Northern Lights Trilogy (13 page)

E
ncouraged by Peder’s interest, Elsa had begun to draw the
Herald
in different situations: with her sails ghostly still in the calms; “between wind and water” as the sailors called it—when she began to roll with a stiff breeze, exposing the hull beneath the waterline; and from her imagination, tossing about in a fearsome storm.

It was with some surprise that Elsa found herself enjoying sketching ships in action more than their skeletons, as her father had done on his design board. Still, the knowledge of a ship’s inner workings made her drawings more realistic, believable, immediate. Perhaps it was because Peder had warned them that a storm was brewing on their seventeenth day at sea that she visualized the
Herald
cresting giant waves on her pad that day.

The sailors had nodded at their captain’s words, looking around at the calm seas that had plagued them all day, blocking their progress across the Atlantic.

“It’s flatterin’ weather, it is,” Riley said, casting a distrustful eye to the skies.

“Gets ya all comfortable before the squall,” Stefan added.

The men scattered as Kristoffer and Karl set them to work, preparing for the worst.

Throughout the day, Elsa searched the horizon for the menacing clouds the men obviously expected to make an appearance at any moment, but nothing happened until nightfall. Then as they ate their dinner, the ship began to rock violently. They could all hear Karl shouting orders to the sailors. “Furl the sails! Man your posts!”

Peder ignored the building winds and sounds outside the cozy cabin as he calmly ate his meal. The mahogany dinner table was outfitted with small silver ledges that kept plates and cups from sliding in weather such as this. Despite that, Elsa was amazed that the dinnerware kept its place as the
Herald
tilted so far that the liquid in their cups was at a forty-five-degree angle. Finally though, as the storm gathered strength, Peder calmly set down his fork and knife and told their dinner guests that he had better see them to their quarters.

He returned to their cabin soaked from his venture out, despite the oilskin coat he wore, and Elsa could swear that he was enjoying himself. “Nothing like a good storm to remember why you appreciate life,” he confirmed. “Now to bed with you.”

“I do not wish to go to bed,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “I want to see this storm firsthand. For my drawings.”

“Not a chance,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s only going to get worse. And it’s too dangerous for you on deck. You will stay in here.”

Elsa scowled at him as he backed her up against the wall. In spite of herself, she had to laugh in the face of his sudden amorousness. He kissed her soundly, and then said, “Now get into our bed or I’ll have to carry you there myself. And then Karl will not have my help on deck because I won’t be able to resist my wife’s feminine wiles.”

“I will go, husband,” she said with resignation. “See to your ship.”

Peder pulled her into another brief, warm embrace and bent his head for a deep, searching kiss. “I love you, Elsa Anders Ramstad. Now promise me that you will stay put. It’s dangerous out there.”

“I will,” she said, suddenly irritated. He spoke to her as he might speak to a child. “I already told you that.”

“Good enough.” With that, he opened the door and exited, leaving her to shut it against the powerful wind. She grabbed a cloth napkin off the dinner table and mopped the wet wood floor before going back to their room to undress.

Hours later, she lay awake as the storm threatened to toss her out of bed. It had been bad before, but now Elsa was truly frightened. Where was Peder? What if something had happened to him? She made her way to the tiny cabin window that looked out onto the deck and with shaking hands pushed aside the curtains. Her eyes widened in alarm. Huge waves were sweeping across the deck. What if Peder had been washed overboard?

Just then a giant wave rose beneath the
Herald
and her bow swooped upward. Too late, Elsa reached out to secure herself, and when the ship came crashing down as the wave passed, she went crashing with it. Her head hit a corner of the table in the sitting room as she careened to the floor, and she flinched at the pain. Elsa reached for the gash on her forehead and felt the dampness of blood on her fingers.

Elsa derided herself for her carelessness, lit a cabin lantern, and went to find a bandage for her cut. She was worried about her townspeople, who were undoubtedly terrified belowdecks. And what of Astrid? Kaatje was well now, but what was happening to her horribly ill cabin mate? If she could not help the sailors that battled to keep the
Herald
above water, she could certainly make herself useful with the
Herald
’s passengers. If nothing else, to spread calm and a little false cheer.

She fell again as the
Herald
crossed another mountainous wave. Outside, the wind sounded ferocious, taking on a low keening that spooked Elsa. Grasping one handhold and then another, she made her way to Peder’s trunk. By the light of the sputtering lamp, she
pulled out an old pair of pants and a shirt. She laughed mirthlessly, feeling slightly hysterical about her plans.

In minutes she was dressed, and using a sash from a pretty party dress in her own trunk, she secured the waist of Peder’s pants by cinching them up. His shirt was huge on her, billowing out even though she had tucked as much of it in as possible. She looked through the tiny English armoire that was bolted to the bedroom wall, but could not find another oilskin coat. She would just have to brave the elements and dry off later.

Elsa looked out the window, waiting for the next huge wave to slam across the deck; after that she would have a few moments to cross the deck safely. Peder would not be pleased with her if he caught her on deck. But if he found her in the morning, caring for the passengers, he might be proud of her. She steeled herself for the rain and the wind and said a brief prayer as the next wave’s momentum pulled at her, threatening to send her flying again. She held steady.

“It’s now or never,” Elsa muttered. She turned the knob of the door, and the power of the wind took her breath away. It took all her strength to close the door behind her, and in seconds she was soaked. She blinked through the rain, trying to see across the deck, but between the howling wind that drove the stinging seawater into her eyes and the rain itself, she found herself momentarily blinded. Panicked, she realized that her time was running short. She had to cross the ten feet of deck now or be swept overboard by the next wave.

It was too late. Blindly, she tried to open the cabin door, thinking she would make an alternate plan. But try as she might, Elsa could not pry open the door against the fierce wind. Her heart sank. Squinting against the spray, she moved left, searching for a handhold on the mizzenmast nearby. When she found it, she held on tight, trying to catch her breath. It seemed as if the wind sucked the air from her lungs then threatened to blow her about since it could not rip at the furled sails above her. She looked up and was able to see rigging
flying straight out from the stays. Sails ripped at weak seams and blew horizontally with the rain.

Sailors madly made their way about her, each uselessly shouting in the muffling winds. As the
Herald
climbed the next watery hill, she braced herself against the mast, holding onto the brass mast band. Were the men bracing for impact too? She could see little in the driving rain.

As the
Herald
climbed and climbed, Elsa felt weak and exposed. She would never make it standing there, she decided. She could barely hold on as it was. She needed to get to the passenger hatch. Immediately. Grasping at anything she could get hold of, Elsa clambered toward the door not ten feet from where she stood. Everything was wet and slippery, but she was almost there.

Suddenly the ship paused agonizingly on the crest of the wave. Then Elsa almost took a breath of relief as the wave came sweeping over the ship.

The power of it astounded her. Its watery tendrils ripped at her handholds until she could hold on no longer. Salt water rushed into her mouth and nostrils as she slid over the deck like a skater on ice. She coughed and sputtered and flailed about, trying to grab onto something … anything. The water was carrying her to the railing. Would it wash her overboard? A scream for Peder lodged in her throat, strangled by her lack of breath. On and on she went, sliding along the deck, caught in the wave’s mad dash back to the sea.

Elsa managed to grip the railing as the full weight of the wave pressed against her, threatening to drown her as it passed.
Please!
she cried out silently to God.
I don’t want to die!

A strong hand gripped her arm and pulled against the sea, like David against Goliath. Elsa emerged, gasping for air, half-expecting to see Peder pulling her from her watery grave. She blinked as the man pulled her the rest of the way out and to her feet. It was Karl.

He stared at her incredulously, looking her up and down. His
barely visible Adam’s apple bobbed above his coat collar as he swallowed hard then pulled her into a protective, wet embrace. She succumbed, glad to feel safe for a moment after her perilous slide. Her chest heaved for breath. Karl’s body shielded her from the worst of the wind and rain.

“Come on!” he yelled over the wind’s unearthly howl. Taking her wrist firmly, he led her across the deck and to the passenger hatch she had originally sought, even as the
Herald
tilted upward again. He wrenched open the door and practically shoved her inside, then followed her.

“Grab hold!” he shouted as the
Herald
began her fall.

The ship careened to the bottom of the next watery valley and Elsa’s hands threatened to give way, but Karl reached out with one hand and grabbed her waistband, taking the brunt of her weight. When they were upright once more, he asked, “What were you doing out there, Elsa?” His exasperation was clear.

She raised her chin. “Trying to get here. I thought I could help the others.”

Karl scowled, looking her up and down again, leaving her with little dignity in Peder’s soaked, clinging clothes. “Good intentions will not keep you alive in the midst of a storm. You could have been killed! If I hadn’t seen you go with the wave, no one would have been there to pull you out. In another moment you would have been over the side.”

“Enough with the lecture, Karl. Do you not have something better to do?” Her face burned with embarrassment. She had risked his life as well as her own with her foolishness.

The muscles in his lower cheeks worked, as if physically holding back his fury. “I was coming for you to help Astrid. Her time has come. Eira’s been hurt in a fall.” He raised his hand toward her forehead then pulled it back before touching her. “Looks like you managed to hurt yourself too.”

“I am fine.”

Karl searched her eyes for a moment then said, “I’ll wait until you check on her and then go with a report to Kristoffer.”

Elsa reached out and took his large hand in her own. “Karl, thank you—”

He shook off her hand as if her touch burned him. “Go see to Astrid,” he said gruffly. “I did what any man aboard this ship would do for you.” His gray eyes did not meet hers again.

Kaatje was relieved to see Elsa arrive. “New American fashion?” she found the strength to joke at the sight of her friend’s garb. “You look like a street waif drowned in a rainstorm.”

Elsa gave her a brief smile and accepted the cloth she offered. She soaked up the worst of the moisture, then moved to Astrid’s side. “How are you faring?” she asked gently.

Astrid winced as another contraction swept through her body. The woman was so weak, she could barely speak.

“How long has she been in labor?” Elsa asked Kaatje.

“Since this afternoon, she says. It has worsened with the storm, it seems. I’d say eight, nine hours.” Kaatje’s eyes conveyed the concern she felt for Astrid. Elsa nodded her understanding, then braced herself as another wave swept the
Herald
up its banks. She glanced fearfully at Astrid, but was relieved when she noticed the ingenious cloth stays that Kaatje had rigged for the laboring woman. Even on the steepest incline, Astrid stayed put, able to reserve her energy for the task at hand.

Astrid’s eyes opened wide as another contraction racked her body. She shook her head after it passed. “I will not make it,” she muttered.

“Nonsense!” Kaatje said, going to the side of the cot. “You must. For Knut. For your new child about to be born. For Kristoffer.”

“I am so weak,” Astrid said, weary tears running down the side of her face.

“You are strong,” Kaatje urged. “The strongest I’ve ever met.”

Astrid turned terror-filled eyes to her friend. “Pray with me,
Kaatje. You, too, Elsa. I need the Lord if I am to make it.” Before they could begin, however, Astrid let out a low, keening cry as another contraction swept over her bulbous womb. “The baby is coming,” she whispered.

Kaatje glanced beneath the sheets and nodded her confirmation to Elsa. Her aunt had been a midwife, and for once, Kaatje was glad for all the trips in the middle of the night to attend laboring mothers. She looked at her friend with concern. Few women looked well at this stage, but Astrid looked deathly ill.

“Send word to Kristoffer,” Kaatje said to Elsa, who obediently dashed to the door. After speaking with Karl, she returned, bracing against another wave.

In an hour, Astrid’s child was making its way out, despite its mother’s weary, poor attempts at pushing. Kaatje worried for the babe’s life, lingering so long between womb and world, but she was more concerned about Astrid. The sheets were soaked with blood. Something was dreadfully wrong.

“If the child is not born soon, they both will die,” she whispered to Elsa, feeling frantic. Never had she seen a mother in such ill condition.

Elsa put a hand on Kaatje’s shoulder, letting her know she was not alone.

Kristoffer arrived just as Astrid made one final attempt at pushing with the next contraction, and the welcome, tiny cry of their child was heard. With one glance Kaatje knew Astrid would not live. Astrid’s face was a mask of relief, but also resignation. As if she had one foot in heaven, as Kaatje’s aunt used to say.