game abounds. Yes, it is harsh country, cold country, but I tell you, it’s the future for the thinking businessman.”

“Count me in on your next venture, Karl,” Hayden said.

“Aye, me, too!” called another. It seemed all the men in the parlor, perhaps fifty or more, were listening now.

“And me!”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down there, boys!” Karl said with a smile. “There’s plenty for all of you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to drum up your own business. I do not wish to share any more of my pie. If you like, I can point you in the right direction.”

“Call him on it!” shouted a man from the back.

“Hear, hear!” called another, lifting a glass.

Laughing, Karl was jostled and pushed toward a map of Alaska. And as he began pointing toward the Inside Passage, pausing at certain breathtaking spots, his heart yearned to return.

Later that night Karl stepped out of the elegant George IV phaeton he had rented and reluctantly raised a hand to help Mara out. She
rose from her seat in the carriage, and as she made her way down the two steps, she stumbled. Karl reached out to steady her, but she ended up in his arms. Helplessly, he looked toward the Kenneys’ front door, but Gerald was busily hustling his wife inside.

He looked down at Mara, anxious to set her to rights and step away.

But she was looking straight up at him. Earnest, clear eyes staring at him with an unspoken desire flickering in their depths. How long had it been since a woman had looked at him that way? His body longed to kiss the girl, to envelop her in his arms. But his mind, his heart, warned that it would be a deadly mistake. He did not love Mara Kenney. And he never would.

Would he never love again?

At last, Mara laughed softly and looked away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Martensen. I am dreadfully clumsy.”

“Not at all, Miss Kenney.” He took her hand again and led her up the stone stairs to their front door, still open but unoccupied. “It was most likely my hand that left you unbalanced.”

She paused before the doorway and turned to him, taking his other hand in hers. “Your touch, Mr. Martensen, I must confess, does leave me a bit…unbalanced.”

Inwardly, he groaned. He had meant it to be a gallant statement, not a leading one. Once again, her chin tilted upward, her eyes pleading. She was lovely. Beautiful. And nothing like Alicia. Why could his heart not love her?

Karl dropped her hands, wanting to spare her any embarrassment, and gestured toward the door. “I had better get you inside, Miss Kenney, before you catch a cold.”

Reluctantly, she turned and walked inside, her demeanor shouting out her disappointment. Karl bit his lip and followed her.

A month later, off the coast of Mexico, he still was berating himself for mishandling the incident. It was ten o’clock, the starboard watch was on, and Karl paced the decks, unable to sleep. There was
a brisk wind, uncommon at night, probably because a storm was passing to the south of them. The cold gusts off the water felt right to Karl, as if they could slam some sense into him. He thought back to that night in San Francisco for the hundredth time. He had decided that he would have to address the issue with Mara in private. Surely, if he told her there was no love in his heart, it would end her fascination with him. What girl would want a loveless marriage?

He had taken her for a stroll after supper. Looking over the San Francisco harbor, he had turned to her and taken her hands.

“Mara, I must speak with you about a delicate subject,” he began.

“Yes, Karl. Please, go on.”

“I’m afraid that all I feel for you is kinship,” he plunged in, not trusting himself to wait any longer. “While I admire you in every way, I do not have the feelings that I should have for a woman I intend to court.”

Mara’s eyes filled with tears, but she did not look away. Instead, she raised a small hand and stroked his cheek. He cursed himself for the way she moved him physically. How he longed to duck his head and kiss her pretty mouth! But it wasn’t right, it wasn’t true.

“Karl,” she said, “I am willing to wait for you. You are a fine man, and if, as you say, you admire everything about me, love can’t be far behind.”

He took her hand from his face and moved farther away. “I am more than ten years your senior.”

“That matters little. Father is twelve years senior to Mother.”

“I am often at sea.”

“I understand. I would be willing to wait each time you leave my side.” She drew closer to him and took his arm, leaning her cheek against his bicep. “Do not let this go yet, Karl. All I ask is for you to give it some time. I understand you have some doubts—I understand. Will you not even give me a chance?”

He had turned to her, determined to say no, to get out while he still could. But one look at her luminous eyes, and he could not. Who
could say? Perhaps she was right. Maybe God would grant a love for her, in time. Would it not be wonderful to be a part of the Kenney family?

Karl groaned, remembering. He had failed once again, with people he truly cared about. As he had failed with his father. As he had failed with Elsa and Peder.

He gritted his teeth and made his way to the bow of the ship and braced himself against the railing, riding the oncoming swells like a bucking horse. Each slam and dip of the ship a flogging. He deserved all the punishment the sea cared to give him.

This is not the way.
It was as clear as any audible voice.

Karl looked up, blinking against sudden raindrops. “Lord, Lord,” he murmured. “I do not understand. Why do you allow me to hurt the people I love most?” His thoughts sped backward over the years to when he had kissed Elsa Ramstad and forever alienated his best friend, Peder. “Why do you not help me?”

This is not the way.

“What is not the way? Where I am going? How I mishandled the Kenneys?”

This is not the way.

Suddenly it struck Karl—it was not God’s desire to watch Karl punish himself. It was dangerous, being out on the bow in the dark of night. How many times had he warned his crew not to do such a thing? If he wasn’t careful, he would wind up overboard, just like Peder. Lost forever. A life taken by a cruel sea. That would not honor his Lord.

Carefully he made his way back to the bridge, pausing for a brief look at the binnacle, a chat with Lucas and the others on starboard watch, then retired to his cabin. He grabbed a linen beside his wash basin and dried his hair of the salt spray in the darkness, then struck a flint and lit his lantern. He sat down hard on his sea chest. “All right, Father,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, his hands on his face. “That was not the way,” he prayed silently. “What is the way?”

You are on the right path.

“How? How can I be on the right path? With every step, I seem to hurt another.”

Karl heard no response.

“Oh, I know. Perhaps it is not with every step. But must I hurt everyone I love?”

Again he heard no response.

Karl sighed and rocked in tandem with the ship for a while, relishing the great washing sounds of waves passing by and the creak of solid beams that groaned from the pressure but were certain to hold. He knew they would hold. This was a ship forged at Ramstad Yard, in Camden-by-the-Sea.

Camden. Was Elsa home yet from Bergen? He yearned to see her, talk with her, laugh with her. How long had it been since they had been together? Since Japan. Two years. How could two years have gone by? It seemed when he was back East, she was in Washington. When he was in the Far East, she was in Bergen. When she was in Camden, he was in San Francisco.
Are you keeping us apart on purpose, Lord? I can be trusted now.

Or could he? Karl shook his head and stared at the lantern. Was the reason he could not fall in love with Mara Kenney because he still yearned for Elsa Ramstad? Impossible. Had he not proven his intention to do penance? To be only her friend? If Elsa was ever to be his, she would have to make the first move. She would have to walk up to him without faltering. Walk up to him without any hesitation in her step and
kiss him.
Yes,
she
would have to kiss
him.

Karl flopped back on the bed and groaned again.

Because that was certainly never going to happen.

June 1888

T
he silence was getting to her. Kaatje had watched Kadachan pad off into the forest, presumably to see if he could find out any information from the tribe just upriver, while James went about laying a fire. They had traveled late into the evening, trying to cover more miles in order to reach the neighboring tribe and possible further information on Soren Janssen. Wearily, she pulled out the knapsack of jerky and hardtack, and then fetched a bucket of fresh water. The river was still icy cold, and even a quick dip made her wince.

When she returned, the fire was crackling, the warmth of it welcoming her back into the circle of silence. “Can we not speak?”

He looked up at her with a slight scowl. “Of what?”

“Of anything. The monotony of our travel is getting to me. Tell me of Alaska. Of the wildlife, your treks, your friends. Anything.”

James grunted and stirred the fire. When he remained silent, Kaatje sighed and handed him a slice of jerky and another of hardtack, then sat down upon a wool blanket to eat her own boring fare. A half-hour later, feeling the cool June evening beginning to penetrate her clothes and chill her, she wondered if she should turn in. She had just picked up her blanket and wound it around her shoulders when James began speaking.