Forever Hidden

by Tracie Peterson

  Besides, their personalities could cheer up even the gloomiest of moods. Especially once you got to know them.

  All except Angry Bird, of course. It was best if everyone stayed out of her way. But Havyn loved on the hen anyway. No matter how prickly she became.

  A wagon rolled up the lane.

  Dr. Gordon raised his hat in the air and waved, but Havyn didn’t recognize the man with him.

  She set the bucket down and went to the fence to greet them. “Good afternoon, Doc. How are you today?”

  “Quite well, Miss Powell, and you?”

  “Lovely. The sun is shining and I’m out with the chickens. What could be better?”

  “Your singing at the Roadhouse, that’s what.” Dr. Gordon laughed.

  His comment made her smile. “You’re biased. But thank you anyway. The chickens are my audience today.”

  “Not a bit of bias, Havyn Powell—even though I’ve known you since you were quite young. Let me introduce you to Dr. Geoffrey Kingston. He’s going to take my place while I travel to see my mother in Walla Walla. I’ll be gone at least a year, so he’ll be a permanent part of Nome now.”

  She nodded at the wiry man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kingston. I hope you are enjoying our little town.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” He tipped his hat to her. “And I find Nome to be quite the town. I had no idea it was so large when I answered Dr. Gordon’s advertisement for a partner.”

  “It hasn’t always been like this, but finding gold changed everything.”

  Dr. Gordon cleared his throat. “Well, we are off to see your grandfather. Is he around?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s up in the pen right beyond the barn checking over the calves.” Every morning and night she prayed that Granddad would take it slower so that he wouldn’t have any more spells. Perhaps Doc Gordon could talk some sense into him.

  The men nodded at her as the wagon rumbled up the lane.

  After she fed the chickens, she brought several buckets of fresh water out to them. If the water wasn’t freezing over, the chickens were spilling it, or they drank it all too fast. But with a flock as large as hers, it couldn’t be helped.

  “Havyn?” Granddad stood at the gate to the chicken yard.

  She headed over to him. “What are you doing here? I just sent Doc up to the calf pen a few minutes ago to find you.”

  “Nice to see you too.” Wiping his neck with a handkerchief, he looked down at the ground.

  Something wasn’t right. “Granddad?”

  “Honestly, I’m not feeling all that well. Can you ask John to handle things?”

  The longer she looked at him, the paler he appeared. Tossing the buckets aside, she rushed to the gate. “I think we need to get you to the house right now. I can go get Doc after you’re settled, and then I’ll let John know. Everything will be fine.”

  Several seconds passed before he responded. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

  She latched the gate and then got her shoulder up under him and pulled his left hand around her neck. “Hang on, Granddad. I’ll get you there. Let’s take it slow, all right?”

  “Sure.” The word sounded slurred.

  Wrapping her right arm around his waist, she stuck her hip out toward him and pulled his weight against her. But the more steps they took, the more he began to slide.

  “I don’t think I’m gonna mamitanffff—” The rest of his air whooshed out of him and he collapsed to the ground, taking Havyn with him.

  Nine

  Landing with a thud, Havyn screamed. “Help! Somebody help!”

  She’d tried to cushion Granddad’s fall, but they had still hit pretty hard. Rolling him over onto his back, she checked for wounds. The right corner of his mouth was drooping. A trail of drool down his chin. No! Not apoplexy.

  “Doc Gordon! Come quick!” Using her voice for all she was worth, she yelled toward the birthing shed. She grabbed Granddad’s hand and pulled it to her cheek. “Stay with me, Granddad. You’re not allowed to go anywhere.” She turned her face the other direction again. “Help!”

  The seconds ticked by. Tears stung her eyes.

  Doors slammed and footsteps came from several directions.

  Mama reached them first and knelt on the ground. “What’s happened? Papa?”

  “I don’t know. I was walking him back to the house because he said he wasn’t feeling well. Then all of a sudden he collapsed.”

  The doctors were at their side next. Doc Gordon put his head to Granddad’s chest. “He’s still breathing and has a heartbeat. Let’s get him inside.” The new wiry doctor helped Doc pick him up, and together they carried him to the house. Havyn followed on their heels, her mother and sisters behind her.

  Once they got Granddad in his room, Doc turned to her. “I need you to keep everyone out for a little bit while I examine him. Keep them calm. Maybe go to the parlor and play some music. I’ll come talk to you in a few minutes.”

  She nodded and gathered her family like they were her chicks and led them to the parlor.

  Madysen went straight to her cello and began playing a hymn. Whitney joined from the piano.

  Mama looked at Havyn with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Would you sit with me while I pray?”

  Havyn took her mother’s hand and knelt on the floor with her. Several silent moments passed as the music washed over them. It all seemed so surreal. What had happened? And how did it happen so fast?

  Mama began to pray aloud, but Havyn couldn’t even register the words. In her mind’s eye, all she could see was Granddad fall. Over and over again.

  The time passed in agonizing moments.

  “Ladies?” Doc Gordon’s voice made them all stand to their feet. He walked over to them. “I’m afraid your father has had a bout of apoplexy.”

  Mama gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

  “He’s actually doing all right at the moment. From what I can see, all the signs seem to be good that he will wake soon. But it does appear that his right side is paralyzed.”

  “Paralyzed?” Madysen squeaked.

  Doc held up his hand. “Now, don’t go rushing into any assumptions. During a fit of apoplexy, many people experience one side or the other going paralyzed. His facial muscles on the right are drooping—a signifier of the problem. But it’s too early to tell for sure. If he wakes, he may not have use of the right side of his face, or his right arm, or his right leg. That could last. But it might go away.”

  The wiry doctor spoke up. “If I might interject, I’ve seen several cases where the patients progressed and regained the movement in the paralyzed side. But that was after a lot of exercises and help.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Gordon clasped his hands behind his back. “For right now, you need to keep him comfortable. Pray for him. And then once he awakens, make sure he gets nourishment. But be careful. Sometimes it is hard for patients to swallow, or to keep food and drink in their mouths. You’ll have to help him.”

  “We’ll do whatever we need to do.” Mama lifted her shoulders. “It’s a good thing he’s left-handed.”

  The situation was dire. Havyn felt it in her bones. Saw it on Doc’s face. Was this her fault? What if she had shared Granddad’s secret with Doc Gordon, or even with Mama?

  John ran into the room. “I’m so sorry, I was down in the pasture trying to round up some stubborn cows when I heard the scream. What’s happened?”

  Mama pinched her lips together. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s my father. He’s collapsed.”

  “Is he all right?” He moved forward. “What can I do?”

  She lifted her chin. “It sounds serious. Apoplexy.” She smoothed her skirt and clasped her hands in front of her. “I need you to keep everything running, John. That’s a lot to handle, but I’m sure you can do it. The girls and I will have to take turns caring for Papa until he’s up and about again.”

  “I can do that.”

  Whitney scowled and moved forward. “I don’t thin
k—”

  “Whitney.” Mama sliced one of her hands through the air. Her commanding tone reminded Havyn of when they were little and drew close to danger. “Now is not the time to give your opinion or to argue. Your grandfather hired John to be the foreman. He’s in charge. I won’t hear another word about it.”

  “Yes, Mama.” She clamped her lips together and stepped back.

  Doc lifted his finger. “He’s not going to be able to do much for a long while. You need to be prepared for that.”

  Havyn put her arm around Mama’s shoulders. This wasn’t going to be easy on any of them.

  “May I see him?” Mama moved forward.

  “Yes, it would be a good idea for all of you to see him and talk to him. Might help him to wake up.” Doc Gordon shook his head. “I hate to leave at such a time, but Dr. Kingston here has agreed to come out twice a week and check on him. Someone will need to sit with Chuck at all times. Just in case he wakes or tries to get out of bed. It could be disastrous if he’s by himself and takes another fall. The mind doesn’t always have a lot of clarity after a bout, so we can’t have him disoriented and alone.”

  “We understand.” Mama nodded. “But you think that he’s going to be all right? That there’s a chance he can make a full recovery?”

  “It’s a chance, but yes.” Doc looked so solemn, like the last hour had aged him several years.

  “A chance is good enough for me.” Mama moved past him and stopped. “Thank you for taking such good care of us all these years.”

  “You’re welcome.” Doc Gordon watched her walk away. Whitney and Madysen followed.

  Havyn hung back for a moment. “Doc Gordon, might I have a word?”

  “Of course.”

  John cleared his throat. “I need to get back to the cows and let the workers know. Will you fill me in at dinner?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Havyn waited for him to leave and then turned back to their doctor. “I have been keeping Granddad’s secret for a while.”

  “Yes, I know, he told me.” He patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry that.”

  “He told you that I knew?” None of it made sense anymore.

  “Yes. I tried to convince him to let everyone know. I pushed and prodded and overstepped everywhere I could, but you know Chuck . . . he’s extremely stubborn.” Doc shook his head.

  The emotions inside her were a jumble. “I didn’t know what to do. He made me promise. But if I had said something . . . could I have stopped this? Is it all my fault?”

  Doc laid a hand on her shoulder. “I warned him that you would feel this way if something happened. It’s not your fault. Your grandfather wanted to get things in place in case something like this happened. I’d been advising him for the past two years to slow down and take care of himself, but sometimes it takes a health crisis for us to pay attention.”

  “But it feels so wrong. Like I did something wrong. Should I tell my mother and my sisters?” Her stomach churned.

  He shook his head. “No. If he wakes up, which I hope and pray he does, you can talk to him about telling the rest of your family later. This was his secret. His decision not to let you all know.”

  Swallowing against the lump forming in her throat, she gave a slight nod. “And if he doesn’t wake back up? Do I still keep it to myself? I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “Sometimes secrets need to stay hidden. Forever. For the good of everyone.”

  In search of Whitney, John took off his leather gloves and slapped them against his thigh. More than a week had passed since Chuck’s fall, and it had been pretty much a blur. Chuck had finally woken up a couple days ago, but all the Powell women had been so busy with chores and sitting with their patient that there hadn’t been much time to tell them what was going on with the farm. And he needed to discuss several things with . . . at least one of them.

  They all ate meals—much simpler fare than they were used to—in shifts. It took two of the women to keep on top of their granddad’s every need. One to run for whatever was desired and one to stay with the patient. They were determined never to leave him alone. Mrs. Powell usually fed him, but she had enlisted each of her daughters to help. And she’d asked John to help with Chuck’s personal needs.

  John was busy keeping up with the farm, but happy to help whenever he could. But every time he wanted to bring up the business side of things, the timing had seemed off.

  Since Whitney was the eldest, maybe she would be the best one to speak to. Maybe it could even help her get over whatever it was she had against him. As he approached the large fenced-in kennel area, he couldn’t help but appreciate the work that had gone into it. He scanned the area. There she was . . . feeding her dogs. Perfect timing.

  The sled dogs were amazing, but they took a lot of work and attention.

  “Good afternoon.” He put on his best smile. Out of everyone here, Whitney made it clear that she wasn’t fond of him.

  She hardly responded as she moved from dog to dog, delivering mixtures of fish and blubber. There were more than forty dogs, and Whitney told him once that they needed thousands of calories every day if they were to be at their peak. He’d volunteered a few days ago to help her take care of them, thinking it might afford him the perfect opportunity to get to know her better, but she’d refused. She was every bit as stubborn as Chuck had warned. So stubborn that she was barely getting any sleep. As attested to by the circles under her eyes.

  She’d been congenial enough this morning at breakfast, when everyone else was around the table, but had hardly said more than a sentence to him when they were alone. Either she was completely exhausted or she still didn’t think he should be there.

  He was pretty certain it was the latter. “I’m making a list of things to purchase in town. I thought maybe you might need something for the dogs.”

  She continued her feeding task. “No, I’m fine. I’ve already arranged with Amka to bring me seal and fish.”

  “Well, what about the dogs that are about to whelp? Your mother said something about your grandfather needing to make a whelping box? That the other had been destroyed?”

  “I’ve already seen to it.” Her words were curt and left little doubt to her annoyance.

  He’d gotten about all the information out of Whitney that he was going to get, and he simply hoped and prayed that she would let him know if she needed anything for the kennel of dogs . . . or herself. One thing was clear: She wasn’t at all interested in him as a potential mate. If anything, she was interested in him leaving them all alone. “Please, let me know if you do need something.”

  No response.

  Well, that was that. He turned and went to the chicken yard. When Chuck had first asked him to marry one of his granddaughters, John thought perhaps the eldest would be the best idea. That thought vanished almost immediately. But while he didn’t want to waste his time trying to get her to like him, he at least wanted to earn her trust and respect.

  As his steps brought him closer to the large chicken yard, he couldn’t help but smile. Havyn was the one who’d captured his interest. Not that he could do anything about it right now, but he looked forward to every moment they could spend together.

  She did such an incredible job with the poultry side of their farm, but Chuck had warned John that Havyn’s chickens were for eggs only. Her attachment and fierce loyalty to the animals was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Eventually, it would be his job to bring on chickens for butchering. Half the town had already showed up begging to buy fryers, and he’d had to turn them away. There would be a lot of money in selling chickens for meat, but he didn’t even want to think about the conversations he would need to have with Havyn about that.

  As he approached the chicken house, he heard her voice. She was singing . . . “Santa Lucia.” And in Italian. She stopped abruptly.

  “I am not singing off-key. You are the one who is off.”

  He frowned and glanced around. Who was she talking to?

&nb
sp; “I accept your apology, AB.”

  He heard nothing but chickens clucking. Then he smiled. Of course. Everyone teased Havyn about talking to her chickens. But she wasn’t talking at them. She was having full-blown conversations with them. Albeit one-sided. With words anyway.

  “Good afternoon, Havyn.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and enjoyed watching her. The sun caught her red hair and turned it into a ball of fire. She hadn’t braided it or pinned it up, and the way it rippled actually made his breath catch. He’d never seen it down before.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Good afternoon, John.” Then she went right back to talking to the chickens. “Oh, is that a fact? Well, we will need to speak with Angry Bird about that, won’t we?” She walked over to a dark-feathered chicken. One who pranced around like she was in charge of the show. Havyn pointed a finger at the hen. “Now, Angry Bird, we’ve talked about being nice to one another. It’s about time you took my advice to heart.”

  The chicken ruffled its feathers out, lifted its beak, and began to give quite a squawking to Miss Havyn.

  John covered his mouth to keep his mirth hidden and kept watching.

  “I don’t care what you think about the other chickens, you need to be nice.” And then, to his complete surprise, Havyn bent down and scooped the agitated chicken up. The hen pecked at her hands a couple times until Havyn stroked the chicken’s back. Then, all of a sudden, the chicken settled and looked like she was the queen sitting on her throne. “That’s much better. Let’s just remember our little chat next time you decide to peck at one of your friends.” Havyn carried the large bird over to him and kept stroking her back.

  The hen gave him the evil eye.

  “Did you need to discuss something?” Havyn offered him a sweet smile.

  He cleared his throat. “Um . . . yes. In my attempt to keep up with all the foreman responsibilities, plus everything your grandfather did, I realized I hadn’t checked on the chickens.” He held up his hands, just in case she got offended like her elder sister. “You do a splendid job with them, so I’m not questioning any of that, I simply thought perhaps I had neglected your needs. Er . . . any needs you—the chickens—may have.” Letting out a sigh, he put his hands down. “My apologies. As you can tell, I’m still learning all the workings of a farm as large as this one. All of my bumbling around was simply to ask, do you need feed or anything else for them? I’m making a trip to town later today, in case you do.”