How could she tell her father she was scared to death? The whole project frightened her. But when it came down to it, it wasn’t really the project. It was change. And all the new people. Could she tell her father the truth?
A glimpse of him answered her question. Even with all the added burdens, he was excited. It radiated from him.
She stood and walked to the window. Closing her eyes, she lifted a prayer heavenward, confessing her hesitation toward the project. Oh, Lord, you know me. You understand me better than I understand myself. Help me, Father. I’m scared. Scared of change. Scared of all the new people and scared that I will fail to be a help to them, a light to them. But how do I reach people for Christ if I’m not around people? The thought lifted a smile to her face. Give me the strength and courage to stand beside my father and help him. And please keep all those families safe on their long journey here.
Sweet peace filled her. Even with all her fears, worries, and selfish pride, God was willing to use her. She needed to be ready. This land was plentiful. Hundreds of families could live off the land here and support their families for generations to come.
Gwyn straightened her shoulders and turned back to her father. “Well, if change and new people are coming to Alaska, what can I do to help?”
APRIL 1, 1935
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
The radio in the corner of Jeremiah’s apartment blared out the new song, Alone, for the second time that morning.
There must be someone waiting . . .
No. There wasn’t.
Who feels the way I do . . .
No. There wouldn’t be. Ever again.
Three brisk strides brought him to the table, and he turned the knob to silence the link to the outside world.
For three weeks, he’d holed up in his apartment. Not answering the door for anyone. Not answering messages from his parents. Not answering any mail.
Except for one letter.
A doctor he had idolized as a boy, Dr. H., lived in Alaska and asked if Jeremiah would be willing to come and help out as a doctor. His mentor apologized for the brief amount of time to prepare but raved about the land of Alaska and the incredible challenges. It was asking a lot of a promising young doctor like Jeremiah, but Dr. H. believed his one-time apprentice would thrive in the atmosphere, and that a long and full medical career could be had in the Matanuska valley. Dr. H.’s vision of building a hospital in the valley and his description of the Matanuska Project that was going to provide new lives for many who had suffered deprivation in the Stateside Depression excited Jeremiah.
Apparently the president’s New Deal efforts had been put in motion, and hundreds of families were heading to the territory to colonize. Before the board’s decision to revoke his license, Jeremiah wouldn’t have given the proposition a second thought. After all, his former fiancée didn’t even speak to her father. Sophia had whispered to him one night in tears, which he now assumed had been fake, that she hadn’t spoken to her father or heard from him all these years. Edith and Sophia had attempted to poison Jeremiah’s mind toward the man he’d admired as a youth. But now he saw things with clarity and eyes wide open, and his memories served him well.
Dr. H. had taken Jeremiah seriously as a child—what with his desire to become a doctor driving him with passion. Sophia tried to convince him that her father was eccentric and crazy in refusing to leave the territory of Alaska. She and Mrs. Hillerman refused to speak of the man in public. She’d also convinced him that the reason they were in Chicago was because of her ailing grandfather, but Jeremiah now understood all too well the real reasons: Mrs. Edith Hillerman had left her husband and older daughter to return to high society. That truth was all too clear. She wanted money, social prestige, and the comforts of her family’s mansion. And in all honesty, Jeremiah had been close to falling into the same trap. He had been blinded by the temptation of gaining status, power, and money. What shallow relationships he’d forged!
With the clarity of the true emptiness of his life behind him, Jeremiah responded the same day to Dr. H.’s missive, hoping that news of his stripped license would never reach the northern territory. He didn’t have the guts to tell his old mentor the truth. Yet. His only hope was the fact that Mrs. Hillerman never seemed to communicate with her husband in Alaska.
A new fear spread within him. What if Dr. H. found out? What if the man who’d taught him so much rejected him as well? That would be far worse than to be found practicing medicine without a license. Jeremiah realized that after all he’d lost, Dr. H.’s good opinion was something he didn’t want to lose. It was really all he had left, and the fear of that being stripped away was more painful than Jeremiah wanted to admit.
President Roosevelt’s words from his inaugural address rang in Jeremiah’s mind: “. . . let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.”
He wouldn’t retreat. Not anymore.
He’d advance. And after reuniting with the man he respected more than anyone else, maybe then he’d work up the courage to tell him the truth. Maybe the good doctor could even help get him reinstated. Surely the restrictions in the Alaska Territory were fewer than in the States. No doubt the people there were desperate enough that any doctor, even one accused of accidentally killing his patient, would be considered useful.
Checking his pocket watch, his conscience pricked. There wasn’t any time to say good-bye. But he’d planned it that way. No one knew where he was going. No one knew he was even leaving. His mother and father might be upset and say they had a right to know, but they’d slammed that door in his face when they asked him to leave.
Jeremiah would contact Howard when he was settled. His cousin already stated he would handle the appeal so Jeremiah could stay out of the spotlight. He’d let him.
The wall clock in the kitchen chimed the hour and urged him forward. Not much time left to make it to the train station. He surveyed his packing. A few more clothing items would fit in the trunk if he stuffed them in the nooks and crannies. The majority of the steamer held his papers and books, medical supplies and equipment he’d purchased over the years. Clothing wasn’t as necessary. All the fine suits Sophia urged him to have tailored for his new position still hung in the closet. No need to bring any memories of what could’ve been. Her taste was far too fine for his liking anyway. He should’ve seen the signs earlier. Greedy, selfish, arrogant, vain—those were the words that described Sophia Hillerman. And he wanted no part of it. Ever again.
He’d had enough of women. His bitterness toward them had grown over the past weeks. First his fiancée and future mother-in-law had turned their backs on him and then his own mother. All because they worried about what people would think.
Angry thoughts propelled him forward.
The door thumped shut behind him as he made it to the street. Chicago dismissed him with a blast of icy cold wind. He had once loved this city. Would he ever return?
4
MATANUSKA VALLEY
Nasnana kneaded the dough with her hands. Over the years, as her hands crinkled and withered, the process became more painful, but she’d always loved the feel of fresh dough between her fingers.
“Gwyn, would you mind stirring the soup?”
Thin and tall, blond-haired Gwyn reached for the spoon. The young woman had captured Nasnana’s heart from the first time they’d met. Her deep gray eyes so like her father’s gave away the yearning for a mother figure in her life. Even though her mother had been present for most of her upbringing, the aloof woman hadn’t been a real mother to gentle-hearted Gwyn.
Nasnana shook her head at the thought, but her heart filled with pride as she watched the young woman bring a sample of soup to her mouth. She wasn’t the bold beauty like her younger sister, Sophia, but her beauty went far beyond the younger Hillerman child. Gwyn held true beauty within her, and it radiated outward.
The
one major flaw in the little six-year-old angel she’d taken under her wing so long ago was her tendency toward worry. Even with all of Nasnana’s prayer and prodding, Gwyn could still work herself into a worried fit over the simplest of things.
“Let me take over for you.” Gwyn’s little shove brought her thoughts back to the present. “What’s put that smile on your face?”
“Just remembering, my dear.” Gone were the days she argued with the offer of help. Relinquishing the bread board, Nasnana patted the younger woman’s shoulder.
“Remembering what?” Blond curls bobbed around her face as Gwyn worked the dough.
“You. As a child.”
“Oh my. Maybe we should redirect your thoughts to something of greater import.”
Another difference in the Hillerman girls: Gwyn always shifted the attention off of herself, where Sophia longed to be the center of attention, often forcing the matter. “You are of great importance and don’t you forget it.” Nasnana smacked the seat of Gwyn’s pants with a wooden spoon.
“And you—” she grabbed the spoon—“should have all your wooden spoons taken away.”
Sadzi entered the room laughing. “You two are very entertaining.”
Nasnana watched Gwyn’s ears turn red. “Don’t be embarrassed, child. I’ve been trying to get you to speak your mind all these years.”
“But that was very disrespectful, and I apologize.” Gwyn ducked her head as she shaped the dough into round loaves. “I can’t believe I sassed you.” The slightest hint of a smile appeared.
“It’s about time.” Nasnana lowered herself into her rocking chair. A bit of anger bubbled up inside her. “That mother of yours ran over you for so many years, and you just took it. I hated to watch as she squashed you over and over again”—tears threatened to choke her—“like a beautiful shell she crushed under her pretty patent leather shoes.” Looking down, she realized her fists were gripping the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white. Lord, forgive me. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, girls. I should never—”
“Don’t apologize.” Gwyn turned, shoulders straight, chin lifted. “You said those words because you love me. Something I can’t say my mother ever felt. I’m not a bold person like you and Sadzi, but I appreciate you both encouraging me to spread my wings.”
Her granddaughter, Sadzi, hugged her friend close. “You are so amazing, Gwyn. Do you know that?”
“I agree.” Nasnana motioned the girls to the table. “That’s why as the bread rises, the passage I chose for today is Psalm 139.” They were used to her abrupt ways. When she got down to business, they paid attention. “Why don’t we pray.”
Both girls nodded, sat, and bowed their heads.
“Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. We love you, Lord. We come to you with all our burdens, all our grief, and all our regrets. Guide us, Father. Teach us what you would have us learn today. And help us to be a blessing to all those around us. Amen.”
“Amen.”
“Now, Sadzi, would you read for us?”
“Yes, Grandmother.” She flipped to the text and cleared her throat. “‘O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. . . . There is not a word in my tongue, but lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether.’”
Sadzi let out a long sigh. “I wish He would sometimes keep my tongue from speaking.”
Laughter rounded the table. Nasnana had worked for years on changing Sadzi’s habit of “speak first, think later” to “think first, speak later.” She cleared her throat. “Continue please, Sadzi.”
Gwyn shot a grin to her.
Her granddaughter’s bright voice continued as she read the entire passage, finishing with “‘Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.’” Sadzi leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful look replacing the always-present smile.
“There’s much in here that I’d like to discuss over the next week or so, but today, I want to talk to you both about who you are. Do you know you are fearfully and wonderfully made?” She glanced down at her Bible and read, “‘I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works.’ Doesn’t that just thrill you? Before you were born, God knew exactly who each of you would be, what your personality would be—and even everything you would ever go through in this life. He knew how many days you would live. More important, He understands—better than anyone—what it feels like to be rejected.”
She reached a hand out to touch each girl. Gwyn’s beautiful gray eyes filled with tears. “Gwyn, your mother’s rejection is not a reflection of you. It doesn’t define who you are. You are God’s child. That’s what really matters.” Nasnana turned to look into Sadzi’s dark brown eyes. “And Sadzi, the same is for you. I’m sorry my daughter ran off, but I won’t apologize for the privilege I’ve had to raise you all these years.” A knot formed in her throat. Her own husband had lived only two years after the birth of their daughter, Lahleli. Their headstrong daughter had brought much joy to Nasnana’s life, but also much grief. Nasnana hadn’t seen her since she left Sadzi all those years ago.
“When the missionaries came to my people over seventy years ago, I listened. I learned about Jesus, and I polished my English. Because I chose to follow their ways, most of my people rejected me. Their fear drove almost all of the tribe hundreds of miles away to get away from the white man and his ways, his sickness, and his alcohol.” A deep sigh shook her frame.
“It’s been a lonely time to be separated from my people, but think of all the wonderful things God has done through this. And look what He’s doing now to bring all these hurting and suffering folks practically to our very doorstep.” A stray tear rolled down her cheek. “What I’m trying to say is that we’re all rejected. Jesus was rejected. But that shouldn’t stop us from doing the job He’s given us to do. Neither one of you give Jesus enough credit. You both have incredible gifts. So get up and use them.”
“Even when we’re afraid.” Gwyn’s words were a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
Gwyn bit her bottom lip. “For years, I’ve prayed for God’s direction. If He wanted me to go to the mission field somewhere, or just further into the bush here in Alaska. I’ve always been afraid of change. You know that. But still I’ve prayed. What if . . . what if God is bringing the mission field to us? To help me overcome my fear?”
Nasnana warmed with the joy she felt. Precious Gwyn. Putting one foot in front of her even though change scared her to the core.
“So why don’t we come up with something we can do for each of the families?” Sadzi leaned forward, light shining in her eyes. “You know, something to welcome them, help make life easier?”
Gwyn’s face lit up. “I think from what Father said the colonists will have to live in tent homes while their permanent homes are being built. Since they have a limited amount of goods they are allowed to bring, there will probably be many things they won’t have.”
Nasnana nodded and pondered this for a moment. “You’re right. And each family might have a different need. So what is something they all could use?”
“We don’t have enough time to make quilts—definitely not for two hundred families.” Sadzi tapped her chin with her finger.
“You are correct, and that may be something that everyone will bring plenty of . . .”
Gwyn stood up and went to stir the soup. After several moments, she turned, spoon in hand. “What about some kind of foodstuff? Something they could eat right away that could help feed their families?”
Excitement built in Nasnana. “That’s a great idea. I bet most of them aren’t as familiar with sourdough as we are up here. . . .” She let her words trail off as the thought took root. “If we all multiplied our sourdough and kept feeding it and dividing it, we could have enough for all the families by the time they get here.”
“But what will we put it in?” A frown creased Sadzi’s
face. “We’d have it bubbling over onto the floor.”
“Oh my, that would be a mess.” Gwyn made a face. “But Nasnana’s idea is wonderful! Just think of it, the colonists would be able to make bread and pancakes immediately upon arrival. If we could just think of a way to store it.”
New plans formed in Nasnana’s mind. If only she’d thought of it sooner. It could be a possible link to bring the whites and native people together. If . . .
“What are you thinking?” Gwyn asked.
“Well . . . I need to bring that pot of soup to my friends at Eklutna. There’s a few sick, and I’d like to help.”
Sadzi cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re not planning on walking all that way alone, are you? That’s halfway between here and Anchorage!”
Gwyn frowned her agreement.
Nasnana laughed at their protectiveness. She’d been walking back and forth to Eklutna for decades. There was no other way. These young girls had been spoiled by modern society and the train in their valley. “Of course not. I was going to take the sled, but you girls could go with me. We could ask the ones who still work with pottery to make a small crock for each family.”
The invitation appeared to ease their scowls. “That’s a lot of crocks, Grandmother.”
“But there’s got to be at least twenty people who could do it. That would only be ten each.” The excitement built. This could work.
“Oh, let’s do!” Gwyn clapped her hands together. “Let’s go right now.”
Laughter erupted.
Gwyn covered her mouth. “Oops. I guess we should wait until the bread is baked?”
Nasnana nodded.
Sadzi tugged on her sleeve and pulled her away from the table as Gwyn went to place the bread in the oven. Her granddaughter whispered in her ear, “Grandmother, aren’t you worried about prejudice? You know how many of the white people still treat us.”
“I know, my dear,” she said, patting Sadzi’s hand, “but we’re going to leave this in the Lord’s hands, all right?”
All Things Hidden Page 4