Northern Lights Trilogy (44 page)

B
y August the
Sunrise
was on her way home—“loaded to the gills,” as Riley put it—with rough-hewn lumber. The cargo cast such a sweet scent about the ship that Elsa had a hard time smelling the ocean’s briny odor she had come to know so well. Happily it reminded her of Seattle and her dreams of one day settling there.

In her usual place on deck, she leaned against her chair back and sighed at the blank canvas before her. Her heart was unsettled, her spirits down. She and Peder were still not getting along. Ever since she had made one small comment about the potential of a lumber business, Peder had avoided her like a mosquito carrying malaria. Suddenly her painting was not expression; it was bondage. He wanted to confine her with it and to it, and preferably at Camden-by-the-Sea. Her painting was neat. Orderly. It worked well with his own vision of how life was to be.

Elsa took her brush in hand and smeared a big, black streak of oil across the canvas, feeling better as each stroke of paint left her brush. Smiling for the first time in days, she took a swipe at the red and let
that go. Then the green and yellow—although yellow was not nearly as satisfying as deep black.

Peder climbed up the stairs toward her, and Elsa was eager for him to see her work. Perhaps it would be the catalyst to end their ongoing strife. He stood behind her silently, obviously taking in the canvas before them.

“A new direction?” he tried after a bit.

“An artistic expression,” she said, her voice clipped.

“Of?”

“I think you know, Peder.”

“I do? Perhaps you could remind me.”

She sighed and stood to face him. “I am frustrated. I am sorry I feel that way, but I do. We are in a partnership, you and I. You are not some king, and I am certainly not a servant.”

“When have I ever—”

“I know that I am a fortunate woman, Peder. Truly. And I appreciate it. But you move forward so often without talking with me first. Camden-by-the-Sea is lovely, but not necessarily where I want to live forever, especially alone. Continuing to build sailers rather than steam is your dream, but not necessarily what I think is wise. Still,” she said, putting up her hands as Peder stuttered in fury and grew red at the neck, “I understand that it is your business. So I go along with it. But when I come up with an idea, I do not wish for you to dismiss it summarily. I simply ask for the respect I deserve.”

Peder groaned. “You do not think I respect you? What I have given you, provided for you, isn’t enough? Our home? Your painting lessons? Bringing you along?” He looked at her as if she were a spoiled child.

“You have given me a great deal, Peder. That is not what I mean. What I speak of is what we have, what we do, together—our future. What we work on, work toward, together. I want it to be
our
dream, Peder.” She reached out to touch his hand, and it seemed to steady him, calm him. “I want to be your partner in those dreams, too, your
friend. Your best friend. I know you miss Karl. And I know you still struggle to forgive me. Can I do anything about that?”

Peder sighed and looked out to sea. “You are my wife, not my business partner. A woman’s place is at home, minding the house and children. You see what my decision to bring you along has already brought us? More discontent. Not to mention almost getting you killed.”

Elsa swallowed the quick words that jumped to her tongue. “A woman’s place, Peder, is at her husband’s side. Why label it as discontent? Perhaps it’s vision.”

“We cannot chase two dreams, Elsa.”

“No,” she said, tentatively placing an arm around his waist. “But we can pursue
our
dream.”

Peder pulled away. “I have given you all there is to give. If it is not enough, so be it.”

Elsa watched as her husband climbed down the steps and went to rant at some poor sailor who had tied a square knot instead of a bowline. Biting her lower lip, she picked up her brush again and painted a big, black stripe over the first.

Days later, Peder’s argument with Elsa still lingered. He could not rid himself of the bile that rose in his throat each time he thought of saying he was sorry. He was torn between the honest belief that his path was the right one for Ramstad Yard and his devotion to his wife—between forgiving and holding on to his righteous anger. He was beginning to feel that there would be no end to her suggestions, her requests, which aggravated him. Was this married life? Or perhaps he had been a captain for too long.

He walked the deck from bow to stern, thinking about what Elsa had said, reflecting on how the oppressive doldrums they were experiencing echoed his own feelings. It was deadly still, as it had been for days, and incredibly hot and humid. Not a breath of wind was on the air, and the sails slumped like sad, dirty sheets waiting for the
laundress. These were the days that Peder hated being a sailor. He was always in a hurry to get to his next destination. Karl would tell him, “Just enjoy the ride, my friend. Enjoy every day for the day it was created to be for you.” From the start, Karl had seemed to have a deeper, more intense relationship with God than he, though Peder was witness and Karl the convert. It was as though when Christ entered Karl’s heart, he moved closer to Karl than he ever did with Peder. Or maybe it was simply that Karl was better able to recognize God in the everyday.

It was difficult for Peder to see God in this day. It was a soulless afternoon, in his opinion, and only antagonized him, making him feel worse about life than he already did. He wiped the sweat from his brow and billowed out his damp shirt to relieve his perspiring chest. He looked out to sea, where the only ripple was from the dorsal fins of fish beneath the surface. Would this never end? They were already late, desperate to make time to get home, unload their cargo, and bring the
Sunrise
in for the winter. He fought the urge to scream in frustration. Surely if he could just get Elsa home, she would settle into their cottage and prepare for a baby.

Yes! A baby was the answer. It would resolve all of this, for Elsa would be too busy with the child to think of business. He would be free to do as he wished. Yet as exasperating as Elsa was at times—and despite the strife her presence had caused—had Peder ever known greater joy than with her traveling by his side? He thought not.

It is time for a new day. A new horizon
.

It was time for forgiveness.
It holds me back
, he thought.
It’s been holding me back for months, eh, Father?

Be renewed, child. Renew
.

Without stopping to think, he barked out the order. “Drop the lines! Starboard!”

Sleepy sailors hastened to obey him, a bit befuddled at such a command, but nonetheless following orders.

Peder stripped off his shirt and climbed to the starboard rail.
“Last one in peels potatoes for a year!” He sailed through the air, fighting off the giddy desire to laugh, knowing he would need his breath for his time below the waterline. Just before hitting the water, he heard shouts of glee and men scurrying to the side.

The water parted for his fingertips, and Peder slid through the aquamarine liquid, relishing the relief from the heat. It was no wonder that few fish jumped. It was too wonderful beneath the seas to leave. Conscious of the sounds of impact as other men jumped into the water, Peder relaxed and let his inflated lungs raise his inert body to the surface. It felt as if he were flying … going ten, fifteen feet upward until his face met air and he inhaled deeply. Feeling released at last from all the angst of recent days, weeks, months, he rubbed his eyes and hooted a call that all with him echoed.

When he opened his eyes, he spotted Elsa nearby, looking at him like a naughty, caught child. She actually looked frightened, obviously anticipating a sharp reprimand after what had happened the last time she went in the water. “Well, I did not wish to peel potatoes for a year,” she said primly, chin up, as she continued to tread water.

Peder laughed. Laughed deeply. Was he such a fool to waste precious days with this wonderful woman beside him? Any days? Regardless of disagreements, life was too short. He wasted no more time. “I have been a fool, Elsa. Forgive me for being a stubborn old sea captain. Forgive me for not being your husband. Forgive me for not being your friend.”

She smiled in surprise, her eyebrows tenting to the center as if she wanted to cry. “Oh, Peder,” was all she whispered, pulling him underwater for a long kiss. They could hear the men’s muted hoots and hollers and cheers. But the impropriety of it mattered little to Peder. He had his wife back. Moreover, he felt like a husband again.

That night Peder and Elsa sat over cold dinner dishes for hours, talking. Every time Cook came in to clear, Peder scowled at the poor man, letting him know he was intruding. Finally the man knocked
and entered once more. With a quick bow, he stepped forward and took the dishes, not waiting for Peder’s permission.

Peder smiled. “Anxious for your bunk, Cook?”

Cook ignored him.

“Forgive us for loitering,” Elsa said. “Please. Leave them until morning.”

Cook ignored her.

“I’ve never known the man to leave dirty dishes until morning,” Peder explained.

“New day. New dish,” Cook said at last, closing the door behind him.

Peder and Elsa laughed. “A good way to live,” she said, looking at Peder meaningfully.

“A good way indeed,” Peder said, steadily returning her glance.

How grand it was to again be on an even keel with her husband! Elsa felt dizzy with relief. “Peder, I must ask,” she began, reaching across the table to take his hand in hers. “What made you forgive me at last?”

“It was eating at me. Time and again I’d go to the Lord and beg him to show me justice. I got the only justice I was owed. My stomach was in knots. I have not slept more than five hours at a time for months. And I could find no peace in the situation since I felt that I was wronged. But then I saw that you were innocent, my love. That I was punishing you for a sin never committed. It was I who held the sin and built upon it until it was bigger than both of us.”

Elsa looked down. “I am sorry, Peder,” she whispered.

His hand left hers to lift her chin. “For what?”

“For not seeing the road ahead. Maybe I could have—”

“I understand your heart, love,” he interrupted. “Say no more. New day …”

“I beg your pardon?”

“New day …” he led again.

“New dish,” she said.

Several days later the
Sunrise
left the doldrums behind and raced toward the Horn. Fall was coming on quickly, and they had fewer than forty days to get home safely. Anything beyond that was bound to endanger the
Sunrise
, her cargo and crew, when they got into the northern latitudes. So it was with some reluctance that when a brigantine trailing behind hailed them, Peder ordered a number of the sails furled to allow her approach. By that afternoon the
Connor’s Day
drew alongside and ran up a flag signaling the request to speak to the captain.

It was rare for a merchant marine to pause mid-voyage for a visit with another. While the whalers commonly did this, being at sea for months at a time, merchants were eager to get their cargo to port and collect their funds. Peder eyed the ship and flag with some skepticism. Was it a trick? His experience with the
Lark
had made him leery. Still, through his scope he could plainly see a woman roaming the deck, and there was little doubt that Elsa would appreciate some female companionship. They had waited this long for
Connor’s Day
to approach. What was another two hours?

“Furl all sails!” he directed Riley.

“Furl all sails!”
his first mate relayed.

The crew repeated the command in unison.

“Run up the welcome flag,” he said, then turned to Elsa. “We’re about to have some company, Elsa. Perhaps you should set Cook to some refreshments.”

“Run up the come ahead flag!”
Riley shouted.

Elsa nodded once and was off, while Peder turned back to watch the
Connor’s Day
. A longboat was lowered over the side, carrying what he assumed was the ship’s captain, wife, and four crew members. The crewmen each wielded a long oar, rowing in sweet precision, and reached the
Sunrise
in minutes.

“Ahoy!” the captain hailed from the longboat, peering up at Peder. “Permission to board your fine vessel, sir.”

“Ahoy!” he greeted. “Come ahead.” They climbed up the netting
to the rail, and Peder himself leaned to help the woman over the edge.

“Welcome to the
Sunrise
. I am Captain Peder Ramstad.” Elsa joined him. “This is my wife, Elsa.”

“Pleased to meet you!” the woman squealed. “You don’t know how long we’ve been chasing you people. I told my Otto—this is my husband, Otto Keller—we simply
must
catch up with them. ‘The woman’s got letters,’ I said. Didn’t I say that, Otto? And I know what letters mean to a woman at sea.” She stretched out her hand, offering Elsa a thick packet of envelopes. “They were in San Francisco. Harbor master said you had already come and gone and weren’t anticipated back. Since you were headin’ the same way we were, I figured I’d shanghai them for ya.”