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Far below them, ships entered and exited the port on gray-blue waters, and yet none of the sounds of commerce could reach them today.
    “It is like being in heaven!” Elsa said, taking her younger sister’s hand.
    Tora shook her off, feeling half-bad about it, but not in any mood to be gay. She wanted to give in, to celebrate with her sister, but could not get past the wall of resentment inside. She could feel it—choking, heavy—and blamed Elsa for its presence.
They
could all be happy. Why not? They were leaving on the morrow with family blessings,while she had been reduced to sneaking aboard the ship like a common criminal! Had Elsa stood up for her, Mama and Papa would have given in. But she had not.
    Elsa gave her a hurt look and turned away, obviously trying not to let Tora affect her mood. Tora did have to admit that her sister looked fetching. The red and the black of her
bunad
brought out her blue eyes and the ruddiness of her cheeks. She looked like the quintessential bride, with tendrils of white-blond hair escaping her knot beneath her bridal cap and dancing in the breeze about her face. The traditional costume was tight and accentuated her enviable figure. Fortunately for Tora, she did not have to physically compete with Elsa. She was reasonably sure of her own attractive image. It was Elsa’s newfound status as Peder Ramstad’s wife that Tora envied.
    Tora’s mother had found a central location and spread out her part of the wedding feast. There was fish of all sorts—cod, capelin, herring, mackerel, salmon, and trout—cooked in a variety of ways and chilled for the luncheon. In addition, there were whipped cream cakes, tortes, smørbrød, thick cream to pour over fresh strawberries … the delicious dishes went on and on as others spread out their own blankets and added their offerings to the fare. Finally, the medley of dishes stretched for twenty feet, for a crowd of perhaps fifty. There would be plenty to eat. Tora turned away as the group sang the doxology as grace. The thought of food, or any more prayer, disgusted her. There were plans to be made.
    She eyed the crowd, searching for that one young man she had spotted earlier, a sailor on the
Herald
. There he was, she noted as the crowd sang “Amen.” Tall, gawky, and struggling with the last vestiges of acne, the boy blushed clear up to his hairline when he met Tora’s mastered gaze—forward, yet coquettish. Oh, this will be simple, she thought. This will be much too simple!
    Peder nearly choked on his salmon when Garth came to the punch line of his bawdy joke and slapped him on the back. Burgitte handedPeder another glass of lingonberry juice and smiled benignly at both her brothers. The Ramstads were sitting with the Anderses, and the two families melded comfortably, as they had for years. Only Tora was missing; Peder had seen her disappear over the hill some time ago with one of his sailors. The conversation was lively. Amund espoused that, as old friends, this seemed like a logical end, that their children should marry.
It sure feels right to me
, Peder thought.
    He gazed at Elsa with such happiness in his heart that he feared tears would come to his eyes. She was elegant and beautiful. And she was his. He glanced around for their old friend Karl. He should be there with them, Peder thought. After all, they had played together as children, and through ten years of sailing on the same ships, Karl had become as close to him as his brother, Garth. Peder’s eyes found the Martensens, higher up on the hill. As usual, Gustav looked grumpy, even in the midst of the festivities, and Sonje bravely put up a false front of joy. Catching Peder’s eye, she raised a glass in greeting. He mouthed “Where’s Karl?” and Sonje pointed down the hill.
    There by an old pine was Karl, talking with several of the men who would sail with them—Bjorn, Kristoffer, and Mikkel.
Making plans, as usual
, Peder thought with a smile. It wouldn’t be long until