Northern Lights Trilogy (111 page)

“Ma’am,” said a sailor. “He was talkin’ about his sister and the necessary…”

“Oh no. No! They’ve gone to my cabin. Stay with these men and wait on Cook!” She ran toward her cabin. The fire was nearing the door, the heat so fierce it was difficult to push past it. Could they have gone in there? Or were they turned back by the fire? She didn’t want to go in and get trapped herself if they weren’t there.
“Kristian! Eve!
”

She glanced at the fire brigade and wondered if it was her imagination or if they were actually making progress. It was then that she heard a muffled “Mama!” and a child crying. She ran to the tiny cabin window, but the velvet curtains were pulled shut. “Kristian! Call if you’re in there!” If only she could see inside!

“Mama!” It was louder this time and coming from…behind her. She whirled in relief, running to the lifeboat at the side of the ship. She whipped back the tarp and gasped at the sight of her children huddled at the bottom.

Kristian looked up at her in misery. “She couldn’t hold it, Mama. She’s all wet.”

“That’s all right, darling,” she said, holding out her arms. “Come. It’s not time to abandon ship yet.”

“Is the
Majestic
sinking?” he asked in wonder as he jumped to the deck. “We came back to the cabin to go to the water closet and saw the fire.”

She reached out her arms again for her little girl. Her dress was wet at the bottom, but Elsa didn’t care. She was there! Alive! “Children, I must go help those sick sailors. Come with me. They’re not screaming anymore.”

They hurried forward again, and Elsa glanced over her shoulder and suddenly stopped. “It’s out! The fire’s out! They’ve done it!” She let out a cheer, lifting up her arm as she did so. The sailors who heard her cheered too. After seeing Cook tending to the men at the bow, she ran to the middle of the ship again, her children firmly in tow.

Her smile quickly faded. It made her heart sink. There was a terrific hole in the center, out of which a huge column of smoke arose. With a crew of twenty-five, Elsa could barely believe that they had only lost two, with two more injured. Here and there, she spotted a crew member with a bleeding brow or forearm, but nothing serious.

Riley came up to Elsa. “Fire’s out, Cap’n. For good. We saved her.” His white eyes and teeth beamed at her out of a blackened face of soot.

“Very well, Mate,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. “A fine job, Riley,” she said, more softly. “Who’d we lose?”

“Ian Dougherty and Elmer Simms. Fine men.”

“Aye. Let’s retrieve the bodies and prepare them for a funeral on the morrow.”

“I’ll see to it, ma’am.”

Elsa watched briefly as he walked away. What would she have done without Riley? Or Cook? She had given Mrs. Hodge shore leave for the voyage to Norway, and they were soon to pick her up in Washington. This proved that Elsa needed another woman about to help mind the children.
Oh, Peder. I wish I had you around.

She shook her head. There was no use pining for a dead husband. He was gone. And Elsa was left to make the best of things, on ship, on shore. She stood there, watching the men continue to douse the smoldering fire, the carpenter surveying the damage, Riley shouting orders. And she was suddenly bereft. Lonely. Alone. She longed for a man at her side, the steadying heartbeat against her own in an embrace. She wanted to be held as her children clamored for her to hold them now. To be loved. To be comforted. To be known.

Karl awakened in a cold sweat, searching his cabin walls in a frantic effort to ascertain that all was well. He was sure he had heard a boiler explosion. He went to his cabin window and threw open the sash, letting in San Francisco’s early morning light. Below, he already could hear the men working on the ballroom.

He didn’t know why he had felt the need to leave the hotel in the city last week. But he could not help himself. Between his days spent avoiding the Kenneys, and his nights of anxious dreams, he felt like a listing ship. Between wind and water. Exposed. Off kilter. Maybe it was the deep desire to be at sea again, on his way to Alaska. Instead, he was stuck here—here in a place where Mara hovered near and he seemed to get more and more stuck in the mire of his own making. Perhaps if he stayed on his ship, he reasoned, it would encourage Antonio’s men to work all the harder. Karl had sidestepped Mara’s invitation to the ball, saying he thought he would be putting out to sea by then, but with each passing day, he knew that he would not get out of California in time. He went to the private bathroom that featured a copper washtub and a matching wash basin, splashed his face, and washed his hair. He took a cloth, soaped it, and washed his body. Being clean made him feel ready to take on the day.

Donning a smart suit of trousers and a jacket, and pulling on a bowler hat, he glanced in the mirror and guffawed. With his hair reaching his shoulders in gentle waves and an earring in one ear, he looked like a pirate dressing up as a gentleman. Karl picked up a leather strap and quickly pulled his hair into a neat ponytail, tucking the ends under his jacket collar. Then he pulled the wide gold loop out of his earlobe and left the cabin, heading directly to the ballroom.

“You wantin’ breakfast?” called his cook from the galley as he passed.

“Not today, Cook!” he returned. Today he was going to get his ship in order. In order so that he could leave the bay within the month.
Before the Harvest Ball. His city clothes felt restraining, and once again he longed for the freedom of the sea. For shirts open at the collar, for hair free to wave in the wind. He sped down the circular wrought-iron stairs, the shortcut to the ballroom, and opened the huge mahogany doors, both at once.

The workmen paused to look back at their employer, then went back to work. There was progress, yes, but not as much as he had hoped.

Antonio hurried over to him. “Captain Martensen, have you—?”

“I thought you would be three-quarters of the way done by now,” he said, exasperation just under the surface in his voice. He could see that his pacing only made the workmen nervous. But they should have been so much further along!

“Yes, but—”

“We are scheduled to be out of here by month’s end. Will you be on schedule?”

“We are doing our best. We ran into—”

“I’m not sure of that, Antonio. You and I made a deal. You saw the plans. You know what I expected. Are you now telling me that I cannot leave because you cannot fulfill your part of the bargain?”

“No, I am not saying—”

“Are you telling me that I will have to remain here, possibly missing my first scheduled trip out of Seattle, because your carvers can’t put in a little extra time?”

“They are already working—”

“Enough!” Karl said, putting up one hand. “See to it that they pick up the pace!”

Antonio’s face grew red with embarrassment. “Yes, Captain Martensen.”

Karl turned on his heel and left.

Later, walking along the waterfront, he felt ill over his actions. Antonio and his men were clearly doing their best. He had misplaced his anger. His anger was at himself, for his own inaction when it came to Mara. He stopped at a store window and stared at himself in the
mirrorlike glass, not seeing the goods beyond it. He only saw a man of thirty-two, with ash-blond hair and large gray eyes that looked empty.

Karl sighed and leaned his forehead against the glass. “I’ve done it again, Lord,” he confessed in a whisper. “I’ve left without you and gotten into a mess. Help me, Father. Help me see my way out of it. Amen. Amen and amen.”

It was then that he saw it. His eyes focused beyond the glass, to the jewelry on the black velvet behind it. A necklace in a huge teardrop form, a sapphire. A sapphire exactly the color of Elsa Ramstad’s eyes, the color of an island cove’s water at dusk. He had to have it. For her.

Immediately he entered and purchased the necklace, unflinching at the price and tucking the velvet case into his breast pocket. He never stopped to think about why he purchased gifts for his old friend; he just knew there were things he came across occasionally that were meant for no other. He didn’t remember when he started buying them—he supposed it started with the Italian Gallì glass “fish pot” painted with water lilies that brought back memories of Elsa in the Far East. And then there had been the Japanese cloisonné palace vase painted with a dragon and phoenix images, reminding him of how far she had come and grown since losing Peder; the Scottish agate bracelet with immense colored stones set in gold and silver, that reminded him at once of her strength and her beauty.

And now the huge teardrop sapphire on a slender silver chain. How it would bring out her eyes! He knew not where or when or how or why he would give his old friend this gift. He only knew it was meant for her. Just as the others had been.

September 1888

L
ora convinced herself she should go to Decker again. Ever since she had seen him in the prison the previous month, she had begun to realize how lost he was. At first she had fought it, grumbling against God for his urgings. Surely he would allow her to hate this man who had torn her life, her security, into pieces. And yet God nudged, reminding her of his infinite mercy, his forgiveness toward her when she had been so unlovable. And even though Decker deserved whatever punishment the judge rendered, God offered his Son for everyone. Even Decker. She felt pulled in half. Her heart was relieved at the thought of seeing Decker sent away to pay for what he had done to her, yet the image of him hanging because of her pointing finger left her…unsettled. It was the unsettled half of her heart that made her determined to go to the jailhouse.

She decided she would not tell Trent—the whole thing would just upset him. Besides, there would be a deputy inside the jailhouse. And she did not care who overheard their conversation because she was going solely to share the gospel. Or was it more? The notion nagged at her. Did she need to do this to conquer some inner fear? The fear that awakened her at night in a sweat? Perhaps she had two reasons to go. In any case she was going.

Tora rose from bed and considered her dresses in the armoire. She pulled her most subdued dress from its hangar, a yellow-brown plaid work dress she had worn the last time she went to see Decker. Once she had her drawers and corset on the best she could by herself, she pulled the dress over her head and then brushed out her long, dark hair.

Staring at her image in the small oval mirror on the wall, she decided to pull it back in a severe bun, hoping to make herself as unappealing as possible. She decided not to use any color on her cheeks or the lip balm.
No use dangling a carrot before the horse.
She winced at her own internal analogy. But that was what she was to Decker, at least at one time. A carrot, something he wanted to get with a singular purpose…

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the memories of those awful days away. But it was no use. They came in a bombardment as thick as her sisters’ old snowballs on a clear winter day in Bergen, pelting her without mercy.

Tora felt ill and out of breath. She sat down on the edge of her bed, then sank to the floor, gasping for air as the memories came on. He was on her, tearing at her clothes, whispering lewd things in her ear. He laughed when she cried, told her no one could hear her when she screamed. She struggled, but he was so strong.

She cried for an hour or more, unable to stem the tears. “How could he?” she whispered, wiping her face. “How could he?” She looked up. “How could you let him?”

No voice welcomed her. No mellow tone from within told her the answer.

“I know he is lost. I know I was too. But how can I give a man who did such hateful things to me a second chance?”

I am the God of second chances.

Tora sucked in her breath. “But can you not get to him some other way?”

This is for you, as much as for him.

“Please, Father. I have done my penance, have I not? I went to Kaatje. I asked forgiveness and she granted it. Must this be too?”

It must be you.