All Things Hidden

by Tracie Peterson

  He’d always seen his mother and father as simple people but nevertheless genuine. Now his heart ached at the thought that even they were driven by the opinions of others. It seemed ridiculous. It was 1935 after all. They had watched their investments and livelihood threatened in the stock market crash of ’29. They’d lived through Prohibition and the government’s attempt to force morality upon a people who clearly saw no purpose in being moral. They’d even lived through a worldwide war that threatened the very freedoms which allowed them to live their socially focused lives. How could they be so blind?

  How could the medical board have been blind to the fact that medicine was far from a perfect science—that patients lived and died, often receiving precisely the same treatment. It wasn’t an exact practice. There were far too many variables that entered into the picture. Even so, to not risk the new innovations, to ignore the modern inventions and medicines that were being created, was akin to hiding in the dark and hoping that the monsters would leave them alone. They were like silly children.

  Jeremiah flopped over on his back and stared in the darkness at the ceiling. Why had this happened to him? What had he done wrong?

  Gwyn watched as her father and Jeremiah hovered over a newer medical journal. Jeremiah talked about the innovative intravenous anesthesia, and her father sat fascinated, hanging on every word.

  As she cleaned and sterilized the instruments they’d used on the last call, Gwyn thought about this new doctor. In fact, thoughts of him came far too often during the day. Brown-haired, hazel-eyed—she’d never met a more handsome man. And he was so sophisticated! What was a man like that doing in a remote place like this? Certainly someone of his caliber wouldn’t have any reason to stick around for long.

  Of course, her father was the best man she’d ever known, and he chose to serve here. Could it be possible for Jeremiah to have that same kind, generous heart?

  Or was he more like the other city people she knew? They didn’t care about other people. Only themselves. Like her mother.

  She shook her head in an effort to rid herself of the negative thought. Jeremiah wasn’t like that. Was he?

  What if her father came to rely on him too much and one day Jeremiah just decided to up and leave? Father was so ecstatic to have him here. Looked at him as a godsend. It’s all he’d talked about for days. Jeremiah this and Jeremiah that. Jeremiah showed him this great new technique. Jeremiah studied blah blah blah under so-and-so.

  If this new doctor didn’t treat her father right, she wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue. Most people knew she was quiet and reserved, but what they didn’t know was that she also had a temper.

  And it began a slow burn. If this young city boy thought he could use her father and then turn around and hurt him, he’d better think twice. Maybe she needed to intervene.

  Her father left the office for a moment. Yes, she needed to intervene. Now. Before she had time to lose her nerve.

  “Dr. Vaughan, may I have a moment?”

  “Sure. And please, call me Jeremiah.” He washed his hands at the sink.

  “What exactly are your plans?” She allowed the picture of her father being rejected and stranded again to rule her imagination. No matter how handsome the man who stood in front of her.

  “Plans? For what?” His brow furrowed.

  “Why did you come here?” Her voice squeaked on the last word. Why did she feel guilty for asking?

  “What? I came to help your father. There are going to be thousands of people in this valley to care for.” He dried his hands on a towel in a slow, methodical way. “What exactly are you asking?”

  Gwyn placed her hands on her hips. She and the new doctor hadn’t had much time to converse over the past week since he arrived. And she’d had way too many daydreams with him in it. That and visions of her father being abandoned didn’t help her temper. “I’m just asking what your intentions are. Not many doctors from the big city would want to venture to a place like this. So I’ll just say it plain and simple. I don’t want my father to trust you only to have you abandon him at a time when he needs you the most.” There. She’d said it. Her shoulders lifted with a huge breath of relief.

  A frown deepened on his face. “I won’t abandon him.”

  “How do I know that’s the truth?” Gwyn pushed. “My father is a wonderful man who’s given up his entire life to serve the people here. He loves medicine. And he loves people.”

  “I won’t abandon him, Gwyn.” Jeremiah swiped a hand down his face. “Look, I think it’s wonderful that you are so protective of him, but you hardly know me. Your father does. And he trusts me.”

  She deflated in an instant. He was right. Her father did trust him. But her father had also trusted her mother. Was there any way possible to protect Father? Her anger abated. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s a good man. And he’s all I’ve got.” She rushed out the door, tears threatening to pour from her eyes. Why was change so difficult for her to accept?

  Tears stung her cheeks as she hit the frigid air outside. Stomping around in the melting snow, she tried to sort out her thoughts. But Jeremiah Vaughan was doing things to her brain. She loved that her father had help. She knew the heavy load would be impossible for the two of them to bear alone, but she also hadn’t expected to be attracted to the young doctor, or to worry about his abandoning them. The jumble of her thoughts wasn’t helping matters. She needed to calm down. Think it through. And give it time.

  Her father headed out the door and straight for her. “Gwyn, what are you doing out here without your coat? It’s freezing.”

  She clapped her hands together. “Oh, just getting some fresh air.” She watched her father’s eyebrows rise and turned on her heel before he could respond. “We’ve got lots to do before those workers arrive.” She cringed and slipped past the older man. Her father would know something was up. Hopefully he wouldn’t ask. Hopefully he would realize she didn’t want to talk about it.

  Blessed warmth greeted her inside the small office. Avoiding Jeremiah, she went right back to the stack of instruments she’d been cleaning and sorting. She felt guilty for having said anything to him. He’d done nothing to earn her distrust. Her suspicious tendencies served no good and only made her look petty. Good heavens, would she ever give up her worrisome ways?

  “Jeremiah,” her father stated, “I’ve got a little project I need some help with. Word has come from the ARRC that the first group of transient workers will begin their journey in a couple days. I didn’t realize how little time we have left.”

  Jeremiah grabbed his coat. “Sure, I’ll do whatever I can. Although I can’t guarantee how good it will be if it includes knitting or cooking.” His smile aimed her way seemed genuine enough. Albeit cool. It never reached his eyes when he looked at her.

  Her father laughed. “No knitting or cooking. This time.” He turned back to the door then looked at her. “Gwyn, why don’t you take some time for yourself today, since I’ve got Jeremiah to help me? You never take any time off.” Another smile directed at her.

  And then they were gone.

  Gwyn stood with scalpels and scissors in her hands. She stared at the door. Should she be offended that her father had replaced her? Well, maybe not replaced her, but it sure felt that way.

  When her father had a project to do, he always needed her help. They’d been a duo for so long that Gwyn forgot what it was like to be alone. That niggling worry worked its way up her spine again. No. She wouldn’t allow it. “Humph. I won’t.” A stomp of her foot and a nod of her head. No need to worry. Nope. A little time to herself sounded wonderful, but then her thoughts turned back to handsome Jeremiah. She wanted to trust him, wanted to hope that he would stick around—she’d really like to know him.

  Maybe being alone wasn’t such a good idea. Too much time to let her thoughts wander, which also meant she’d have time to worry.

  Not a good combination.

  “Of course, it’s silly for me to presume anything about him,” sh
e said aloud. “He might hail from Chicago, but that doesn’t mean he’s like Mother. Father obviously thinks highly of him.” But her father had also thought highly of her mother, and that had proven unfounded.

  Thinking of her mother caused the age-old sadness to stir in her heart. She had always known there was a wall of sorts separating her from her mother. They had little in common and she had always seemed an irritation to her mother. She could remember times when she’d tried to show Mother some new plant she’d found or a craft she’d learned. Mother was never impressed or even interested. She always chided Gwyn, telling her that one day all of this would be nothing more than a memory. Even then she had her plans for leaving Alaska behind. Gwyn wondered if her mother realized the emptiness she’d also left behind in her parting.

  A knock sounded on the door of the office. Gwyn laid the instruments down. “Come in.”

  Lilly McLaughlin hopped in on one foot. “Hey, Gwyn.” Her friend from Anchorage came every year to work with the experimental station where the University of Alaska planted and grew crops of enormous size in their fertile valley soil.

  “Hey there.” She scratched her head. “What on earth are you doing? You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “Pbbft, no.” Lilly continued her strange hopping, wiggling off a boot at the same time. Her bobbed red hair stuck to the sides of her freckled face. “A big mound of dripping snow fell off the roof as I walked around the corner, and now I’ve got a boot full of slush” She looked up and winked. “Have I told you how much I hate wet socks?”

  Gwyn giggled with her friend. She’d always wanted Lilly’s petite size and cuteness. “Don’t we all.” She went back to putting everything away. “But I hate to tell you this—we live in Alaska. And the snow’s not gone yet.”

  “Ugh. I know. Every time I think it’s warming up, we have another cold snap. But at least it is finally melting.” She shook out her boot, and Gwyn threw her a towel. “Thanks.”

  “So what’s brought you over here today?”

  “Do you have time to help me over at the experimental station? With all these people coming, we’re going to have to plant about five times as much as we usually do. You’re so good with growing things, and . . . I’m behind. The greenhouse is overflowing, and I’ve got much more to plant.” Lilly replaced her boot and clasped her hands in front of her face. “Please?”

  Lilly’s pixie face with her lip jutted out caused Gwyn to laugh even harder. “Of course I’ll come help. And you don’t ever have to beg, unless, of course, I’m with a patient. But you are in luck. I’m free for the afternoon. As long as we’re not planting Brussels sprouts. I hate them.”

  “Swell! I promise, no Brussels sprouts. You are the best, Gwyn.”

  Well, Lilly thought that. But it wasn’t true. Gwyn pulled on her boots and coat. Because if it were, then a handsome young doctor would be plagued by her as much as she was by him.

  6

  APRIL 30, 1935

  BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

  “Tony”—the weasel of a man twisted his hat—“we got a real situation on our hands. And I ain’t goin’ to prison.”

  The idiot rambled on and on about what facts the coppers had on the robbery. While the information was good to have, he didn’t need a sniveling rat raving like a lunatic for the whole world to hear. “What are you saying, Simms? You’re going to squeal?” He leaned forward across the table. All business.

  The weasel’s face went white. “No, I would never do that to ya, but those Pinkertons are gettin’ closer. I got a tail. I just know it. They’re sendin’ stuff to the cops, and I can’t go back to Chicago.”

  He drummed his fingers on the silk-covered tabletop, the diamond-studded gold ring on his pinky adding an extra thump. The man in front of him had been useful, yes, but now he appeared to be more of a liability than a help. If he was right and someone was on his tail, the stupid man could lead the authorities right to him here in Boston. That was a completely unacceptable thought. He’d worked too hard to plan things out and wasn’t about to let it all fall apart now.

  “Simms, I think you’re right. You can’t go back to Chicago. It wouldn’t be prudent.”

  The flunky nodded. “I knew you’d see the problem right away, boss.”

  “I do see the problem.” And it sat across the table. The thorn in his side. He looked Simms in the eyes. “And as you know, I’m very good at eliminating problems.”

  Simms looked around him in an anxious matter. “So you got a plan?”

  “I do indeed.” A plan to pin it all on Simms. After all, even dead guys could be convicted.

  He straightened his tie. A change of scenery was in order. Somewhere out of the country, off the map. Not easily accessible.

  Yes. Maybe it was time to go see his brother for a while.

  He allowed a slow smile and tapped his breast pocket. What had seemed a stupid letter earlier about family members being chosen for a fresh start now held more merit. Just needed to clean up a few things here first. “Simms, I’ve got an idea. We need to relocate you—get you somewhere you can lay low. I know the perfect place. Let’s take a drive.”

  “Aw, thanks, Tony. I knew you’d understand. Can we pick up my girl too? We’re supposed to get married, and I wouldn’t want to leave her behind.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want her wondering what had happened to you.” The smile widened. Two for the price of one and there’d be no one left who could identify him. A perfect setup.

  MAY 1935

  MATANUSKA VALLEY

  Gwyn sifted through the small stack of mail in her hands in front of the station. The fresh air of spring was finally upon them, and she so enjoyed the warmth from the sun. Daylight increased by several minutes a day at this time of year, and she wanted to spend as much time out of doors as possible. Especially if it was in the garden. She loved to help things grow.

  Her shoulders slumped as she spied a return address. Another letter from her mother. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received two letters in the span of a year. Had she . . . ever? Gwyn stood and debated whether to open it now or not. Could it be urgent? Could something have happened to Grandfather?

  The snow had melted this first week of May, but it would take time for the ground to absorb all the moisture. Gwyn lifted each boot to relieve it from the mud’s suction. Taking a step forward, she chewed on her lip. It wouldn’t do any good to wait, so she might as well open it.

  The perfect penmanship reminded her of the time she’d seen a copy of the Declaration of Independence firsthand. The calligrapher had done an immaculate job.

  Her mother demanded the same perfection.

  Dear Gwyneth,

  It is apparent that you do not care about your family anymore. Since you have decided not to respond to my last letter, I’ve decided that I don’t have time to wait for your letters or news. Not that you ever have any in that horrible little country. I should have known that your childish selfishness in wanting to stay with your father was an indicator of your attitude toward me. All those years I raised you in less than adequate circumstances and this is the thanks I receive in return? Well, young lady, I have much better things to do with my time. Your sister, Sophia, is loving and gracious. Even though she is the prize so many men seek after, she tells me how often she worries about leaving me alone. She wants to serve me as long as she can. That is what a true daughter’s heart should be—and that is exactly why I am here with my own dear father.

  Your grandfather is still weak, but the doctors will be trying a new treatment next week, hoping to help him rally. Sophia called off her engagement—the man was hideous and a liar. She deserves so much more than a simple doctor anyway. As much as your beloved sister and grandparents would have loved to see you, there’s no need for you to come now. Stay in your precious little Alaska. I don’t have time to worry about your future any longer. I have my hands full with our many social obligations and the constant care of your Grandfather Titus.

  I
f you care to check on any of us, you know the address, but I won’t promise the reply will be speedy.

  Mother

  Gwyn’s temper flared. Her mother was the queen when it came to making Gwyn feel guilty. Words fashioned in such a way that she would stagger under the weight of them until she was convinced she’d committed whatever “crime” her mother charged. Why did it always work? And the comment about the “simple doctor” was unneeded. In fact, it was downright hateful!

  It was true Gwyn had just received the letter a couple weeks prior, and she did decide not to respond. How could her mother have known?

  Was she a horrible daughter because of that? Gwyn couldn’t remember one time she’d ever done anything right in her mother’s eyes. Not one. And now she was the bad daughter for not following her mother back to her snobby family.

  “And what about loyalty to my father? Mother can see validity in forsaking her own family to care for Grandfather Titus but sees only betrayal in my staying here to assist Father.” There were clearly two sets of standards being applied, but wasn’t that always the way with people like her mother’s family? The socialites and moneymakers of the world had only one consideration, and that was one of self. As far as Gwyn knew, her grandfather had never cared about anything as much as he did his bank account and investments.

  More guilt pooled in her stomach. She shouldn’t think such nasty thoughts about her relatives, but Mother’s family only cared about their mansion, how many motorcars they owned, and which friends had the most money and influence. They lived daily to see their name mentioned in some positive manner in the society pages of the newspaper. They placed value not on people, but on their bank balances, on how much they could acquire while the rest of the country suffered in hunger and poverty.

  Gwyn thought back to the first years of the Depression after Mother went back to Chicago. Her early letters had been filled with derogatory comments about the poor, and how she hoped they’d all get shipped off somewhere so they wouldn’t mar her beautiful city any longer. The begging got on her nerves.