Forever Hidden

by Tracie Peterson

  “It’s been a privilege to have you here. I hope you know that.” She gave him a watery smile. “I’m sure this hasn’t been easy on you either. Being away from your home.”

  “Oh, that’s no difficulty at all. For years my only family was my grandpa. He sent me here, and I came. Then your father hired me on, and I’m feeling like this is home now.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze.

  He meant that. Nome had begun to feel like home. It was wonderful—and also like a stab to the heart. Because if he couldn’t stay . . . if he had to leave Havyn . . . would anyplace ever be home again?

  “That eases this mother’s heart, knowing that you are comfortable here.” The dark circles under her eyes showed her weariness. “I know it’s been a lot of work, and it will probably continue to be that way for a good while, but thank you.”

  He focused on her. “You’re most welcome.”

  She turned to go and then stopped. Turning back, she tilted her head and smiled again. “You’re a good man, John. You didn’t have to sacrifice your salary either, but you did. You know, it wouldn’t bother me at all if you took a liking to one of my girls. It’s a privilege to have you be part of our family.”

  Another stabbing pain. Two days ago, those words would have made his heart soar. But now? He had no response for her other than a slight nod. Did she know that he had feelings for Havyn? Could it be that obvious? Madysen obviously noticed.

  No. He couldn’t torture himself anymore with these thoughts. When she left, he threw himself back into his work and tried to think of anything else.

  An hour later, John heard approaching footsteps. No. Running . . .

  Someone was running. Something was wrong.

  John set the shovel down and went to the door. He looked toward the sound and saw Havyn, her hair flying out behind her as she ran toward the barn.

  “John! Please, help!”

  “What’s wrong?” He ran toward her.

  “It’s my chickens . . .” She stopped and he caught up with her. Tears stained her cheeks.

  “What’s happened?”

  “There’s a whole group of them . . . dead!”

  Sixteen

  Tears clogged Havyn’s throat as she grabbed John’s hand and dragged him to the chicken yard. She didn’t care about any stupid contract! He was the only one who could help her right now. She sniffed and sniffed, but her nose was stuffed from all the crying.

  As they reached the gate, she opened it and led him through.

  It probably wasn’t appropriate to hold on to a man’s hand, but she couldn’t help it. He had been so supportive of her love for her chickens.

  When they reached the northeast corner of the fenced-in chicken yard, she couldn’t help but gulp again at the sight. “Look. I don’t know what happened. But it’s too awful to even put into words.”

  “Oh, Havyn . . .” He scanned the scene. “I’m so sorry.”

  She followed his gaze. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t help it. Because a tiny piece of her mind said she might have dreamed it all up. But no.

  Chicken feathers were strewn about the area. Deep red splotches stained the dirt.

  John squeezed her hand and gave her a sad but reassuring look. “Wait here for a minute?”

  “Sure.” She swallowed hard.

  When he let go of her hand, she wanted to grab his hand again, but stopped herself.

  John took several steps forward and crouched to look at what was left behind.

  Havyn chewed on the edge of her thumbnail. Could he tell what happened? The rest of the chickens wouldn’t be in danger, would they?

  A few moments later, he stood and walked to another area.

  For the next several minutes he continued his perusal, and then he walked back toward her. “I hate to say it, Havyn, but I think a predator made it over the fence. Which is quite the feat, because your grandfather built it pretty high.”

  “I know. That was my thought as well, and it just breaks my heart.”

  “Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  He glanced up at the sky. “It could have been several hawks. I’ve seen some large ones around here lately. If they found a good roost up in one of those trees over there and watched the chickens for a while, they could have swooped in and done quite a bit of damage. How many chickens are missing?”

  “Twenty-seven hens.” Even giving voice to the number made her think of each one of her pets.

  “That’s a lot for hawks.” John rubbed his chin. Then he put his hands on his hips and surveyed the whole area. “Why don’t we check the fence line and see if we’ve missed something.”

  She nodded and followed him, her heart breaking with every pile of feathers they passed. She knew which chicken they belonged to. Maybe Mama was right when she said Havyn shouldn’t get so attached to her chickens. But she loved them so much!

  Why did love have to hurt like this?

  For half an hour, they checked the entire fence. Well, to be truthful, John checked the fence. Havyn simply followed him around in a daze, hoping and praying they could fix whatever happened so it couldn’t happen again.

  “Havyn, look!” John’s voice penetrated her fog.

  Her gaze followed where he pointed and she saw a gap in the chicken wire. “Could an animal have done that?”

  He was crouched down in front of the hole, his elbows on his knees. Shaking his head, he let out a breath. “I don’t know. This looks like it was deliberately pulled up. But why?”

  “So someone could steal my chickens?” Her voice squeaked. “But who would do such a thing?”

  John shrugged. “Starving people might have done this to grab a chicken or two, but it looks like they opened it up for other predators. And not the human kind.”

  The thought made her shiver.

  He walked back over to her side. “Are you all right?”

  “No.” She flung herself into his arms and hung on tight. “It’s not going to be all right for a long time. I love my chickens!” She cried into his shoulder.

  First Granddad and now this.

  John stiffened, but after a moment, he wrapped an arm around her. “I know you love them. Believe me, we all know.”

  She pulled back and wiped at her face. “But don’t you see? Now we’ll be down in egg production, and we need every little bit that we can muster to pay for Granddad’s medicine and to keep this place running.”

  “Aw, Havyn. We’ll figure something out. I know how devastating this must be. Don’t you worry about the money. God is going to take care of us, and He knows how much this hurts you.”

  “I know He does, but what if it happens again?”

  “It’s not going to. At least not like this. I’ll fix that gap right now, and I’ll try to get creative with other ways to keep predators out.”

  He gazed down at her, and she couldn’t stop staring. His dark brown eyes had flecks of gold in them. And the look in those depths . . .

  Her knees suddenly seemed . . . weak. “Thank you, John.” Cheeks warming, she stepped back. What on earth should she do with these feelings John caused inside her?

  She looked down at the ground. “I guess I’ll need to clean up this mess tomorrow. I’m sure the other chickens will be traumatized for some time.”

  John nodded. “Why don’t I fence in a smaller area for a bit? To help them feel safer. They’ll huddle up together right now anyway.”

  “Oh, could you? That’s a great idea.” Then she shook her head. “I can’t ask that of you, John. You’ve got entirely too much on your plate as it is. Besides, I know how to build a fence. Granddad taught me. So let me do this. I’ll get started on it tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Glancing at his eyes again, she wanted to beg him to help her. Not because she needed his help, but because she needed his companionship. Every waking moment.

  Then reality settled in. She couldn’t ask any more of him. That would be selfish. What if she w
as the only one who had these feelings? What if Whitney was right, and John just wanted the farm and not her? “Yes, I’m sure. But thank you for offering.” She started back toward the house.

  He stepped in pace beside her. “You’re welcome.”

  “I guess I better break the news to my family.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  “I just wish they understood.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shove his hands into his pockets.

  “It’s one of the things I admire about you,” he said, then cleared his throat.

  “What?”

  “How much you care for your chickens. And all the little stories that you tell at dinner about them.” He opened the gate for her. “You’re one special lady, Miss Havyn Powell.”

  While her heart wanted to soar, a niggling at the back of her mind wouldn’t leave her alone. Why was he here? Why had he signed that contract?

  Why was it that, out of everyone here, she’d run to John first when she’d found the massacre?

  She picked up her pace and almost ran to the house. Her emotions were all over the place. She didn’t know what to think or feel.

  God, why are You doing this to me?

  Geoffrey arranged the new shipment of medications on the shelves in the cabinet. Amazing how they all looked almost like the real thing. Reynolds was good, he’d give him that.

  “I see you received the next order.”

  Speak of the devil. Why did the man always do that? “Do you not understand the concept of knocking, Judas?”

  “Watch your tone, Dr. Kingston.” The man arched his brows and clasped his hands behind him. Pacing the room, he looked around. Pulled a book off a shelf, thumbed through it, put it back. Clasped his hands again.

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I simply came for an update.”

  “On what?”

  “Your patients. Our partnership.” Judas narrowed his eyes. “How are your patients?”

  Was he always going to have to do this? This wasn’t why he came here. . . . “They’re doing fine. Thank you for asking.”

  “Business is going well?”

  “Yes. Quite well.”

  “I hear the new elixir is popular.” Judas looked at the medicines on the shelf.

  “Yes.” Was Reynolds expecting praise for ordering stuff that was nothing more than sugar, alcohol, and cherry bark?

  “Why don’t you sound more . . . congenial about our arrangement? Aren’t you making plenty of money?” The man’s smooth words had an edge to them.

  Geoffrey emptied the box. “It’s been a long day. I apologize.”

  “Not a problem.” Reynolds stuck his hands in his suit pockets and sat on the settee that was for the waiting patients. “I’m hoping to speak to you on a matter.”

  “Oh?” He sat in his chair and glanced around the room. He’d always wanted an office where he felt like a real doctor. Someone out to heal the sick and do good.

  “How is Chuck Bundrant doing?”

  “He’s progressing.” Geoffrey folded his hands in his lap.

  “That’s it?”

  “Judas, I’m not supposed to share details about any of my patients and you know that. Or you should.”

  Leaning forward, Reynolds propped his elbows on his knees. “But that’s not how we are going to do things. We have an agreement. You do what I ask, I don’t tell anyone about who you really are.”

  Geoffrey couldn’t change the past. Nor could he change what this man knew. Better make the best of the situation and play nice. “He had another bout of apoplexy, but he is recovering.”

  “And Mrs. Powell?”

  “What about her?”

  “Hasn’t she been seeing you?”

  Did the man know everything? “I’m surprised you know that, but yes.”

  “What ails her?”

  “Asthma.” Unable to sit still, he stood and went to the shelves and pretended to rearrange the books. “Why are you so interested?”

  “Everything about that family interests me.”

  Something in the way he said it made Geoffrey’s skin crawl. The Powell women were so sweet. What was Judas after?

  “Just keep me apprised. That’s all I ask.” Reynolds stood and headed to the door.

  All he asked. Right. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good, good. I’m looking forward to a long and prosperous partnership, Dr. Kingston.” He opened the door and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, how’s the whooping cough issue?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid. I’ve got five cases. One pretty severe.”

  “Well, then. Let’s hope for the best.” With that, Reynolds exited.

  Geoffrey walked over to the door and locked it. At least for a few minutes, he needed silence. A visit from Judas always made him feel like he should wash his hands. What was the man up to?

  No. He didn’t care. He was already in too deep with Judas Reynolds as it was. So this was the life he’d come to Nome for? Shaking his head, he went to pour himself a strong drink.

  As long as nobody died for a while, he’d be fine.

  Seventeen

  Havyn stood in the parlor with her sisters. They were gathered at the grand piano, Havyn standing, her sisters sitting on the piano bench.

  Madysen played a few notes on the upper keys. “Up for a duet, Whit?”

  Their older sister closed the lid. “No. I’m sorry. In fact, the reason I asked you all to come in here is quite serious.”

  Havyn grimaced. Oh, not another serious conversation. Too much of late was heavy and downright depressing. “Please don’t hound me about John and the contract. The more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to think that Granddad was smart in doing what he did—”

  Whit held up a hand. “It’s not about that. And Havyn, I’m really sorry about the chickens. I know how much they mean to you. That’s got to be devastating.”

  Tears stung Havyn’s eyes. “Thank you, Whitney. But I know this isn’t about me.” She lifted her chin. “Go on.”

  Her older sister’s shoulders rose and then fell. “It’s about Mama.”

  Madysen put a hand to her throat. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. But she hasn’t been breathing well lately. I think something is seriously wrong.”

  No! “Have you asked her about it?”

  Whitney pursed her lips—a sure sign she was struggling—and grabbed on to Madysen’s hand. “I asked her once . . . she snapped at me and said she would not discuss it. That nothing was wrong with her and our focus should be on the farm and praying for Granddad.”

  “It must be bad.” Maddy’s voice squeaked. “Mama doesn’t ever hide anything from us.”

  Whit paused before replying. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. I just thought that we all needed to be aware. See what we can watch for, how else we can help her . . . I don’t know, but I know something isn’t right.” Whit sounded weary too. “She has an interesting odor to her nowadays . . . some strange herbs. But maybe that’s something she’s been using for Granddad? I don’t know. . . .”

  “Thanks for bringing us in on it. We needed to know.” Havyn walked behind her sisters and squeezed their shoulders. “Let’s each find a spot in the room to get down on our knees and pray. Since we’ve got to leave for the Roadhouse in less than an hour, it would do us all good to quiet ourselves before the Lord and cast our burdens on Him.” Havyn wasn’t sure where the calm in her voice came from, but she was thankful for the words being laid on her heart.

  They dispersed to different parts of the room. Whit stayed at the piano bench. Madysen went to the fireplace. Havyn walked over to a large window and let her gaze roam the horizon.

  Lord, it hurts. Granddad, John, the chickens, and now Mama. But I know You, as my heavenly Father, are waiting for me with open arms. So I come to You now with a heavy heart . . . a heart that feels broken by all of this. . . .

  She fell to her knees and let the te
ars fall. God, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to see what You have for me. What can we do for Mama? What can we do for Granddad? I have so many questions, and so much hurt. I need Your strength, Your wisdom, and Your mercy. Help us, Lord. Please. Help us to seek You.

  Her heart quieted.

  God knew. He understood better than anyone what was going on. So she rested in the comfort that He would carry them through. No matter what they might face.

  He would see them through.

  Friday nights at the Roadhouse were as exhilarating to Havyn as they were exhausting. The crowds were the largest on Friday and Saturday evenings, with standing room only and men bumping into one another all over the place, trying to get as close as they could to the stage.

  But even as exhausted as she felt from giving her all for a few hours straight, performing lifted her spirits in a way nothing else seemed to. Especially after a day like today.

  As she prepared for bed, she couldn’t help thinking about their handsome foreman. If things were different, and Granddad was on his feet, she’d have more time with John. Of course, if Granddad were well, then she could ask him about the contract and clear it up once and for all. But for now, she would have to settle for working with John, seeing each other at meals, and the occasional times he could get away to stay for a performance at the Roadhouse.

  Whitney seemed to be over her initial anger at John, but how long would that last? Until they heard the truth from their grandfather’s lips, Whit would be untrusting. So the question was, could Havyn trust him? Or would she always doubt? And how was she to know if he even cared about her?

  A slight tapping made her stop in the middle of her room and listen. Was she imagining things, or was that someone at her door?

  Tap tap tap.

  It was definitely a knock. Throwing her dressing gown over her nightgown, she went to the door and opened it a crack.

  Madysen stood there fully dressed, eyes teary, cheeks flushed, and a lantern in her hand.