Northern Lights Trilogy (109 page)

“Why did you not send word, Karl? I would’ve been home had I known you were coming to call.”

The man behind her took a step forward. He obviously wasn’t one to turn tail. A good thing in a man, Karl thought. The rival cleared his throat.

“Oh, forgive me,” Gerald said. “Karl Martensen, please meet our dear friend Arthur Hairston. He’s just in from Boston. Going to settle here. His family and ours go way back.”

“Mr. Hairston,” Karl said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Captain Martensen,” he returned, matching Karl’s searching gaze.

His use of the title told Karl that Arthur knew more about him than he knew about Arthur. “How long have you been in town, Mr. Hairston?” The man was of average looks. Brown hair, brown eyes. But Karl liked the sparkle; he was clearly a man who enjoyed life.

“For about a month. Long enough to take an interest in Miss Kenney, here.”
And a man who likes a challenge
, Karl added to his mental checklist.

Mara laughed prettily, coyly taking a step between the two men. “Now, gentlemen, I am sure we will have plenty of time to all become friends. There is no need to draw a line in the sand.”

“I agree,” Karl said, looking at Arthur meaningfully. “There truly is no need.”

“Very well,” Arthur said amiably. “Shall we take a ride? It’s a beautiful day for a carriage ride down by the water.”

“That sounds delightful,” Mrs. Kenney said.

“I am afraid you all will have to go on without me,” Karl said. “I have some business down at the waterfront. Need to see to the parquet floors for my ballroom.” He ignored Mara’s sorrowful expression and gave up on finding a moment to speak with Gerald alone. Again. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to anyway. If Arthur Hairston swept Mara off her feet, maybe no one would need to be “let down easily.”

“That is unfortunate,” Arthur said, his tone denoting no sorrow. “May we drop you somewhere?”

“That would be most kind.”

“Good enough,” Gerald said. “Will you return to join us for supper, Karl?”

“Yes, do,” Mrs. Kenney said.

“I’m afraid not. Perhaps later in the week?”

“Name the date, son.”

“Very well.”

“Oh, and, Karl,” Mara said. “There’s a ball in three weeks. You must come.”

Karl smiled down at his hat. “I shall have to see. It really will depend upon progress on the ship. Besides, I’m sure Mr. Hairston has dibs on your hand for the evening.” He bit his tongue. Why did he have to play it this way? It would be so much better just to be honest! To have it all in the open! But every time he tried it came out all wrong. And he never wanted to hurt Mara.

Arthur tucked Mara’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “I truly would be honored if you would accompany me to the ball.”

She glanced away and answered in a monotone. “You do me an honor, Mr. Hairston. But Captain Martensen promised me months ago he would escort me.”

Arthur nodded once toward Karl, as if in silent acquiescence. “Indeed, I see you plan ahead, Captain Martensen. Shall we?”

“Sometimes,” Karl said, walking alongside the young man, “I find I still don’t plan well enough.”

August 1888

K
aatje had become used to their pace, the endless paddling or poling or walking. She had become used to the heat of the day and the chill of the night. She had become used to James and Kadachan. Her life in Juneau, her girls, seemed far, far away. All she seemed to be able to focus on was the search for Soren. The endless path.

They had traveled over most of the Yukon River and several of its tributaries, backtracking from Kokrine’s Trading Post, all the way to Fort Yukon, looking for Soren. Someone in Kokrine’s had said they thought Soren and the squaw had gone to the fort years before. Thought they had seen them there. Twenty miles from the fort, they met a trapper who spoke of a blond man who had operated the trading post there.

“Blond, curly hair?” Kaatje asked. “About this tall?” She raised her hand above her head.

“Yes, yes,” the old trapper said. “Go to the fort. See for yourself.”

James quietly thanked the man, and they were off. Perhaps to find Soren at last. With each step they took toward the fort, Kaatje’s mind grew thicker with wild thoughts. What would she say to him? What would he say? And would the Indian woman be with him? As his
wife?

Two days later, they stood outside the fort, and Kaatje could not seem to walk any farther. She stood as if planted in the ground as firmly as the fir trees that surrounded her.

“Kaatje?” James asked. “Kaatje?” he repeated softly, bending to look her in the eye. To Kaatje he looked as though he were underwater, his face swimming before her. “Are you all right? Do you want Kadachan and me to go in and see if he’s there?”

“No,” she said, finding her voice. “I must do it myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Tentatively, he offered his hand, and she took it.

His hand on hers comforted, gave a strength she wouldn’t have had on her own. They made their way past several vendors inside the courtyard of the fort, selling tools and jerky and other items. But she never looked away from the trading post. In seconds, they stood inside the darkened doorway, waiting for their eyes to adjust.

Kaatje swallowed hard. Directly in front of her, a man stood with his back to them. Dimly, she felt James’s hand on her shoulder. But her concentration was on the trader—about Soren’s height, with hair almost the color of his too. Could it have darkened in the years apart?

“Sor-Soren?” It came out in almost a whisper. “Soren?” she then said too loudly.

The man turned in surprise.

Even with a beard, he was obviously not her husband.

“I’m sorry.” She turned and fled the building. The tears found her as soon as she was outside.

James did not hesitate. He followed her and pulled Kaatje around the corner of the trading post, away from the curious stares of onlookers. Then he pulled her into his arms and let her cry. How long he had wanted to do just that! She came willingly, her tears dampening the front of his shirt. On and on she sobbed, as James stroked her long, shiny hair and kissed her crown. “Shh,” he whispered. He desperately
wanted to stop her crying, to ease her pain. He didn’t know how he should feel.

After several minutes, Kaatje looked up at him, and the sorrow in her eyes made him want to cry too. “He’s gone, James. And I’m done.”

“You’re done?”

“Yes. I want to go home. I want to bury Soren and get on with my life.”

“But you said you wanted to find either him or his grave. Can you be sure—”

“I’m as sure as I need to be. He’s dead. Or so far gone that we’ll never be reunited. The judge will come to Juneau next fall, and I’ll ask him to make a formal declaration.”

James pulled her into his arms again, unable to speak.

“Take me home. Will you take me home?” She looked back up at him, and James fought off the overwhelming desire to kiss her right there and then. Her hazel eyes were beautiful, innocent. It was then he knew that he was in love with Kaatje Janssen. That his heart was in her hands, whether she knew it or not.

“Yes, Kaatje. I will take you home. To your daughters, your home. Your new life.”

They began walking when James pulled her to a stop, holding her small hand in his. “But, Kaatje, are you sure? You’ve come this far…”

“I’m sure, James. He’s dead. Or dead to me anyway. It’s over.”

James nodded and then took her back to where Kadachan stood over their supplies. “I think we’ll camp here for the night. We can get rooms and baths and then resupply.” He looked over at Kadachan. “We’re going home. To Juneau.”

Kadachan’s eyes reflected no surprise. “Through Saint Michael?”

“Yes. We’ll catch a steamer there to Juneau. It’ll be faster than overland.”

Kadachan switched to Tlingit. “I will ask about the river between here and Saint Michael—how she’s running. Where we can expect to portage.”

“Good. And I will secure us two rooms for tonight.”

He turned toward Kaatje, who stood, looking out the fort doors as if looking at a different world. Her stance, her expression, was that of a woman once imprisoned who had been released. He put a hand on her shoulder again, but she did not look at him. “I will get you home, Kaatje. Just as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, James. It will be good to be home. Oh, it will be so good to be home.”

Kaatje was not a single woman yet and wouldn’t be until the judge made his declaration—that Soren was dead. James wanted to stare and stare at the beauty in her, her eyes looking about as if seeing her world for the first time. But his soul told him to turn away and keep his distance. He had to. Or he might take her in his arms and never let her go. James forced himself to turn away and inquire after rooms for the night.

Tora paced back and forth in her room. For a month Decker had been in Juneau’s small prison down the street. In the fall the judge would come and decide his fate. For now, he sat inside, probably pacing the small cage, thinking about how to get even with Tora and Trent. The thought sent a shiver down her back. She punched her fist into her other hand. Why, why could she not rid herself of him? Why could she not forget he was in Juneau and get on with her life?

But an irrational fear had set in. She hadn’t slept more than three hours for the last few nights, certain that every sound was Decker coming to get her.

Fear is not of God
, she told herself.
Fear is of the devil. I will fear no evil. I will fear no evil. I will fear no evil.

But she was deathly afraid.

She fell to her knees every night, praying that God would lift the oppression from her shoulders. She wanted to be free, to feel confident again. But still, she found no peace.

On the fourth night, she again climbed out of bed and went to her knees. “Oh, please, Lord. Please. I need to sleep, to feel your peace. I need to feel…quiet. My heart seems to be wrenched in two when I should at last feel whole. He is in prison, and I am safe. Why does fear surround me?”

Go to him, child. Go to him.

Tora stood stock-still.

No, no, no.
She must have misunderstood. She had to have misunderstood. Her God, her Savior, could not ask her to go toward the mouth of the devil.

Go to him.

“For what?” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “For what?” she cried, looking up at the ceiling of her room. “Please, Father. Don’t ask it of me.”

Go.

Tora shook her head and rose, walked to her window, and stared at the street. She no longer wanted to hear from her Lord. He hadn’t given the answer she sought. Or was she losing her mind? What good could possibly come from seeing Decker?

Trent did not understand her. “You want to go see
him?
” he thundered, furious at the thought. “Why?”

“I do not know,” she said miserably. She looked up at him, her luminous blue eyes staring into his. “All I can tell you is that God has asked me to do so. I haven’t slept in days—”

“Exactly,” he interrupted. “It’s your exhaustion that has led you to this. A rational woman would not want to see her
rapist.
”

The word seemed to cut Tora, and Trent immediately regretted using it. But he could not help himself. The thought of her within Decker’s presence made him crazy.

She closed her eyes, as if trying to summon some strength inside her. He knew Tora Anders well enough to know that when she had made a decision, he had no choice but to move out of the way. But
how could he now? When she wanted to be near the man who had threatened her life? Taken her body? He clenched his hands at the thought. If only he had shot Decker in the heart that night. If only he had not feared for Tora’s life.

He paced away, pulling at his hair. What was he thinking? He wanted to have the blood of a man on his hands? Even one as evil as Decker? He stopped at the window and stared out. “I realize I cannot stop you from going, Tora. But you will not go alone.”

Trent could hear her rise behind him. “You will go with me?” He knew she held her breath in hope.