Deep Harbor (36 page)

May 1887

W
ord of her arrival had obviously preceded her. By the time Elsa reached Honolulu, she found a stack of invitations from the island socialites, including the Lady Bancock. Elsa fingered the fine linen stationery and tapped it to her chin, thinking. She did not have time to see them all, but perhaps if she accepted Lady Bancock’s invitation to her estate, she could see many of them at the evening ball on Saturday. The opportunity for a walk among the governor’s fabled gardens and white beaches, as well as a stay on land, was more than she could pass up. She sent a man with a return correspondence the day after making port, and was soon met by servants from Lady Bancock’s estate in a skiff, there to escort her and her family to the grounds.

Elsa hurriedly finished packing and followed her luggage, Kristian, and Mrs. Hodge over the edge to the skiff below. Eve was carefully lowered in a basket and, as usual, she slept through the entire escapade.

“That child is the most relaxed thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Mrs. Hodge exclaimed, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. Clearly, climbing the lines was not her cup of tea. Kristian bounced up and down in his seat beside her.

“God knew we had our hands full with that one,” Elsa said,
nodding at Kristian. She turned to the servant in charge. “Carry on, gentlemen. I believe we’re all here.”

The man, dressed in elegant attire despite the sweltering heat, nodded and turned to the two native oarsmen. Without another word, they dug deep, carrying the group toward a distant point on which Lady Bancock’s estate lay. In half an hour, they had arrived, and Lady Bancock met them on the edge of her green, manicured lawn, just beyond the white sand beach and tropical foliage. “My dear Captain Ramstad,” she exclaimed, reaching out to Elsa. “What a pleasure and privilege it is to have you here in my home!”

“It is my pleasure,” Elsa said. “It is good to see you again. Thank you for your invitation. May I present my children? Kristian and Eve Ramstad, as well as our nanny, Mrs. Hodge?”

“A pleasure, a pleasure,” the lady smiled, clearly delighted that she had snagged the elusive Elsa Ramstad for her party. Elsa knew a female captain was something of an oddity. She was bound to draw attention; it had to be the reason for all the invitations awaiting her. When she had passed through Honolulu on many occasions previously she had received perhaps two or three invitations to call. Peder’s death, news of her public accusations against Mason Dutton, and her recent choice to captain a ship herself, had apparently tripled her fame. But Lady Bancock had always been kind to her, so she didn’t fear being exploited by her as she might be by others. It was primarily for that reason that Elsa had accepted her invitation.

“Let me show you the way to your rooms,” Lady Bancock said. She was dressed in the superior linens of a proper lady, and wore a fine-gauge straw hat that could only have come from France on the latest ship through the islands. She had little shape, just the rounded lines of well-to-do maturity, and she had merry eyes that Elsa wanted to draw.

“Right behind you,” Elsa said. She took Eve from the perspiring Mrs. Hodge and followed Lady Bancock up the stone path toward the house. Two greyhounds ran circles around them, glad for the unexpected company.

“We will get you situated and then share a refreshing glass of tea on the lanai,” her hostess said.

“It sounds delightful.”

“Yes, well, you take all the time you need to get settled, dear,” she said, opening the koawood doors to a grand suite that could easily have housed half of Elsa’s crew. “Here you all can have your own rooms,” she said, opening door after door. The house was decorated in fine island Victorian style. While the walls were a pale ivory from the floor to the edge of the tall ceiling—where they met a massive molding also painted eggshell white—the furniture woods were rich and dark hued. Linens were soft and gauzy, beckoning her to retire to the huge four-poster bed that reminded Elsa of her own bed in Seattle. Each bed had a mosquito net over it, giving it an exotic air, and once again Elsa congratulated herself on accepting this invitation.

“Kristian, get off there at once!” she hissed, seeing her son bounce on his bed.

“Ah, boys will be boys,” Lady Bancock said. “We went through five beds getting our two sons raised to manhood.”

“That’s very gracious,” Elsa said, her eyes commanding Kristian to get down anyway. He slid off the bed and came to her, taking her hand. “We are guests in this fine lady’s home,” she said to him. “I expect you to be a little gentleman.”

Kristian said nothing, and the tour went on. In their suite’s private room were a massive porcelain tub on clawed brass feet and an indoor water closet and bidet. There were two freestanding sinks and a mirror edged in gilt that crossed an entire wall of the room. And the floor was of huge white marble tiles, streaked with gray.

Elsa followed her hostess to the next two rooms, situating the slumbering Eve on a bed between four feather pillows and then Mrs. Hodge in a smaller room that would have suited Elsa just fine. At each stop, she nodded to servants, motioning at the bags to be left there. At the main door, Lady Bancock turned and asked, “Is there anything you’ll need immediately?”

“No. You are too kind. This is just lovely. I’ll simply rest for a few moments, freshen up, and join you on the lanai.”

“Only if you are up to it,
Captain,”
she said, obviously relishing the use of the word. “If you’d prefer to wait until supper—”

“Not at all,” Elsa said. “I will join you within the hour.”

“Very well,” Lady Bancock said, clearly pleased. She reached for the knobs of the double doors and closed them behind her, leaving Elsa alone in the giant suite’s hall.

“Can I go swimmin’, Mama? Can I?” Kristian yelled, tearing out of his room as fast as he could. “I saw a pool on the way in here.”

“It is a fountain,” Elsa said with a smile.

“Well, then, can I go to the beach with Mrs. Hodge?”

Elsa glimpsed Mrs. Hodge through her bedroom door as she lay down on her bed. “Perhaps. Let her rest for a moment. I’m going to lie down as well. You, young man, need to keep still. There are toys in your trunk, as well as some books.”

“Oh, Mother,” he whined.

“Kristian,” she warned. “Give me half an hour to settle in. I’m sure Lady Bancock has an afternoon’s worth of entertainment for you without a swim. But give me half an hour. Yes?”

“Yes,” he agreed reluctantly. “But
hurry.”

Elsa smiled. “Just as fast as half an hour can be hurried.” She watched as he returned to his room and dug in his trunk. Satisfied that he was sufficiently distracted, she retreated to her own room, lay down in her luxurious bed for five minutes, then rose to feed her suddenly squalling daughter. Afterward she pulled an afternoon garden gown in pale gray from her trunk. It was a bit mussed, but she doubted if Lady Bancock would hold it against her.

Eve lay on her bed, moving her arms with delight as the island breeze swept through the room and made the mosquito net dance in the warm afternoon light. In minutes Elsa was dressed and her hair was redone in a graceful knot at the nape of her neck. A servant had come to collect “Young Master Ramstad” to visit the toy room,
which—if it was anything like the rest of the house—was no doubt extensive. Yes, being a sea captain had certain advantages, she mused, quietly leaving the snoring Mrs. Hodge behind to attend Eve, who would tire of the mosquito net and demand more attention shortly. Until then, Elsa would let Mrs. Hodge rest.

Two days later, Elsa smiled into the full-length mirror. Outside, the sounds of surf and sliding waves on the evening breeze came floating through the suite. The rumblings of a gathering on the lanai, where Lady Bancock’s party was to begin, could already be heard, punctuated with laughter and the faint smell of cigar smoke.

Tonight would be Elsa’s first formal evening occasion since her mourning had begun, and although she was still draped in black, Madame de Boisiere had done a marvelous job in combining faille and lace to make an elegantly sedate but still flattering gown just days before her departure. From twin rosebuds at her shoulders, the gown tapered to a narrow waist. At her breast was a fan of material that modestly covered any cleavage. The skirt had a small bustle and cascaded to the floor in a simply fluted pattern with a small train behind her.

She worked on her hair for an hour, wishing Kaatje were there to assist her, but finally managed to create a simple yet elegant French twist with two fine ebony combs Peder had given her the year before. She dabbed some light pink color on her lips and pinched her cheeks.
Who are you dressing up for?
she silently asked her mirror image, frowning. Peder would have celebrated her beauty tonight, but Peder was gone, never to return. As she thought about it, Elsa decided that she simply enjoyed the ritual of preparing for such an event with or without someone to dress for. There was an inherent excitement, a pleasure in anticipating what might lie ahead.

“Peder would be proud of me,” she whispered at herself. “It’s been nine months since I buried him. He would want me to laugh. To try to get on with my life in this arena as well.” Having decided to make
the best of it and not feel guilty for the enjoyment, she laced up her evening slippers, pulled on long gloves, and then grabbed her mourning handkerchief and black fan from Japan. Although the breeze was cool, and her arms and shoulders were largely bare, she felt more comfortable holding something, even if she didn’t need the fan. It gave her a sense of security, not that she could truly hide behind it. But she felt nervous. How long had it been since she had attended a party without an escort? she wondered. Not since Bergen. Not for years.

As she bid good night to Kristian and Mrs. Hodge, she fretted about whom she would speak with and what all she should say. Kristian said, “Mama, you are beautiful.”

Elsa smiled and bent low to kiss him. “Thank you, dearest. You helped me.” Turning, she walked straight toward the double doors and opened them with as much confidence as she could muster.

Awaiting her on the other side was Karl Martensen.

He was dressed in a finely seamed double-breasted coat of black with bound edges, with a crisp white shirt and cravat at his neck. He winked at her and then bowed. “Captain Ramstad,” he said.

“Karl!” Elsa exclaimed, finding her breath at last. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“I was due to ship out three days ago, but Lady Bancock insisted I stay for the gala. Told me it was my duty to remain and escort you to the ball. I gladly agreed.”

“You’ve been here all this time?” she asked, taking his proffered arm and swatting him playfully with her fan. “Why haven’t you come to call?”

“I assumed you had been as busy as I in gathering supplies and preparing for the next leg of your voyage. And I had other … responsibilities that needed attention.”

“You are at sea again?” she asked in wonder.

“Aye,” he said with a wink. “Captain Martensen, at your service. Made the acquaintance of a fine fellow in San Francisco, and the path was laid out before me.” They neared the noisy banquet hall, in which
refreshments were being served. Karl pulled her to a stop. “I am sorry I haven’t come sooner, Elsa. We have much to talk about.” He glanced around and bent nearer to her. “You must be warned. Mason Dutton frequents these waters.”

Elsa frowned. “Dutton?
Still?
He still manages to roam these waters freely?”