Forever Hidden

by Tracie Peterson

  But no matter what she did to get her mind off the topic, it always went straight back.

  Dad.

  Tucking her feet beneath her on the settee, she held the cup of tea up under her nose so she could inhale the steam. Closing her eyes against the memory and the pain that it caused, she tried to force it back to the depths of her mind.

  But without her permission, it came to life anyway.

  She was back in Cripple Creek. Barefoot, standing beside her father, who was lying in the straw. It all seemed so real, she could smell the manure and feel the straw under her feet.

  The man she’d adored all her young life was holding a bottle to his chest and telling her that he needed more. Could she please get him some more?

  No. She’d shaken her head. Little girls didn’t buy alcohol. And they shouldn’t.

  He’d tossed and turned and wailed like a baby.

  Then he’d opened his eyes and looked at her. Straight in the eye. And said, “Don’t ever tell your mama.”

  “Don’t tell her what?” That he’d been drunk? He always came home drunk nowadays.

  “There’s another baby on the way, and pretty soon everyone will know what I did. . . .”

  “A baby? Mama’s not pregnant. What are you talking about?”

  He sat up for a brief moment and grabbed her shoulders. “No! Not your mama. Esther’s the one carrying my baby. Esther’s pregnant.”

  After he’d passed out again and fell against the straw, Havyn had let the words roll around in her mind. Did that mean what she thought it meant? Her dad would never do such a thing . . . would he?

  “Oh, stop it!” Havyn pushed the memories away. She took a long sip of tea.

  A week after that night in the barn, Granddad told Mama that Dad was dead. And she’d told Havyn and her sisters. Her heart broke, but it also felt relieved. Mama would never have to deal with the pain that Dad’s indiscretion would inflict on her. On them all. And from that day forward, she resolved never to speak of that night or of what Dad had confessed.

  Whitney accused her time and again of remembering only the happy memories of their father. Every time Havyn defended the man she’d loved and adored. But had she done it to cover up the horrible secret that she held? No. She refused to believe it. Because even though their father hadn’t been perfect, he was their dad. She had loved him and forgiven him.

  But now, all these years later, she had to deal with the fact that somewhere out there, they probably had a sibling.

  The sound of soft footfalls drifted over to her.

  “Couldn’t sleep, Maddy?”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  Her younger sister’s voice was soothing to Havyn’s heart.

  “It’s a sister thing.”

  “Yeah, I woke up when you got up, but when you didn’t go back to your room, I decided you might want some company.” Madysen was so tiny, but her heart was huge. If anyone was hurting, Madysen was there, ready to fight for their cause or to bandage their wounds.

  Havyn smiled at her. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve done it enough to you over the years.” She brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped a blanket around herself. Hair flying every which way, Madysen looked like a little fairy. If only she had tiny wings.

  “You’re so adorable, Maddy.”

  Her little sister’s eyebrows rose. “You must be seeing things in the middle of the night.”

  “No, I mean it. You’re beautiful, even in the middle of the night when your hair needs a good brushing. I think it’s not just your outer beauty, but the fact that you shine from the inside.”

  “Hold on a minute. Isn’t this a bit intense for a middle-of-the-night discussion when I’m still half asleep?” Her younger sister rubbed at her eyes.

  “Probably.” Havyn took another sip of tea. “But I don’t tell you enough how beautiful you are. Or how much I appreciate you.”

  Madysen’s eyes widened. “Wow. You should wake up in the middle of the night more often.” She let out a giggle and then laid a hand on Havyn’s knee. “Seriously, sis, what’s going on?”

  The great thing about having chats in the dark in the middle of the night was that she could take all the time she wanted. And for the most part, her expressions would be hidden. But now was not the time or the place to tell her little sister a horrible truth about their father. Even though Madysen might be the most merciful of them all, some things were best unsaid.

  “Well? Come on, I’m not a baby anymore. I’m twenty years old. You can tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Letting out a long sigh, Havyn stirred her tea. “I’m worried about Granddad. He’s worked so hard and poured everything into this farm. It means everything to him, and I’m worried that he won’t be willing to truly rest and recover. If he doesn’t, if he tries to go back out there, he may not live the next time.”

  Her little sister gasped. “That’s awfully harsh, Havyn. It’s only one attack.”

  Havyn swallowed her guilt. Should she share the secret? She declined and buried those thoughts. “I’m sorry, Maddy, but it’s the truth. Granddad means the world to us, but we need to make sure that he doesn’t overdo it as he’s recovering.” After another sip of tea, she went on. “Then there’s Whitney.”

  “What about her? She seems pretty strong and stoic to me.”

  It didn’t surprise her to hear Madysen say that. Whitney was the strongest person she knew. “That’s just it. She’s refusing to let anyone in. After watching Dad drink and gamble and what that did to hurt Mama, she’s shut her heart off toward romance. And forgiveness too. She’s got these giant walls around her heart, thinking it’s going to protect her, but I’m afraid it’s going to hurt her more.”

  “But she’s fine with us.” Madysen shrugged her shoulders. “What’s your concern?”

  “Don’t you want her to be happy? To have a family? Good grief, she’s twenty-five years old—”

  “And that’s simply ancient, isn’t it?”

  Havyn jumped a little when Whitney’s voice came from the doorway, but at least it sounded amused and not angry. They didn’t need a tempers-flared argument to wake up the house.

  Arms crossed over her chest, Whitney walked toward her sisters.

  Havyn swallowed. The last thing she’d wanted to do was hurt her sister. “Whit, I’m sorr—”

  “Don’t apologize.” Whitney gave them a soft smile. Her curly hair was a thing to behold when it was down. She sat next to Madysen, pulled her close, and looked at Havyn. “Look, I know you’re worried about me. But don’t be. I may be a little against romance at this stage of my life, but I am happy.”

  “I’m glad. We care about you so much.” Thank heaven Whit took her words that way.

  “I know you do. We’re sisters. We’re going to take care of each other, right?”

  “Right.” Madysen chimed in.

  “Good. Now why don’t we talk about how we can work together to help Granddad and Mama.” Take-charge, big-sister Whitney was back, and gone was any chance of cracking the barrier around her heart. “Maybe together we can figure out a way to get rid of John.”

  “Get rid of him?” What a terrible thought! But then again . . . why did she feel so protective of a man she hardly knew?

  Whitney gave a firm nod. “Yes. He’s not family, and I resent that he’s running our farm. It’s not his place to do it. I think he bamboozled Granddad. Maybe tricked him.”

  “Granddad is hardly one to be tricked.” And John was hardly the kind of man to trick him. He was kind and friendly and . . .

  “Normally, he wouldn’t be,” Whitney said, interrupting her thoughts. “But he’s obviously not been feeling well. It has only been a matter of weeks since he hired John on. The apoplexy could have been coming on for that long, and it might have caused him confusion.”

  Havyn looked away for fear her older sister might see how close she’d come to guessing the truth about Granddad. Thankfu
lly Madysen spoke up.

  “I like John. He’s fast to learn and fun to be with. And he’s quite handsome. I’m surprised you aren’t swooning over him instead of trying to get rid of him. You are the oldest, and decent men are hard to find up here.”

  Whitney grimaced. “So we’re back to that, are we? I’m not interested in marriage to anyone—but especially not John Roselli. Yes, he’s kind and handsome and any number of other things, but doesn’t it bother you that a complete stranger walked in here and took over the farm? Doesn’t it concern you that Granddad seems quite willing to let John make important decisions? If I didn’t know better, I’d think John owned the place.” She shook her head. “We need to get rid of him, before he thinks he does too.”

  Eleven

  Melissa swallowed hard. She couldn’t have heard right. “What did you say?”

  “You have asthma, Mrs. Powell.” Dr. Kingston’s lips made a thin line. “It’s an incurable lung disease. An inflammation and bronchospasm.”

  This new doctor must not know what he was talking about. If only Doc Gordon were still around.

  “Did you hear me?”

  She straightened her shoulders and clamped her hands together in her lap. “Yes, I’m sorry. Are you quite sure?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Powell. Quite. I can’t imagine Dr. Gordon not speaking to you about this before. How long has this been going on?” The new doctor looked at her as if he pitied her.

  “That doesn’t matter.” She cleared her throat. “What does this mean?”

  “You’ll continue to struggle with your breathing.” He flipped through a medical book on his desk in front of him. “I can’t do a lot for you, but I can research and try to order some medication that might help. I have some asthma cigarettes that you can take with you today. And I’ve heard of epinephrine—but it’s very new. I’ll have to look into it and see if we can get it up here.”

  Her chest tightened. Asthma. Her breathing events had increased lately, what with the stress of Papa being laid up. She’d finally asked John to shave her father today and sit with him for a little bit so she could run to town and see the doctor. But this was not what she expected. She’d wanted answers. But not this. “There’s nothing you can do to fix this?”

  “No. I’m afraid not.” He stood, walked over to a cabinet, and unlocked it. “But I do have these. When your breathing gets difficult, smoke one of these and it should help.”

  He handed her a small package.

  The box was white with a brown stripe. Kinsman’s Asthmatic Cigarettes. Smoking wasn’t a pleasant thought, but if it would help, she’d try it. Maybe she could keep her condition from the girls. Just until Papa was better. They didn’t need to worry about anything else.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Lifting her chin, she put on her best smile. “I need to get back to my father.” She stood and moved to the door.

  But he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “I must advise you, Mrs. Powell, that if you don’t take enough time to rest, you run the risk of making your condition worse. I know you are worried about your father, but you also need to worry for your own health. Tell your daughters. Let them assist you more. And that new foreman your father hired? You should tell him too.”

  No chance she would tell anyone. Not now. This man didn’t know her . . . didn’t understand how things worked up here. There wasn’t room for the weak and the sick. Living in Alaska was difficult enough when a person was healthy. And with Papa sick . . . well, she could deal with some breathing problems for a little while. “Dr. Kingston, I’ll ask you to kindly keep this to yourself. My family has enough on them right now. I’m fine. In fact, when it first started, I did quite well just calming myself and taking slow breaths. I’m sure if I work at it enough, I’ll be able to keep it under control.”

  “But, Mrs. Powell—”

  “Please”—she held up a hand—“I’ve stated my wishes. I’ll see you when you come out to see Papa. Thank you for your time.” With that, she turned on her heel and left his office.

  Melissa untied her horse from the hitching post in front of Dr. Kingston’s office, mounted, and turned the animal toward home. Asthma. Incurable. Well, she’d just have to make the best of it. It wasn’t that bad. Now that she knew what she was dealing with, she would find a way to control this disease. Too many people were relying on her for her to be sick.

  She would be fine.

  She had to be.

  June came before John realized it, bringing with it even longer hours of daylight. Yesterday evening, he lost track of the day and ended up out in the field with the calves until past eight. If Havyn hadn’t come looking for him, the sky was so light he probably would’ve stayed until midnight. But he loved it here.

  Not only Alaska. He loved what he did and he loved seeing the success of the farm. It finally felt like he was the foreman and making progress.

  Thank heaven for the time he’d had under Chuck’s tutelage. But there was still a lot he needed to learn. Especially the things that Chuck took care of himself. All that knowledge in his head that he hadn’t been able to share before he collapsed.

  There was an ongoing list of questions that John had to ask daily.

  Thankfully, all the workers Chuck hired to do the milking understood a good portion of the routine around the farm. The Powell women had been helpful too. Well, all except Whitney. One of these days, he was going to need to sit down with her and figure out what bothered her about him. If he’d done anything wrong, he needed to fix it.

  John cleaned up after the evening milking, then looked around the barn to ensure that all would be ready for the early-morning shift. The scent of fresh hay spread on the floor filled his senses.

  “John? Are you in here?” Mrs. Powell’s voice floated through the milking barn.

  “I’m back here. I’ll be right out.” He made his way toward the front of the barn and took off his dirty work gloves. “How may I help you, Mrs. Powell?”

  She turned a shoulder toward the door. “I was wondering if you would sit with my father for a bit again? The girls are practicing for their performance tonight at the Roadhouse, and I hate to pull one of them away.”

  “Of course. I don’t mind a bit. It was good to see him so alert today. In your opinion, how’s he doing?”

  “He’s acting more like his old self, but I know he’s frustrated that he can’t form words well. The doctor suggested letting him use paper and pencil. It’s a good thing he’s left-handed, otherwise things would be much more difficult. Anyway, he’s asking for you, and I thought maybe you’d like the chance to speak with him for a little bit. And selfishly, it would give me a few moments to myself.”

  “I’d love to.” John followed her out the door and then latched the large barn doors.

  She walked with him toward the house. “Dr. Kingston thinks he will make a full recovery. That is if we can get him to continue with the exercises. He’s not a fan of them.”

  “Do you need my help?”

  She pulled her shawl tighter. “No, but thank you. You’re doing so much already, and we really appreciate it.” Turning toward him a bit, she tilted her head. “Have you been out to Norris’s Roadhouse yet to hear the girls?”

  “Not yet. I find myself working until late in the evenings. I’m amazed how well your father managed a farm as large as this. His shoes are hard to fill.”

  “I imagine so. But nevertheless, everyone needs a night off now and again. And tonight is Friday. Why don’t you go with them?” She made a little grimace and her cheeks turned pink. “I shouldn’t be so bossy.”

  “You’re not bossy. That’s very generous of you, ma’am.”

  “Oh, I insist that you go, then.”

  “Thank you. I think I will.”

  “Good.” She gave him a smile.

  Once inside the house, he followed her down the hall to Mr. Bundrant’s room.

  “Hi, Papa!” Her voice was cheery and bright. “I brought John to see you for a moment.”

>   John walked over to the side of the bed. It was hard to see a man who’d been so strong and capable bedridden like this, but there were signs that he was improving. His mouth might droop and his right side not function, but there was fire in his eyes. John could see every day that Chuck was doing more for himself.

  “I’ll leave you two alone for a quick visit if that’s all right.” She kissed her father on the cheek. “I’ll fetch some dinner for Papa and then be back so you can get to the Roadhouse.”

  John nodded and then looked down at his boss. “Evening, Chuck. How are you doing? Mrs. Powell told me you were given the okay to write down what you wanted to say.”

  Chuck reached for the paper and pencil on his left side and nodded. After several moments of scribbling, he held it up.

  Could be better, but thankful to be alive.

  “That’s good. We’re glad you’re still with us too. Your daughter said that Dr. Kingston hopes you’ll have a full recovery?”

  The pencil scratched across the page again as he struggled to balance the notebook.

  Yes, but Doc told me to watch it—I don’t like those words.

  John laughed. “I imagine so.” He sat in the chair beside the bed. “Just so you know, I told your daughter that I have mighty big shoes to fill. It’s taken me this long to learn the ropes, so I’m grateful I can ask you questions.”

  The pencil moved again. I’m the one who’s grateful. I owe you. Are you getting to know my granddaughters?

  John took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, sir. In fact, that’s one of the things I’d hoped to discuss with you when you were feeling better.”

  Chuck was already writing a response. Let’s discuss it now.

  “All right.” John sat a little straighter, put his palms on his thighs, and glanced over his shoulder at the closed door. “I’m going to be honest. I’m a bit uncomfortable with the contract now that I’m beginning to care for one of them. Having a contract like that . . . doesn’t seem right.”

  Once again, his boss was writing just as he finished. Why?