Northern Lights Trilogy (30 page)

“Should I be?” She turned to face him, her hands trembling.

Soren’s lip clamped shut, and he glared at her.

“Did you get close to Claire?” she dared. “Close enough to get the influenza and give it to Christina? Fred came by yesterday and said she is ill with it.”

“Of course not! I mean, we were close enough for her to hand me the skis, but no more.”

“No more?” She stared at him, and he dropped his gaze.

A second later he stood suddenly, and his tin plate clattered to the floor. Christina awakened and screamed in fury.

Soren crossed the creaky floor to Kaatje and shook his finger in her face. “I will not be interrogated in my home, do you hear me? We have started fresh here, Kaatje, and I will not tolerate any disrespect from you.”

“Soren, I—”

“No, I do not want to hear it. I will be back shortly. I’ll fetch Eira to tend to the baby.”

With that, he pulled on his coat with quick, angry moves and slammed the door behind him. Kaatje watched through the window as his dim form disappeared into the night. When she turned to wearily pick up her crying daughter, Kaatje joined her, rocking back and forth on the bed as sobs tore at her throat. Never had she felt more alone.

March 14, 1881

T
hey were moored in a picturesque harbor of the West Indies that afternoon, and Elsa was completely enthralled by the translucent turquoise of the water. It was unlike any water … any color … she had ever seen. The Caribbean Sea held such miraculous hues of greens and blues that she wondered if she could convince Peder to stay yet another day. Other grand ships were anchored nearby, and Elsa felt drawn to them, wanting to paint their graceful forms as they floated on the gentle waves of the harbor. She was certain Mr. Fergus Long could not have been dragged from the spot, even if life and limb were threatened. She also wanted to capture the colors of the villages leading down to white sand beaches and the strange trees they called palms—and knew it could take her weeks to accurately portray the glory.

But she could tell from Peder’s continual worried glances to the bank of clouds in the distance that he was anxious to get the
Sunrise
under sail and on toward their goal, a distant place past the Horn called Washington Territory. They were loaded with supplies for the growing cities in the Northwest and, in exchange, were to return
home loaded with lumber for a man named Whitehall. Peder informed her that the man had financed quite a few shares in the voyage and, in so doing, guaranteed Whitehall Lumber Company first pick of all cargo on their return.

The ship had sailed beautifully since they left Camden, and Elsa was so happy to be there to see the brand-new white sails against azure skies that the days melted away quickly. What joy to see Ramstad Yard’s first ship launched! And what could be better than sailing on her maiden voyage? Karl had come home from Minnesota ready to sail on the
Sunrise
, but eager to begin work on Ramstad Yard’s first steamer. Elsa smiled as she remembered watching Peder the night before, debating with Karl over designs, and still vacillating over the wisdom of moving forward in steam at all. But he was getting closer to being convinced, and she was happy for Karl and thankful for what the decision would mean for his friendship with Peder. It was an affirmation of their relationship—as partners and as friends.

Kristoffer had remained at home again, this time to oversee the construction of the new schooner—to be built simultaneously with Karl’s steamer—and to care for his family. Stefan had been promoted from steward to second mate, and Riley from seaman to third mate. At her insistence, Elsa covered Stefan’s previous duties in caring for the captain. Karl, as usual, served as first mate. Some new sailors had signed on for this voyage, but many of the men were those who had traveled with them from Bergen. Elsa had learned that Peder was gaining a reputation as a fair and good captain, consequently earning him a loyal crew.

She herself felt closer to Peder than ever, but tried to stay out of his way and keep her mouth shut. She wanted to fit in well and not be seen as a nuisance or a hindrance. She wanted him to forget that she was along, until he looked for her. Because this was the beginning of the rhythm of their new life: at home in Camden-by-the-Sea during the winters and on the water during the rest of the year.

Something seemed to have clicked for Peder while they stayed in New York in January. She wondered if the scales might have been tipped by the persuasiveness of Fergus Long, who had insisted after their week together, that squirreling Elsa away in some house would be strangling her artistic muse. “She needs fresh air, the song of the sails,” he told her befuddled-looking husband. “If you will not take her with you, she will need to find some other method of inspiration for her work. Would it not be more advantageous to you both for her to simply travel along?”

Elsa had not put Long up to it, but was thrilled to hear him lecture Peder anyway. She had talked until she was blue in the face. Then she had left it up to God … and miracles transpired. Was this not a miracle? She leaned back on her chair above the captain’s cabin, closing her eyes to the sun and feeling the rays warm her face. It was hot and humid, but the breeze off the water smelled fresh and invigorated her.

She wore a cap-sleeved shift of blue and white cotton with no stays or crinoline beneath. The neckline was teardrop-shaped, allowing some ventilation. It was blessedly comfortable, and due to the ninety-degree heat, Peder had nodded his approval over her girlish attire. Elsa was just settling back for a short nap when Karl’s voice startled her awake.

“All hands!” He yelled. “All hands! On deck immediately for the captain’s announcement!”

Elsa sneaked a peek at the first mate, wondering again, as she had several times in the past two months, what had happened to him in Minnesota. He had come home somehow changed; he was even more aloof, lost in his own dreams. Perhaps speaking with others who were as excited about the future of steam had taken him further from his Camden friends. Her own conversations with him had been short, and even then she felt as if he were looking through her. Maybe he had met a woman
…
Elsa smiled. That was it. She was sure of it. Karl Martensen was in love! The thought relieved her heart, and she
wondered briefly over it until Peder’s voice brought her back to the present.

“As you know,” Peder was bellowing, his chest puffed out in what Elsa termed his captain stance. He paced as he talked, and Elsa smiled, enjoying the sight of her handsome husband lecturing the crew, his curly brown hair glinting in the sun. This voyage was different from their Atlantic crossing from Bergen. Coming from Norway, Peder had been as much host as captain. On this trip he was all captain, and Elsa thrilled to see him in command, his crew watching him with rapt respect. What she would have missed if she had remained at home in Camden!

“As you know,” he repeated for effect, “I require that all able seamen on my ship be able to swim. Now all of you claim to be decent swimmers, but I want to see it for myself. So off with you. Over the side! Karl will go down in a longboat for those of you who tire easily,” he said.

Several of the men grumbled, and some shifted their feet back and forth, but a full two-thirds of the crew clambered to the edge of the
Sunrise
and, with great whoops of glee, jumped, somersaulted, and dived off for the waterline twenty feet below. Their splashes and hollers made Elsa laugh, and she yearned to dive in after them. A swim would be a blessed reprieve from the heat! Without thinking, she climbed down the ladder to the main deck and climbed up onto the rail. She wavered there, her breath caught short by the height. Still, there was no time like the present, she told herself, dimly hearing Peder lecturing those who remained on deck that “swimming is vital if you barnacles hope to survive a shipwreck!”

Patiently, he was giving them a lesson on what to do, reassuring them that they could climb down the ropes to the sea and practice while holding on, when Elsa took a deep breath, eyes wide, and made a slow, graceful dive off the edge. The last thing she heard was Karl’s astonished “Elsa!” and the swimming crew’s shouts of affirmation
when fingers met water, parted it, and allowed her to slip into the cool, refreshing depths.

When she emerged, feeling as free as the porpoises that frequently traveled alongside the
Sunrise
, Karl was turning the longboat toward her, and all the men still aboard were staring down openmouthed at her, Peder along with them. His expression soon turned grim, and Elsa looked away, feeling the first pang of dismay at her impulsive act and wanting to enjoy a moment more of this blessed freedom before returning to the ship. She looked toward the men in the water, who grinned at her, although the second mate, Stefan, stared at her a bit too long for her liking.

“Elsa!” Karl said over his shoulder, rowing toward her. “Hang on. I will be there in a moment.”

“Do not be silly!” she called. She looked up at the ship again, consciously avoiding Peder’s dark gaze. “Hey, you up there! Able seamen! If a woman can do that, can’t you at least
climb
into the water?”

The challenge surprised the men, who still hung back on board. Within seconds, they were over the side, every one, and clambering down the ropes to the water below. Elsa smiled and dared to look at her husband. She laughed as he shook his head in wonder. She had been forgiven, apparently. But then his gaze left her, and his brow furrowed. She knew that look of concern and followed his line of vision.

Karl arrived with the longboat, blocking her view, but shortly another rowboat came alongside, carrying four strangers. The men stared at Elsa in wonder, and for the first time, she felt some embarrassment. She suddenly realized that her skirts were billowing up about her, and who knew how much of her legs was visible in the crystal waters. She felt naked facing their leers—particularly the man in the bow who appeared to be in command—and angry as they continued to look at her. Elsa glanced up at Karl, wanting to climb aboard and escape, but he was steadily studying the visitors.

“Well, well, well,” said the man in the bow, his accent obviously
British. “What have we here? I come to extend my greetings to the
Sunrise
, and what do I find? An enchanting mermaid!” He bowed at the waist. “Captain Mason Dutton at your service,
madam
.” His eyes were merry, but derision lurked behind the laughter. He looked up toward Peder, standing at the rail of the
Herald
. “A female to service the crew?” he asked insolently.

Elsa noticed the crew had quieted, treading water to hear what transpired. They were all on alert. Just because of her? Her heart sank. Was this how she defined staying out of Peder’s way?

“My wife,” Peder said thinly, darkly, daring the man to say more.

“I beg your pardon,” Captain Dutton said, obviously taken aback. “A most unfortunate assumption.” He glanced over at Elsa. “If I were to have a wife as lovely, I too would encourage her to swim … but not so brazenly with the crew.”

Karl stood, his hand shifting to the side arm at his waist. The boat rocked slightly. Elsa felt a blush rush up her neck. She wondered if she was turning purple from the embarrassment of the situation.

Peder raised one hand to his friend, while continuing to stare back at Dutton. “I am Captain Peder Ramstad. Did you come here to insult my wife and challenge me, Captain Dutton?”

Mason shook his head, smiling in regret. “Not at all, my good man. Forgive me if it sounded as such. What you do with your wife is your own concern.” He looked down, sighed, and then looked back up at Peder. “Again, my apologies to you, and to you, Mrs. Ramstad.” His glance toward Elsa this time was remote, polite. “Shall we start anew? My name is Mason Dutton, captain of my own merchant mariner, the
Lark,”
he said. “As you can see, I have become quite removed from social niceties and am starved for polite society. I wondered if I might impose and ask you to join me for dinner.”

Karl slowly sat down again and watched Peder’s face. Elsa did the same. As one, the crew waited too, still treading water or holding on to the lines against the ship.

Peder studied his visitor for a moment then spoke. “Thank you
for the invitation, captain. But why don’t you join us instead? We have a fine cook. Dinner will be served promptly at six. You may bring two men with you, no more.”

Was he mad? Inviting the man to dinner? Elsa’s eyes flew to Karl’s, but his expression told her nothing. Then he glanced down at her. “Protocol,” he whispered. Ah, so that was it. Some antiquated sense of seagoing chivalry demanded that Peder invite the man to dinner.

“Good enough,” Mason said. “Until tonight,” he said, glancing over at Elsa again. He tipped his short-billed cap toward her.
“Mrs
. Ramstad.”

Peder watched closely as Dutton’s crewmen turned the longboat around and rowed back toward their own ship, an older clipper. Every nerve in his body seemed taut with energy. Then with a quick hand motion and without looking at Elsa, he directed Karl to bring her back aboard. Discreetly, Karl pulled Elsa into the boat then rowed over to the side of the
Sunrise
. A few of the men began to splash and dunk one another, but the festive mood was gone.