Northern Lights Trilogy (37 page)

Within moments a pretty young woman came to fetch her, and Tora rose to follow her to Mr. Storm’s office. The secretary was dressed in a simple, dull gray dress, and for a moment, Tora fretted that she had overdone her costume. Perhaps Mr. Storm preferred the simplicity of a frontier dress to the society ensemble she had selected! Had she not read that he was conservative, providing chaperones for his employees as well as carefully guarded dormitories?

Her worries were laid to rest, however, as she saw his eyes light up. Perhaps her own eyes did the same, for Trent Storm was an unexpectedly handsome man in his late thirties. As he rose from the chair behind his desk, Tora noted his distinguished carriage.
What a relief to be in the company of a gentleman of substance!
she thought.

“Miss Anders, I presume?” he asked, coming around the desk and reaching for her hand. He was about five foot eight in height, not overly tall, but his lean, masculine form must delight his tailor. The perfect shape to drape, she thought. His hair was jet black with a premature sprinkling of gray, making him look all the more distinguished.

She extended her hand, hoping he would kiss it. Instead, he gave it a gentle but businesslike shake. His eyes were startling, a light green or hazel. On his right cheek was a long scar that intrigued her. She fought off the desire to touch it, to ask him how he got it.

Tora pulled her hand back delicately and flashed him a smile. “Why, Mr. Storm. I had pictured you as a bent-over old man.”

He laughed, a great belly laugh, and the crow’s-feet at his eyes crinkled in a merry look. Trent gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Sometimes I feel old and bent over. Please, Miss Anders. Have a seat.” She did as he bid, then watched him return to his own chair, where he folded his hands and studied her briefly.

“Tell me, Miss Anders, why do you wish to work for Storm Enterprises?”

Tora folded her hands and studied him in return. What did he
want to hear? “I read your advertisements,” she said simply. “Escaping to the wild west sounded exciting, exactly what I needed.”

“And from what are you escaping?”

Tora faltered for a moment. “From dying of boredom in a tiny town called Camden-by-the-Sea.”

“Ah yes, boredom. You don’t seem the type to abide by such nuisances as a dull life. So you seek adventure. Are you also expecting wealth?” he asked, clearly adding up the small fortune she wore. “Or are you independently wealthy?”

“If only that were true,” she said, enjoying the chance to spar with someone of intelligence. She fingered the flounce of her skirt, which cascaded to the floor in three tiers. “I enjoy finery, but I am not afraid to work for it.”

“I see. Well, I must say, you look delightful in the best our town’s dressmaker can turn out.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still not wavering from hers.

“Why, Mr. Trent!” Tora said, acting a bit shocked. “What would your wife say?”

His eyes lost some of their levity, and his mouth turned downward. “My wife died three years ago.”

“Oh, forgive me,” she said, genuinely remorseful that she had taken such an uncomfortable tack. “That must be very painful for you.”

His eyes searched hers again, and she did not let her own gaze fall. “You are a cook?” he asked, suddenly rifling through the papers on his desk until he found her letter in the stack.

“Yes. I am quite good, actually.”

“Yes, well, that is convenient. But I think you actually would serve Storm Enterprises best as a serving girl. I need attractive faces up front. It helps me win customers. I presume you are a good worker.”

“When I set my mind to it.”

“Is your mind set on it?”

“It is.”

Trent sat back again and studied her for a moment before speaking. “I’ll give you a trial run, Miss Anders. Tomorrow you will serve in my private dining car. I’m entertaining some important railroad executives who mean a lot to my business. If you do well, we’ll see to a permanent position for you in one of the roadhouses. My secretary will give you all the pertinent details. Good enough?” He stood, dismissing her.

“Very well, Mr. Storm,” she affirmed, trying not to gush. He was giving her a chance in his very own railroad car! “Good day, sir.”

“Good day, Miss Anders.”

Karl followed Brad through the monstrous Hall house, trying not to gape openly as they passed ornate furniture and elaborate stained glass windows. Brad smiled wryly at him. “You haven’t seen anything yet, friend. Wait until you get a look at John’s plans for his new mansion on Summit Avenue.” Karl could not quite grasp anything more grand than this. And then he caught sight of Alicia. She stood at the foot of the broad staircase, and she looked as lovely as he had remembered.

“You forgot to write, Captain Martensen,” she said, lowering her head and looking at him coquettishly.

“Forgive me, Miss Hall. I have no excuse. I have seen the error of my ways,” he added, studying her. She truly was a treat to behold, and her flirtatious eyes belied a quick mind. “I have come to settle in Saint Paul. Chalk up my departure to wanting to see the oceans once more before settling on the river ways of your fine state.”

She let the comment hang for a moment, then said, “Welcome home, Mr. Martensen. Be advised that I am not the type of woman who pines for a man.”

“Of course not. I would not presume—”

“There are others who have been more bold,” she said quietly as she passed him. “Good day. Good day, Mr. Bresley.”

The two men watched as she walked down the long hallway
toward the back of the house, most likely well aware that they continued to watch her in admiration. When she was out of sight, Brad slapped him on the back. “Good grief, man, I’ll be sorry you were ever invited to Minnesota. First you catch John’s eye, and now his daughter’s. I smell the scent of something great on the wind. Or is it just your meteoric rise that I smell? The singe as I get burned as you pass me by?”

His face held none of the caustic bite of his words, however, and Karl knew he was jesting. With just a hint of envy perhaps. For there was no denying that John Hall had taken a liking to Karl. He had handed over the captaincy of the
Merriweather
and allowed Karl to purchase 51 percent of the shares in the vessel, giving him true control and a hefty portion of the profits once she began her work on the river ways. And now, according to Brad, Hall had another promising business proposition for him.

As they resumed their walk to Hall’s office, Karl’s mind drifted toward some of the questions that continued to plague him. What was the man after? Why make such magnanimous overtures to someone he barely knew? Hall was not a man given to folly. Each move was one of careful design. It felt like a trap to Karl in some ways, yet he had little choice. His money was committed, already safely ensconced in Hall’s bank account. Besides, why should he worry? If he wanted out later, he would simply ask John to buy him out. Looking around the grand hallway, he had no doubt that the wealthy businessman could come up with the cash at any time.

It was what Hall had said when they sealed their business agreement that haunted Karl the most, reminding him again of his father’s charges of hypocrisy. “Sometimes an upright man has to make decisions in a gray zone, son,” John had said, lighting a cigar. Karl had just handed over a cashier’s check and signed the contract, sealing their deal on the
Merriweather
. “For it’s a gray, gray world out there. If you must work in black and white, you’ll never get anywhere. Learn to deal with the gray, and I’ll make you a small fortune.”

E
lsa sighed deeply as she sketched the eastern coast of Argentina, not far from the
Sunrise
’s starboard side. The wind was steady, reaching them on the port quarter; thus Riley sailed on a broad reach, seeking to make the best time. This took them away from the coast a bit, but as they neared the Horn, he said, they would have to tack back and forth repeatedly to make the best of wind and water.

The fresh breezes that day already had built swells of eight feet. What would the reportedly terrible winds of the Horn do? Elsa shoved away the fear that clamped down about her heart. If only Peder would recover his strength soon. By his own admission, Riley had much less experience than Stefan, having become a sailor later in life. And having sent the first mate down to the hold in chains, Elsa was now at a loss. The men looked at her with a mixture of admiration and concern, wondering if her decisions would send them all to the bottom of the deep.

Her sketch reflected the unease she felt inside, and she tore the paper from the pad and crumpled it in her hand. Surely if they could survive the Horn with the first mate in chains, Peder would accept
that Elsa was strong enough to consistently travel at his side. She sobered. What if he did not get better? He had rallied with Cook’s treatment of chinchona bark, yet still was so weak that he could not get out of bed.

The thought of losing him choked her. She loved him. If only they had been able to find a doctor! There was no getting past it. She would need to pray, on her knees, three times a day for protection for them all. “No time like the present,” she whispered.

Unable to do anything else, she got out of her chair and knelt beside it. She prayed aloud, albeit quietly. “Dearest Jesus, we are heading into winds and water that you created, though they frighten us. I pray that you will be with each of my sailors, that you will give them wisdom and strength for what lies ahead. Help me to trust that you are with us, even during our darkest hour. And please, Father, please heal your son Peder soon. It is in Christ’s name I pray. Amen.”

When she opened her eyes, she saw that five sailors below her had stopped their work of sanding the deck with a holystone and wet sand and knelt with heads bowed. They had not been able to hear her, though they obviously were with her in spirit. Elsa smiled, tears quickly coming forth. Gradually the men raised their heads, one by one.

“We’re with ya, Missus,” said Yancey.

“The Cap’n will come out of it, you’ll see,” said another.

Elsa could only nod, too choked up to say a word, as the men returned to their work.

Five days later, Elsa knew full well why Peder wanted the most experienced men on deck when they encountered the fearsome storms off the Cape Horn of South America. The wind howled as if alive, a growling giant threatening to crush the
Sunrise
with claws formed of giant waves. Elsa was soaked and scared as she tried to maintain her footing at Riley’s side. The man was struggling to lash the wheel,
unable to control it any longer, as the waves began to sweep over the deck.

“Go inside!” Riley shouted. His voice was barely discernible against the roaring wind, but Elsa knew what he was after. Regardless of her claim on the captain’s title, she had no experience in rounding the Horn, and with a jump to her heartbeat, she remembered the last time she had remained on deck in a storm. Karl Martensen was not here to fish her out this time, and Peder remained too weak to leave his bed.

Elsa resigned herself to leaving the ship to the capable sailors on deck. She also didn’t want to distract them by unnecessarily putting herself in danger. She tried to pry open the cabin door, but the wind buffeted it closed. With all she had in her, she braced one foot against the doorjamb and gripped the brass knob with both hands, prying it open and flinging herself inside. The door slammed shut behind her. She panted in the darkness, wondering if Peder was awake.