Northern Lights Trilogy (2 page)

A huge lump grew in Elsa’s throat, and tears welled in her eyes. How did she know that this was right? Did she truly know Peder anymore? They had been inseparable as children, but he had been off to sea for the last ten years. Oh, but when he had come home, all the old feelings were there, along with something new. There was a maturity and solidity about their love now, built upon a lifetime of friendship and, over the last three years, a courtship of letters. Yes, Peder was the man for her, her beloved.

“You haven’t thought more about going with us,” she said carefully.

“No. You know my feelings, daughter. Bergen is where I was born. Bergen is where I will die. Your mother and sisters and I are where we are to be. You, my sweet, have been called to a different path.”

Elsa knew her father’s answer by heart. He had proclaimed it three years ago when their pastor, Konur Lien, had first raised his proposal of going as a large group to the new Promised Land, as he had called it. Together they would be stronger, more successful. Together, they would flourish. He had waved a letter from Peder, promising to take them to America. Their departure date was set for June 1880 and had set the town abuzz not only because of the excitement but also because of the sheer bravado of such a letter sent from a second mate who planned to be a captain.

“The pompous boy who would be captain,” people had called Peder Ramstad. Elsa had defended him, sticking her nose in the air as if to say they knew not of whom they spoke, but privately fretted that
they were right. Who had Peder become? And were his tender words, written in his strong, manly script, a passing fancy or the seedlings of love? Gradually, Elsa found strength in her trust of the man who found a way home to visit at least once a year. Still, for years she had wondered and waited, looking to sea, hoping against hope that each day would bring Peder home to her for good or that he would take her with him the next time he departed.

“What are your hopes for the future, child?” her father asked, interrupting her daydreaming.

“My future?” She paused to think before speaking. “A good marriage to Peder, lots of children, a good home.” And maybe a career as a shipwright or an artist, she mused silently, yet unable to voice it. A woman’s career was never a point of discussion in the Anders household. She sighed. Perhaps it would not be welcomed in Peder’s home either.

“They are good aspirations,” he said in approval. “You will make your mama and me proud.”

His uncommon words of praise again brought Elsa near tears. She looked at him, squinting, trying to see what he must be feeling by his expression, but the light was too dim. Suddenly, a green light shimmered on the horizon, lighting up the entire mountain range. “Papa, look!” The lights grew, sending streaks southward toward them and then filling the streaks in with horizontal waves of red and purple, reminding Elsa of the inner iridescence of a seashell. The movement was like a tiny wave upon the sand, uneven in its climb, ebbing and flowing.

“Ah, yes!” her father cried, leaping to his feet and dancing a little jig. “It is appropriate for such a night as this. Do you remember what I told you as a child?”

Elsa stood beside him and hooked her arm around his thick waist. “I do. You said the lights were symbolic of God whispering to me.”

“Yes,” he nodded in approval. “They are a hint of heaven’s
splendor.” He was more visible now in the soft light from the north. Twin streaks of glistening tears ran down his weathered cheeks, and at the sight of them, a lump rose in Elsa’s throat.

They stood there silently for a moment, looking toward the fjord that reflected the aurora borealis in unearthly hues. “I will always cherish these memories, daughter. Thank you for making an old man’s life so full of joy.”

“Oh, Papa …”

“Remember your old father when you see the lights, will you, Elsa?”

“If you will remember me.”

He turned toward her. “You, Elsa, will never be out of my thoughts for more than a day. I will pray for you and yours every day, as will your mama.”

“And I for you.”

Father and daughter embraced while the northern lights continued to dance high, high above them.

Kaatje Janssen smiled, thinking of her dear friends marrying on the morrow, the beautiful northern lights she had witnessed with her husband last night as they lay together under the spring night sky, and Pastor Lien’s sermon to come this morning. It would be his last in Bergen. As she finished her chores in the kitchen and began to prepare for church services, she caressed the slight bulge beneath her apron. Her belly was hardening and her hips widening by the day. Last night she was sure that her amorous husband’s warm hands would at last discover the treasured secret her womb held.

Oh, how she had prayed to the heavenly Father that Soren would be pleased! Perhaps this was just what they needed to solidify their marriage and stay his wandering eyes. She finished the breakfast dishes and wiped her hands on her apron, smiling again as her fingers brushed her stomach. Today would be a good day to tell him. If she waited until they boarded the ship, he might be angry.

As she dumped the wooden pail of dishwater outside their tiny cottage, Kaatje glanced toward the barn, situated just beyond the house. She would miss this cozy home and their small farm, but what she and Soren needed now was a new start, for themselves and their baby. A girl? That would be nice. But a boy would be so helpful to Soren as he plowed the new soil that was said to be as fertile as Eden. At least a boy would be of some help in five or six years. But she was getting ahead of herself. Where was that man, anyway?

With a smile, she wound her creamy blond hair up into a knot and set out toward the barn to get Soren. He only had a few minutes to wash up and change for church. Humming, she walked across the spring grass in their yard, feeling cool, damp strands against her skin where they cleared her slippers. Low voices inside the barn brought her to an abrupt halt. She swallowed hard.

A low moan, a soft giggle. Soren’s husky voice, the way he used it when he wanted Kaatje.
No. Please, God. Please, Father in heaven. Not again
.

Steeling herself, she took hold of the barn door and pulled it open. The creaking and groaning silenced the couple’s noise and movement as Kaatje’s eyes scanned the dark interior, fighting to adjust to the poor light. What they found confirmed her worst fears. In a stall, her handsome Soren, the man no woman could seem to refuse, stood very near Laila, who looked at Kaatje with a horrified expression. Laila’s milking apron straps were off her shoulders, her dark hair pulled from its knot, and it took Kaatje only half a second to understand what had transpired.

“Elskling!”
Soren began, his face a mask of consternation. “My love, this isn’t what it looks like.” In three powerful strides, he covered the distance between them while Kaatje fought for the energy to move. She felt numb, like a bird frozen in the snow. His hands were on her shoulders, moving down to cover her arms, as if he intended to hold her there until she understood. But she understood. She understood only too well.

“Oh, Soren,” she breathed. Kaatje glanced up to meet his fiery blue eyes, normally so bright and gay, but already steeled for the argument they were sure to have. A sudden bolt of fury broke Kaatje from her dreamlike reverie.

“You told me it was over! That there would be no others ever again!” She wanted to spit in his face and struggled to escape his giant hands. “Let me go! Your hands are defiled! You do not deserve to touch me!”

Her words seemed to pierce his defensive armor, and the blush of excitement on his cheeks faded to pale gray. He ducked his head and looked down at her like an errant schoolboy confessing to a schoolmarm. He knew that look always melted her heart. Quick tears laced his lashes. “You are right,
min kære,
” he said humbly.

Behind him, Laila edged out of the door and fairly ran for home. She was little more than sixteen years of age, compared to their own twenty, but age did not seem to matter where Soren was involved. He had the powers of the wind, seeming to gust in and capture any female heart he could, surrounding, pulling, easing them away from their moorings. And he seemed to have a distinct preference for brunettes.

“No,” Kaatje said, brushing wisps of hair from her face. “No more, Soren. I will not forgive this.” She shook her head as if deriding herself. “When you wanted to hire a milkmaid, I fought off my feelings of fear and suspicion. But I was wrong! It was not fear … it was God! The Lord was trying to warn me that there cannot be a woman within sight for you! The only way you could stay true to me is if we were alone for a hundred—no, a
thousand
—square miles!”

She whirled and stomped away from him, tears blinding her path.
Not again, God! Oh, I can’t bear it!

“Kaatje!” Soren cried, his voice cracking like a scared child’s. In moments he had her in his arms again. He spoke in broken English as she struggled to get away. “I am sorry. I am so sorry! I don’t know
what is wrong with me! It is like an illness! I am sick. You must help me to get better!”

He knelt before her, crying, his blond curls pressed against her abdomen. Kaatje, still shaking with anger, fought off the urge to place her hand on his head. Soren lapsed into Norwegian as he begged her forgiveness. “Please, Kaatje. Please forgive me. It will be better in America. I promise. Please, please.” His sobs and their native tongue—largely unspoken in their house since they had committed to go to America and had taken up English lessons—tore at her heart in a new way. She had never seen him so completely broken. Everything in her pulled Kaatje toward comforting him. But he was the one who had wronged her! Was this simply a new tactic? Just then, she glimpsed the figure of Laila in the distance as the girl ran over a hill and out of sight. Kaatje pulled at Soren’s hands, wanting only to be away from him.

But she was too late. His eyes lit up through his tears and he glanced at Kaatje in wonder. She made another half-attempt to wrench free, but her strength seemed to be gone. She had waited so long for the joy of this moment! His large hands wandered over her stomach, searching, clarifying, frantic in their questioning. One more glance into her eyes and all his questions were answered.

Soren jumped up with a tremendous shout, then reached down to lift her in the air, spinning her around until she felt dizzy. His exuberance melted the edge off her anger. Crazily, a smile edged her lips.

“Soren, let me down,” she said wearily.

“Oh, yes, yes,” he said contritely, immediately doing as she bid. “I must be careful with you. With both of you.”

She glanced away—embarrassed that she was forgiving him yet again—and moved toward the house, but Soren gathered her up into his arms again. Kaatje gave in to the embrace, sorrowfully longing to be reassured, longing for her husband. With her head resting against
his chest, the tears flowed while Soren once again promised undying faithfulness.

“Father, you must let me go,” Tora Anders railed, pacing as her father sat at the breakfast table, serenely drinking his coffee.

Elsa closed the door of their modest home behind her and remained quiet, listening to her sister and her father rehash an argument that had grown old. It was no use trying to sneak down the hall without disturbing them. From the kitchen, the front entry was visible, and both her father and Tora had glanced over at Elsa.

“No, Tora. You are sixteen and will do as I bid until you marry and have a good man to look after you. I will not be sending you off alone without proper supervision.”

“Proper supervision? What is Elsa?” Tora cried, gesturing toward the door and her older sister. “I do not know of anyone more proper than she.”
Ah
, Elsa thought, hiding a small smile.
She has changed tactics
. Earlier Tora had tried to get the whole family to go, then to convince their father that she was old enough to handle herself. Now she had given in to the last ploy—that he would entrust her to Elsa’s care, a thought that had previously made her younger sister shudder.