Forever Hidden

by Tracie Peterson

  Was glorious.

  She pulled back a few inches and stared into John’s eyes. So many things filled her heart and mind, and that was okay. Even if she couldn’t put it into words now, they had the rest of their lives.

  He lowered his forehead to hers. “Would it be terribly inappropriate if I kissed you?” His breath fanned her face.

  She gave a tiny shake of her head and held her breath.

  When their lips met, she felt more loved and cared for than she ever had in her life.

  He pulled back. “I’ve been dreaming of that for a while.” He put his hands at the sides of her waist and stepped back. “Even though I’d like nothing more than to kiss you for the next hour, I better take care of this mama and her calf.”

  Biting her lip, she stepped back too and felt a blush rise up her cheeks.

  “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “See you then.” She nodded and watched him turn back to his work. “John?”

  “Yes?” He looked over his shoulder.

  “I love you.”

  His smile made his eyes shine. “I love you too.”

  Weariness filled his limbs, but John’s heart was flying high. Even hours later, he couldn’t get the image of Havyn’s lips out of his mind. Not only had Havyn expressed her love for him, but that kiss! No wonder men lost their heads over women.

  He left Judas’s warehouse and walked to his horse. These long hours working into the wee hours of the night were exhausting. But it was worth it to make sure that Mrs. Powell got the treatment she needed.

  Three o’clock in the morning now. By the time he got back, he might be able to get an hour’s sleep before the chores of the day needed to start. At this point, an hour sounded glorious.

  As he lifted himself into the saddle, his thoughts raced back to Havyn.

  It was a good thing Chuck approved. John had gone after dinner to tell Mr. Bundrant. Asked for his permission. The light in Chuck’s eyes had answered. Now there was no need for a contract of any kind. John wanted to be part of the family. He would help run the farm at Chuck’s side, and the family business would flourish. No more need for Chuck to worry about things if something happened to him.

  Looking up at the starry sky, he prayed for their future. He and Havyn hadn’t talked about a timeline, but he assumed they would wait until Melissa and Madysen returned from Seattle. Which could be next spring, if the treatment took several months. And then they’d have to wait for a ship.

  He really didn’t want to wait so long, but it couldn’t be helped. It was the right thing to do. Maybe by then, Chuck would be up on his feet and stronger. John loved being the foreman, but it was a lot to take care of on his own. He prayed the older man could recover so that John could learn more from him.

  As he approached what he thought of as the saloon district, he nudged the horse to a faster pace. Sleep awaited him, and he doubted anyone would hear the sound of his horse’s hooves here.

  Wait. What was that?

  Something was happening in the middle of the street in front of him.

  John slowed his horse enough to go around them.

  Then he heard the voices. One pleading. One shouting.

  A man held a gun, which wasn’t an unusual sight in Nome. Especially around the brothels and saloons. Men got drunk and called each other out to fight.

  Didn’t they realize it was the excess of liquor that made them do things like this?

  Shaking his head, he lifted a prayer heavenward. Should he stop and help?

  Probably best not to get in the middle of a brawl. John passed them—then did a double take. The man with the gun pointed at his chest was Dr. Kingston.

  John pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted.

  “You’ve been selling us medicine for our daughter that didn’t work! And you know it, Doc.” The man holding the gun sounded like he was choking back tears. “You killed her. It’s your fault.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dr. Kingston held his hands up. Even in the dimly lit street, John could see his face was ashen.

  “How many more people have to die, Doc? Huh? How many? Why did you have to kill our daughter? She ain’t done nothin’ to you.”

  Praying every step, John approached as softly as he could. “Sir, I’m sorry about your daughter, but shooting the doctor won’t help anything.”

  The man looked over his shoulder at John but kept the gun leveled on the doctor. “Yes, it will. He’s been making a tidy sum off of selling fake medicine to good folks. People who needed him to help. And now my daughter is dead.” The man’s grief was overwhelming. He turned back to Dr. Kingston. “So now it’s your turn to pay. All your fancy clothes and things can’t help you where you’re going.”

  “Please!” The doctor winced. “Please don’t shoot. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  “It’s too late for that. . . .” The man’s voice fell and his shoulders slumped. And then he fired the gun.

  An hour later, John stood with the sheriff in the jail. His heart ached for the father now behind bars. A man whose daughter had died only hours before. A man who’d taken the law into his own hands in the midst of grief and would now have to pay for his crime.

  And John grieved for the doctor. What the man had been doing was wrong, but did he know the Lord? What if he hadn’t ever had the chance to hear the Gospel? All the times John had seen the man, not once had he even thought to share his faith with him. And now he was dead. What did that say about John? Could he have done something more to prevent the doctor’s death? Should John have confronted the doctor privately about the fake medicine and told him that it was possible to clean up his life?

  “Thank you, Mr. Roselli, for your statement. Having a witness helps in these situations.” The sheriff held out his hand. “I’m sure you must be ready to get home. I’ll come out to the farm if I need anything else.”

  John shook the man’s hand. “What will happen to him?” He pointed his head toward the jail cell.

  “It will go to trial. The judge might be lenient because of the circumstances, or he might conclude that it was premeditated and choose to hang him. Either way, it’s going to be horrific for the family.”

  “The man was obviously grieving the loss of his daughter.” Even though John had witnessed the man kill another human being, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

  “Yes. But he still chose to get drunk and then shoot a man.” The sheriff shook his head. “These are the kinds of cases I hate. I’m glad the judge will have to carry the weight of this and not me. It’s too easy to be clouded.”

  “I agree.” John put his hat back on his head and looked to the sheriff. “I’ll be going now.”

  “Thank you for your time.” The sheriff scribbled on the papers in front of him.

  John mounted his horse and headed toward the farm as light began to streak across the sky. So much for getting any sleep. He’d have to try to get a quick bit of shut-eye maybe after lunch. If there was time.

  As he pushed his horse to trot, John’s stomach churned. God had called all of them to go and make disciples. But John hadn’t done much of that. At all.

  Oh, he’d lived a good life. For the most part. But he hadn’t felt an urgency to share his faith. And yet, he was surrounded by a lost and dying world.

  All these years, he’d worked in gold-mining towns. He’d despised the way most of the men lived, and yet, what had he done about it? The mission field had been right in front of him and he hadn’t done a thing.

  The conviction weighed heavy on his chest. Things needed to change in his life. That was for certain. Maybe he should meet with the pastor.

  Because he never wanted to see anything like that happen again.

  About a mile from the farm, a man was walking alongside the road. Who would walk out to the farm, especially this early? There wasn’t much of anything else out here.

  Pulling his horse up alongside him, he shouted out a greeting.

 
The man stopped and turned, a smile on his face. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. Can I help you with something?” John eyed the man. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t place it.

  “I’m headed up to the Bundrant Dairy.” The man shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “I’m the foreman there. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No. I just need to see Mr. Bundrant and the Powells.”

  “Oh, you know them?”

  “Yes.” The man sighed. “I do.”

  “Well, I can let them know you’re coming. But Mr. Bundrant is not having visitors right now, and neither is Mrs. Powell.” John leaned over the saddle horn. Who was this man?

  “Is there anything wrong?”

  “Mr. Bundrant has been laid up for some time. Apoplexy. And Mrs. Powell is quite ill.”

  “Oh.”

  “Perhaps you should come at another time?”

  “No. I need to come now.” The slump of the man’s shoulders made John pause.

  Why? John narrowed his eyes. Why did the man look so familiar? “All right. But I can’t guarantee that you’ll be allowed to see anyone, sir.”

  “They’ll want to see me.”

  John stared at the man for several moments. “Okay, then. I’ll see you up at the farm. The name’s John if you need anything.”

  The man nodded. “Thank you. I’m Chris.”

  John urged his horse back into motion. Had the man been on the ship with him? No. That wasn’t it. And John hadn’t met him in Nome. So why did he seem so familiar?

  Maybe someone from Cripple Creek? It was the only thing that made sense.

  Then a picture of the man playing with a little boy came to mind. Throwing him up into the air and catching him. A lady hanging wash on a clothesline.

  John tried to place it—

  And the memory came back. In Cripple Creek. Actually, a small area outside the mining town. He’d been riding back up to the mining town, and in the woods on the way a woman had offered him water.

  The memory took root, and then the rest came back.

  One night John had been outside one of the saloons looking for his friend Ben. John heard he’d gotten involved with gambling, so he went to find him. But instead, he’d come upon that man. The man playing with his little boy just a few days prior. Several men encircled him.

  “You think you’re the big man in town, don’t you, Chris?”

  There were more words, and then one of the other men threw a punch. Next thing John knew, all of the men were hitting and kicking Chris.

  He’d only been fourteen, but he’d rushed to the man’s aid. Not that it had done any good. The men had already done too much damage.

  John shook his head of the memory and looked over his shoulder. The man he’d just seen walking toward the farm had died that night. At least, that’s what was declared minutes later.

  So what was a supposedly dead man doing looking for Chuck and the Powells?

  John’s gut twisted into knots, and he spurred his horse forward.

  He rode the rest of the way up to the house and hoped to find something to eat before he headed out for some of the chores. Maybe he could sneak into the house without disturbing anyone. But then there was that man coming to visit. Probably better to let someone know a visitor was on his way.

  John’s mind refused to cooperate and sort through the matter. He was famished and exhausted, and nothing seemed to make sense.

  He hopped off his horse, scrubbed a hand down his face, and put the reins over the hitching post. Walking in the back door, he heard crying and then muffled voices.

  Had something happened? He made his way toward the sounds. Torn between not wanting to intrude and wanting to be there for Havyn, he cleared his throat to let them know he was coming.

  When he entered the dining room, the sisters were at the table with hankies in their hands.

  His heart sank. “What’s wrong?”

  Havyn got up and made her way to him. She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s Mama. She’s gone.”

  Twenty-Seven

  John stood rooted to the spot. The room emptied as Whitney took her sisters to go tell their grandfather. He’d wanted to go to Havyn. To hold her and comfort her. But he’d held back a second too long. And then Whitney whisked her away.

  And poor Chuck. What would this do to him? How had this happened? To such a wonderful woman . . .

  God, why?

  Couldn’t God have intervened to help her make it a little longer? Until they could get her to Seattle?

  Blinking several times, he moved his feet and walked back outside.

  He’d failed.

  Failed to help Chuck get his daughter to the hospital.

  Failed Havyn.

  Failed Whitney and Madysen.

  It was all too much. He wiped a hand down his face. The Powell ladies would need him more than ever now.

  Losing his parents had ripped him apart all those years ago, and it still hurt. And then, when Nonno died, John only survived with his faith and doing the next task at hand. Putting one foot in front of the other. One day at a time.

  He grabbed the reins to his horse and saw that man—Chris—walking up the lane. With a heavy sigh, John walked down to him. He’d completely forgotten about him.

  “I’m afraid you won’t be able to see anyone today. There’s been a death in the family.”

  The man’s face went ashen and he staggered a step. “Not Melissa, was it?”

  What an odd reaction. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry. But perhaps in a week or so, we could meet in town? I’ll be glad to tell Chuck that you came by.”

  “No.” The man began to weep and held up a hand.

  Who was this guy? And why was he so upset?

  Chris pulled himself together after a moment. “Don’t say anything. Not yet. I . . . I need to go.” He turned and started back the way he came, his shoulders slumped and shaking.

  This made no sense. Why had his path and this man’s crossed again? And how did he know this family? The questions nagged at him, but there were weightier things that needed his attention.

  He would throw himself into the work of the farm, taking care of Havyn’s chickens and then Whitney’s dogs and Madysen’s sheep—so they wouldn’t have to worry about it today. Then he’d do everything else that he could to ease their load. If he didn’t sleep for days, so be it.

  By the time he’d taken care of the chickens and dogs and sheep, it was well past lunchtime. His rumbling stomach attested to the fact that he’d missed breakfast, but he couldn’t think about that right now. If he went into the house and disturbed them all because he was hungry, that would be selfish.

  If only he could see Havyn . . . He’d thought she would have come to him by now, but it wasn’t doing any good for him to wallow in the fact that he wasn’t needed. At least not for comforting.

  But he wanted to comfort her.

  He went back to the milking barn, then stopped and stared. The workers had not only done all the milking, but they’d mucked out the barn too. What a huge help. He’d have to thank them when they came back for the evening milking.

  “John?”

  He turned at Havyn’s scratchy voice. “Havyn . . . oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

  She ran into his arms and he held her as she cried.

  They stood there for several minutes, rocking back and forth. He rubbed her back. She sobbed against his chest.

  “I love you, Havyn. I’ll do anything you need me to do.”

  She nodded against him. “I can’t believe she’s gone.” Sucking in a trembling breath, she pulled back and looked up at him. “It doesn’t seem real.” Havyn let go of him and swiped at her cheeks. “There was so much more I wanted to say to her. But I did tell her last night that I loved you. She gave a little smile, so at least she knew I was happy.” Tears streamed down her face. “I just wanted her to be here . . . for all the important events, you k
now? I don’t want to do all of this without her.” She sank to her knees and then sat in the dirt.

  John knelt before her. “When I lost both my parents, I didn’t know how life could go on without them. And then Grandpa moved me halfway around the world. I had to learn a new language and make new friends. It was the most difficult time of my life, and yet I can see how God used it to help me grieve and move on. Not that I think you need to move on . . .” He should just stop talking now. He was such a bumbling idiot!

  Havyn hugged herself. “When Dad died, it was . . . different. It’s not that we were relieved he was gone, but it wasn’t this bad. Mama has always been our rock. Always there. Steadfast. Strong. And when Dad died, we also had Granddad. It wasn’t too long before we moved away as well. I think it was good for all of us. A fresh start, you know?”

  “Yes, I felt the same way.”

  She nodded. “But we can’t do that now. We have a wonderful farm that’s well established. Besides, it would be incredibly costly to move anywhere from here. And now, with Granddad not well . . .” The last word came out choked. “I just wish I understood what God was doing.” She wrung her hands and looked up at him with pleading eyes.

  “I don’t have any answers for you, Havyn. I wish I did. But I do know that we will get through this. Together.”

  Another nod. She stood, straightened her shoulders, and let her hands fall at her sides. John stood too, slipping his arm around her.

  She leaned against him. “Whitney sent me to ask you to go into town and cancel the tickets for Mama and Madysen. If we can get that money back to Mr. Reynolds, that would be a good thing. And if you could stop and speak to Pastor Wilson. You should find him in the tent behind the Roadhouse. All the arrangements will need to be made.”

  “I’ll go do that right now.” He went to the barn door. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Please pray.”

  “You got it.”