Her father had mentioned Jeremiah last night and commented on what a wonderful doctor he had turned out to be. He spoke of the great love Jeremiah showed for the children, that he’d supplied them with new baseballs and bats for their games.
Gwyn had wanted to tell her father about her feelings, but she’d been hesitant to share too much. In her heart, she’d wanted to share everything. All her fears and innermost thoughts she shared only with the Lord. Something held her back from opening her heart to her father.
But Father knew. He didn’t push. He encouraged her to talk to Nasnana about it.
If she talked to Nasnana, would the woman who knew her almost as well as she knew herself look into her eyes and see the turmoil and confusion? The fear? The longing?
The . . . love?
There was no denying it any longer. Her strong feelings for Dr. Jeremiah Vaughan couldn’t be hidden or ignored.
But Gwyn didn’t know or understand what she was supposed to do or how she was supposed to do it. She didn’t have a textbook. She didn’t have an older sister. She didn’t even have a mother she could turn to for guidance.
While there were other native people nearby, Nasnana, Sadzi, and Father had been her only close companions for a great many years. There’d never been any secrets. Never anything she couldn’t share.
But this was different.
And Gwyn had no idea why.
Thoughts tormented her like buzzing flies. Now she wished her father hadn’t demanded she stay home from the hospital today. There was plenty to get done, but she’d gotten so used to staying busy around people that she feared her own thoughts and emotions.
Was love always so complicated, so painful? Lord, what do I do?
“Knock, knock!” Sadzi’s voice came through the window.
Gwyn ran to the door. “Come in!” She glanced down. “What are you up to?”
Sadzi held the handles of two large buckets in each hand. “I noticed you hadn’t had time to do any blueberry picking. I saw your father at the hospital, and he informed me you were home today. So . . . change your clothes. Let’s go before the bears eat them all.”
A giggle bubbled up to the surface. Just what she needed. “All right, give me two minutes.”
“I’ll give you one.”
“Ah!” Gwyn laughed all the way to her room, knowing her friend meant it. She flung off the dress she’d worn that morning, grabbed an old shirt of her father’s she used for gardening, and slipped it on. She could hear Sadzi counting outside.
“. . . twenty-one . . . twenty-two . . . twenty-three . . .”
Gwyn stepped into her overalls, snatched her leather gloves, and ran to the door.
“. . . forty-eight . . . forty-nine . . . fifty . . .” Sadzi looked down at Gwyn’s feet. “Uh, you might want shoes . . . fifty-one . . . fifty-two . . .”
Only Sadzi knew how to make her laugh this way. Thank you, Lord, for this friend. Gwyn grabbed two pairs of thick wool socks, yanked them on, and stuffed her feet into her rubber boots.
“Sixty!” Sadzi grimaced and laughed. “Well, you made it, but you look a fright. Look on the bright side—maybe you will scare the wildlife away.”
Gwyn looked down. One pant leg was stuffed into a boot; the other was half in and half out. The buttons on her shirt were buttoned crooked, and one shoulder of her overalls wasn’t hooked. “Easy now. I made it, didn’t I?” She held out her arms and twirled.
Their laughter filled the air outside as Gwyn shut the door and tried to adjust herself and keep up with Sadzi at the same time.
Trekking up the hill to their favorite blueberry gullies, they caught up on all the happenings around the valley.
Sadzi moved closer and bumped a bucket on Gwyn’s leg. “Grandmother wants you to know that she misses you.”
“I miss her too.” A long sigh escaped. “I know it hurt that she was accused of Gertrude’s murder, and I know she wants to give people space, but I wish she’d come out more often.”
“She’s getting old, Gwyn. Her heart longs to help more, but I think her body is slowing down.”
“If only Gertrude hadn’t stirred up all that mess to begin with. If only they could find out who killed her. If only . . .”
“All the if onlys in the world won’t change it.” Sadzi’s sad smile said it all.
Since sin entered God’s beautiful creation, there’d been prejudice and gossip. Gwyn couldn’t stop it. Neither could Sadzi. But Gwyn loved her friend’s spirit. Having given the colony several weeks after the initial confrontation, Sadzi dove right back in to help with anything and everything she could. If someone was uncomfortable around her, she slipped away to help elsewhere and didn’t force the issue.
“You’re right. Me and my worry. One of these days I’ll conquer it . . . with God’s help.”
Sadzi laughed. “I’ve known you since before I can even remember. You’ve always been a worrier. Always. Not that God can’t change that, but how many handkerchiefs alone have you destroyed?”
“Oh, don’t get me started. My father now gives me a new package of hankies every Christmas and every birthday.”
The path narrowed and Sadzi led the way. When they reached the top, she sidestepped her way down the steep gully. Gwyn knew the routine well. Every year growing up, they’d spend days in the late summer and fall picking berries. The best times were when they’d had plenty of rain. They’d climb to the top and work their way down the gully as they picked.
A comfortable silence settled over them as the first berries plunked into their buckets. Years of practice came back, and they picked up speed. It wouldn’t take them too long to fill the four ten-gallon buckets.
“So . . .” Sadzi picked with both hands and popped a blueberry into her mouth. “Are you going to tell me about how you’re madly in love with Jeremiah Vaughan, or do I need to make up my own story?”
The barking cough of his two-year-old patient woke Harold from his nap in the chair. The warmth of their makeshift steam tent must’ve put him to sleep. Swiping a hand down his face, he stood and went to the boy. Harold sat the child up and checked his lungs.
Croup was such a nasty illness for the little ones. Mothers hated to hear their children struggling to breathe, and Harold had never gotten used to it either. Thankfully, this was the first case in the colony, but they were approaching the season. How many nights would he spend in a chair like this over the next winter?
He smiled at the boy who looked up at him. The little guy patted his hand and went limp. Asleep in an instant after the awful coughing spasm.
Harold wouldn’t change a thing about his life. Other than the fact that he hadn’t spent enough time with Gwyn lately. How many days had it been since their chat over sugar cookies? He glanced up at the calendar on the wall. October was only two days away.
His mind drifted back to other years. Would he change anything? Even with Edith gone, he still knew that God was in charge, and this was where he was supposed to be.
Stretching his back and neck, he decided another little nap wouldn’t hurt. He’d check on the other patients in the hospital and take up residence by little Tim again.
Six other colonists and one carpenter took up the cots in the hospital that night. Thankfully, the numbers were down. Harold scribbled a few notes as he checked each one and found his chair back in the steamy curtained-off area.
The clunking of booted feet alerted him to someone else entering the hospital. Oh, he hoped it wasn’t another patient. He wanted the people to stay well. About to stand, Harold stopped with his hands on the arms of the chair when Jeremiah’s head poked through the curtain.
“Dr. H., mind if I join you?”
He leaned back. “Not at all, Jeremiah. Come on in. Pull up a chair.” Sleep could wait. The young doctor’s face was serious.
“Something bothering you, son?”
Jeremiah sat down, his hat smashed in his hands.
Harold chuckled. “You know. You’re as bad as Gwyn. When sh
e’s got something on her mind or she’s worried about something, she’ll twist and fray her hankie to shreds.”
His words elicited a small smile but nothing more. Jeremiah stared down at the floor.
Harold had been around the block a few times. He knew what was on the young man’s mind. “Well, since I don’t want to use a scalpel to pry it out of you, I should probably tell you that I know the truth.”
22
Jeremiah’s head shot up, his eyes as round as saucers. “You do?”
“I do. I know how much you care about my daughter. I see it on your face. Love bit me once too, you know.”
“It’s not just about your daughter, Harold. It’s the fact that I don’t deserve your daughter. I . . . I . . .”
Lord, help this young man. He’s carrying so much anger and hurt.
Jeremiah sighed. His head hung low, shoulders slumped.
“I know, Jeremiah.”
“No, Dr. H., you don’t. As much as I care for Gwyn . . . I . . . I . . . just can’t.”
Harold slid his chair closer and leaned with his elbows on his knees. “I do, Jeremiah. Son, look at me.”
The anguish in Jeremiah’s eyes was almost more than Harold could take. This man was broken.
“I know about Chicago.” Harold took a deep breath and prayed for the right words. “I know about Mrs. Brewster. I know about the proceedings against you, and I know that your license was revoked.”
Jeremiah slumped even further into the chair and leaned his head back. “How long have you known?”
“Only a week. It took over six weeks for the letter to reach me. It had gone out to one of the islands first and then had to come back up here.”
“What letter?”
“I wrote to an old colleague of mine this summer. I was so excited about the colony and the work we were doing. Ecstatic that you were here.”
“And you let me continue practicing medicine? Why?”
Harold looked away. “I’m not real sure. Other than the fact that I know you are a phenomenal physician. I’ve been debating all week whether I should discuss it with Dr. Albrecht before I brought it up with you, but we haven’t had the time.”
“Dr. Albrecht will be furious.”
“No, I don’t think he will, son.” Harold crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s a good man. And he believes in you. He’s told me on several occasions how much you’ve taught him and how much he respects you. I also know that your cousin has been appealing your case. My friend back in Chicago thinks you have a chance, even if the bigwigs aren’t on your side.”
“What do I do now?”
“Well, first, we send a telegram to your parents and find out how the appeal is going.”
Jeremiah shook his head. “I’m sorry. I never should have put you—”
Harold held up a hand. “I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing. No one can know what they might do in another’s situation, so no more apologies. You are forgiven. Now we move forward.”
“But how?”
“You need to tell the truth. The sooner you do, the sooner everything can be resolved.”
“But there’s more—”
“Sophia?”
Jeremiah’s eyebrows shot up. “How’d you know? Mrs. Hillerman made it very clear that she didn’t communicate with you.”
“My friend. He shared that not only had you lost your career, but you’d lost your engagement to my daughter all in the same day.” Harold stood and checked the little boy’s temperature. “I can’t say it surprises me. Sophia and her mother only care about the appearance of things and where they stand in society. I’m sure hearing that you had lost face was enough to cause Edith to force an end to the betrothal.”
“I don’t think it was just Sophia’s mother who wanted to put an end to the engagement.”
“I’m certain that Sophia has turned into a beautiful young woman. I just wish her heart were as beautiful as her exterior. I’m afraid she’s too much like her mother.”
“So you know.” Jeremiah cleared his throat. “You know that she’s . . . well . . .”
“A snob? Vain? Money hungry?” He let those thoughts hang for a few minutes. “Yes. It makes me so sad. Edith turned Sophia into a replica of herself years ago.” He paused. “Unfortunately, I could have stopped it. I wish I would have.”
“How can I ever tell Gwyn? I mean, you’ve already guessed correctly about how I feel for her. But I’ve been lying to her all these months, and when she finds out I was engaged to her sister, I don’t think it will go over very well.” The young man’s voice rose. The line of his jaw tightened.
“You need to tell her the truth. But there’s something else you have to do first.”
Jeremiah sat straighter. Every muscled looked rigid. “What?”
“You’ve got to get your heart right with the Lord.” Harold sat down, hoping that he could reach this young man that he loved like a son.
Jeremiah leaped to his feet, his face red. “God took everything away from me!”
“No He didn’t. We live in a sin-filled world with sin-filled people. You can’t blame your circumstances on God.”
“But why didn’t He save Mrs. Brewster? Why couldn’t He have kept the board from ruling against me? Why didn’t He open my eyes to Sophia’s façade and true character before I fell in love with her?”
“Would you be here?”
“Well, no. Maybe. I don’t know. But that’s not the point.”
“What is the point? You want someone to blame?”
“Well . . . yes. My life was ruined—”
“Your life wasn’t ruined. If you had died without reconciling to God through Christ, then your life would have been ruined. Is that what happened?”
Jeremiah looked away.
“Son, you told me that as a young boy you accepted Jesus as your Savior. Weren’t you about nine years old? Ten maybe?”
Jeremiah sat down heavily in the chair. He nodded. “I just don’t understand. I had my life all in order. I was going to be the hospital head, Dr. H., did you know that? During one of the worst economic times in our country, I was going to be making a decent salary. I was going to get married and have a family and be successful.”
“In other words, you were storing up earthly treasures.”
“What?” Jeremiah looked confused.
“Give me a second. I’ll be right back.” Harold went to his little desk in the corner of the hospital building and grabbed his Bible, praying all the way back to Jeremiah. “Look at this, son. Matthew 6:19–21 says this: ‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’
“You see, Jeremiah, moth and rust corrupted all those things you listed earlier, because you weren’t laying up your treasures in the right place. That means your heart wasn’t in the right place either. God wants to be first and foremost in your life. No matter what you do, who you are, where you work, how much money you have, or who you’re married to.”
The younger man leaned forward. “May I see that?”
“You can even borrow it. I’ve got another at home.”
Jeremiah sat silent for several moments as he gazed at Harold’s Bible.
Lord, please reach his heart. Heal him, Father. He’s hurting.
“You know. You’re right.” Head bowed. “When I packed to come here, I didn’t even bring my Bible. I brought all my medical books instead. What kind of a man am I?”
Harold gripped his shoulder. “A man that I love as much as if he were my own son. And a man that God loves even more. He wants to use you, Jeremiah, for His glory. He’s given you amazing gifts. You are an incredible physician. And you love my daughter. I couldn’t ask for a better son-in-law.” He squeezed hard, and the young man’s h
azel eyes met his. “But you’ve got to get your heart straight with the Lord first. You’ve got to tell the truth. And I’ll help you appeal that case until we’ve exhausted every resource.”
Clarence knelt beneath the open window of the hospital. So Dr. Hillerman knew. And wanted to help Jeremiah.
And wanted to take Gwyn away from him.
He couldn’t let that happen. Not ever.
Footsteps echoed off the wood floors. Someone was coming. Clarence ran behind a tree and watched as Jeremiah stood in the doorway talking to Dr. Hillerman.
“I’ll be back in a few hours. Thank you. For everything.”
The older doctor hugged the young man. It made Clarence sick to his stomach. This was not part of his plan.
He watched Jeremiah walk away and the door close.
What could he do? He needed to think—to clear his mind. He pulled the small envelope out of his pocket. There wasn’t much morphine left, and the man who’d promised to bring him some from Anchorage never returned.
A new plan formed in his mind. He could take care of things and get what he wanted all at the same time. He turned and searched the ground.
Grabbing a heavy log about the length of his arm, he headed for the hospital. At the tree, he took off his shoes and then crept in the same door Jeremiah Vaughan had just exited.
He slid one foot in front of the other, listening for any sound that would give away his presence. A slit in the curtain to the right gave him a perfect view. The good doctor was sitting down, head bowed, eyes closed.
Clarence counted to ten and then slid through the opening.
Crack!
Dr. Hillerman fell face first onto the floor. Clarence ran to the other room, smashed the glass in the case where they locked up the medicine, and grabbed what he wanted.
He yanked a pillowcase off the linen shelf and shoved everything inside. Then he went back to the door and looked around. How would he do it? Wrapping his jacket snugly around the good doctor’s face, Clarence chuckled to himself. He amazed himself with his own brilliance. With a glance back to the clinic, Clarence dragged the old doctor’s limp body to the river.
All Things Hidden Page 23