Northern Lights Trilogy (26 page)

With that he cast her out, shutting the door behind her.

Tora scowled, enraged that he could treat her so after all she had done for him and the boys. And in the rain! Quickly she raised the shawl over her head, but she was soaked in seconds. She had not anticipated his reaction. She had not even had time to tell him her story, to win his support! If Elsa and Peder had believed her, surely she
could have convinced Kris. But he had appointed himself judge and jury! And he called himself a Christian…

Fury and confusion soon brought her to tears. Pride kept her from pounding on his door or going to her sister. She needed time to think. But where?

A light at the top of the hill shone like a beacon to a lost ship. Karl. Maddening as he was, he would not turn away a hysterical, wet woman from his door. She looked over to Bessie and Richard’s home to her left, and to the right, at Bjorn’s and Mikkel’s houses. All were dark.
Karl it is
, she decided.

Karl was sitting by the fire, sleepily reading
The American
by Henry James, when the knock sounded at his door. It so surprised him that he was instantly awake and on his feet. He had not anticipated Tora, but there she was, weeping, soaked, and hysterical. She looked up at him through her long lashes, and her blue eyes drew him in. If he stared at those eyes long enough, he could pretend she was Elsa. As if in a dream, she rushed into his arms, and he awkwardly embraced her.

Her cold, small body saturated his own clothes, and Karl backed away from her.

“Come in, Tora,” he said grimly, gesturing toward the fire. “You’re soaked.”

“He threw me out! Out into the rain!” she sobbed, taking his chair by the fire.

It was so cold out, Karl had thought the rain might turn to snow by morning, and Tora only had a wet dress and shawl about her. She shook so fiercely that after a moment he grew concerned.

“You must get out of those wet clothes. Go into the bedroom, wrap yourself in the blanket from my bed, and come back to the fire. I’ll pour you some tea.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice shaking from the tremors that racked her body.

In a moment she returned, her bare neck and shoulders peeking out from the blanket. Karl averted his eyes. Whatever had pushed Kristoffer to do this to her must have been fierce, and Karl refused to be taken in by her.

“Why don’t you tell me about it,” he said, as if speaking to a child.

“There’s nothing to tell! The man’s a tyrant!” Her hand trembling, she raised the tin cup to her lips and sipped the hot tea.

“I don’t believe you, Tora. Kris is one of the most levelheaded men I know. Now what did you do?”

Tora gave him a malevolent look and stared back at the fire. She raised her chin.

Here it comes, Karl thought, a bit amused by her antics. At least it provided some distraction from his long, lonely evening.

But she did not have the chance to say a word. A pounding at the door stopped her, and she looked fearfully over her shoulder.

“Kris?” Karl asked her calmly, raising one eyebrow. He sauntered over to the door and opened it. Kristoffer stood in the doorway, rain dripping off his soaked hat and onto his oilskin coat.

“Karl,” he said with a brief nod. “I’m looking for Tora. We had an argument and …”

His voice trailed as Karl stepped aside, letting him view Tora before the fire. Too late, Karl realized what Kris would see: Tora’s naked shoulders above a blanket. With a roar, Kristoffer charged him, tackling him to the ground and taking the wind out of him. Kris punched him before he could regain his equilibrium, but Karl caught Kris’s next fist.

“Wait! It’s not what you think!”

“It is! I’ve seen enough—”

“Kris! She came to me soaked and shivering. She had to get out of her wet clothes. We were only talking.”

Kristoffer looked from him to Tora, who now stood by her chair watching them as if they were a stage show. “Is that true?”

She nodded, seemingly speechless for once.

Kris, obviously feeling like the village idiot, rose and helped Karl to his feet. “I … I am sorry,” he said, clearly miserable.

“No worry,” Karl said, massaging his sore jaw. “Tora just seems to bring out the best in people.”

Together they looked at her, and she raised her nose in the air. “If you think I am going home with you, Kristoffer Swenson, you have another think coming.”

“Tora, I … uh … I was unfair. I should have let you tell me how it happened.”

“How what happened?” Karl asked.

“How she …” he began, but then, embarrassed, refused to say more.

“How I became pregnant,” Tora said defiantly. She stared at Kris then at Karl. “A man took advantage of me aboard the
Herald.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away. “But my agony’s not over, is it? I still have the trial of a situation like this to bear over and over again. How am I going to live? What will become of my child?”

Kristoffer’s jaw worked as he made his way over to the sobbing girl, while Karl put two and two together. Tora pregnant. The
Herald
. Soren Janssen. It all figured, and Karl said a quick prayer for them all. God help them, this was a mess. And Kris believed her story.

Karl felt torn, not knowing what to do. Tora looked up at him with those big blue eyes that sent him careening back to thoughts of Elsa, clearly begging him not to say more. And Kris … well, Kristoffer needed her. He needed a wife and a mother for his children. And Tora, since Soren was another’s husband, needed a father for her child. Maybe if they married, it would be the best solution for all. So he kept his mouth shut as the two spoke quietly by the fire.

They left together moments later after Tora had put on her wet dress in the bedroom while Kris once again made his apologies for jumping to conclusions. As Karl shut the door behind them, he said
another prayer of thanks that it was not he who was mixed up with the girl.

But Karl knew he would not sleep that night, for he could not shake the feeling that he had sent a lamb off to pasture with the she-wolf.

Kaatje shivered under her quilt, wishing for her aunt’s down comforter that she had left in Bergen. Her old feather bed and comforter might have had a chance against this bitter cold. She stared at the tallow candle that she kept burning by her bed, anxiously waiting for Soren to return from the barn. Kaatje had heard stories of men getting lost in the snow between house and barn, wandering until they froze to death, but Soren had been determined to go.

Outside the wind howled, and the poorly crafted shanty on their new land did little to stop it. She had to admit that the windows and wood floors felt more civilized than the soddy, but the walls had none of the insulation that the good old dirt had provided. Here and there were cracks that Kaatje had attempted to patch with rags, but still the cabin was drafty. And outside the first snow was beginning to fall. Oh, how she ached for Soren’s arms! What if he never returned, leaving her alone on the Dakota prairie! If he would just get back to the house and climb into bed with her, she could relax, cozy and warm against his body in the midst of their first winter storm.

The front door blew open, swirling flakes coming in before a dark form. Kaatje rose to a sitting position, her hand at her throat, her heart banging against her ribs. “Soren! You startled me.”

“These homesteads get awfully lonely, eh?”

Kaatje smiled and raised the covers. “Yes. Now undress and come to bed. I was just wishing you were here to cuddle with me.”

In an instant he was beside her, cradling her in his arms. “Should I blow out the candle?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

Through the window she watched the giant flakes swirl and fall, an entrancing, hypnotic display. They lay together for a long time before the baby moved. Soren drew away from her in surprise. “What was that?”

She smiled, feeling like Saint Nick, as the Americans called him. “Why, that’s your child,” she said.

Soren hooted and sat up. Kaatje sighed, missing his warmth already as he placed a hand on her swollen stomach and waited. After a moment the baby kicked again, then rolled.

Soren’s mouth dropped. “You feel that every day?”

“Every day, all day.”

“It’s a miracle!” Soren shouted.

Kaatje laughed at his exuberance. “Yes. It is. Someday soon that baby will come and greet us.” The thought sobered her. “I don’t want to be alone on that day, Soren. You’ll have to go for Eira.”

“Just as soon as you tell me to,” he said solemnly. Soren caressed her cheek. “Don’t worry,
elskling
.” He leaned toward her belly. “And I’ll watch over you too. Shall I tell you of the farms we will have someday, little man? The rain will fall, and the sun will shine, and you and I will establish a ranch here that will spread for miles. Your mama and I are just beginning.”

W
hen Peder arrived home on Christmas Day with a letter from Elsa’s parents, she thought it the best present of all. Elsa straightened the paper on her lap, treasuring each word before her like a hug from her distant mother, and began to read aloud. As she did so, Peder settled down to listen in a chair nearby.

Elsa shot Peder a glance. Her mother did not know, as yet, all that had transpired for Tora aboard the
Herald
and afterward. Would she be angry with her elder daughter for not taking Tora in herself ? She continued reading.

Elsa let the letter fall to her lap. Papa! Failing. And so far away … “Elsa, keep reading. Perhaps it is not as dire as it sounds,” Peder said.

With shaking hands, Elsa picked up the letter again.