“Hey there, Gwynie,” her father called. “What do you have there?”
She looked up and smiled. She wasn’t all alone. She did have her father, and he loved her dearly—even if Mama didn’t care. “It’s a baby rabbit. His mother left him.”
Father smiled and took the animal from Gwyn’s hands. “She probably didn’t want to. Most likely something chose her for its dinner.”
“How can we help him?” She knew her father would have the answer and didn’t doubt for a minute he would help.
“He will require a great deal of care. Are you certain that you want the responsibility?”
“Oh yes,” Gwyn declared. “I will do whatever it takes. I don’t want him to die.”
Her father nodded. “Then come with me. We’ll make him a little place where he can stay warm and safe.”
Warm and safe. The words echoed in Gwyn’s head. Warm and safe. How she longed to feel warm and safe. She thought of her mother’s harsh words and dared a question her father would probably not have an answer for.
“Why doesn’t Mama love me like she loves Sophia?”
Her father turned and his expression was filled with sympathy. “Your Mama loves you in her own way, but she doesn’t love this territory. Seeing that you . . . that we love it, as we do . . . well . . . I guess it makes her feel that we’ve reassigned our love for her. It’s not true, of course.”
Gwyn pulled and twisted her long blond braids. “Will Mama ever love Alaska?”
“I don’t know, Gwynie. I just don’t know. But you mustn’t give up hope. God brought us here for a reason, and doing God’s purpose comes with a price. He didn’t promise it would be easy for us, but He did say He would always be with us.”
Just then Nasnana appeared from around the corner of the small building Father called his clinic. Her face broke into a broad smile when she spied Gwyn. “Oh, how wonderful to see you today,” she declared.
Gwyn ran to the woman’s outstretched arms. “Yagheli ilan du?” Are you fine? She asked in Nasnana’s native tongue.
“Yes, little one. I am fine and so happy to hear you speak my language. You will soon be able to converse like my people.”
The approval and joy in the older woman’s tone helped Gwyn to push aside the void left by her mother.
“Gwyn!” It was Father calling.
She looked to Nasnana. “Come see. I found a baby rabbit.” The dark-eyed woman smiled, but her image began to fade. Gwyn frowned. “Come back. Come back.” She turned to see her father, but he too faded into a mist of darkness.
11
“Gwyn.”
Voices hovered over her. But she couldn’t make them out. Maybe if she tried a little harder.
“Gwyn . . .”
She recognized that voice. Her father.
“Gwyn. It’s time to wake up.”
Why did it feel like glue held her eyelids shut? “Hmm . . . I’m awake.” She lifted a hand to rub one of her eyes. “I think.”
Father’s deep laughter rolled over her like a blanket. Warm. Caring. Loving. “Good to hear your voice again.”
“Am I late?”
“Late? For what?”
“Isn’t that why you’re waking me up?” She cracked open one eye and then the other.
“No, you’re not late for anything. Just had me a little concerned. You’ve been asleep since Jeremiah rescued you yesterday.”
Rescued? In a rush, all the events of the flood crashed into her memory. “How’s the girl?”
“She’s fine. Already left with her parents.”
“What happened?”
“You suffered from hypothermia. You rescued the girl from the rock in the middle of the river, but it took you both far downstream. Jeremiah said a tree plowed into him from the back and pushed him into the two of you. He doesn’t remember much after that, but the little girl’s parents found you all clinging to roots in a huge curve of the river.”
Gwyn worked to sit up in the bed. Her head pounded. “Ow. That hurts.” She placed a hand over her eyes. “How’s Jeremiah?”
“He’s doing okay. It took some time to convince him that you were all right, but he’s up and around.”
“I’d like to thank him.”
“Don’t worry. I already did. About a hundred times. Wasn’t ready to lose my girl.”
“I’m so tired.” She burrowed back under the blankets. “And cold.”
Father patted her head like he had when she was little. “Get some rest. I’ll throw another quilt over you.”
“Do you remember when I found that baby rabbit?”
Her father laughed. “Which time?”
Gwyn smiled and nodded. “I guess there were quite a few times, weren’t there? I was dreaming before you woke me. It was the time when I was a little girl and I asked you . . . well . . . we talked about Mother and why she didn’t love me like she did Sophia.”
Her father’s expression sobered, and he sat down beside her on the bed. “That was such a hard time for me.” He reached out and pushed back a blond curl. “I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t about to shame either of us and lie. But what can you tell a child about such things?”
Gwyn reached out to take hold of her father’s hand. “I just want you to know that you did the right thing. You told me that Mother didn’t love Alaska and because we did . . . well, it made her feel bad. I think I understand now. I think she felt so displaced, and Sophia was the only part of the past she could hold on to.”
“A past she loved more than she loved you and me,” he said sadly.
“In all these years I’ve selfishly considered how hard that loss was on me. I knew it had hurt you, but I never truly thought of how it must have been for you. You lost both a wife and a daughter.”
“And you a mother and sister.”
Gwyn nodded. “But we’ve always had each other . . . and God. Nasnana told me God would fill the empty places in our hearts, and you know . . . I think He has.”
Father squeezed her hand. “I know He has. Sometimes we can’t see what’s right in front of us.”
Jeremiah’s thoughts drifted back to Gwyn. For the hundredth time that day. What would he have done if she’d died in the flood?
Those thoughts weren’t productive, but they pressed anyway. Before the flood, his biggest concern had been what she had been doing walking with Clarence.
Clarence. Couldn’t she see the man was a no-good heel?
Dr. H. came up behind him. “Jeremiah, I think we’re going to have to bring Mr. Ellis here. His wife just called from the commissary. I don’t think she can handle the care anymore. Would you mind going out to camp eight and checking on him?”
“Sure.” That would give him some fresh air but too much time to think. Thankfully, they had phone service in the clinic and the commissary, but that only helped speed up getting word to them. It didn’t help with the travel time. The camps were spread out over a large region. They needed a vehicle for the clinic. A phone in each camp would be even better.
“I don’t understand what all these people were thinking, coming here with these illnesses. Didn’t they realize how difficult the journey would be for them?” Harold shook his head. “And how difficult it would be to obtain care?”
“I know. It’s hard to fathom how desperate people could be. Things were bad in the States, but I don’t think Alaska has proven to be any perfect answer for them.”
“No. Certainly not.”
“Still, it gave them hope of a new start.” Jeremiah thought of himself and the secret he continued to keep. He squared his shoulders. Maybe it was time to just get all things hidden into the open.
“Well, I’ll never understand endangering their lives further, as well as the lives of others, by making this journey with disease as part of their baggage.” Harold turned to refocus on some papers he’d left on the desk. “I suppose they thought it would be a solution to their problems. As if we can just cast off our troubles in one location and not have them f
ollow us to another.”
Jeremiah drew in a deep breath, but the words stuck in his throat. How could he explain his own decision to cast aside the troubles of one location in hopes they wouldn’t follow him to the next? Maybe it was time to tell the truth. But no. he chickened out and changed the subject. “How is Gwyn?”
“Much better. Once she rested and warmed up, the headaches left. You’d better get a move on,” Dr. H. declared. “We’ll have plenty to keep us busy once you get back.”
But his conscience pricked. He needed to explain. Needed to tell the truth. Should’ve done it a long time ago.
For a moment Jeremiah hesitated and then the decision was made. Again to take the coward’s road. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.” He grabbed his medical bag and headed out to camp eight.
Dr. H.’s words continued to haunt him. Why had so many people agreed to come when they were ill? They weren’t just putting themselves in danger, they were putting their families and the rest of the colony in danger as well. Then he thought about being in the same position. If he had a family to provide for, a failing farm and no job, wouldn’t he do the same?
An overwhelming sense of selfishness filled his gut. At least these people had honorable intentions. He’d come here to escape. To hide and hope no one discovered the truth.
“But the truth must come out,” he whispered to himself. There had been so many times when Jeremiah feared he’d been found out—when reporters had given him a second glance, when members of the colony eyed him a little longer than necessary.
Gwyn’s face came to mind. What would she think of him when she found out? As much as he tried to ignore his growing feelings for her, they were still there. Stronger than ever. When he saw her with Clarence the morning of the flood, jealousy reared its ugly head. As much as he tried to convince himself that he couldn’t have a chance with her—he really didn’t want Clarence to have a chance. Gwyn deserved much better.
And then when he almost lost her . . . that fear could have devastated him.
Maybe if he cleared the air with everyone and told them the truth—maybe Gwyn would understand and be compassionate. That was one of her greatest strengths. She was so forgiving. Could it be possible to pursue her affections?
And then there was the matter of her younger sister. A memory of Sophia’s stinging last words haunted him. No. He didn’t have a chance. Even if Gwyn could forgive his deception, it was unlikely she’d want to take up with her sister’s rejected suitor. Once she knew the truth, Jeremiah wouldn’t stand a chance of convincing her of his heart. She might even believe he’d come here purposefully on the rebound—to get even with Sophia.
Clarence Novak appeared on the road in front of him. Did the man just stroll around all day? Didn’t he claim he was there to help his family?
Jeremiah caught up to him in several long strides. “Hello, Clarence.”
“Dr. Vaughan.” The man’s unusual emphasis on the title was interesting. “Out for a break?”
“No, Clarence, I need to check on Mr. Ellis. His wife is concerned he’s getting worse.” He tried to outstep the man, but Clarence was quick.
“How long are you planning on staying at the colony?”
Jeremiah pulled out his pocket watch, hoping Novak could take a hint. “I hadn’t planned on leaving.” The question made him pause. What was Clarence digging for?
“Nice watch. Family heirloom?”
“A gift from my grandfather.” No matter how fast Jeremiah walked, Clarence kept the pace. And he was entirely too nosy. “How about yourself?” Jeremiah said. “I hear you are quite the traveler.” Hopefully his travels would take him far away. Soon.
“Oh, I’ve got my eyes on some new prospects. But I quite enjoy myself here. Besides, Miss Hillerman and I would like to see more of each other. I wouldn’t want to leave before I pursued our feelings for each other.”
“Oh.” Jeremiah swallowed. He couldn’t be telling the truth. Gwyn? With him? “That sounds like a good plan. Does Gw—uh, Miss Hillerman share your love of traveling?”
Clarence chuckled. “Of course. What woman doesn’t? She’s been locked away in this hole for so long, she deserves to be spoiled like a real woman.”
Hole? Did Clarence just refer to this beautiful valley as a hole? Many of the colonists even called it heaven on earth and looked forward to their homes being situated in God’s most majestic little corner of the world. “I wouldn’t think she’d want to leave. She loves Alaska.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about Miss Hillerman.” The man stopped and turned to him. “I pray Mr. Ellis will be all right. Have a good afternoon, Doctor.”
There was that tone again. What was he implying?
The fact of the matter was simple: Clarence Novak was a creep. And if Jeremiah had anything to do about it, he’d make sure Novak didn’t get any closer to Gwyn.
The evening unfolded dim and gray, not at all like the bright sunny days they’d enjoyed recently.
Jeremiah sat at his desk making notes on the last two calls he’d made. His brain was weary and didn’t want to focus on medicine. It wanted to focus on Gwyn. He wanted to focus on her.
It amazed him that when he’d first arrived, his bitterness had caused him to think of her as plain. Sophia had been beautiful, yes, but on the outside. When he found out how cold and dark she was inside, it tainted any beauty he’d appreciated. But as he grew to know Gwyn, her beauty only increased. Her mind was sharp, her wit quick, and her heart large. These were things that meant much more than a pretty façade.
But then there was another problem. Gwyn was pretty. Very pretty. Those golden curls that she refused to cut into the fashionable bobs of the day were unruly and fascinating. And her eyes . . . a gray that changed with the intensity of her mood. Sometimes as light as silver, and other times, deep and stormy. He longed to stare into them.
Jeremiah shook his head. The reports wouldn’t write themselves. Besides, he couldn’t afford to feel anything for the lovely Gwyn Hillerman.
The wood floor creaked.
The very subject of his thoughts stood in the doorway, dripping, wrangling with her rubber boots.
Jeremiah jumped up and grabbed a couple of towels. “What are you doing up? You’re drenched.”
She shivered and took one of the offered towels. “Rain will do that.” Her tone belied her furrowed brow.
“It’s raining?” How had he missed that?
“I take it you’ve been lost in thought—” she glanced down at his work—“or those reports.”
He ran a hand down his face. “You’ve pretty much summed it up.” He stood and walked her to the fire. “You look chilled to the bone.”
“I usually don’t mind the rain. But now, I must admit, I feel frozen almost like it’s winter.” Gwyn peered around the clinic. “Have you seen my father? I thought he’d still be here.”
“He left a couple minutes ago to grab something to eat at the house. I’m sure he’ll be right back.” He touched her elbow. “And it’s no wonder, it’s not good for you to get a chill so soon after—”
“Nonsense.” She sat in a chair by the stove, towel-drying her hair. “You need help, don’t you?”
Stubborn woman. It fascinated him that she hated to have any attention on herself. “It’s been a long day and yes.” Jeremiah glanced at all the notes in front of him. “The sooner we get more help: doctors, nurses, supplies, more phones, sanitary conditions, and a vehicle would be nice—” he paused to grab a breath, hoping he hadn’t overwhelmed her—“the sooner we can wipe out some of these sicknesses.” His words gave him a thought. “But if I can’t even get the nurse we have to follow instructions, how can I hope that the people will?”
Gwyn gave him a weak smile. “You’re right, I should have stayed in bed. Then again, I’m tougher than you give me credit for.”
She put the towel aside, and her long blond curls tumbled down her back in a most alluring fashion. Jeremiah couldn’t help but wonder what i
t would be like to run his fingers through that beautiful tangled mass. His thoughts were interrupted, however, as Gwyn continued to speak.
“There’s so much we need to help all these people, but I fear it’s going to be a while before your list comes to fruition.” She looked weary and stood up, rubbing her hands together. “I’ve lived here most of my life. It’s home. And I love it. But it’s hard to watch these people suffer. Especially the children.”
“Does that mean you plan on staying?”
Her eyebrows rose. “In Alaska? Of course! Why would you think differently?”
Jeremiah tried to keep his smile to himself. “Uh . . . no reason. You’re just young and beautiful, and I thought maybe you’d like to travel and explore the world.” After the words were out, he realized what he’d said. He wished he could snatch them back. The risk was far too great.
“No. I have no desire to travel or explore.” Her brow furrowed, a frown etched her lips. “I’m staying right here.” Gwyn slid her boots back on and headed out the door.
He stood and went to the window and watched her walk away. Had he upset her? He thought back to Clarence’s comments. He was the one who didn’t know everything about Miss Hillerman.
Despite his concern that Gwyn was miffed with him, Jeremiah couldn’t help but feel he’d won some sort of victory. Gwyn had no desire to leave Alaska. Not on her own, and certainly not with Clarence.
Her old wooden rocking chair creaked and groaned as she leaned back, waiting for the girls to return. Nasnana held an old worn Bible in her lap. There was an undercurrent in the colony that didn’t bode well. She’d spent the last hour praying for all the people. A little more than a month had passed since the colonists had drawn for their land tracts.
And she’d stayed away as much as possible. That Gertrude woman always did a good job stirring up the pot about “Indians” and their massacres, but time would heal wounds. Time would be the deciding factor. And over time, as Nasnana and some of the other native people showed them love and kindness, maybe she’d win them over.
Sadzi wasn’t as patient. She wanted to help all the time, wanted to teach the women about all the unique berries and plants, wanted to play with the children, wanted to mingle with other young women close to her age. But Nasnana held her back. Something in her spirit told her that patience would have to be used in abundance.
All Things Hidden Page 12
