Forever Hidden

by Tracie Peterson

  “Well, frankly, sir, I want to pursue her naturally. And I don’t want you ever thinking that I didn’t genuinely love the one that I chose.”

  Several seconds passed as Chuck studied his face. Then his attention went to the paper as he wrote. I trust you, John. That’s why I chose you. But the contract is in place for exactly why I’m here. Think about what would happen to them if I died. Which one?

  “Sir, first, let me say that I would take care of things anyway as your foreman. But if you truly want to give this farm to me and one of your granddaughters, let me continue to work for you and alongside you. Over the years, it will be greatly important for me to learn from you.”

  Chuck tapped the first question on the paper.

  John leaned back in the chair. “That’s why I signed it in the first place. So I understand your purpose, I do . . . but it won’t be easy to explain.”

  Chuck wrote again. Why would you need to explain?

  “I think it’s only fair that I tell my wife the truth one day.”

  Chuck made a face and then tapped the paper again. This time to the second question.

  John read it again. “Which one? Which one what?”

  The pencil moved at a faster speed.

  Granddaughter.

  “Oh, my apologies. Well, you see . . . that is . . .” He swallowed. “I’ve taken quite an interest in Havyn.”

  Off went the pencil again. Perfect. I had a feeling. Does she know?

  The words brought a smile to his face. “I’m glad you think it’s a good match. And no, she doesn’t know. At least, not yet. I’m hoping to get to know her a little better. If we can ever find the time. I’m going to go to the Roadhouse tonight.”

  Good idea. As you ride there and back, it will give you ample opportunity to talk and get to know one another better.

  John wanted to shake his head and laugh. “Are you playing matchmaker now?”

  Maybe.

  “While we’re talking about the contract, there’s the piece about the gold that I would like to discuss.”

  Chuck raised his left eyebrow.

  “I don’t feel right taking it.”

  Why?

  “I don’t believe I’ve earned it, sir. And I don’t want it just for marrying one of your granddaughters. If you want to give it to us as a gift later—much later down the road—that’s fine. But it doesn’t seem right for me to have what belongs to you.”

  I gave it to you.

  “It was very generous of you, but I still don’t feel I should keep it.”

  Chuck nodded after a moment. I can respect that.

  “Thank you.” John stood. He leaned over and gripped the man’s hand. “I’m praying for you. Lots of people are. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”

  Another nod.

  John went down the hall and found Mrs. Powell in the kitchen. An interesting—almost herbal—smell was in the air. “It’s good to see him able to communicate. His mind seems to be sharp.”

  She nodded as she filled a tray. “He was out of it for a while, but seems to be getting back to his normal self. Now if we could just keep him from trying to jump out of that bed, we’ll be doing well.”

  The thought made him smile. If anyone would try to do that, it would be Chuck Bundrant. “Do you need me to help you with anything before I leave?”

  “No, but I appreciate it. I’ve already told the girls you’re going tonight. Whitney is getting the wagon ready so you can all ride together.”

  “That will be wonderful.”

  “Just make sure you bundle up. It’s chilly out there. Could come up a fog.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He headed to his room. Time to change clothes and get freshened up before they needed to leave. With any luck, he’d be able to sit near Havyn, and they’d get to speak. Was it wrong to pray that he sat next to her rather than Whitney? He’d really rather not have the cold shoulder the entire drive to town.

  When he went back to the house, the girls came out the door, instruments in tow. He helped load them and went to the driver’s seat.

  Whitney eyed the reins. “Are you driving us?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  She shrugged.

  God must have been in on the plan with Mr. Bundrant, because Havyn ended up in the front seat with him, while Madysen and Whitney sat in the back seat.

  The four of them chitchatted about the weather, the farm, all the new calves, the chickens, and even Whitney’s sled dogs all the way to the Roadhouse. An engaging and pleasant conversation. Easygoing. And the more time he spent with Miss Havyn Powell, the more he longed to know her better.

  At their destination, the girls scurried out and thanked him for the drive. He parked the wagon behind the large building, where plenty of other conveyances stood waiting for their owners.

  By the time he walked back up to the building, loud applause nearly burst through the walls and windows. Were the Powell ladies about to play?

  As he opened the door, a rush of warmth hit his face. The glow from lanterns and lights filled the room until it almost felt sunny. The huge room was packed with tables and chairs, all of which were filled with eager guests. The food smelled hearty, even though John couldn’t immediately identify what it was. It apparently was quite good, because the men were eating as if their lives depended on it.

  Up on the stage, a flash of green caught his attention. He turned. Whitney, Havyn, and Madysen all appeared from behind the curtain. The green dresses they’d worn for their mother’s birthday celebration—how many weeks ago had that been now?—brought out the gorgeous color of their dark red hair. Their hair color wasn’t orangey, like some of the fellas had that he’d met in Cripple Creek. No, the Powell ladies all had a deep, dark shade of red that he couldn’t describe. Havyn’s had gentle waves to it. The way she’d pulled it into some sort of loose knot at the back of her head was elegant and lovely.

  What a beautiful group of women.

  The standing ovation continued even as the Powell ladies insisted the men sit down.

  Whitney took her place at the piano, and Havyn picked up her violin. Madysen sat with her cello in front of her. Whitney played a note on the piano, and the other two tuned their strings.

  The crowd hushed until he could almost hear the men breathing. And then the girls started a lively tune. How on earth did they start at the exact same moment?

  Whitney’s fingers raced up and down the keyboard, while Havyn’s bow flew over the violin. Madysen’s head bobbed fast as her fingers played up and down the neck of her larger instrument. Was that how she kept time? Pretty soon the audience started clapping along—but not too loud. These were seasoned customers. They knew how to be entertained and how to enjoy clapping along while still hearing the music.

  John found a seat at a table, and before long, his foot was tapping out the rhythm. A young man came and asked if he’d like some dinner, and since his stomach growled at the very same moment, he gave the menu a try. Ordering a stack of sourdough flapjacks, or hots as they called them, with a generous side of bacon, John gave the boy a smile. It seemed normal that people around here ate breakfast food in the evenings. Plenty of the men were eating large stacks of the cakes, which made John’s mouth water.

  The lively song ended and applause erupted. A large tin can began making its way around the room. John caught sight of it at one point and noticed that it read TIPS. Ah, so this was a good way for the girls to make some extra income as well. Very smart. Especially in a town like this. Lots of men would be starved for entertainment, and yet, here the men had a chance at entertainment that was honoring to God. It was the only alternative to the brothels and saloons. But the Roadhouse proved that such a place could exist, and it was packed. It must turn a good profit.

  The next song began with Whitney playing the piano. And then Havyn started to sing. Her voice—clear, bright, and angelic—soared to the rafters. Whatever the song was, John had never heard it. But it was beautif
ul. And it wasn’t in English. Nor Italian. He listened more closely . . . ah, French. When he was a child, he’d learned a bit of the language. After all, Italy was neighbors with France. Even so, he couldn’t place many of the words from the song.

  By the time she reached the second verse, it seemed she had the entire room hypnotized. Then Madysen and Whitney joined her.

  Closing his eyes, he let the music wash over him. Never had he heard such talent. And the harmonies were astounding. They all seemed to have quite a range. From low to high, their voices floated through the scales.

  The man next to John leaned over. “I got goose bumps. Don’t think I ever had that happen afore.”

  All he could do was nod. Because the same thing happened to him.

  For the final verse of the song, all three girls played their instruments and sang. He’d never seen a violinist sing while she played. For that matter, he’d never seen a cellist do it either. But somehow, the Powell sisters did it. Beautifully.

  As soon as the song ended, every man in the room jumped to his feet and clapped. Many of them whistled and threw hats in the air.

  Havyn stepped forward and quieted the crowd. Once the men were seated again and relatively quiet, she spoke in a resonant voice. “For this next selection, we’d like to share a song with you that my sister wrote. It’s going to be another a capella piece, so we’ll need you to be very quiet so you can hear.”

  The same man leaned over to him again. “Uh, what’s that mean?”

  “It means there won’t be any instruments, just their voices.”

  The young waiter delivered John’s order, and he said a quick prayer, thanking God for the food and the opportunity to be there at the Roadhouse that night. When he looked up, Havyn was looking at him as she sang.

  His heart beat a little faster, and he forgot all about the food. In his mind he could see himself with Havyn, the two of them walking together—talking . . . holding hands. Stopping along the way to share a kiss. Perhaps many kisses.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he sent another prayer heavenward.

  Lord, if You wouldn’t mind helping me out . . . I’d like to get to know Havyn better, but I’m afraid half the town is already smitten with her. Including me. How do I pursue Havyn, Father? Please show me.

  Twelve

  Stepping off the stage into the makeshift dressing room area, Havyn felt as if she walked on the clouds. Tonight had been the best yet. The performance had made her feel alive. But then . . . it was so much more than that. Everything changed when she connected gazes with John.

  The dark-haired foreman had been focused on her, and every time she caught a glimpse of him during the evening, he’d been watching her, looking mesmerized. It made her insides flutter. Oh, she’d had men look at her like that before, but something, when John did it . . .

  It was different. John’s look made her heart soar.

  “Ladies, that was remarkable! Outstanding!” Mr. Norris hugged each one of them with one arm. Then from behind his back, he pulled out the can. “You won’t believe the tips from tonight. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  Whitney took the can and when she looked inside, her eyes widened. Mr. Norris always counted it and left them a note on top with the amount. “Is this correct?”

  He nodded his head. “I even double counted. It’s correct.”

  Whitney showed Havyn the piece of paper, and she couldn’t help it—her hands flew to her mouth. “Wow.”

  Madysen peeked over her shoulder. “Gracious!”

  “And there’s more.” Mr. Norris tucked his hands behind his back. “The men have asked again if you would come back every evening. Except Sunday, of course. I have to tell you, my business is doing very well on the weekends when you ladies are here performing. The other evenings, I regret, I don’t have anything to compete with the saloons and brothels. I’m willing to pay you more if you’ll come during the week as well.”

  Havyn looked to her older sister. “I love the idea . . .”

  “But I’m not sure that would be wise.” Whitney held up a hand. “As much as we appreciate it, Mr. Norris, with Granddad laid up, I’m not sure we could keep up with everything. There’s a lot of work to do at the farm.”

  Havyn leaned closer to their older sister. “I hate to point out the fact that in all practicality, if we could bring in extra income it might help out Granddad and the farm.”

  “While that is true”—Whitney gave an authoritative look—“we have to take into consideration that we will be leaving all the duties of caring for Granddad with Mama. That’s a lot for her for such a long time each evening.” She lifted her chin and looked back to the owner. “Mr. Norris, may we have some time to think and pray about it?”

  “Of course. And I completely understand that. Know that the invitation is open for any time. Just let me know so that I can get the advertisements out. You’re a big hit.” The owner of the Roadhouse gave them all a big smile.

  Whitney emptied the can into Madysen’s purse. A mix of gold nuggets and coins settled in the bottom before Whitney handed the can back to Mr. Norris. “Thank you. We appreciate all you’ve done for our family.”

  “And I thank you for what you’ve done to increase my business.” With a huge smile, he left them to gather their things.

  Havyn studied Whitney’s face, then shared a look with Madysen. “I agree that we should pray about it, but I also think it’s wise to realize that we could probably use the extra money.” They put on their coats and headed toward the back door. “Do either of you know for sure about the finances of the farm?”

  A shrug from Maddy. “No.”

  “No.” Whitney shook her head. “Granddad always kept the books, and I have no idea where he keeps the extra funds. It’s something I’m hoping he’s spoken to Mama about because we need help. Until the salmon run comes, I’m going to have to buy more meat for the dogs. Unless one of you wants to go shoot a musk ox?”

  “Have you asked John about it?” Please, Lord, let Whit be open to John. “I’m betting he knows where the extra money is.”

  “Havyn’s right, Whitney. He’s riding home with us, so that gives us the perfect opportunity. Then maybe we’ll be able to sing and play more here.” Madysen squeezed Whitney’s arms. “We’re just trying to help. Plus, I enjoy it. My vote is to agree to Mr. Norris’s offer.”

  “But what do we really know about this John fellow? He showed up one day and Granddad hired him?” Whitney shook her head. “I don’t know. It seems a bit odd to me.”

  How could Whitney be so stubborn about John? “Other than the fact that Granddad was close friends with John’s grandfather? And obviously Granddad trusted him. Then there’s the undeniable fact that he’s a hard worker. Goodness, Whitney, the man has tried to move heaven and earth to help you with your dogs.”

  Whit shot Havyn an arched look. “I don’t need any help with my dogs.”

  “Don’t we all know it!” Havyn put her hands on her hips. “Gracious. John has done a phenomenal job with the farm since Granddad had his spell, and half of it he’s had to learn on his own. We should at least give him the benefit of the doubt. Just because you don’t want anyone else being in control doesn’t mean he’s shady or untrustworthy. We should respect our grandfather’s judgment. Don’t you agree?”

  Madysen raised her hand high. “I agree!”

  “We’re a little beyond being in school, Maddy. Put your hand down.” Whitney rolled her eyes.

  “I know that.” Madysen buttoned up her coat and put her hat on her head. “But you’re not in charge, Whit. We’re all adults now, and we all help with the farm. We’re in this together.”

  As the sisters exited the building into sunlight that teased the mind into thinking it was still early, John pulled up the wagon outside the door. He tipped his hat to them. “Ladies, you did a marvelous job tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Havyn returned his smile and handed her violin case to him as she climbed into the front seat.
<
br />   Madysen and Whitney loaded the cello and settled in the back. Havyn shifted in her seat. Whitney better not cause any trouble.

  John didn’t waste any time setting the team in motion. “Everyone seemed to enjoy that. I’m glad I was finally able to come.”

  “I think I enjoy it more every time.” Madysen piped up from the back. “Mr. Norris said he’d like to have us sing every night but Sunday.”

  John looked to Havyn. “Truly? Wouldn’t that be awfully hard on you? I mean, it seems that would be a strain on your voices to sing every night like that.”

  “We’re stronger than you might think,” Whitney declared. “Strong and capable.”

  Havyn wanted to crawl under the seat. Whitney’s tone meant things could turn ugly. Havyn broke in before Whit could say anything wrong. “We’re going to pray about it and talk to Mama. I think the financial help would be good for the farm with Granddad laid up.”

  John tilted his head. “Since I haven’t gone over the ledger with your grandfather yet, I don’t know a lot about the money side of things, but I can see how taking Norris up on his offer would be a positive.”

  Havyn studied John’s profile. “So you don’t know how to pay the workers or where Granddad kept the funds?” At least their grandfather was awake and alert now. That would help.

  “No. I’m supposed to bring the ledger to him tomorrow so we can go over all of it. Chuck has some interesting shorthand that I can’t decipher. And he told me there’s another ledger, I just don’t know where.”

  “Oh, good.” Glancing behind her, Havyn fixed Whitney with a look that she hoped silenced her older sister.

  It didn’t.

  “Why hasn’t Granddad entrusted you with that information yet?” Crossing her arms over her chest, Whitney raised an eyebrow.

  Havyn shook her head and turned forward again. No good could come out of this. Lord, help.

  “The workings of the farm were your granddad’s priority. I have the ledger, but I don’t want to mess up his system.”

  “Who are you, John? We know nothing about you.” Whitney’s tone was almost accusing.

  Havyn hurried to intercede. “What she means is, we were talking earlier and realized we’d like to know you better.”