Northern Lights Trilogy (15 page)

She loved this. The sea—and the surprises it offered. She understood the sailors who signed on for a lifetime. Oh, to have the freedom to go from one ship to another, traveling the world! Elsa sketched madly, frantic to catch the energy, the light, the excitement of the
Massachusetts
before the
Herald
finally outdistanced her and left her behind.

“Hello,” Peder said at her shoulder, startling her since she had not
heard the ladder’s creak. He leaned down and looked over her shoulder, his breath a welcome small gust on her neck.

She shied away with a smile, pulling the sketch to her chest. “Not yet. You cannot see it until it is done. So go away!” she demanded firmly. “I need to work fast and will brook no husbandly distractions.”

“Certainly,” Peder said, shrugging his shoulders and turning away. “I guess you do not wish to hear her story.”

Elsa turned in her chair. “You know of that ship?”

“Aye. She is captained by a good man, Clark Smith. It’s most likely that she’s carrying tea from London. It is his most frequent cargo.”

“I saw a woman wave awhile ago. Is that Captain Smith’s wife?”

Peder’s smile diminished to some extent. “Yes. Emma frequently travels with him.”

Elsa seized the opportunity.
Never mind the sketch
, she thought. “What a wonderful idea. Oh, Peder. I love this!” she waved out to the sea and above her to the men in the rigging. “I can see why you love it too. I feel more alive than I have in years! I love the adventure, the wonder of it all.” She reached out to take his hand and brought it to her cheek, looking up at him with all the love in her heart. “Please, husband. I want you to consider something.”

He waited, caressing her cheek slightly, but seemingly unable to ask what she wanted. It was as if he knew what was coming and feared it.

Elsa pressed on. It was now or never. “I have heard that many wives travel with their husbands.” Peder’s hand fell from her face. “I so want to see the world with you, Peder. I would like to travel with you.”

Peder grimaced and looked across to the
Massachusetts
. “I don’t know who has filled your head with such foolishness. I disagree with Smith. I think it is foolhardy to take women along on voyages when they’re better off safely tucked at home.”

She rose. “Safely tucked? You speak of women as if they are children.

And there is no such place as a safe place. Why, I could die in a carriage wreck or from a disease that sweeps through our tidy Maine village.”

He turned to her, his face stern, color rising from his neckline. “Elsa, I …” He stopped himself, obviously thinking twice about what he had to say. He took her hand and gathered a deep breath. “Sweetheart, you know I want nothing more than to be with you day and night. In a few years, after Ramstad Yard is in full swing, I will. Until then, I do not think it is a good idea. There are many dangers for a woman at sea. It could be a rogue sailor when I’m not around to protect you. And you speak of disease—but we encounter many more diseases in port than you ever would in Camden, to say nothing of the storms.”

Elsa turned away from him, battling the urge to argue. He was her husband, after all. Her mother had spent years ingraining in Elsa and her sisters to trust in their chosen mate’s judgment, to abide by his decisions. But still, this was much more difficult than she had anticipated. How could what Peder wanted be so different from her own desires? Did he not wish to be with her as much as she desired to be with him?

She glanced up at him quickly. He was staring at her intently, his face a mask of concern. They had never argued. Would this be their first?

“Tell me about Maine again,” Elsa said, changing the subject. Maybe with time Peder would come to see her side and agree to take her with him. For now peace was more important. He had a whole ship full of people he had to worry over. She would not be one of them.

Peder gave her a tentative smile and began the familiar refrain. As he did, he gestured toward her chair, encouraging her to sit. As soon as her head was against the backrest, his work-roughened hands were on her forehead, gently, lightly sliding downward, closing her eyes. She smiled. By closing them, she could imagine her new home.

“Her coast winds back and forth,” he was saying, “providing harbor after harbor in which to build my beautiful ships. But on a picturesque harbor sits a town called Camden-by-the-Sea. Her coast is sheltered by a massive island called Vinalhaven. It is not far from Portland, where you can go to buy dresses and such. But you won’t want to leave. Our land stretches up a wide, treeless hillside, perfect for the shipyard, and at the top, the trees begin. Just inside that forest is our home. We’ll leave a strip of land clear for the front yard. Imagine! Our yard stretches straight into the Atlantic!”

“And the house?” she asked, feeling calmer by the minute.

“The house?”

Elsa opened her eyes. “The house. What does it look like?”

Peder frowned and placed his chin in his hand. “The house. A good question. But I can’t seem to remember.”

Elsa gave him a sardonic smile, catching on to the fact that he was toying with her. “Draw it. Maybe it will help you remember.”

“Yes, a good idea.” He motioned for her to move her legs aside and sat on the end of the chair. He immediately began to sketch. In the distance, from the fo’cȇsle, Elsa could hear the sailors singing a somber song as they worked.

Just one year ago tonight, Love

I became your blushing bride

You promised I’d be happy

But no happiness I find

For tonight I am a widow

In the cottage by the sea
.

Elsa stared at Peder as she listened to the words. He was holding out his sketch of a cartoonish shack, obviously a joke, but his grin fell fast as he too heard the words. He knew what was coming.

“I’ll not sit in some cottage awaiting news of your death, Peder Ramstad. I could not stand it. I’d rather die beside you than slowly die alone.”

Peder took her hand. “I understand. But I swore to your father
that I would take care of you, protect you. I don’t think taking you along on my voyages would be living up to my promise.”

“I am a grown woman, Peder—and I am your wife. I want to be with you. My father would understand that.”

Peder sighed. “I will think it over. All right?”

Elsa nodded, thankful that he was at least listening to her. Her heart soared with hope. “Yes. Think on it.”

It was only after he left her side that she remembered Peder had never sketched their real home.

Kaatje walked the perimeter of the ship, enjoying the sight of the
Massachusetts
beside them as they slowly passed her. It reassured her to remember that they were not all alone out here in the great Atlantic. She looked down at the silvery-blue waters racing by, thinking of Astrid somewhere beneath the waves. Oh, how she missed her friend! Elsa was still dear to her, but her mind was on her new husband, not Kaatje’s ongoing troubles.

She frowned as she thought of Soren. Even in such cramped quarters, he had managed to make himself scarce, telling her that the small cabin made him feel claustrophobic. He often left her for hours at a time, helping sailors tar the ropes or carry out other duties, he said. But Kaatje couldn’t help but wonder.
No
, she told herself,
do not allow yourself such thoughts
. Surely he could not be with another woman. Where would they go? She laughed out loud then turned in embarrassment, afraid she had been overheard.

No matter. No one was near her. Up ahead, she spotted Tora with Knut and Lars. Knut played with Tora’s parasol, running around and around it, while she looked on with a bored expression and shifted Lars to her other shoulder. Even with two small children in tow, Tora looked glamorous. Her shiny, dark hair was tied up in a chignon and anchored with an elegant ivory comb. She was dressed in a charming blue princesse dress, made of silk, and over it, she wore a sleeveless polonaise of ivory. It fell gracefully over the short train, emphasizing
the girl’s slim figure. Oh, to come from money like the Anderses, Kaatje thought. Never had she owned a dress such as that.

Putting her envy aside, Kaatje smiled and approached Tora. Perhaps some time with Astrid’s children would bring back memories of her friend in a tender way.

“Tora!” she called as the girl turned to walk aft with the children.

Tora turned to see who called and then immediately glanced away.
That is odd
, Kaatje thought. Still, the girl stopped and waited for Kaatje.

“I thought I’d spell you with the children,” said Kaatje. “Why don’t you rest for a bit?”

Tora looked at her, and Kaatje thought she saw a hint of derision in her eyes. She ignored the troublesome feeling. The girl was just difficult, that was all. She was probably still resenting her position with Kris, especially now with two children. In Kaatje’s mind, though, Tora’s consistently petulant demeanor spoiled her beauty.

“That would be fine,” Tora said with a graciousness that sounded a bit forced. “I’ll return in an hour if that is all right with you.”

“Fine, fine. Go enjoy yourself.”

Tora left her side with no further word.

“Hmm,” Kaatje said to Lars, who seemed to be flourishing on goat’s milk. “At least you’re a content little baby,” she said, kissing his forehead. “She could have it much worse.” She looked over to Knut, who looked bereft without the parasol. “Come, son, let’s go find my husband. He’ll throw you high into the air and catch you at the last minute. That should cast away your doldrums.”

Knut looked hopeful and placed his tiny hand in hers. “Where is he?”

“I do not know. Shall we play a game of cat and mouse? Let us pretend we’re the
katt
, and he’s the
mus
. Now be very quiet,” she said with her finger to her lips. “We’re on the hunt and must sneak up on him before we pounce!”

A smile spread across Knut’s face. “Let’s go!” he screeched in Norwegian.

Kaatje smiled as the boy pulled her along. Somewhere she knew Astrid would be smiling at her son’s delighted grin.

Tora was on her way to her bunk to take a brief nap when she met up with Soren in the passageway to the hold. He smiled lazily at her as he held the door, and she edged past him, allowing her body to touch his. It was a subtle movement, but unmistakable. Soren let the door shut behind them, and they were alone in the darkened hall.

“In there,” Soren said in a low voice, eyeing her hungrily.

“In Kaatje’s room? What if she comes in?”

“She is out on—”

Just then, Nora Paulson came through the narrow passageway, studying them both before passing. She turned at the door. “Since you’re apparently free from your duties, Tora, perhaps we should have your English lesson now.”

Tora looked at her, hoping the woman could see the daggers in her eyes. But her voice was innocent. “Oh, thank you, Nora. But I’m afraid I have just a moment to myself before I have to get back to Kaatje and the boys.”

“To Kaatje?” Nora said pointedly. “Where
is
your wife, Soren?”

“On deck,” he said. “I thought I’d just grab her shawl.”

“Ah,” she said, apparently mollified with the thought that he was getting back to his wife shortly. When she was gone, they smiled at one another like naughty schoolchildren.

Then, before anyone else could come upon them, Soren pushed Tora into the small cabin that he had shared with Kaatje since Astrid’s death. His lips were upon her neck, sending delightful shivers down her spine before the lock clicked in place.

“Soren, I do not think we should continue to do this,” she protested lightly.

“You say that every time,” he purred in her ear. “Tell me you do not like this.”

Oh, he was thrilling. And Kaatje was such a fool to let a man like this stray.
Just one more time
, Tora thought, dismissing a niggling thought. Surely this could not be wrong. Surely something wrong could not feel so … so right.

Peder drew a line on his chart and then wrote in his logbook, constantly scratching out his mistakes and moving on. Keeping the log was typically a job for the mate, but Peder enjoyed it. Today, however, his mind was elsewhere, for although they were making great time, the approaching coast brought forward issues he had to face. First there was Elsa and her clear desire to sail with him. And then there was Karl. He had to be forthright with his friend about Ramstad Yard and the financing his father had offered him.

Deciding not to tarry any longer, Peder invited Karl to lunch. “Come,” he said, “it will be good for Kris to have his turn at the wheel. Nothing like a ship at his fingertips to remind a man of the goodness of life.”

Karl paused, as if searching for a reason to say no, but then shrugged. When Peder stopped to think of it, his best friend had not sat at his dinner table in over a week. Peder had taken to his suggestion of entertaining others, but now felt poorly about it. Karl probably felt ousted, his rightful place occupied by others. Karl’s cabin had even been taken over by the Janssens after Astrid’s death! Never mind that his first mate had insisted that the pregnant Kaatje remain in a comfortable berth; Peder should have intervened. Kaatje was well now. And the first mate deserved preferential treatment.

As soon as they were seated, Cook brought two steaming platefuls of
farikal
, a slow-cooked dish of cabbage, mutton, and black peppercorns.

“Elsa is not joining us?” Karl asked after Peder had blessed the food.

“No. She ate earlier at my request.”

Karl’s eyes darted to his.

“I need to talk over something with you.”

Peder took a few bites, then looked over at Karl, who was eating slowly, studying his friend’s face for clues to what this was about.

“I am afraid I have a confession to make and wished to do it in privacy, Karl.”

His first mate waited, placing his fork on his plate and wiping his mouth.

“You see, I’ve dreaded doing this because I was afraid of your reaction. I am afraid it will upset the applecart, as our new countrymen say.”