A Treasure Concealed

by Tracie Peterson

  I was wearing a whole lot less a few minutes ago. “It’s too hot.”

  Her father totally surprised her by turning back to Thibault. “Em usually wears a lot of heavy clothes to disguise her appearance. It’s useful for keeping the young men in line. Most folks around here don’t know Emmy’s young, much less pretty. Some don’t even know she’s a girl.”

  “I wouldn’t think that any amount of clothes could hide that.” His gaze traveled the length of her before he looked again into her eyes.

  Emily found it hard to draw a breath and wished she hadn’t laced the corset so tight. She finally found her voice. “I’ve started supper. Should be ready in another half hour.”

  “That’s fine, Em. You’ll find a stack of supplies in the corner. Mr. Thibault figures to be around for a while doing his studies, and seeing as how he plans to eat with us, he’s donated to our stores.” He didn’t wait for her response. “We’re gonna play us a game of chess while you see to supper. Mr. Thibault here reckons himself to be pretty good at it.” Her father paused after making his first move. “Em doesn’t do too bad herself. She’s got a quick mind and can move fast when she sees her position being threatened.”

  Thibault coughed but gave a nod. Emily could only imagine what he was thinking. She hadn’t moved all that fast earlier. At least not until her senses returned and she realized her situation. Goodness, but how embarrassing to have to deal with that memory day in and day out for however long Mr. Thibault decided to stay.

  She hurried to the stove and checked the corn bread. Next she gave the stew a stir, then replaced the lid. Uncertain what else she could do to busy herself, Emily decided to put away the store goods. She was pleased to find sugar, flour, vanilla, and cornmeal, just as she’d requested from her father. Along with this, however, were a great many canned goods, a sack of beans, a smaller sack of oatmeal, flour, sugar, and salt, and a ham. No doubt these were Mr. Thibault’s contributions. Well, at least they wouldn’t starve anytime soon.

  Her father had nailed several wooden crates to the kitchen wall, and these acted as cupboard space for food and dishes. With her mother sick, Emily had arranged the kitchen to suit herself. She liked things orderly. Baking supplies went together in one crate and canned goods in another. Once these items were tucked away, Emily went to work making a bread pudding. She needed to use up what little milk she’d gotten from Bonnie-Belle, their one and only real money-making possession.

  Bonnie-Belle was good for breeding, and Emily’s father always arranged for a calf out of her each year. Emily was never quite sure how he managed this, for breeding cost good money, but once a year her father would take her off into the “tall and uncut” as he called it, and roughly nine months later Bonnie-Belle was a mother again. Once the baby was weaned, Emily’s father would take the calf to market and bring back much-needed supplies. It had kept them going the last six years. That and Emily’s ability to garden. The chickens were a fairly new idea of Emily’s. She’d been offered four sitting hens in trade when they lived in Bozeman. After a man’s wife died, Emily had watched his children until his mother could travel to be with them. In return, he’d given her the chickens, plus three worn-out quilts from which Emily made rag rugs. She hadn’t been sorry for the trade.

  Taking up some dried bread she’d been saving, Emily continued to wonder about Mr. Thibault. Her father said he was a geologist. The thought intrigued Emily. In her youth she’d attended school, albeit not on any regular basis given her father’s propensity for moving them around the country. However, Emily enjoyed learning, and she determined early on to read everything she could get her hands on. She always prayed that one day they would live where there was a library, and when they did, she intended to spend her every free moment there. Books were a way to experience things she might never otherwise know, and for Emily that list was quite long. Perhaps Mr. Thibault had brought some books with him and she might be allowed to borrow them. The thought excited her.

  Mixing eggs, milk, and seasonings in with the bread, Emily tried not to think too much on books or Mr. Thibault. She knew that longing for dreams that were completely out of reach could bring heartache and bitterness. She added sugar and butter and again gave the mixture a thorough stirring before plopping it into a bread pan. The corn bread was ready to leave the oven, so she exchanged one baking pan for another.

  “Well, Emmy, Mr. Thibault wasn’t lyin’. He’s mighty good at this,” her father called.

  “I’m not surprised.” At least not about the chess match. Mr. Thibault had an attitude about him that spoke of cunning, intelligence, and confidence.

  “I would much prefer you both call me Caeden.”

  Emily tested the corn bread and found it perfectly baked. She wiped her hands on her apron as she made her way to the bedroom to check on her mother. She found Mama awake but drowsy. Laudanum wreaked havoc with her mind, but Mama seemed alert enough to ask about the male voice she’d just heard.

  “Who have you got out there?”

  “Pa brought home a man who’s working for the government. He’s a geologist. His name is Caeden Thibault.”

  The older woman seemed to come more awake at this. “What’s he like?”

  Emily shrugged and helped to raise her mother to a sitting position. “I can’t really say.” She tried not to think of her embarrassment at their first meeting. “He’s tall and has brown hair and dark brown eyes.” Beautiful brown eyes that look as if they can see through to your soul.

  “Is he young?”

  She nodded, then reached for her mother’s pillows to plump. “Probably late twenties, early thirties.”

  “And is he handsome?”

  Emily chuckled. “Ma, you’re a married woman.”

  “But you aren’t,” her mother replied without pause.

  “Well, Mr. Thibault isn’t for the likes of me. He’s educated and refined. He no doubt has a young lady waiting for him somewhere. Men like that don’t go long without a woman securing him for their own.”

  Mama surprised her by making a request. “I wonder if you would turn around for me.”

  Emily frowned in confusion. “Turn around?”

  “I want to see you. Turn in a circle.”

  Emily gave a turn and met her mother’s smile. “Emmy, you look mighty pretty today. I don’t think I’ve seen you lookin’ like this for quite a while.”

  “Well, it was warm, and I decided to take a bath. One thing led to another, and I just couldn’t bring myself to put on all the other clothes. I didn’t realize we’d have company. But then Pa came home with Mr. Thibault, and I needed to put supper together.” She smoothed out the sheet and tried to keep her nerves from showing. With the bed put to order, Emily helped her mother to lie back.

  “Speaking of supper, do you think you might take a little something? Mr. Thibault added to our stores, since he intends to be surveying the area for a while. Pa told him he could stay here on our property and eat with us, so he felt obligated to share food.”

  “That was very kind of him.” Emily saw her mother grimace and knew the pain was back. “I’d like . . . very much to meet him. Perhaps after supper you might bring him to me.”

  Emily thought it odd but said nothing. Mama was rarely interested in other people these days. “I will, but you need to eat something first. I have some corn bread. I could put some milk and sugar on it. That would be easy to eat and keep down.”

  “I will try, Emmy. For you I will try.”

  Emily returned to the stove. “Supper’s nearly ready,” she told the men. She set the table with plates, cups, spoons, forks, and knives before returning to check the bread pudding. She’d all but forgotten that with the new supplies she could whip up a nice little sauce to go over the dessert.

  Emily busied herself with putting the food on the table and found herself hoping it would meet with Caeden’s approval. But why? Why did it matter if this stranger enjoyed their meager fare? Her mind began to whir with thoughts.

&nbs
p; He came in here without warning and embarrassed us both. And even if Pa did tell him to just walk in, he might have knocked. I doubt Pa would approve if he knew what happened.

  Still, it was all innocent. Emily put a wooden spoon in the venison stew and placed the kettle on the table. “Food’s on. Be careful of the pot; it’s still quite hot.” Emily didn’t wait to see if they would give up their game and come to the table. There were only three chairs in the house, and they would need to bring the two they sat on if they wanted to sit at the dinner table. She figured when they were ready, they would do just that.

  So instead of worrying about it, Emily set out to create a sauce for the bread pudding. She needed to keep her mind busy. Perhaps later she could explain the importance of keeping her youth and feminine appearance a secret. Pa had mentioned it, but maybe if she stressed the dangers, then Mr. Thibault would honor her request and not tell anyone else. Caeden Thibault certainly seemed honorable. He hadn’t taken advantage of their encounter, nor leered at or ogled her afterward. If it had been Kirk Davies instead, there was no telling what he might have done. She shuddered. No, Mr. Thibault seemed to be a perfect gentleman. She only hoped he would consider her a perfect lady despite her earlier display. Emily felt her cheeks grow hot but told herself it was from the heat of the stove rather than the memory of Caeden seeing her in that thin, damp chemise. She tried to reassure herself once again.

  I was holding my clothes. He couldn’t have seen all that much.

  Why couldn’t she just forget about the incident? If she kept worrying about it, her father was sure to sense that something was amiss, and then she’d be obligated to explain. That would only make matters worse.

  Emily left the sauce and began fixing her mother some corn bread. She mixed it with a little milk and sugar until it turned to mush. Seeing that the men were still finishing up their game, Emily took the bowl to her parents’ room.

  “I think you’ll like this, Mama.” Emily put the corn-bread pudding on the nightstand and then helped her mother to sit. “Just let me get these pillows plumped up behind you.” Emily pushed and pulled at the pillows until they seemed fuller. She stacked them, then stuffed a rolled-up blanket back there as well. She eased her mother against the pillows. “How’s that?”

  Mama gave a weak smile. “You do a good job, Emmy.” She closed her eyes and seemed to just concentrate on breathing.

  Emily sat beside her on the bed. “I’ll help you with this. It’s a bit soupy. I probably shouldn’t have added so much milk.”

  “It’ll be fine,” her mother murmured, then opened her eyes. “What about that young man?”

  “Mr. Thibault? He and Pa are still playing chess. I figure they’ll be committed to finishing their game before either will have any interest in supper. Now, here. Please try a spoonful.” Emily put the spoon to her mother’s lips.

  The older woman took a tiny taste and nodded. “It’s real good, Emmy.”

  Emily knew her mother wouldn’t eat much, but she had to try to get some sustenance into her waning body. She coaxed her mother to take a few more bites by entertaining her with news about the area.

  “Millie said that more men are giving up on their claims and selling out. She figures pretty soon there won’t be anybody here but her and Jake. I don’t think she ever means to leave.” Her mother gave a little nod to acknowledge the conversation. “Oh, and apparently there’s a fella who wants to buy up all the land around here. I don’t know what he plans to do with it.” Emily put the spoon aside, seeing that her mother wouldn’t take any more. “He offered to buy Pa out, but I suppose Pa already told you about that.”

  Her mother nodded. “Yes, Henry said he was figuring to come back this week to ask again.”

  Davies’ actions and threats made Emily shudder. She and her father both agreed to say nothing about Davies’ heavy-handed actions. “He probably thinks Pa will soften to the idea.” She laughed and got up from the bed. “Would you like to lie flat again?”

  “No. I think this is just fine. Don’t forget, I mean to meet this Mr. Thibault. Bring him in after supper.”

  Emily knew she meant business. Despite her weakness, her mother had a way of finding just enough energy to see her plans through. And for some reason, she seemed bound and determined to meet this young man. It was that kind of stubborn resolve that had kept her alive this long.

  “I’ll see to it that he visits you, Mama.” She placed a kiss on her mother’s forehead.

  Caeden didn’t know when he’d enjoyed supper quite so much. The food was simple, certainly nothing like the grand meals he’d grown up with, but far better than what he usually scrounged up for himself when out in the wilds. He’d even joined Henry Carver in eating two helpings of the delicious bread pudding before announcing he couldn’t eat another bite.

  Now while Emily went about cleaning up and putting the leftover food away, Caeden couldn’t help watching her. She exuded a quiet grace that he’d known only in his mother. Although clearly a beauty, Emily Carver was unconcerned with her looks. She dressed simply and without fuss, something he couldn’t imagine his own sisters doing, much less Catherine Arnold. Catherine was the daughter of his father’s former business associate, and she and her father clearly had designs on Caeden. Caeden, however, wanted no part of such an arrangement. Catherine only served to remind him of his painful past.

  Henry Carver stood and stretched. “Em, I’m gonna go work a bit at the sluice. It’s not that late, and there’s still another hour of good light.”

  “Please be careful, and don’t forget to take your rifle in case . . .” She gave a quick glance at the bedroom door and lowered her voice. “In case that Davies returns.”

  “I’ll be careful. Why don’t you take Caeden outside and show him where he can set up his tent and where the river is.”

  Emily flushed and nodded, not even looking up as she continued clearing the dishes from the table. Caeden wondered if she resented the task or was simply still embarrassed at their earlier encounter.

  Once Emily’s father had gone, Caeden waited for her to say something or direct him where to set up camp, but instead she continued to see to the dishes. He knew it would have been polite to offer his help, but he couldn’t seem to stop watching her. She was a shapely young woman, curvy in all the right places, and just the right height—he figured her to be about five feet four. But her best features were her dark brown eyes. His own eyes were a deep, dark brown, and oftentimes people had mistaken them for black. Emily’s eyes, however, were a rich cocoa color, framed by thick black lashes.

  All at once Caeden realized he was staring, and Emily had stopped in her work to stare back. He coughed lightly and lowered his gaze. “I apologize. It’s rude to stare.”

  “We might as well clear the air,” she replied.

  He looked up again. “Clear the air?”

  “From our earlier encounter. I can say without a doubt that your untimely arrival was the most embarrassing moment I’ve ever endured. I go out of my way to keep my . . . form from being the focus of men, and now all I can do is ask that you keep my secret.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Thank you.” She lowered her gaze. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to dress to go outside. It’ll only take a minute. First, however, I promised my mother I would bring you to meet her.”

  He had wondered about Mrs. Carver all through dinner. It seemed strange to have her there in the other room but unable to join them. Emily opened the door and called to her mother.

  “Mama, I’ve brought Mr. Thibault to meet you.”

  Caeden followed her into the dimly lit room. The air was stale, and a bed and nightstand along with a large trunk were the only things in the tiny room.

  “Mr. Thibault, I’m glad to meet you” came the weak voice of the older woman.

  Caeden went to her bedside and extended his hand. He took hold of her hand and held it very gently. “Please call me Caeden.”

  “Caeden. Such a bea
utiful name. Gaelic, I think.”

  “Yes, but in my case it’s a variant on the French name Cade. I was named after my grandfather.”

  “How nice.” Mrs. Carver closed her eyes. “I would very much like to visit with you again, but for now I’m afraid I’m quite tired.”

  “I will come again when you are more rested.” Caeden let go of her hand. He looked to Emily, not quite certain what he should do.

  “I need to change my clothes. If you’ll wait in the front room, I’ll only be a minute,” she said, directing him toward the door.

  Caeden paced the small cabin while he waited. Mrs. Carver stirred images and memories of his own dying mother. How she had suffered. All of her life she had tried her best to please her husband—to be the wife he needed. But to him she was never enough, and sadly, she knew this better than anyone else.

  His fists clenched. His father had never done anything to reassure Caeden’s mother that she was a good wife and mother. Instead he had been harsh and critical. Always demanding more and more. A low growl escaped him as Caeden fought to put aside his anger. It would serve no purpose now.

  Caeden’s geological work had helped him reorganize his thoughts and plans for the future. After the death of his father little more than a year ago, Caeden knew that his sisters and their husbands, as well as his uncle Jasper Carrington, expected things to change. Caeden had left home to attend college and had seldom ventured back for any reason. Everyone knew it was because of his father. After his mother had died, Caeden hadn’t bothered to return at all, but he’d sent an occasional letter to his sisters to let them know he was alive and well. He hadn’t been there when his father passed, nor had he cared to be. Uncle Jasper had caught up with him in Washington, DC, to give him the news and urge him to return to Albany. It seemed that despite their hatred of each other, Caeden’s father had left almost everything to him, and everyone expected him to come home and run the family’s various business ventures.