Deep Harbor (10 page)

There was no response as she continued to stare for some time up at the black night sky alive with a million stars. Slowly, her arms sank to her sides. But she had no tears to weep tonight. She felt empty, and utterly alone.

You could go
, came the Voice.
You could go
.

Karl rode back to town, thinking of Peder, Kaatje, Elsa—a deluge of thoughts coursed through his head at once. It had been a long time since he had felt so stimulated, invigorated by honest conversation and laughter. Bradford Bresley, his business partner, often did that for him, but their work kept them apart. Brad had married Virginia Parker and settled down in Butte, Montana, concentrating on their efforts in the Midwest and the mountains, while he, the single man, volunteered to go farther west and see what enterprises he could drum up there.

It had been years since he had spent more than a day or two with the Bresleys, and then conversation was mostly about business. When he thought about it, Karl had isolated himself from those who truly knew him, anyone who could ask the questions that mattered. It was little wonder that he felt lonely and hollow.

Karl raised his head and breathed deeply. The land smelled good, of damp peat and grain heated by the afternoon sun and then cooled by the evening breeze. He knew this valley could do so much more. To the north was a wide, shallow bay, in which barges came to load up the farmers’ harvest and ship it down to Seattle. But the railroad was
inefficient in getting the crops there, and Karl began visualizing how he and Brad could improve shipping and, in turn, help his fellow Bergensers prosper. It was not an enterprise of charity; they would no doubt find a handsome profit for their labors. But it was too broad an enterprise for their resources. He would need to contact some investors to find the cash necessary to accomplish such goals. Trent Storm immediately came to mind. It was just the sort of thing they had discussed in Helena.

He would spend the next months surveying and researching the project. But tomorrow he would wire Brad and Trent. From the profits, he would easily be able to help Kaatje and the girls. They needed so much—a new barn, an addition to the tiny house. More animals to help them make it through the winter. He knew Kaatje would be too proud to accept such grandiose charity from another. So Karl would just have to find a way to do it anonymously.

He frowned as he thought of her words once more.
Soren loved Christina and me
. What about Jessie? How could the man have left any of them? Kaatje with her red cheeks and kind, gray eyes? Christina with her blond curls and fast way of speaking? Vivacious Jessie with her all-consuming love for animals? Kaatje had not heard from him in four years; why, he had probably never even met his second daughter! Once again he wanted to throttle the man for his idiocy, for his lack of responsibility.

Then Karl laughed at himself. Soren wasn’t the only one who had run from those who cared about him. Soon Karl would have to face his own responsibility. Kaatje had been right. Since Peder had not contacted him, he needed to go to his old friend. And beg his forgiveness. On his knees if he had to. His resolve made him feel more free than he had in years.

August 1886

T
hey had been at sea more than two weeks, heading straight for Washington Territory and their newest home, confident that the Japanese wares they purchased in Yokohama would sell better there than in the waning markets of San Francisco or New York. Besides, it would get them home by late August and give Peder a chance to see how his employees and projects fared at their new sawmill in Seaport. From there, Peder would take a load of lumber to the East Coast, check on their shipyard in Camden-by-the-Sea, and they all might be able to get back to Seattle in time for Christmas—their first in the West.

More and more Peder allowed his ships to travel through the winter months, their hulls sufficiently reinforced to handle the more inclement weather. But he still hesitated to take his wife and child along, especially with Elsa expecting again. Either way, Elsa decided, she would be happy; in her new home in the delightful Washington Territory, or in her cozy home in Camden, near dear old friends.

It was with these happy thoughts that Elsa put paint to canvas, blowing up a small daguerreotype of Peder and Kristian in samurai costume to a much larger, colorful format. Her intent was to ship it to the Ramstads in Bergen for Christmas. She was just painting Kristian’s
wooden sword, a miniature version of his father’s, when Peder entered the study and placed his arms around her shoulders. He kissed her cheek and studied the painting. “I cannot believe you talked me into doing that, or that you intend to send it to my parents.”

His tone held none of the disgust of his words. “You loved it. Admit it,” she said, dipping her brush in a deep gray for emphasis along Peder’s sleeve.

“I did it for you.”

“And your son. He still plays with that sword, threatening his stuffed bear with dire consequences if he doesn’t obey.”

“Every man needs another to command. Luckily, I have a crew, since my wife won’t listen to me.” He rose and walked to his desk.

Elsa smiled. “Come now. Your parents will adore this painting. Not only do they get to see their son and grandson, but they get to show you off to their friends and neighbors as obvious world travelers. These photographs are all the rage. Few have an oil painting, to boot.”

Peder guffawed, but Elsa knew he was secretly pleased. She smiled again at the photo at the edge of her canvas. Father and son looked remarkably alike, and she knew one day Kristian would be just as handsome as his papa. Would he sweep some girl off her feet as Peder had done to her? What would he do? Captain a ship for Ramstad Yard? Or something entirely different? Her heart leapt at the thought of seeing him go as their own parents had watched them leave Norway. Certainly, it had been difficult enough to leave on the
Herald
for America—but what would it feel like to be the aging parent left behind?

Her thoughts returned to her mother, her sister Carina, and the burial plot of her father she had yet to visit. “Peder,” she said carefully, “what if we delivered this painting in person? What if we went to Bergen for the winter?” She turned on her stool, getting excited at the idea. “Think of it! How grand it would be to introduce Kristian to his grandparents, his cousins! To see Carina and Garth
married
. I’m dying to see my mother—”

Peder’s face squelched any further words. “I’m sorry, love. It’s impossible. Maybe next year.”

“How often have we said that?” Elsa asked, irritated. “Next year, next year. Always next year. My mother might be dead before I get home again.” She turned back to the painting, but did not lift her brush.

Peder approached and placed one hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry to disappoint you again, love. It’s just that we barely have time to get home, unload our cargo, and get to Camden to see to business. Add a trip to Bergen and I’m afraid we’re risking heavy winter seas. I won’t risk it. Especially with you expecting again.”

“So we’re back to the old argument.”

“Yes, we are. Are you not a bit afraid? If not for yourself, then for our children?”

“I could have the baby in Bergen. What it would mean to my mother!”

Peder’s hand left her shoulder.
“If we
made it to Bergen. I will not risk it, Elsa. I will not risk you and my children. We will winter somewhere safe and consider a trip in the new year.”

“But, Peder, with the new hulls, the new ships Kristoffer is turning out—”

“No!” he said, then lifted a hand as if to soften an unintendedly harsh tone. “No, Elsa. Do not ask it of me. I could not bear it if anything happened to you, or Kristian, or this new babe. I want our lives together to be long. Can’t you understand?”

She looked up into his eyes, noting for the first time the sweat upon his brow. Elsa rose and entered his embrace, staying there for a long time. “I understand, Peder. Perhaps you are right.” She pulled away and looked into his eyes. His face was pale and he looked ill. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I thought I could beat it. Surely these fevers are nearly over.”

“It could be years, the doctors said.” Malaria had struck Peder
years before; but still every few months he suffered through recurrent fevers.

“I hate it. It weakens me.”

“It will end someday. Come. Come to bed, love.” She tenderly helped him undress and slide under the cool cotton sheets. Grateful, Peder said nothing but merely acquiesced to his wife’s ministrations. She poured a basin full of water and rinsed a cloth in it, then placed it on his brow. Within minutes, he was breathing in the heavy, steady rhythms of sleep.

Several evenings later, Elsa coaxed herself to sleep, trying to drive from her mind that Peder was once again delirious with malaria’s fever and that Riley had earlier that day muttered darkly, “Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” Something dire fast approached. And Elsa knew she needed to be rested to handle it.

She was awakened by the increasing climb and crash of the
Eagle’s
hull. Lighting a lamp, she looked behind her at Peder, who was soaked in sweat and obviously unconscious. In the corner, swinging in a hammock as calmly as King Neptune, Kristian remained fast asleep, oblivious to the dangers just outside their cabin. Grimly, Elsa pulled on a pair of dungarees and Peder’s oilskin jacket and pants, rolling them up at the bottom. The jacket was huge on her, but it gave her a better chance of remaining somewhat dry as she helped Riley and the crew.

Over the years, as Peder grudgingly taught her about the art of sailing, Elsa had become more and more proficient. She learned everything from tarring the ropes to reefing the sails to charting a course. Elsa found her education thrilling, and delightful fodder to send home via the
Times
. Her audience was alternately aghast and delighted to hear of her hanging from the topmast or sliding down the edge of a sail, not to mention a woman donning trousers to safely go where men usually went.

Together, she and Peder had weathered storm after storm, many worse than this one, and her confidence had grown. Were she to round
the Horn again at the helm, she could stand there as proudly as any sailor aboard the
Eagle
. Especially with Riley beside her.

She supposed it was he at the wheel, if her eyes did not deceive her. It was dreadfully dark outside, and from the feel of things, the
Eagle
was sailing close hauled upon the wind, lying over. If they leaned much farther, they’d be upon their beam ends in no time. Determined to help, Elsa stepped outside.

She squinted against the stinging spray of rain pelting her face and hesitated as everything in her told her to go back inside. Sailors raced about, no doubt following orders to take in sail. The heavy seas beat against the
Eagle’s
bow with all the gentleness of a sawyer’s ax, making it sound as if she were about to splinter apart. Above Elsa, topsail halyards had been let go, and the great sails were filling out and backing against the masts with a noise that competed with the storm’s own thunder. Sailors were still climbing aloft to furl more sails before their ship capsized.

Without another thought, Elsa joined them, never once speaking to Riley at the wheel. He was busy shouting orders into the wind that none of his men could hear. But instinctively, they all knew what must be done. Never had Elsa climbed aloft in such heavy seas. She grunted and clung to the mast as the newest wave sent a shudder through the schooner, and then determinedly moved onward as soon as it passed. Sails at the course and topsail lanyards had been furled, but the upper topgallants and royals remained reefed, still catching enough wind to be dangerous. That was where the others had climbed, awaiting sufficient help to begin the process of hauling in the buntlines, leech lines, and clew lines and gathering the canvas to be lashed securely.

Her stomach lurched, for the higher she climbed, the more susceptible she was to the rock and roll of the ship. It seemed impossible that the men had made it to the top royals without falling immediately to their deaths. Gritting her teeth, she went higher, just getting her feet in place and a tether around her ankles before they began the process. Over the lanyard she leaned with the others, hauling in sail as fast as
she could and securing it, thinking only of returning to the deck far, far below them all.
If we aren’t all shaken out of the nest first
, she thought grimly. They completed their task in record time.

The wind had pulled and loosened her hat, sending it careening away on the wind, and now it worked on her hair. If it hadn’t been for the rain that plastered it to her head, Elsa might’ve been blinded by the freed tendrils. Blinking to clear her eyes, she headed toward the main mast, anxious to get down to the relative safety on deck. A young sailor winced when he saw her, quickly gesturing for her to go down first. None of the others had yet noticed that the captain’s wife was among their number.

Carefully choosing her handholds and footholds, Elsa made her way down as fast as possible. Huge waves had begun to sweep the deck, like no other storm she had seen before. Crazily, the seas rose and burst over the ship from all sides. It reminded her of the times when she had been swept across the planks and nearly overboard, of Karl’s saving presence, of Peder’s near demise when a similar wave had taken him. With the sails furled, she hoped Riley would send the less experienced men down the hatch. But there was no need.