Northern Lights Trilogy (113 page)

“Next week?”

“Next week. There’s something I need to tell you. We have a prisoner in our jailhouse.”

“Oh? Another miner stealing flour upriver? An Indian falsely accused?”

“No.” Tora’s tone made Kaatje turn to stare at her. “Decker. The man who abducted me outside of Spokane.”

“What?” Kaatje’s heart raced at the thought of it. “He’s
here?
However….? Whatever….?”

“His travels apparently brought him here, and I ran into him. Then he came after me—can you believe it? And Trent shot him and—”

“What?
”

“Yes, he came after me again. He came right in here and threatened to take me away. Tried to take me away until Trent shot him.”

Her story chilled Kaatje to the bone. “Oh, my goodness. I cannot believe. Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“Yes, yes. I am fine. And his trial is next week. I’ll tell you the rest of it tomorrow. We have to get you ready for the party now. James will certainly be early. I believe he fancies you.”

“Tora Anders! First you talk of your kidnapper in such an offhanded way, and then you move on to James. Are you trying to make me scattered?”

“Not at all. I simply think you should be prepared for love to finally find you again.”

Kaatje held her breath as she stared at Tora. “Love?”

“Love.”

James looked away and glanced back to the stairway to make sure his eyes did not deceive him. Kaatje descended in an elegant silk ball gown that plunged at the neckline. It was the exact color of her eyes—a delicate green. Over her shoulders was a small Spanish jacket of black velvet that matched the long gloves over her arms. In her hair, a dramatic style atop her head, she wore two bands of pearl and ivory, reminding James of pictures he had once seen of a Greek goddess.

She approached him with a smile that tore at his heart. Perhaps tonight was the night to declare his love. If she was ready. If she gave him any hint.

“Hello, James,” she said softly. “I’ve missed you.”

“You look amazing,” he returned. “And there’s no way you could have missed me more than I missed you. I’ve become … used to you, Kaatje.” He hoped the way he said the words told her that he felt much more than that. It just had been so long since he had had to find a way to talk to a woman, especially a woman who had become closer than any other to him. It was different here, in town, so much more formal than he had felt with her on the river.

She smiled sweetly and glanced away, taking his arm as she did so. Did he note a trace of shyness? Perhaps it was being in all that feminine finery after months of Levi Strauss jeans and split skirts. She probably felt like a doll, all dressed up like that. She looked like a doll. Perfect, just perfect. He could not help himself; he kept staring at her and then making himself look away.

He stared at her all through dinner, an elaborate affair with every imaginable kind of food. It seemed the whole town had turned out; there was even a platform set up in the middle of the street for a dance. The band—an odd assortment of fiddles, a cello, a bass, and banjos—was already playing. Anyone who could play was up there. Several boys, led by the one Tora called Charlie, lit the torches set about the platform at around ten o’clock. James’s stomach did a little flip at the thought of stepping on Kaatje’s toes through a waltz, but he was ready to risk it to hold her in his arms. He’d been aching to touch her again ever since he had held her in Fort Yukon, in the Interior, when she had given up on her no-account husband at last.

The band stopped as Trent climbed the platform to make an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called. “We are here to celebrate the safe return of Kaatje Janssen and the heroic measures James Walker and his companion, Kadachan, took to get her here. They have made a grand journey and have stories to tell, from bear attacks to long days on the river. Let’s applaud them all for their courage and gumption.”

The crowd erupted in applause, obviously impressed by such exploits. James wondered if any of them knew or cared why Kaatje had taken such a journey. Or if they did, they cheered her loyalty and fierce resolve. James knew he did anyway. He looked over the crowd and found Kadachan enjoying a plate full of food as he spoke to several Inuit women dressed in Western style.

“And now,” Trent called, “I’d like to invite Mr. Walker to escort Mrs. Janssen in the first dance to start us off for the night.”

“Gladly!” he called, feeling eager.

Several onlookers hooted and hollered. “I’m next!” called one. “Then me!” yelled another.

“Everyone wants a chance at the lovely Mrs. Janssen,” James said lowly. He had stopped himself from calling her the Widow Janssen, as he had heard others refer to her. He did not think Kaatje would be ready for that for some time, regardless of what she had decided.

The band found the key for “Clementine,” and to his surprise James soon found his step, remembering lessons from long ago. “Mother would be so pleased.”

“So pleased?” Kaatje asked, looking up at him with interest.

“Yes. That I remember my dance lessons.”

“You’re a fine dancer, James.”

“And you’re a fine woman, Kaatje.” They turned and swayed with the music, and it felt to James that they were the only couple on earth. “I want to tell you something, Kaatje.”

The look of love in her eyes encouraged him. Maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way.

“I’ve wanted to tell you something myself, James, for some time—”

“Excuse me,” thundered a man as he jumped up onto the platform. The boards bounced beneath him. The band ceased playing. Kaatje and James turned toward the intruder. “But I believe that’s my wife you’re dancing with.”

Kaatje raised her hand to her mouth.

“Soren?” she whispered.

James thought he must have misheard her. But then she said it again.

“Soren?
”

It was then that James knew all was lost.

September 1888

W
e need to find a harbor in which to moor,” Elsa said to Riley, the night after the explosion. “Someplace to rest, find fresh water, while the carpenter ascertains what needs to be done.”

“I agree, Cap’n,” Riley said. They pored over the charts together in her cabin. Elsa could still smell the smoke that had permeated every cushion and curtain in the room.

“It looks as if we can get through the reef here,” Riley said, pointing to a shallow harbor. “It would gain us some protection from the trade winds as we go about our repairs. Might even be a stream of fresh water.”

Elsa perused the map. There were no markings within a hundred miles showing fresh water or any semblance of a town. They were on their own. She sighed. “I guess it’s as good as any. There doesn’t appear to be any perfect place along this stretch of coast. And that one mast could use a replacement. The fire burned it half away. I wouldn’t trust it in a storm.”

“Aye,” Riley agreed. “Though I doubt there’s any suitable timber along the coast.”

“We may well have to wait until we can get to Ramstad Lumberyard to replace her. Can you get us through that reef, Mate? It looks tricky.”

“Sure enough,” he said with no qualm in his voice. “Then go about it.”

“We’ll be there in time for you to take the children for a swim.” He winked at her and left her cabin.

But as quickly as the thought of a swim gladdened her heart, the thought of the delay saddened her. By the time they repaired the deck and mast, it would put them a week behind, to say nothing of sailing with no auxiliary power. Stopping in San Francisco for a new boiler and Washington for the mast would put them further behind. Tora would most certainly give up on Elsa ever coming home, and Elsa would miss her sister’s wedding. Surely Trent had talked her into moving forward by now.

Elsa sighed heavily again, suddenly homesick for family and friends in North America, until her children came to retrieve her for a game of hide-and-seek.

Karl smiled as he walked along the ballroom walls. Ornate carvings of scrolls and grape leaves made the room truly elegant.

“We shall complete the carving within two weeks,” Antonio said, walking alongside him, “Then take them back down to sand and finish them.”

“Very good, Antonio,” Karl said. He had given up on the chance to escape San Francisco before the ball and determined to have a heartfelt talk with Mara and Gerald. It was well past the time he needed to be forthright, and it was cowardly of him to be thinking of escape instead of honesty. God had made him see it at last. Taking it head-on bolstered his confidence. “I will plan on leaving the first of October. Let me know if anything changes with your plans or progress.”

“Very good, Captain Martensen.” The older man turned to leave.

“And, Antonio?”

“Yes?”

“Please accept my apologies for yelling at you yesterday. My anger was misdirected, and I’m afraid I was unjust.”

“Apology accepted, Captain.” The man’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. He put a hand on Karl’s shoulder. “If I’m not mistaken, I’d guess you have woman troubles.”

Karl smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Sadly, you’re on the mark, my friend.”

He left directly after the noon meal for the Kenneys’, hiring a cab at the wharf. He leaned his head back against the black leather, feeling the gentle heat of it through his hair while the breeze cooled his face. It was a beautiful autumn day. The young trees planted along the boulevard were turning color, and his mind raced back to a fall day in Camden-by-the-Sea. That day he had come across Elsa, high above the Maine coast, sitting atop a granite boulder. She had been in tears, angered that Peder did not see things as she did.

His mind shifted to Mara and the task at hand. Would he make Mara cry today? Would he make her as angry as Peder had made Elsa? He hoped not. If he did, he prayed that her sorrow and fury would soon be assuaged. Perhaps Mr. Hairston would soon turn her heart toward him. Karl had purposefully dressed formally today, knowing that Mara was attracted as much by his rough seafaring image as by the man inside. He had left the earring behind and pulled his hair into a neat ponytail.

All too soon, he was there. “Please Father,” he prayed silently. “Help me to find the words, the right expression, the demeanor that reaches Mara and Gerald in a way that honors you.” The cabby turned around when Karl didn’t exit, a silent question on his face. “I am going,” Karl said with a brief smile. He pulled a coin from his jacket pocket and flipped it at the young driver. “Good day. Give your horse a carrot on me.”

“You ha’ a good one too, sir,” the young man said, his face brightening.

So simple
, Karl thought,
to make someone’s day. Now I go in to ruin another’s.
He climbed up the steps, forcing himself to go quickly, as if he looked forward to the encounter ahead rather than dreaded it.

All too soon the maid opened the door and showed him to the parlor.

“You wish to see Miss Mara?” she asked.

“No. Please. First I would like to call upon Mr. Kenney.”