All Things Hidden

by Tracie Peterson

  A shock of brown hair covered one of his eyes. She fought the longing to reach over and brush it away from his face. Maybe these feelings were all wrong. It could just be that she’d never been attracted to a man before. Being isolated shaped her world in a different light. Besides, he wasn’t attracted to her.

  Jeremiah was a doctor. From Chicago. He’d probably had the opportunity to have any beautiful girl on his arm that he wanted.

  Gwyn needed to stop these foolish thoughts.

  She turned and brought the book back to Charlie and read to him while he drifted back to sleep. Small snores joined Jeremiah’s in harmony.

  The door banged behind her father. He flicked rainwater off his black coat. “Gwyn, have you got it all under control in here?” he asked quietly.

  “Sure. And Jeremiah’s in the back if I need him. Why?”

  “Well, it took three hours for them to finish the draw, and some of the tracts were so bad that they granted some men another draw. A few of them even demanded to trade. But it’s done. That Stewart Campbell got it done. He’s the FERA administrator. Everyone’s in a hurry to get closer to their land, so they’re moving the tents to separate camps, where they can be closer to their lots.”

  “That makes sense.” She laid another blanket over Charlie.

  “But I think I need to go along. Some of them are in a big hurry, and I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  “All right.” She hugged him. “I’m sure that’s a wise plan. It will be a mess, that’s for sure. I’ll be here if you need me.”

  He headed back out into the rain.

  Gwyn longed to go back and look in on Jeremiah but made herself stop those thoughts. It wouldn’t do any good.

  A young woman burst through the clinic’s door with her baby in her arms, thrusting her toward Gwyn. “Please help me. She’s burning up with fever.”

  Any tidying up could wait. Another child needed her.

  9

  CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

  He’d missed something important.

  Frank Rhoads tapped his pen in rapid succession on his desk. If he could just put his finger on it, he knew he could crack this case.

  Twenty years he’d worked for the Pinkertons. And he’d never had an unsolved case. Never.

  Frank scanned all the papers in front of him. Where had this Tony Griffin fellow gone? The man had an exemplary record with the bank. Not one sick day in all his years there. So why . . . only three weeks after the largest heist in the history of First National Bank, did the manager go missing? It just didn’t add up. And the story he got was that the man had become seriously ill and left the state for treatment. But no doctor had any record of that. Nor any hospital. Just the word of the two bank employees under the manager.

  There was nothing on Tony Griffin. Maybe Frank was just chasing his tail. Wouldn’t be the first time. He dropped the stack in a heap and threw his pen at the wall. What was he missing?

  He stood and stretched and walked around his desk. The answers had to be there. Somewhere.

  Frank sat back down and shuffled through the papers again. Another name caught his attention.

  Gregory Simms. Now, there was a fella who was always in trouble. Petty stuff but trouble nonetheless.

  For years, Chicago had been a prisoner of the mafia and gangs. Prohibition had increased the crime rate in his city. Over seven hundred gang murders had been directly related to the liquor trade.

  Even after Capone and all the others they’d locked up, there were plenty of men in the lawbreaking business. And they liked it.

  Frank chewed on a toothpick. Simms wasn’t a mastermind. But Frank bet the man knew something about it.

  Maybe it was time to track Gregory down. But what could he bring him in on? “Connor!” Frank yelled out his door.

  “Yeah, boss?” The short man leaned in.

  “I need you to find this guy for me. And fast.”

  “Got it.” Connor grabbed the paper and ran back out to the hallway.

  The papers slid around his desk like a deck of cards. What was he missing? It was here. He knew it. The toothpick cracked in his teeth as he chomped down.

  Jeannette, one of the secretaries, sauntered up to his desk. “John thought you’d want to see this, Frank.” She let the packet drop and sashayed her way back out.

  Frank opened the envelope and looked at the pictures. Dropping them to his desk, he cursed under his breath. His gut had been right. Simms definitely had something to do with it.

  “Connor!”

  The new agent ran back to Frank’s desk, sucking in air. “Sir?” He bent at the waist and put his hands on his knees.

  “Go pack a bag. We’re going to New York.”

  “Sir?”

  “We just found Gregory Simms.” He pointed to the pictures—a man and woman lying at odd angles with bullet holes in their foreheads, holding bank bags with First National Bank imprinted on them. “And he’s dead.”

  JUNE 1935

  It was gradual, but guilt ate him alive. Every day that passed and Jeremiah didn’t tell Dr. H. the truth felt like another day past the point of no return. May had come and gone like a thief in the night. How could he tell his mentor now? They had hundreds of people to care for, and chaos reigned in the Matanuska Project. As he worked side by side at the clinic-now-hospital with Harold, Jeremiah passed iodine to the doctor. Would there ever be a good time to tell the truth? And if he did tell the truth, what would Dr. H. think of him? Would he shrug it off in his casual style or would he feel betrayed and demand Jeremiah leave? Shaking his head, Jeremiah realized he’d become just like the very people he despised—worried about what others thought of him, dishonest, and selfish.

  Another measles case had come in that morning. If they didn’t do something soon, one of these sicknesses could turn into an epidemic. That was a fear no one wanted to voice. But it hung in the air. And it was another excuse to keep from telling the truth. Would Dr. H. care that his license was revoked? Or would he still value Jeremiah for his skill? Lots of people practiced medicine without a license in remote areas. But did they carry the title Doctor?

  And there was the entire matter of his former engagement to Sophia. Another secret. One that weighed him down the longer he was around Gwyn.

  Jeremiah washed his hands for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. His skin cracked from all the cleaning. For now, it was best to focus on what he could do to help. And forget about his troubles.

  Gwyn walked in the door and swiped at her brow. “Good morning, Father, Jeremiah.” Without even pausing, she moved to a cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a jar. She handed it to Jeremiah. “Here. Nasnana makes it for us.”

  He recognized the tub. He’d seen Dr. H. slathering the cream on his hands on many occasions. “Thanks.”

  “It’ll help with the cracking until your skin gets used to the dry air.” Gwyn moved over to her father, pushing her blond curls out of her face. “They’ve set the first log for the construction office.”

  “Good, it’s about time.” Harold washed his hands and reached for the cream. “That should build some excitement and momentum.”

  “It is.” She nodded. “Now if they could just get the supplies shipped properly. The whole last shipment of perishables was spoiled when it arrived.”

  Jeremiah watched the exchange, rubbing the thick cream into all the cracks on his hands. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but Gwyn wasn’t anything like other women he’d met. She was amazing. Even though he tried not to, he watched her as much as possible. She seemed genuine in her love for everyone around her. And she was good at everything. The rest of the world might have plenty of amenities to make life easier, but Gwyn was perfectly comfortable doing for herself. She didn’t seem to mind the labor that went into simple tasks. All the other women he’d known were spoiled and selfish. Not wanting to get their painted fingernails dirty. But not Gwyn.

  As a nurse, she was finer than any he’d worked with in Chicago. She could
also teach and counsel—always making the other person feel as though they could accomplish anything.

  Gwyn cocked her head as she listened to her father. Her often quiet ways hid a lot of the strength and knowledge within—she was like a buried treasure. Didn’t know what was there until he dug deep enough.

  Jeremiah watched her walk around the room. None of the women he knew would be caught dead in the dress she had on. It was at least a decade behind the fashions of the city. But its simplicity and modesty caught his eye more than the flashy, provocative styles women pranced around in nowadays. And when it came down to it, she was comfortable in a pair of overalls or pants, covered in mud in the garden.

  He leaned back against the cupboards. No denying it. Gwyn Hillerman had worked her way into his heart. Only problem was, he couldn’t do anything about it. Because as soon as she learned the truth, she’d kick him clear into the Bering Sea.

  And then there was Clarence. The man was slick, he’d give him that. But did he always have to appear whenever Jeremiah managed to get a moment alone with Gwyn? The man’s manners might be impeccable, but Jeremiah had looked at his hands. Clarence had never done manual labor a day in his life. So what was he doing up here? And why couldn’t he leave Gwyn alone?

  “Jeremiah—” Dr. H. cleared his throat. “Jeremiah, did you hear a word I said? Are you feeling okay?”

  Just a little lovesick. “Sorry, Harold. Would you mind repeating it?”

  “There’s a reporter and a photographer out front. They’ve been hounding me for days for a quote or two and a picture. Would you mind joining me?”

  All the blood seemed to rush from his head to his feet. With the way the country was watching with baited breath to hear any and every tidbit they could about the colony, there was no way Jeremiah’s presence here could go unnoticed if his picture was in the papers.

  “Jeremiah?” Harold reached out. “You don’t look so good.”

  He put a hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry. I think I might be sick.”

  Gwyn rushed to his side. “Let me get you a cool cloth.”

  “No!” He pushed toward the back door. “No, please. I don’t want to vomit on anyone.”

  “Rose,” Gwyn whispered. “Rose, honey, wake up.”

  The young widow’s face was pale and drawn. It had been three weeks since her husband’s death, and Gwyn’s father was very worried. He’d asked her to go spend the day with Rose and see what she could do to bring the young woman some encouragement about life.

  Long black lashes blinked against her cheeks as Rose opened her eyes. Tears formed before she spoke. “I can’t believe he left me.” Sobs shook the young woman in her bed.

  A soft cry rose from a box beside the stove. The tent homes were sturdy enough, but when the winds decided to blow, it was sometimes hard to stay warm. At least Rose had the presence of mind to keep the baby’s bed by the warm stove.

  Gwyn went to pick up the seven-month-old baby, who was entirely too tiny for his age. His little lips moved in motion to feed. “Hi there, little one. You must be hungry. Let me bring you to your mommy.”

  Cuddling the baby close, she took the little guy to Rose. Couldn’t she find the will to live at least for her son? “Rose, I think he needs to nurse. Would you like me to help you sit up?”

  The young widow worked to stop her tears. “Yes, please.”

  After helping Rose and giving her a moment’s privacy, Gwyn decided it was best to get Rose talking. There had to be some way to bring the woman out of her shell of grief. “Rose, I don’t know your baby’s name.”

  “Daniel.”

  “That’s a good strong name.”

  “Yes, he’s named after his father.” A few fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Daniel. It suits him.” Gwyn swallowed. “I heard they started on your house first. That will be a blessing, won’t it?”

  Rose looked out the tent flap toward the mountains. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Daniel was so excited about this land. We were going to raise our family here.” She sucked in a gulp of air. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about his sickness. Why didn’t he tell me?”

  Gwyn reached over and wrapped her arms around Rose and baby Daniel. Mr. Benson died of tuberculosis just three short days after the tract drawing. Apparently, he’d wanted to keep his illness a secret so that he could provide a future for his wife and son. “I don’t know, Rose. I don’t know.”

  The baby settled down and began to nurse in earnest. Gwyn wanted desperately to help ease the young mother’s pain but knew she had no experience in this area. She’d never had a husband or child, so how could she possibly relate to the misery and loss this woman was feeling?

  “Just talk to her,” Father had urged. “Just help her to keep focused on what’s important.”

  But what was important to this devastated young widow?

  “Were you excited to come here, Rose?” Gwyn asked. Anxious for something to set her hand to, she reached into a basket of freshly laundered diapers and began to fold them.

  “I was.” She stared off into space, not even seeing Gwyn. “Daniel’s excitement was contagious. He told me our life was going to be so much better than what we’d had. He promised we’d be happy here.”

  “It’s a wonderful place to live. There’s purity and peace that can be had here,” Gwyn said without thinking and immediately regretted her reference to peace. “I was so surprised to hear about the colony at first. I have to admit I felt rather guarded about my home.” Rose said nothing, so Gwyn continued.

  “Alaska has always been such a blessing to me. I love the people here and the beauty. It’s a good place to raise children,” she said, nodding toward the baby. “You certainly don’t have to worry about all the problems they suffer down in the States. Life here is much simpler, although it does require a strong back and a will to survive.”

  Rose looked at her blankly. “I haven’t got that will.”

  “Oh, but you must. Look at little Daniel. He needs you to have that will. And God can give you that will. He provides all of our needs.”

  Rose pulled back and gave Gwyn a strange look. “Do you know what Daniel’s last words were to me?”

  Gwyn shook her head.

  “‘God has provided.’” She sobbed. “Those were his last words. And then he died.”

  God has provided. How could she tell a woman—going through horrendous grief after her husband’s death, in a territory thousands of miles from her home—that those words were true? Lord, give me the words to say . . . please. . . . I don’t want her to give up, and I’m so weak.

  Rose collapsed in Gwyn’s arms. Her sobs shook all of them as they huddled on the bed. “I hate God. He took Daniel away from me. What am I going to do?”

  The words hung in the air and mixed with the baby’s cries.

  God has provided.

  Gwyn walked back to the clinic. She hadn’t had the right words to give Rose. Had she failed? What good had she been?

  Clarence Novak stood in the road, waiting . . . for her?

  Just what she needed. He was the most annoying man she’d ever met.

  “Good morning, Miss Hillerman.” His smile was all too white, his suit all too clean. “May I walk with you?”

  “Oh, I’m not on a walk. I’m on my way back to the clinic. If you’ll excuse me.” She picked up her pace.

  He didn’t take the hint and stepped in beside her. “It’s a lovely day. If only we had a grand restaurant here, I’d love to ask you to dine with me.”

  Maybe he’d get the hint if she didn’t respond.

  “But since we don’t have anything like that right now, and I’m spending all my spare time helping my brother, perhaps you’d agree to a picnic sometime?”

  The words were all too smooth. As if she couldn’t have a reason to refuse him. She looked out to the trees. How could she get rid of him? “That’s awfully kind of you to offer, Mr. Novak—”

  “Please, call me Clarence.”r />
  “Uh, that’s a nice offer, Mr. Novak, but I’m really quite busy, and I don’t think it’s wise to take time for frivolous things right now when all these families need to get ready for winter.”

  “Oh, but a picnic isn’t frivolous, and besides, winter is a long ways off.”

  “Not by Alaskan standards. There’s a great deal that needs to be accomplished in these brief summer months,” Gwyn countered with an air of authority.

  “But everyone needs some time off now and again.”

  “That may be true, but as a nurse here, and as someone who’s lived here for many years, I know how difficult it can be, so I have a responsibility—”

  His all-too-soft finger covered her lips. “Gwyn, you work entirely too hard.”

  “If it’s all the same—” she removed his hand and stepped back several paces—“I’d prefer you call me Miss Hillerman.”

  “Come now, don’t be such a little mouse. You must know that my intentions are pure. I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I stepped off the train.” He stepped forward and closed the distance between them. “I think you’ve felt something similar for me.”

  Gwyn stepped back again. “Mr. Novak, I’m not sure what kind of women you are used to being around and associating with, but that is a bit too forward for my liking.” She walked away as fast as her legs could carry her.

  But he caught up. Wouldn’t this man ever take a hint? “I apologize. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped my bounds. How about I just walk you the rest of the way to the clinic?”

  Did she have any choice? “Apology accepted. But I am in quite a hurry, so I won’t be much for company.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  But she did. Didn’t he understand that? Maybe she hadn’t been bold enough in her words. Were women these days more forward than men? She had no idea. All she wanted was to conduct herself in a manner worthy of the Lord. All those crazy social rules were above and beyond her knowledge.

  “The clearing of the land is coming along quite nicely, if I do say so myself. William is a bit lazy, but I’ve put in lots of labor to help the family out.” His chest appeared to puff out with each word.