Forever Hidden

by Tracie Peterson

  Mama stepped around the table to her place. “Won’t you join us for dinner, John?”

  “Thank you, ma’am. That is quite generous.”

  Granddad went to the head of the table and pointed for his guest to sit at the other end. Which placed the handsome Mr. Roselli on Havyn’s right.

  She laid her hands in her lap and bowed her head. Where had this man come from? And why did Granddad hire him?

  As Granddad thanked God for all of His provision, a horrible thought made her inhale quickly. Her skirt! Gracious. Underneath her apron, she was an absolute mess. Oh, why hadn’t she changed?

  She put a hand to her hair. Oh, was it a mess too? Well, nothing she could do about it now. After Granddad’s amen, she gathered everyone’s bowls and passed them to him so he could serve the chowder.

  “Now, John. I don’t know if you’ve had a good fish chowder yet, but you’re about to have the best. Havyn is an excellent cook, and she makes this magnificent creamed corn to go with it.” After he’d served everyone the chowder, he began to pass around the steaming bowl of creamed corn. “My favorite way to eat it is to put a nice big spoonful of it right in the middle of the chowder.”

  “Sounds wonderful to me.” Mr. Roselli took two biscuits from the breadbasket and buttered them. Setting them down on his bread plate, he accepted the bowl of corn and did exactly as his host had done.

  Havyn took the bowl as he passed it to her, and she did the same. What was it about this man that seemed so . . . intriguing and different?

  Mama cleared her throat. “So . . .” She dipped her spoon into her bowl. “Papa, did we have any new calves make an entrance?”

  Granddad laughed. “Did we ever. Five, just today.”

  “Wonderful.” Mama tasted her chowder and turned to Havyn. “Delicious, as always.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” She looked across the table at her siblings. Madysen looked cheery as usual, but Whit’s expression didn’t bode well. The air around the table sizzled with an odd awkwardness.

  Oh, hopefully Whitney would keep her thoughts to herself.

  The eldest Powell sister picked up a biscuit and tilted her head. “When did you decide to bring on a foreman?”

  So much for keeping her thoughts to herself.

  Whitney loved this farm. And had offered numerous times to run it for their grandfather. His hiring a foreman without even talking to them? Whit’s feathers were clearly ruffled. Like one of Havyn’s hens.

  Granddad took a sip of his water and set the glass back down on the table. “That’s a really good question, Whitney. You know things have gotten a lot more demanding around here, and even with all the hands that help with the milking, I still find myself busier than I’d like. I admit I’m getting a bit older, so it’s only wise for me to bring on some help.” His tone was light but firm enough to brook no argument.

  Mama reached over and patted his forearm. “That’s a very wise decision, Papa. I’ve been telling you that you work too much, and so has Dr. Gordon.”

  Havyn wholeheartedly agreed. “I think it’s a great idea.” She looked to their guest. “We’re glad to have you here.” She turned back to Granddad. “And maybe now you’ll have more time for fishing so you don’t have to go in the middle of the night.”

  He laughed again. “Exactly my thoughts, Havyn. Which, of course, means more chowder.”

  She looked across the table at her eldest sister. Oh boy . . . something was simmering in that head of hers, but thankfully, she let the subject drop.

  For now.

  Their guest polished off his first bowl of chowder.

  Granddad waved his hand. “Send your bowl up this way, and I’ll fill it again.”

  “Thank you, Chuck.” He did as ordered, then wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked around the table. If he felt any of the tension around the table, he didn’t let on. “Let me see if I remember . . . Whitney, Havyn, and Madysen? Did I get them right?”

  “Yes, you did.” Mama smiled at their new foreman.

  Granddad passed the full bowl back.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard such lovely names before. Do they have special meanings?”

  Mother laid her napkin down and turned toward John. “My husband—God rest his soul—had a best friend when he was a child with the surname of Whitney. He was determined that whether we had a girl or a boy, we needed to name our first child Whitney.”

  No matter how many times Mama told this story, Havyn loved it. Memories of her dad were so precious.

  “Then he decided we should be as creative and unique with our second child. When Havyn came, we were in the middle of a crazy lightning and thunderstorm. Which turned to snow. In August mind you. Cripple Creek is way up the mountain.”

  “John here came from Cripple Creek. His grandpa and I were good friends.”

  “I knew I recognized the Roselli name!” Mama beamed a smile at their guest. “You’re Giuseppe’s grandson, aren’t you?”

  Their guest’s face lit up. “Yes, ma’am. And I remember well the snow we often had on the mountain in the summer months. Please continue with your story. I’m fascinated.”

  “Well, this snowstorm was unlike anything we’d ever seen. Thankfully, we made it back to our little cabin, which he called a safe haven. So he named her Havyn, using the Old English spelling of a y instead of an e.”

  John glanced at Havyn and smiled.

  “Then we had our last little surprise.” Mama looked at Madysen. “At the time of our third baby girl’s birth, my husband had a good friend with the last name of Madison. So once again he changed the spelling and called her Madysen.”

  Havyn took a sip of her water. Mama left out the fact that Dad’s friend was actually the bartender who served Dad drinks every day. All day. And all night. Havyn found that out when she heard Mama crying one night and went to console her. When Mama discovered who Dad’s best friend was, she’d felt horrible for naming their newborn after him.

  Yet another secret tucked away in Havyn’s heart.

  Granddad stood up and put his napkin on the table. “Well, girls, I think it’s time I got John settled for the night so that tomorrow I can show him the ropes.”

  John stood as well and nodded at them. “It was nice to meet you all.” He turned to Havyn. “Thank you for a wonderful meal.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Silence engulfed the table as the men walked out the door. Once the door shut, Mama raised her eyebrows at all of them.

  But Whitney didn’t hold her tongue. “I can’t believe that Granddad would hire a foreman without talking to us!” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Mama’s brow furrowed, and her tone sharpened. “And exactly what would you have him do? He’s getting older, Whitney, and I’ve been worried about him for some time. This farm is growing, and the demands for milk and eggs are higher than ever.”

  “Well, at least it didn’t have to be a stranger. You know how long it will take my dogs to get used to someone new? And if he’s going to be here all the time, that’s going to get them riled up every day. It will completely mess with their training.”

  Havyn sighed. “You and your dogs. They’re smart enough—I think they’ll do fine. Besides, he’s not a stranger. He’s obviously a friend of the family. You don’t like him because you wanted the job yourself.”

  Whitney came out of her chair, her curly hair escaping the braid she’d thrown over her shoulder. “Don’t even start about my dogs, or I’ll sic them on your chickens.”

  Madysen stared at her from across the table, her jaw dropped. No one messed with Havyn’s chickens. “I’m going to ignore that comment because I know you don’t mean it,” she said. “You’re just mad that Granddad didn’t consult you.”

  “Girls!” Mama stopped the argument before their tempers really took off without them. “Now, it is not our place to question your grandfather. This is his farm, and we will respect his decisions.”

  “But—”

&nbs
p; Now it was Mama who stood. “There will be no buts, Whitney Elizabeth Powell.”

  Uh-oh. Mama used Whit’s whole name . . .

  Her tone was firm. “We will support whatever Granddad does.” Her expression softened a tad. “Besides, I think it will be wonderful to have a foreman. Might help things run smoother.” She lifted her chin and gave them all a stern look. “Now, it’s time to clean up the kitchen and get to the rest of the chores. Then we need to go to the Roadhouse to perform. So I do not want to hear one more word of argument out of any of you. Please act like the ladies you are.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Havyn started to clear the dishes.

  “Fine.” Whitney straightened her shoulders. “But if this new foreman doesn’t work out and it all blows up in our faces, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” She strode out of the room, and in seconds they heard the beginning of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2 echoing through the house.

  With a bit more ferocity than normal.

  Havyn followed Mama into the kitchen.

  Madysen carried a stack of plates in and looked to their mother. “What’s gotten into her? And you all say that I’m the melodramatic one. She acts as if Granddad hiring a foreman is going to start a war.”

  “Don’t worry about your sister.” Mama patted Madysen’s shoulder. “She doesn’t like change, and this wasn’t what she envisioned happening here.”

  “Well, I for one think it’s a wonderful idea. Granddad has been working too hard.” And it didn’t hurt that the new foreman was fascinating. Havyn liked him already.

  “Yes, he has.”

  She restrained a frown. Mama’s voice had that worried tone. The kind that meant there was more to the story. Did Mama know about Granddad?

  Havyn started a pan of soapy water. Well, John was here now. That would take a lot of strain off Granddad. He would be all right . . .

  Wouldn’t he?

  Six

  Pride filled Melissa as she watched her girls grace the stage at the Roadhouse. The three were arm in arm, singing the new song she’d written for them. A capella. In perfect harmony. A haunting ballad about the loss of their father, the song had come to Melissa late at night, when she allowed the tears to flow. Thoughts of Chris had come often of late.

  She missed him.

  In all the years since Chris’s death, no other man had interested her. Maybe because she’d been too engrossed in raising and teaching the girls. Maybe because living with Papa had been easy. Comfortable. Or maybe she didn’t want to open up her heart only to be hurt again.

  Every day she prayed for her girls and what their heavenly Father held for their futures. More than anything, she longed to see them stay together as a family. If she had her druthers, it would be right here. On the family farm.

  A standing ovation erupted around her, and Melissa joined the men in applauding as she smiled up at her daughters. The next song was a lively one, so she moved to the edge of the crowd to allow for the boisterous knee-slapping that almost always took place. Last thing she needed was to get caught in the middle again and have one of the men ask her to dance.

  Herb Norris came to her side. “They’re getting more popular every time they get up on that stage. That last song was a tearjerker for sure.”

  “Thank you for asking them to perform. They love it.”

  “I’d love to have them more often, if you’re willing.” He pointed to the stage. “The men would come every night if they knew your girls were here.”

  “The farm keeps us pretty busy, but we’ll think about it. Maybe for some special occasions or holidays?” The sound of forks clanking against dinnerware filled the room. Funny how the men seemed to do most of their eating when the girls weren’t playing or singing.

  He tilted his head. “That would be wonderful. Just know that the invitation is open.” He walked away as Whitney started the next piece on the piano.

  Melissa scanned the room. Herb was right—the crowds had grown for her daughters’ performances. How wonderful that they were able to use their talents.

  A man at the table in front of her struck a match and then lit a fat cigar he’d put in his mouth. Herb didn’t allow for alcohol or spitting, but for some reason, he let the men smoke. Probably because Herb liked to smoke a pipe himself.

  When the sweet-spicy scent from the cigar wafted her way, she waved a hand in front of her face and moved toward the back—

  Oh no! It was happening again! Her lungs tightened. Tears rushed to her eyes. She couldn’t take a full breath.

  Racing for the back door, she put a hand to her chest. It felt like someone was pressing down on it. She tried to suck air in, but it only seeped through on a wheeze.

  Outside, she leaned against the building and bent over at the waist, trying to force air in through her nose. Closing her eyes, she worked to calm herself. Tried to take slow breaths. But when she couldn’t seem to get enough air to satisfy her starving lungs, panic built.

  No. She couldn’t let it overtake her. She had to calm down.

  A tiny breath in. Slow breath out.

  Another small breath in. Even slower breath out.

  This was much worse than what she’d experienced before. She kept at it for several excruciating minutes, but her breaths still came shallow and pinched.

  Oh, she mustn’t get sick! The summer months in Nome were the busiest. Papa needed her. So did the girls.

  Standing upright, she looked to the sky. Please, Lord, help me. . . .

  But no answers came.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. There was no choice. She’d have to go see the doctor soon. Before her family suspected anything was wrong.

  John sat on the edge of his bed and tugged his boots off. Four days at the farm now, and every muscle and bone in his body seemed to ache. How had Chuck managed this on his own for all these years? While the older man shuffled and paused every now and then, John was still amazed at everything his boss accomplished. Every. Single. Day.

  Maybe John had gone soft. Taking care of Nonno and then all the traveling were the only reasons he could come up with as an excuse for being so out of condition. How long would it take for him to get into the swing of things?

  The room that Chuck had given him above the milking shed—a humble name for such an enormous barn—was warm and cozy, with its own fireplace in the corner. Not that he’d had time to even unpack. He worked with Chuck, ate with the family, worked some more, and came to bed.

  As he went to pull a clean shirt out of his rucksack, he spotted the package on the floor next to the end of his bed. They’d been so busy these first few days, what with Chuck insisting that John learn every inch of the farm and every detail of the daily workings, that John hadn’t been able to give it to him. In fact, he’d forgotten about it.

  Shaking his head, John ran a hand through his hair. First thing in the morning, he would give it to Chuck. Before chores. Before breakfast.

  Nonno’s wish would be fulfilled.

  A knock at the door startled him.

  “John, it’s Chuck.”

  He went to the door and opened it. “Did I forget to do something?” John’s heart pounded for a moment. No matter the family friendship, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting his new employer down.

  Chuck held up a hand and entered. “Not a thing. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  John let out his breath as he closed the door. “Good. I need to talk to you too. I’m so sorry, but after that first day, I forgot to give you the package from Nonno.” He walked to the end of his bed and retrieved the paper-wrapped box. “Here it is.”

  “Thank you, John. And thanks for coming all this way to deliver it.” The older man chuckled. “If I know Giuseppe, I know why he did it.” He pulled the one chair in the room closer with his boot. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  Chuck sat in the chair with a sigh and set the package on the floor.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “With you?” Chuck sh
ook his head. “No. Not at all. But we will get to all of it in a moment. First, I wanted to ask you about your plans.”

  “My plans?”

  “Yes. I realized I hadn’t asked how long you plan on staying. The ships will be able to reach us in a matter of weeks, so I can’t help but wonder if you plan to stay.”

  “Oh.” John looked down for a moment. “I’ll be honest with you, Chuck. At first, I thought it would be short term. I’ve spent the last fifteen years in gold-mining towns with my grandfather and figured I’d like to try something different.”

  Chuck looked at the floor for a moment and then back up, his face serious. “I see. Well, do you like it here?”

  “Very much. Even though it’s merely been a few days, this is the best job I’ve ever had.”

  “Would you consider staying?” Chuck’s probing gaze was steady.

  John looked at him for several moments. “I honestly hadn’t thought about it until you offered me the foreman position. I came here to deliver Nonno’s package and was going to start fresh somewhere after this. I just hadn’t figured out where.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t just a simple request for you to bring me the package. Your grandfather wanted to get you up here for a reason.”

  That sounded like Nonno, still . . . “I don’t understand. If that’s true, why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Ah, well, your grandfather always had a plan. He liked to dream too. I’m sure he didn’t want to put you in dire financial straits, but trust me when I say that he wanted the best for you. I have to admit it impressed me that you went to Doc Gordon looking for a job. Shows you’re a man of character. A man looking ahead.”

  “Thank you, Chuck, but I’m still confused. Do you know why my grandfather sent me here?”

  “I have an inkling, but let me ask you this . . . will you consider staying?”

  The man’s voice almost pleaded. There must be more to this than John first thought. “I know I have a lot to learn, and it would be an honor to work for you, Chuck.” He sat on the edge of his bed and placed his elbows on his knees. “But I feel there’s something more to your request.”