Northern Lights Trilogy (114 page)

“Certainly,” she said, with a brief bob of a curtsey. She left the room.

Shortly thereafter, Gerald entered the parlor. “I didn’t remember that you were calling today, Karl.”

Karl shook his head. “I had not warned you, I’m afraid. Just decided this morning that I must come and speak with you and Mara without further delay.”

Gerald sat down in the chair across from Karl, a knowing smile on his face.

Oh no.

“I knew this day was coming. Let me tell you, son, I could not be more pleased—”

“No. No, Gerald. I am afraid this news will not please you.”

The older man’s face fell. He shifted in his seat, and there was an uncomfortable pause. “Well, man. Out with it. There have never been secrets between us.”

Karl tried to swallow but found his mouth dry. He twisted his hat in his hands. “Gerald, please first accept my apologies. I never meant to hurt you or your daughter.”

Gerald’s face clouded in consternation.

“Somehow, I fear I have misled Mara. And each time I tried to tell you about my true feelings, we were interrupted. But that is no excuse. I should have found some way, someplace to tell you, man to man. And then to tell Mara the truth.”

“You do not have feelings for her.” Gerald’s tone was flat.

“I do not,” Karl said, looking him dead in the eye. “I love her as a sister, and believe me, I would have loved nothing more than to be
a part of your family. You all mean much to me. But try as I might, the feeling that I think I ought to have for her, the spark I think she deserves, just isn’t there.”

Gerald sighed as heavily as Karl had found himself doing of late. His hand went to his mouth, his elbow on the armrest, as he stared out the window beside them. Then he looked back to Karl. “I cannot tell you I am not disappointed, Karl. I really hoped you were here to ask for her hand. But I agree with you—a marriage needs more than a brotherly love to get it going, keep it going. Friendship is the best basis, but if that spark of romance hasn’t lit by now, it isn’t likely that it will.”

Karl breathed a sigh of relief, the burden lifted, at least partially. “Thank you for understanding, Gerald. And please forgive me for not getting the truth out on the table sooner. My intention was never to mislead. I simply got in deeper and deeper.”

“Understood, man. We Kenneys didn’t help matters either. Encouraged you both.”

“Thank you. Now if you think it best…I’d like to tell Mara myself.”

Gerald considered his request and then gave his ascent. “I will go and fetch her. May I prepare her with a few words?” “Whatever you think is best.”

“Very good.” Gerald rose and straightened his vest while he stared at the door, as if already choosing his words. Then he paused beside Karl and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let her down easy, son.”

“As easily as I can. Remember, Gerald, I truly do care about her.”

Gerald nodded and left the room.

Shortly after, Mara came into the room in a lovely rush of lavender silk and crinoline, silently taking both of Karl’s hands in hers and lifting her cheek for a kiss. Her brows were furrowed in consternation. “Karl, my father has said some disturbing things to me.”

“Yes,” he said. He gestured toward the settee, and they sat down together. “Mara, I fear I have misled you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I should’ve told you how I truly feel a year ago. I tried but…” He stopped himself, unwilling to make any excuses. He sat up straighter. “I care for you, Mara. Deeply. But I’m sorry to say that the love I feel for you is more of a brother than a suitor.”

Mara pulled her hands from his and looked away. A moment later she turned back to him, her eyes damp and wide. She was so lovely! Why couldn’t he love her?

“Your words wound me, Karl.”

“I know. I never intended to hurt you, dear one.”

“Perhaps…if we only give it a little more time. You told me you would give it, give
us
time.”

“No, Mara. I
have
given it time. I would love nothing more than to find myself…with deep feelings for you, to be a part of your wonderful family. But I do not. And the time has come to be honest. So that you can look for another.” He knew that both of them immediately thought of Arthur Hairston.

“But I have told all my friends that you will be escorting me to the Harvest Ball.”

“Cannot Mr. Hairston escort you?”

“No! I mean, he is a dear friend, but it is you I want at my side at that ball. All my friends—”

“But, Mara,” he interrupted. “I had wanted this to be a clean break. For us to move forward in honesty.”

“Please, Karl,” she said, taking his hands in hers again. She pulled them to her cheek, and he felt her tears. “Please. It will be such a disgrace for me to show up with anyone else but you.” She stared into his eyes. “As my friend. As a departing gift. I know that there will be nothing beyond that dance. But please, for me, won’t you escort me?”

His heart screamed to him to say no, to walk away, finish it. But her eyes tore him in half. “You understand that it will be our last social appearance together? That we will be there only as friends?”

“Yes, yes,” she assured him. “Only as friends.”

What harm could it do? Taking her to a silly ball? This was merely his last act of kindness, soothing the break. Then he would be free. Or would he?

The cove reminded Elsa of so many others she had visited in her years upon the sea. Riley had fashioned a looking glass of sorts, in the middle of a floating wood frame. The glass cleared the water surface of ripples and let Kristian explore the sandy bottom as if there were no water at all. They had spent hours huddled over it in less than a foot of water, both staring down at fish every color of the rainbow, a sudden scuttling crab, perfect shells. It made the entire sea bottom a treasure trove.

Elsa sat in the shade beneath the waving branches of a palm, taking a well-deserved hiatus from the
Majestic
along with half the crew. As Riley had predicted, they discovered a small stream that let them refill their casks with sweet, clear water while men trekked up the small mountain in search of a tree that would yield a decent mast until they reached Ramstad Lumberyard off the coast of Washington.

Elsa didn’t have high hopes for a good match. Here, in this part of Chile, the trees were short and scrubby. They would most likely have to pray for amazing winds to power them northward on the sails of the two remaining masts, fore and aft. She dug her toes into the dark sand, thinking of many other sailing expeditions. “We have done it before; we’ll do it again,” she murmured to herself. Eve sat beside her, studiously pouring sand from a tin cup to a tin plate, then poking sticks and shells into the new pile.

“Mama! A sand dollar!” Kristian shouted, holding the treasure up from a dripping hand.

“Wonderful!” she called, thinking of the hundreds of others aboard ship. Every once in a while, she convinced her son to pitch his sea-birthed treasures over the side, relinquishing them to the sea bottom once more, oftentimes oceans from their origin. She liked to think of
them making it to shore, puzzling the beachcombers there with the discovery of a shell they had never seen before. Peder’s old trunk was already full of them again.

“You had better come out of the sun!” she called. Even with his bathing costume that covered him from neck to knee, she knew that his fair skin was susceptible to burning at the forearm and calf, not to mention his head and face. Kristian obediently turned and walked through the shallows toward her. His hair had been bleached from the sun, and he had huge freckles across his nose. Elsa knew that her mother would groan, especially if she saw Eve with her own brown skin and spotted face. But to Elsa they looked healthy and vibrant. Oh, how she loved them!

Kristian drew near, his damp, small feet covered with a layer of sand. She greeted him with a towel she had purchased in Egypt, made of their finest cotton. The children sat on either side of her.

“This is a great place, Mama,” Kristian said. “I’m almost glad the ship had to be repaired.”

“Kristian,” she chastised. “Two men died in that blast.”

He lowered his head in shame.

“I am sorry,” Elsa said. “I know you were only talking about how good it was to swim and have fun again. But we must remember to honor those sailors’ lives.”

“Yes, Mama. Mama,” Kristian asked, “are we going to sail all autumn?”

“No. I am hoping we’ll reach San Francisco for a new boiler within a few weeks, then stop at Ramstad Lumberyard for a new mast.”

“Can we go to the house in Seattle?” he asked hopefully.

“We’ll stop there for a night or two and pick up Mrs. Hodge. Then we’re off to Alaska, hopefully in time for Auntie Tora’s wedding!”

“Can I be ring bearer?” Kristian asked.

“I know Auntie Tora would like nothing better.”

“But first we pick up a new boiler in San Francisco,” he said.

“Yes. First things first.”

The
Majestic
’s carpenter had organized the sailors into two teams working ’round the clock, and within days the deck was sufficiently repaired to ward off any storm that might wash over it en route to San Francisco. The wind, as if divinely orchestrated, had picked up, and Elsa ordered all sails set.

“All sails set!” Riley echoed.

“All sails set!” returned the men, climbing masts and ropes to do as Elsa bid. Within the hour, they were underway. The ripple and
whoosh
of the sails as they filled soothed Elsa, and she found herself almost happy that the boiler was not churning out smoke and noise. She walked alone to the bow of the ship, welcoming the breeze upon her face as she retied the floppy, wide-brimmed Mexican sun hat to her head, and tightened a sloppily belayed line. She looked up again at the great sails that powered the
Majestic
toward home. It was glorious, being under tarp alone again, the only sounds being those of the crisp, taut sails filling with wind and the ocean beneath their keel.

“Yes, Peder,” she said under her breath, “I know. I know why you always loved sailing over steam. It is so peaceful, serene. We’re going home to Washington, darling. Then I’m taking your children to a place you always wanted to see, but never did. Alaska.”

She walked over to the other rail. “You see? We’re doing just fine. All three of us. You needn’t have worried about us being at sea with you. We’re just fine.”

She lifted her face to the breeze, trying to remember Peder’s touch as he caressed her skin. But the memory was fading. She frowned and looked down at the blue-black water. The realization that she couldn’t remember what it felt like to be touched by her husband made her melancholy. Bereft all over again.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, suddenly feeling disloyal for forgetting. “Forgive me, Peder. I want to remember. I want to hold you close.”

A Chilean seagull swooped low, barely five feet away from her, then over the waves of the sea. The bird looked free and light, undisturbed by the
Majestic
’s presence, or anything else for that matter. Elsa
found herself yearning for the bird’s freedom, the ability to fly. Without the burden of sadness or guilt. Truly free.

What happened next surprised her, took her breath away. Because suddenly, as she watched the bird, she became certain Peder would not be angry if he knew. He had loved her—he would want her to fly, to soar unchained to the sadness of the past.

It was as if it was all right with him that his memory was fading.

But not forgotten. Never forgotten.

September 1888

S
oren gathered Kaatje up into his arms and swung her around in a circle. “Kaatje, Kaatje, darling. It is you! It is!”

“Soren?
Soren! Please! Please put me down!”

He did as she bid, and Kaatje backed away, kept backing away, until she bumped up against James. She could feel his warm, reassuring hands as they rested on her shoulders. But she could look nowhere but toward the man who claimed he was her husband.

Who looked like her husband. Who was her husband.

“Kaatje. I know this is a shock, but do you not know me?”