Northern Lights Trilogy (22 page)

Elsa paused and looked out to sea, hearing her friend’s gay laughter in her words. At last God had smiled upon Kaatje and Soren!

E
lsa climbed the stairs of the turret, noting as she exited to the open, unfinished second floor that the air had turned decidedly crisp. She glanced at the brown oaks and red maples that bordered the yard; many of their leaves were gone, and what remained were a pale reminder of autumn. Peder had missed it all, she thought sadly. Her painting, while it had turned out well, held none of the awe-inspiring
motion
that the trees had once carried. That was the only way she could think of describing their colors in the crisp autumn breeze. She had worked and worked on the colors, getting the shading almost dead-on, but they still seemed flat to her.

That was why she preferred ships. It was easier to show life in a moving ship than in a dying leaf. She could not wait to be at sea again. Surely Peder had missed her as much as she had him. This would work to help her in her arguments when he came home. The
Herald
was due any day now, but it was likely that it would be later in the week. Still, Elsa could not keep herself from the turret, as if a sixth sense was telling her that he was near. It was as it had been in
Bergen. She had waited for days on the hills, looking for the
Herald
, knowing, even though he hadn’t written, that Peder was coming soon.

She scanned the horizon. It was about ten in the morning, and after her morning routine of reading a chapter of the Bible and praying, then writing a bit to Kaatje, Elsa found little to do. Ever since Tora had shared her devastating news, Elsa had sought release in furious housecleaning or an absorbing painting. Now the house was in immaculate order, and she had completed three paintings: one of the house; two of ships in the harbor below.

It was no longer enough to distract her from worrying over Tora and the forthcoming child, or the aching distance she felt from her husband, compounded by the sour note on which they had parted. She looked north to the dark, foreboding clouds that had gathered close to the shore and were moving steadily toward Ramstad Yard. Had Peder encountered another storm? The thought left her sick with worry.

Elsa turned her face from the clouds, choosing to focus on the hope that would come from the south, and there, on the horizon, was a wisp of a ship. The
Herald?
Her heart leaped. There was no telling for sure, but something within her knew. He was coming. He would be home soon. She let out a little shriek of glee and rushed back downstairs for Peder’s telescope. Returning to the top floor of the turret, she focused the glass with shaking hands, and her feeling was confirmed. It was Peder!

“Thank you, Father!” she cried, clasping her hands and looking heavenward. Then she rushed downstairs again. Suddenly, a multitude of things clamored for her attention, things she wanted to accomplish before Peder came home, most notably preparations for a fine dinner. She needed to find the roving fishmonger and his cart, stop by the butcher’s, then afterward, the baker’s. She hoped he had some fine flatbread left! She would make Peder’s favorite, corned trout, if the vendor had any fresh fish. If not, she’d make his second favorite, pork roast with brown onion sauce.

She would not go to the wharf to meet him; however, it might be unseemly for the captain’s wife to behave so. And Peder seemed overly aware of such social niceties, to the point of coming across as priggish at times. Take, for instance, his refusal to allow her to wear dungarees aboard the ship, despite their practicality.

Besides, it would do Peder good to make him come looking for her. She was still a bit angry at the way he had left her after their argument, commanding her like a king in his castle. But she would make their home seem like paradise, coercing him never to leave again—or at least to take her with him when he did. She would put Cook to shame!

Elsa grabbed her purse and left the house for the stables behind it. There was no time to summon the neighbor, who had agreed to help her with tasks such as this. She could harness the horse herself and be on her way in the time it would take to fetch him. The horses stomped and nodded their heads as if in greeting when she opened the door, making her laugh then coo her hello. She chose her favorite, Muskatnøtt, named for his nutmeg color, and whistled to him. She readied the buggy and was out on the road in no time at all.

Peder was concerned when Elsa did not turn up at the wharf as they docked. Surely word had reached her by now. Was she still so angry at him? He was mollified by the fact that it seemed childish and unseemly to run into one another’s arms in front of others, but it did not take away the sting. Surely her absence was meant as a barb.

He sighed, happy to hand over the responsibility of the cargo to Karl. He had only one thing more to do before he headed home to Elsa; he needed to speak to the harbor master about docking the
Herald
for a few days. Peder intended to make one quick run to Bangor for lumber and get it to New York before the winter weather settled in. He shook the rain from his coat and looked to the gray sky as it continued its soaking mist. All right, before the
real
winter weather settled in, he amended. He and Karl wanted a bit more cash
in the bank before they turned full-time to shipbuilding. It would allow them to buy more shares in their own ships and thus a greater share in the cargo profits.

“After a while,” he called to Karl, taking his leave.

“After a while,” Karl said, crossing the bridge to shake his hand.

“Godspeed, friend. I hope all goes well in New York this week. Get the top price you can for the sugar.”

“As always.”

“And do not gather so much information on steam that you come home and pester me to build your ship first.”

Karl smiled with him. “Off with you, man. I will send you a cable when I reach the city in two days.”

“Good enough.” He waved over his shoulder, eager to get home to Elsa and know where they stood. He hoped there wasn’t too deep a chasm between them. He ached to hold her close and kiss her as never before.

Kristoffer nodded and smiled at Peder in greeting as he walked down the plank. They gripped hands fiercely. “Got the mold loft done, Cap’n.”

“Very good,” Peder cried, clapping him on the shoulder. “And the caulker’s shed?”

“All set. We even have the ship ramp complete. Need a ride home?”

“No, thank you, Kris, I think I’ll get my land legs and walk.”

“Very well. See you tomorrow then.”

Peder bid him farewell and walked through the wharf, into the small town, and down its curvy, cobblestoned main street. By the time he stopped to speak with the harbor master and arranged to dock the
Herald
for a few days, the rain had quit. He reached the end of Main Street within five minutes and smiled as Ramstad Yard came into view. The mold loft had shiny new shingles on its roof. The young pine siding looked yellow and fresh, and when he raised his
nose to the air, the ocean breeze carried to him the smell of new construction.

Down lower, closer to the water, was the caulker’s shed, or rope house. And even farther down the slope was the completed ramp on which the Ramstad ships would be crafted, a long, sloping slide that angled at the prescribed five-eighths of an inch per foot. This angle did not lend too much pressure to a growing ship, but allowed it to slide into the water once it was fully crafted and released.

Peder grinned. Yes, Ramstad Yard, America. All his dreams were coming to pass.

He turned and looked toward the house. From the chimney came a small, wavy tendril of smoke, making his home look all the more inviting. In the window burned the soft light of a kerosene lamp. So she had seen him arrive. Surely this was a form of greeting. With renewed vigor, he walked toward his home and wife, and, hopefully, dinner. His stomach rumbled in response, and his body tingled at the thought of holding Elsa at long last.

At that moment she opened the door, a vision in her violet gown, and it sent him running. It was as if the world and its cares faded at the sight of her and her smile. All that mattered was holding her in his arms. He raced up the front steps two at a time and rushed to her. Before she could speak, he bent his head and kissed her, crushing her body to his.

When he could finally bear to release her, he hastened to speak first. “Forgive me, Elsa. I’m sorry I left with harsh words between us. After our argument, we should have come to some resolution. It was terrible to be gone from you all these weeks, fearing that you were still angry.”

“Oh, Peder. Of course I was angry. But I was sorry, too, that we parted in such a manner. It was horrible, these weeks apart … not knowing if … let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed.” He pulled her into his arms for another fierce embrace
then gazed into her eyes. “I never knew I could feel this way, Elsa. I never knew it would be so good to see someone.”

“It’s glorious, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“It is.” He sniffed the air. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes. The fishmonger had no trout, so I had to settle on pork in brown onion sauce.”

“Oh, the sacrifices I have to make! Come, wife, let’s go into our home, eat our dinner soon, and retire early.”

“You are tired?” Elsa asked in consternation.

“Not at all,” he said with a grin.

When no one came to the door at her knock, Tora entered the house and smiled at the sound of the Ramstads arguing.
Well, well
. And the
Herald
had only just docked the day before. “Hello?” she called halfheartedly, really wanting to find out the cause of the commotion before she presented herself. Perhaps they were arguing about her, in which case she wanted to be forewarned. She crept toward the open library doors. Elsa had no house servants as yet, so Peder obviously assumed that they were discussing something in private. Tora could see Peder’s back as he sat at his desk and glimpsed Elsa as she paced before him.

“Surely on such a short run, it would make sense for me to accompany you,” Elsa was saying.

“On the contrary,” Peder retorted. “For such a short time, it is wiser that you stay at home. I’ll be home within two weeks, Elsa!”

“And I told you that I am tired of being at home. Alone.”

“That is unfortunate.” He looked down, as if carefully constructing what he had to say before speaking. “What exactly did you anticipate when you married a sea captain?”

“I don’t know. Not this. Your homecomings are lovely, but what sort of a marriage is that? After the winter, I’ll see you … what? Three weeks of the year?” Her voice was high and tight.

“Only for a short time, Elsa,” Peder said, speaking as if she were a child.

“For three years, you said!”

“For three
short
years,” he reiterated. “Then I’ll be home with you and our children, watching over Ramstad Yard.”

Tora leaned back against the wood-paneled wall. So darling Elsa didn’t have everything she wanted. That was a first. She chastised herself for being so malicious; her sister, after all, had not yet agreed to care for her unborn child. She needed Elsa, so she would play the dutiful, good sister and win her over. She’d play the victim with Peder. Her only hope was surprise. They must suspect nothing about her plans for escape, or she would be trapped in dreary Camden for the rest of her life.

“And when you launch each ship?” Elsa was saying, beginning to sound hysterical. Tora peeked in again. “Somehow I cannot see you sitting on the porch with me while a new ship takes her baptismal trip. Nor do I want you to!” She sighed. “Peder, you were born for the sea. I don’t wish for you to be shackled to our home.”

“This is hardly a home in which I’d feel shackled,” he said irritably.

“Of course not!” Elsa said, wringing her hands. “You misunderstand me. Ramstad House is lovely. But my heart is not here.” She rushed over to him, knelt, and placed her cheek to his thigh. “My heart is with you. Please, Peder, please. I want to travel with you. I want to make a life with you—at Ramstad House when we are at home, on the sea when we are not.” She looked up at him, her face wet with tears. “Do you not miss me when you’re gone?”

Tora chose that moment to enter. She backed up, coughed, and called “Hello” as if she had already done so several times. She entered the library and came up short, as if surprised by the scene before her. “Oh! Pardon me! I called,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. “Kristoffer is home with the boys, and I thought I would come say
hello to my dear brother-in-law.” She looked from one stricken face to the other. “I am intruding. Forgive me. I will return later.”

“No, Tora,” Elsa said, rising and wiping her cheeks. She studied Peder’s stoic face and looked away, clearly miserable. Her voice was tight, as if on the verge of crying. “You may stay. I would say we are at a standstill in this discussion. Pardon me while I go get some air.” She stopped at Tora’s side and looked back at Peder. “Greet my husband. Stay for dinner.” She lowered her voice. “But hold your news until I return.”

“Very well,” Tora said with a shrug, moving to settle into a library chair.