Northern Lights Trilogy (137 page)

“It would bring me much joy if it could work that way.”

“And if it didn’t?”

“Then we’d have to reassess.”

“Good. As long as there’s freedom to reassess at any time, then I will feel free to relax and enjoy my lot.”

“Your lot? It sounds like a prison sentence.”

“Hardly.” She turned his chin to her and kissed him. “I cannot wait to begin our life together, Karl. You have brought me such joy—What I feel inside is almost inexpressible.”

“I know what you’re saying. I never knew joy could be so—complete.”

“Our Father in heaven has been merciful in letting us find each other. As more than friends this time.”

“I agree. There isn’t a day that goes by that I am not on my knees, praying for his protection over you and the children. Thanking him for all I’ve been given. Life is rich, Elsa, so rich with you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and watched the lights. “They’re waning.”

“Saying good-bye.”

“They can go. I’m content after their show. And eager to see my ring.”

“Then come. I am eager to see your reaction.” He pulled her up and tucked her hand in his arm, taking care as they picked their way down the rocky hillside in the dark of night. When they neared the roadhouse again, they paused underneath the warm light of the kitchen window.

“It is magnificent, Karl. Thank you. I am honored.”

“There are rubies to signify our deep love, sapphires to symbolize the deep blue sea on which we’ll travel together until the end of our days, and emeralds for the trees along the shoreline of our home.”

“I think there are more traditional meanings to the jewels,” she teased.

“You don’t care for mine?” He pretended to be hurt.

She laughed. “Of course. I would take your explanation over a jeweler’s any day of the week.”

“Good. Then come.”

“Where are we going?”

“Why, to announce our engagement, of course.”

June 1889

W
ith each bottle of whiskey Soren consumed, he became more clear of what had to happen. Yesterday’s newspaper story had proved the mine was a roaring success, sending hundreds of others to begin their own mines all around what had once been his. But it wasn’t as if he could go out and begin again. Not after he had been the one to start it all. No. He had to reclaim what was rightfully his, and to do that he would have to win Kaatje back. As her husband, what was hers was his. Her punishment would come later. After they lived again together as man and wife. Then she would understand her place again. Oh, how she would understand!

“Hurry up!” he demanded of the small steamer pilot as they made their way to Ketchikan. After three days on the boat, he figured they were close. All he cared about was convincing Kaatje that they could not tarry any longer. Again he ran through his mind his rationale to convince Kaatje. They had a life ahead of them; it was as God ordained, for a husband and wife to be together; there were the children to think about; and they were set financially. What else did they need? Eventually, love would be rekindled.

As the thickly forested banks drifted by and the small boiler rattled on like a wheezy old man, Soren’s mind drifted back to their days
together on the Dakota prairie. They had been happy for a time there. He had sworn off other women and focused on desiring only his wife. And their union had been fruitful; Christina was born within the year. If they had had a son, perhaps it would’ve kept him home—a boy needed his father. But in time, his attentions had drifted, to their French neighbor, so enticing with her long, dark hair, and then on to the promises of Montana, and still later, Alaska.

He hit his fist into the palm of his other hand. His drifting had paid off, had it not? The mine was what he had been led to. All his work, all his wandering, had led him to it! He had worked so hard. For them. For their future. And she had stolen it from him! Yes, Kaatje had two choices. She would return as his wife, or she would sign the claim back over to him. But he didn’t want just the mine. He wanted Kaatje. He wanted his wife. He had worked since last September—nine long months—to win her back. Soren hit his palm again. How could she tease him like that? Pretend she was interested, then run off with Walker? Plot against him? It infuriated him.

“There she is,” the pilot said, the only three words he had spoken in the days they had traveled together. Soren had not minded the silence.

His heart pounded as they got closer. He looked from the road-house to the
Fair Alaska.
He needed a drink, but he had thrown the last empty whiskey bottle over the edge of the steamer the day before. He could see children playing on the banks in front of the roadhouse, collecting treasures from the rocky beach.

He easily picked out Christina and Jess from the others. His eyes focused on his girls. They needed their father now, he told himself, convincing himself with the very words he planned to use on Kaatje. They would soon be of marrying age, and in this land, where there were a hundred men for each woman, they would need him around to protect them. When they saw him, they hopped up and down, waving. He waved back. Kristian sprinted off, to share the good news of his arrival, no doubt. Jessica ran out on the pier to greet him.

The ferry pilot pulled alongside the pier and expertly tied her off. Soren grabbed his satchel, slung it over his shoulder, and climbed the wooden ladder to them. “Hello!” he bellowed, picking up Christina and kissing her loudly, then doing the same to Jess. “How are my girls?”

“Very well, thank you,” Christina said properly.

“We’ve missed you, Father,” Jessica said.

“I’ve told you to call me Papa!”

“Yes, Papa.” She slipped her hand in his.

“Let’s go see your mother.” Jessica kept her hand in his, and Christina walked backward in front of them, chattering about the grand opening of the roadhouse.

“Is the pilot going to stay overnight?” she asked.

“I suppose. I didn’t ask. Watch your step!” he said urgently as they reached the end of the pier. She turned and rushed up the stairs, waiting for him to get to the top. Once there, she took his other hand. Soren grinned. With one of the girls on either arm, how could Kaatje rebuff him?

Guests meandered about, watching him as if he were a circus curiosity. Kaatje emerged from among them, wiping her hands on a linen apron over her hips. There was no smile on her face as he neared, just an expression of sorrow. “Soren.”

“Kaatje.”

“Girls, would you excuse us, please?” They parted but a few feet. “Inside.” Kaatje looked at the girls, her tone sharper this time. They scurried into the roadhouse.

“Kaatje—”

“Come. Let us walk.”

He offered his arm, but she ignored him, leading the way toward the small grove of cedars that he had hidden in the previous week, as he’d watched his wife and her lover. As soon as they were away from the guests, she whirled. “What are you doing here, Soren? I thought after our last conversation that you would be off to some new territory.”

“Not without my mine,” he groused.
Hold
, he told himself.
Watch it, Soren.

“I have thought about the mine,” she said, leaning against a tree with her hands behind her. “Let us talk this out, Soren. Can we not do that? There was a time—long ago—when we could speak without arguing.”

He nodded, hoping to look conciliatory, and did as she bid. “You have thought about the mine…”

“Yes. And I believe it is good that the mine is in my name. I will use it to assure the girls of an education and the upbringing they deserve. It will not be used for me, not a penny. It will all be for the girls. They have suffered, Soren. Done without too many times. I want to use the earnings to make it up to your girls, Soren. And to…others you’ve hurt.”

Soren paced away, biting his lip, looking out to sea. He had not expected this tactic. What could he say without looking like a cad? If she was determined to keep it, there was only one card he could play. “It can be as you say on one condition.”

“That is?”

“You give me another chance.”

It was Kaatje’s turn to stare out to the water. He studied her profile. He squelched the desire to walk over and kiss her, to remind her of their marital passion and what could be again. No, now was the time to talk.

“You’re thinking of our girls. They’ve needed a father. Will need one even more in the coming years as suitors come around. Their real father,” he added, lest she be considering Walker for that role. He gentled his tone. “We would no longer have financial problems, with my gold mine and your stake in the roadhouses.” He could not bring himself to call it anything other than
his
mine. It was his. Should be his. He paused, waiting for the final, winning card. “Kaatje, we spoke our vows before God and our people. We promised to live out our lives as man and wife.”

He expected it to melt her. Instead, it set her on fire.

“Do not speak to me of vows, Soren,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing. “You have done little to honor them, when I have done everything to do so.”

He nodded, hoping he looked contrite enough. “I know. I have failed you. I have failed our marriage. But I’ve told you again and again that I want another chance. And are you not to forgive me? Is that not the Christian way? To give me another chance?”

She turned away, silent, but shaking her head, anguished over his words. “I am to forgive you, Soren. And I am trying to give you another chance, but I keep telling you that I need more time.”

“I am afraid of time, Kaatje. When I gave you time before, you ended up running here with Walker.” He coughed. “Where is he now?”

“Off chopping wood.”

“You see? He remains near you. If I give you more time, you’re liable to fall as I have fallen in the past.”

“James is here because he doesn’t trust you. He fears what you might be capable of.” For the first time her anger was replaced by a hint of fear—he could see it in her eyes.

Soren snorted. “He doesn’t trust me to give you up. That’s what he doesn’t trust. He wants me to walk away from my wife so he can have you.” He moved toward her, falling to his knees amidst the pine needles, taking her hand in his. “We cannot take more time, Kaatje. If we want this marriage to work, we must seize this moment. No more games, no more time. Let’s just take it! Let’s say we’re going to make it work, come what may, and do it. Please, Kaatje. Send James away. Let us live again as man and wife. Day and night.” He hoped his meaning was clear.

Kaatje looked into his eyes, staring, searching. She pulled her hand from his and hugged either arm, as if barricading herself from him. He was making headway, wheedling close, but teetering on some unseen precipice. Was he to push or not? He rose, brushing off his knees, choosing his words. “Isn’t it time, Kaatje? I know I’ve hurt you
too many times to count. But for heaven’s sakes, woman. You came across the length of the Yukon, looking for me. And here I am,” he exclaimed, spreading wide his arms. “I cannot believe that a woman who was destined for another would go to such great lengths to find her first love.”

“She went to prove you were dead,” said James, suddenly with them in their small enclave of the forest. He wore a pistol at his side, as Soren himself did on either hip. “After you had abandoned her and not written for years.”

Soren scowled at him. “We’re having a private conversation. Please leave.”

“You left such an incredible woman that she was willing to risk her life solely to know what became of you.” “And I came to her as soon as I heard.”

“As soon as you heard there was reward money. As soon as you heard that she had the means to hire guides along the Yukon.”

Soren’s eyes went to Kaatje’s. She knew. She was watching him, waiting to see if he would acknowledge the truth. He took a risk. “Yes, I came as soon as I understood those things. But I also realized right away what I had lost. What an amazing woman Kaatje is, had always been. And I fell in love all over again.” He was speaking to Kaatje, not Walker.

“Because she didn’t fall into your arms on first sight of you,” James went on.

“No, because—”

“You do always want what you cannot have, Soren,” Kaatje said softly. “What if I were to say yes to you now? How long would it be until you tired of me, left me again? And now I have more than myself to think of.”

“Yes, of course,” scoffed Soren. “There’s James—”

“The girls,” she interrupted. “They were so young when you left last; they’d never known what it was to have a father, so they didn’t miss you. But now, they’re at an impressionable age. They’re already
attached to you, attached to the idea of your return. If you were to live with us again, then leave—”

“I wouldn’t. I swear it. There would be three of you to hold me home, not just one. Don’t you see? It would be three times as easy to remain with you.”

She was silent, studying him. “You said ’hold me’ just now. I do not wish to hold you, Soren. I want—I’ve always wanted—for you to simply want to stay with me. To want it above all else. I want to not live in fear of being unable to ’hold you.’ A marriage is built on trust, on love, on devotion. If I cannot trust you to remain, even when times in our relationship are difficult, then I cannot live by your side. I would rather go on in our separation.”