Northern Lights Trilogy (53 page)

“Trent would be furious. Believe me, you don’t want an enemy like him on the line.”

“Like Hall?” she baited him, reminding Karl of his infamous past employer.

“You’ll note that I found it prudent to develop my own business along the Northern Pacific, rather than the Great Northern. Villard has gone broke again,” he said, referring to the chief financier behind the Northern Pacific, “so who knows what will transpire along this route. It might be wise to consider moving, and for reasons beyond Trent.”

“And leave all this?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Never. Helena is my home, and a perfect base of operations along the Northern Pacific.”

Karl cocked one eyebrow and pursed his lips. “It is your decision, obviously. I’m simply saying it’s always wise to diversify.” He turned to go and was at the gate when she called out to him, her tone hesitant.

“Karl! Tell me … have you heard from my sister or Peder?”

He gave her a small smile. “Not for years. Peder and I had a parting of the ways. Last I heard, they had built a second home in Seattle. Running lumber from the Washington Territory back east. You should write. I bet Elsa would appreciate hearing from you.”

Tora sniffed and shrugged her shoulders a bit. “Perhaps. I have heard of things more crazy than that.”

“Good-bye, Tora.”

“Karl,” she responded with a stiff nod. He closed the gate behind him and strode down the dusty street, the long dusk of northern nights holding firmly to the light around him. And suddenly, it was as clear as day to him that Tora Anders was only as lost as he was in the world.

Still feeling listless and at odds the next evening, Trent forced himself to rise from his bed and dress for his dinner with Karl Martensen and Bradford Bresley. He had actually slept through the hot summer afternoon, something he had not done since he was a child. But he had had little choice. The weariness overcame him and sleep came as a blessed relief. Now, drowsy, he buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his trousers as he gazed at his image in the mirror.

He was not unattractive, he decided, looking at one side of his face and then the other. The years had left him with deepening lines about the mouth and eyes and graying hair, but there was no sign of jowls or a paunch about his waist. He could have had his pick of women in the years since his beloved wife had died. Why had it been Tora Anders who stole his heart?

He regretted his decision to cut her off from Storm Enterprises—she had done a fine job in setting up the last sixteen roadhouses. But how could he go on loving, let alone working with, a dishonest woman? A woman who would desert her own child? Who knew when her questionable morals would end up affecting his business? No, it was time that Tora Anders was on her own to prove just what she was made of.

Shaking his head as if to remove thoughts of her, he donned a bowler hat and left the hot room. Downstairs it was cooler, and he greeted Karl and Brad in the lobby. In minutes, they were seated in the hotel dining room, menus in their hands, and shortly thereafter, the waiter came and retrieved their orders.

“Saw John Hall last week,” Trent said casually, studying Karl carefully. He knew little of what had happened between the men other than that Karl had broken off his engagement to Hall’s daughter, Alicia, and had left John’s employ at the same time. He had long suspected John of unscrupulous business dealings, and had since cut off his own relations with the man.

“You did?” Karl asked with an upraised brow. “I try not to.”

“As do I,” Bradford put in.

“How do you manage?” Trent asked. “This is a big territory, but John Hall is everywhere.”

“We’ve met up a few times, but I always try to steer clear. I have found that there are some battles worth waging, and others best avoided. Besides, I like to think that time and distance heal many wounds. It’s been four years since I broke my engagement with Alicia, and Hall, apparently, has bigger fish to fry. I think he’d just as soon not see me either.”

Trent nodded. “I would not want to wage war with Hall—I think you are prudent. But do not ever think that John Hall will forget; he has the memory of an elephant and a dark side once encountered. I’ve met many a man who was broken by him. I’m glad you escaped unharmed.”

“Yes, sir,” Bradford said. “That’s why I recruited him as my business partner. Prudent and fast as a hare,” he chuckled, bringing the other two into his laughter. “And we’ve done well for ourselves. Despite a few losses to Hall, as you said, this is a big territory. Everywhere we look these days, we see new opportunities. Perhaps Storm Enterprises would like to hear about a few of our ideas.”

Trent looked from Bradford to Karl and smiled. He was approached
weekly to help finance new “opportunities.” But there was something about these two young men he liked. He immediately trusted them. And after his last exchange with Tora, he felt like a hungry trout ready to pounce on a fat worm. This was just what he needed, the chance to jump into something with both feet, the opportunity to feel genuinely good about something. And these men were good at heart—he could sense it in his gut.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’m interested. Tell me what you have seen, and what you would like to do.”

July 1886

E
ven weeks after their hasty departure from Honolulu, Elsa could not get Mason Dutton out of her mind. As Kristian napped, she took her accustomed position over the captain’s cabin and began sketching his face in the merchant window, hoping to eradicate his image once and for all. For Elsa, there was something about getting an image on paper that allowed her to move on to other ideas, thoughts, images. She had been avoiding drawing his haunting image, fearing what Peder would say, when genius struck.

What if, for the
New York Times
, she wrote of her initial encounter with Mason, and then their brief encounter in Hawaii? She’d always heard the pen was mightier than the sword. Perhaps some American diplomat would read of their plight and investigate. Who knew? Mason might be an impostor or might have been wrongly awarded a British military position, his government not aware that they employed a pirate. Imagine! A pirate in His Majesty’s Royal Navy! Why, they’d be appalled, and likely grateful to the American who uncovered such an unsavory scheme.

With a smile on her face that melted away the worry lines in her forehead for the first time in weeks, Elsa sketched madly, recreating the man’s image as she’d seen it in the store window in uniform, as she
originally saw him in street clothes, and in profile. The detail she could conjure up surprised even Elsa, for it had been years since their first encounter, and their meeting in Honolulu was brief and distant. But his eyes, his cold, penetrating eyes, had pierced her soul and made her tremble if she thought too much about them. He was clearly a man with a vendetta. And Elsa had to strike first.

When Kristian awoke, Elsa climbed downstairs and comforted her sleepy, grumpy tot with a quick cuddle and a story. Then she walked hand in hand with him, leading her son to Cook, who usually looked after him for an hour or so before beginning dinner preparations. She smiled at Peder as she exited the galley, proud of her handsome husband at the wheel shouting orders to the crew to raise more sails to take advantage of the trade winds.

Memories of departing Hawaii at a mad pace clouded her vision. The crew had stared at Peder in wonder as he ordered all aboard within the hour, those not reporting left behind. Afterward, they were even more surprised as their captain ordered all sails set in dangerous winds. Why, they had nearly capsized in Peder’s effort to put miles between Mason and his family. For the first time in a long while, Elsa was genuinely afraid. Because Peder was frightened. She ducked into their cabin before Peder could detect any change in her mood. He had said little to her about Mason, dismissing the suggestion that they report him to the authorities, claiming that they’d never see him again anyway. Elsa decided he was unnerved by the uniform, unsure what power Mason might wield now, and what he could use that power to do to an innocent man. No, best to steer clear of him entirely, he obviously thought. Elsa disagreed. She would see to it that Mason was dealt with from afar, accomplishing both their purposes.

But first, she would tell a tale that would thrill her Victorian audiences at home, longing for adventure from their armchairs by cozy fires, and indignant that such an animal might endanger their beloved Heroine of the Horn. Her editor, Alexander Martin, would be thrilled.

She was just finishing her tale, written in her personal style—as if to family instead of the thousands of
Times
readers—when Peder came in, pulling off his cap. His hair was longer and had a delightful wave to it that Elsa found wonderful. Many mornings as he slept, she would pull a curl from his temple until it was straight and then smile as it coiled back into place. His cheeks were ruddy from the wind, his skin tanned a golden brown. All in all, she thought herself very fortunate, for her husband was not only attractive but affectionate as well. After six years of marriage, they were more in love than ever.

Elsa started chattering about her afternoon, the weather, Cook’s plans for supper, anything as she quickly shoved her just-dry sheets of paper under a nautical map book. Peder took off his coat and hung it beside his hat on the rack by the door and turned to his wife, watching her carefully. “And when I heard Cook planned to serve us salt beef again, I felt I simply had to put my foot down,” she continued, a bit unnerved beneath his stare. “After all, we’re but a week from Japan, and it’s high time we had some decent food. What is he waiting for? Oh, I cannot wait for a crisp piece of celery, a nice beefsteak, or some wonderful, juicy fruits, just picked!”

Peder sat down on the settee and continued staring at her, a small grin on his face. “What is it, Elsa?”

“What?”

“What is eating at you?”

“I don’t know of what you speak.”

“You do. You always get chatty when you don’t want to dwell on something … or talk about something.” At that thought, his eyes narrowed a bit. “Tell me.”

Elsa squirmed, irritated at how well he knew her. Desperately, she cast about for something to say. She rose and walked to the window, her hand trailing on the desk to buy her time, as if she were contemplating what to say. “I have been thinking.”

“That is obvious. Of what, love?”

Outside the window, Cook turned the corner with Kristian in hand. Elsa smiled. “I would so dearly like another child.” It was true; another child had been on her mind for months. There would be time enough to tell Peder of her article for the
Times
, she rationalized.

Peder chuckled lowly and rose to embrace her from behind. “It has not been for lack of trying,” he said in her ear, and Elsa felt herself blush. “But I will see what I can do.”

Elsa turned in his arms to kiss him soundly before Cook tapped on the door. “I do love you, Peder Ramstad,” she said, hoping her eyes conveyed all the passion she felt for this man.

“And I you,” he said softly, bending to give her another quick kiss as the knock sounded at the door.

From the other side they could hear Kristian yelling, “Mama! Papa! Are you in there?” They laughed together as Peder opened the door and their child ran in for a hug as if they had been away for weeks.

An hour later, the Ramstads sat down at their dinner table with Riley. Cook entered, glanced meaningfully at Elsa, then nodded at Peder. “Stewed chicken,” he announced curtly.

“That smells delightful, Cook,” Elsa enthused, stowing a small smile as he haughtily exited the room for the remaining side dishes.

“I’ll say,” Riley agreed, in his thick Cockney accent. “Had me fill of salt beef ’bout a week ago. It will be all right to be ashore this time.”

“I’d like to make better time lightering the case oil than last time,” Peder said, referring to discharging their load of kerosene.

“Good luck, Cap’n. Japan is notorious for their slowness.”

“I just don’t understand it. How can we load twenty thousand cases in three days, and it takes them twenty days to unload it? Are they lazy?”