Northern Lights Trilogy (58 page)

“Ah, I see,” Einar said, nodding sagely. “Sounds fine. You and Peder parted ways, then?”

“Yes,” Karl said, looking away into the distance so as not to betray too much. “Some time ago. I hear his shipyard has been a great success.” He paused, then changed subjects. “It was a letter from Kristoffer that let me know where you all had settled. Thought I’d come up for a visit since I was in this part of the territory.”

“Well, it’s good to see you, man. Come out and share a meal with us before you leave.”

“For sure, Einar.” He glanced up to see Pastor Konur Lien approach. “And I’ll have to get a church service in too,” he said with a grin, shaking the pastor’s hand.

“You had
better
intend to do so,” Konur said. “It’s so good to see another Bergenser’s face!”

“For you? Think about me! You’re surrounded. Why, you have half a congregation from Bergen here, pastor.”

“And the other half is from the community. God has been gracious.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Dakota Territory didn’t work out, I take it.”

“Hard going, there. Dry soil. Just when we got decent crops to harvest, the locusts came. I took it as a sign from God. So far, it has been a wise decision to come here. Going on four years now. And we’re all alive and healthy. Many of our people have growing farms.”

“I’m pleased to know it is so,” Karl said. “Now I had better secure a room for the night. I’ll be by to catch up with you and Amalia, pastor. As well as for Sunday services.”

“Good enough, Karl. God bless you.”

Karl paused a moment as Konur left his side. It struck him that it had been years since he had set foot inside a Christian sanctuary, and again, his father’s warning rang in his ears. When he had left Peder, it was as if he had forgotten about God too. He hadn’t prayed or sought out God’s guidance as he once had. How hypocritical of him—to greet his old pastor as if nothing had changed!

When everything had. When he had.

After renting a gentle, strong mare from the local stables, Karl rode out Main Street dead east, as Kaatje had directed. He had bathed that afternoon in lukewarm water and secured his belongings in a decent room, if a bit run-down. Better than the pleasure of being clean again was the comfort of a small town, a small town where friends surrounded him. It was a picturesque evening, with long, warm streaks of sunlight edging through the plants and grain as if direct
from heaven. And for the first time in a long while Karl felt some sense of peace.

When he reached the Janssens’ farm and turned onto their lane, the girls ran out to greet him, barefoot, but with their Sunday dresses on, if he guessed right. They gave him bright smiles, and Karl was a bit startled at the physical differences in the two. He hadn’t noticed how dissimilar the two sisters were when he had seen them in town. It puzzled him. But both were cute as buttons and sweet as honey, as Brad would say.

“Is this the Janssen farm?” he asked, when they arrived at his side, a bit breathless. He pretended not to recognize them as they nodded madly, their eyes big. “Well, I was a bit confused when I saw such pretty young ladies come to greet me. Here I thought you were just two little mites!”

“No, sir,” Christina said. “I’m almost six years old.”

“Six! Why that’s practically ancient. Have you heard of the great pyramids?”

Christina shook her head in confusion.

“Well, they’re what we consider
old
. But they can’t be more than a few years older than you.”

“How old are
you?
” Jessie asked.

Karl laughed. How long had it been since he had stopped to think about how old he was? Birthdays had come and gone, with little or no recognition from him or any of his friends. “Almost thirty, I believe.”

“Thirty!” Jessie cried.

“No, don’t be so surprised,” he said, nodding at Kaatje as she came to the front door. “Why, I’d bet your mother was almost that age.”

“Mama, are you thirty?” Christina asked. She ran to her and took her hand.

“I hope not. No, I think I have a couple of years.”

Karl dismounted, tied the reins of his horse outside the house, and walked toward Kaatje. “Interesting how someone’s age is vital when you’re young, and not so interesting once you’re old.”

“Tell me about it. Come. Come in, Karl. I have some coffee on.”

“Sounds great,” he said, following her inside, ducking as he came through the doorway. “It’s beautiful out here, Kaatje. And it looks like you have a good little farm going. How long is Soren away?”

Kaatje paused before answering, and Karl, for the first time, wondered what was going on. Why did a farmer leave in the middle of growing season? “He’s been away for some time. Sit. Sit down, Karl.”

“Oh? How long?”

“Four years.”

“Four years!” He could feel himself blush as the girls stared at him intently. He sat down at the table and forced himself to soften his tone, to carefully choose his words. “That’s an awful long time to be without your man. So … so you’ve been bringing in the crops yourself?”

She sat across from him and passed him a tin mug of steaming coffee. “And clearing, planting, weeding, watering, fertilizing … Not without the help of the other Bergensers, of course.”

“But still, they had their own crops. I take it that the bulk of the work has been left to you.”

“We help make pies,” Christina volunteered.

“Mud pies,” Kaatje said with a small smile.

“And I take care of Nels and Hans and the chickens,” Jessie said.

“Our horse and hog,” Kaatje explained.

“Well,” Karl said, “that about covers things, doesn’t it? Good thing your mother has done so well in the fields while you two were minding the house.”

Both girls nodded solemnly. Karl stifled the desire to ask where Soren had gone, and how he could do such a thing to Kaatje, to his children. There was no sense in bringing up the unpleasant memories in front of the girls. Besides, who knew what Kaatje had told them? He would find out later, after they had gone to bed, and figure out some way to help them.

“Are you hungry, Mr. Martensen?” Jessie asked.

“Starved,” he admitted. At once, all three of his hostesses jumped
up to serve the meal. In short order, there was a thick beef stew, lefse, and a fresh apple cut in fours on the table.

“Haven’t seen food like this in ages,” Karl said.

“Would you bless it for us?” Kaatje asked.

Karl hesitated, reminded once again that he had no right to ask anything of God. Then he said, “Sure. Heavenly Father, we ask you to bless this family, and this food to our bodies. Amen.” He figured God could not say no to that—who was more worthy than these three?

Later that night, Kaatje returned to the main room after tucking the girls into bed in the back room. Karl sat in the rocker, a mug of tea in his hands, staring into the fire. Warm, flickering light reflected on his face, and Kaatje felt content to have her old friend here. He apparently enjoyed it too, judging from the two hours they had all lingered at the dinner table, and the hours since. It had been good to have an adult to talk to, someone who cared about her as a dear friend. Did he miss having a family as much as they all missed having a man about the house?

“Well, they’re all tucked in and fast asleep.”

“They probably were out as soon as their heads hit the pillows. Their eyes were drooping for the last hour.”

“They enjoyed themselves,” she said, pouring herself a mug of tea and joining him by the fire in another chair. “I have not heard them giggle like that in a long time.” She hesitated and then looked up at him gratefully. “I haven’t had that much fun in some time, either.”

“Nor I,” he said softly. He looked at her endearingly, and Kaatje felt safe, known, loved. “As one childhood friend to another, may I ask you a question?”

Kaatje nodded, half dreading what was to come.

“Why did Soren leave?”

She paused, then said, “Wanderlust, I suppose. Originally it was to work on the railroad, to get some extra cash for the farm. I think that the farther he got from home, the more free he felt. He loved me
and Christina,” she rushed on. “I am sure of it. But his desire to see other places, to get his hands on the wealth ‘just around the corner’ got to him. He’s always believed he could be rich. And he’s always looked for the easy way to that wealth.”

Karl was silent, as if considering her words. “It’s a trap,” he said at last. “I take it he’s mining, then?”

“Along with half the territory’s men, I think,” Kaatje said. “Last I heard, he was in Alaska.”

“They say that’s where the next big strike will be.”

“And if they keep saying that, Soren will stay put. He was trapping and trading to make his way in the meantime.”

“He sends home some support?” Karl asked carefully.

Kaatje smiled gently. “Karl, I have not heard from him in over four years. I’m not even sure if he’s alive. Lately, I’ve had this wild idea …” Her voice trailed off.

“Wild idea?”

“It’s nothing.”

“What?”

“I … I just have been thinking about going.”

“To Alaska?”

“Crazy, is it not?”

“Why?”

“To try and find Soren, I guess. But there is something else. It’s as if God is urging me to go.”

“With two small children?”

“I said it was crazy.”

Karl studied her, and Kaatje squirmed under his gaze. “All my life, I’ve thought of you as one of the most sensible people I know, Kaatje. If God is directing you there, maybe you should listen. I hear if you’re good with a gun, have a trade to take with you, and bring decent supplies, you can make a go of it up there.” His words of encouragement stunned her. But they were soon followed by: “That isn’t to say I love the idea of you going alone. It is rough territory, Kaatje, rougher than
you’ve ever known.” His expression grew more concerned the longer he thought about it.

Kaatje laughed it off. “And where is God leading
you
these days?”

“Changing the subject, are you?” Karl paused, thoughtful yet somehow sad. “God … it’s been as long since I heard from him as since you last heard from Soren.”

So that was it. Despite his bravado and ease in making them all laugh, Kaatje had noticed the lonely look in his eye. It was as if he were exhausted, searching. “Oh?” she asked softly. “Haven’t heard or haven’t been listening?”

“Perhaps both,” he said wearily. “I haven’t exactly felt worthy of talking with him.” He shifted in his seat as she remained silent. “I did something terrible years ago, Kaatje. Something that God couldn’t forgive.”

“There is nothing that God can’t forgive,” Kaatje said gently.

Karl stood, obviously agitated, and leaned one arm against the mantel, staring into the fire. “I was in love with Elsa,” he said softly. “I kissed her.”

“Oh,” Kaatje said, remembering that Elsa had told her in a letter that Peder and Karl had parted ways. “And she …”

“Made it clear I had made a terrible mistake. I made some excuse to Peder and jumped ship. He still hasn’t forgiven me. At least I don’t think so. He never wrote back to me after I wrote him, asking his forgiveness.”

“And you think that God cannot forgive you for that? Go to Peder, ask his forgiveness face to face, like a man, then ask God the same. Have you forgotten the Christ? Karl, man, this is what he died for! Your greater sin is pride for not going to him!” Kaatje surprised herself with her vehemence. But wasn’t this exactly what she feared kept Soren from returning home to her and the girls? Fear that she wouldn’t forgive him?

Karl looked up at her, obviously startled by her straightforward words, then back at the fire. “I suppose you’re right. I wrote once—”

“It is not enough. It’s still eating you alive and keeping you from the Lord. From Peder. Go to him. Go to him, Karl. They’re just south of us! In Seattle. I think they’re due home in the next month or two. Settle it, once and for all.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, sighing and sitting back down in his chair. “This is why I came to the valley, Kaatje. Only here do friends know me well enough to yell at me.”

Kaatje smiled. “What are friends for?”

“I’ve missed you, Kaatje. I’ve missed all of you.” There was no hint of flirtation in his voice, merely kinship. “I wish I could find a fine woman like yourself or …”

“Elsa?” she finished for him.

“Or Elsa,” he said, as if testing out the words. “There are no finer women than you.”

“There is a woman out there for you,” Kaatje said with utter confidence. She felt she must make it clear that she intended to honor her marriage. And it was obvious to her heart that Karl would never be anything more to her than a dear friend. “I know it. But you have to clean out your trunk first. You’re carrying an awful weight.”

“I agree,” he said gently. “Well, I’ve made more than a nuisance of myself, staying so late. I’d best be off.”

“It was a pleasure, Karl. Please, come again before you leave.”

“You can be sure of it,” he said with a smile, placing his hat on his head and pulling on his coat.

Kaatje grabbed a shawl and followed him out the door. “You’ll be able to find town? There’s but a sliver of a moon.”

“I’ll find it.” He hesitated, then moved closer to kiss her softly on the cheek. He mounted his horse and nodded once at her, then reined the mare into a trot off down the lane, and Kaatje listened until she could no longer hear hoofbeats. In the silence of the night, after such a full evening of talking, laughing, and companionship, Kaatje suddenly felt bereft.

She touched her cheek, remembering the soft scratch of Karl’s
beard and how Soren’s cheek once felt against hers. How long had it been since a man had kissed her? Since Soren had held her in his arms? She ached for the feel of being held again, for the warmth of a man’s body enveloping her own. To be with her husband. To
belong
again.

Where was he? What would it take to find him if she went to Alaska? “Please, Father,” she said, sinking to her knees and beseeching the skies with outstretched arms. “Please, Jesus. Send me word. Let me know if he’s dead or alive. Let me know if I should keep hoping. Please, Father. I beg of you! I beg of you!”