Eugene nodded and made a few notes on a piece of paper.
“When we do have sickness, it’s almost impossible to quarantine the ill. We’ve done our best, but we’ve already seen cases of measles, mumps, chicken pox, and scarlet fever. I have children who aren’t getting proper nutrition, and an infant who’s failing to thrive. God help us if one of the new arrivals introduces polio or we get a diphtheria epidemic.” Harold barely paused to breathe.
“Not only that, but as I’ve mentioned prior to this, we’ve had cases of TB. It’s very contagious—especially to the children and the natives. Then there are the injuries. I can barely keep up with the broken bones and lacerations. And we don’t have a vehicle, so just getting to and from the camps is difficult.”
“I can see where this could be quite serious.” Mr. Carr stood and shook Harold’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor. Your information has been invaluable.”
“The information won’t matter if it doesn’t reach the proper authorities and get the proper attention. I think the colony was a good idea overall, but it was poorly planned and badly supplied. The people in Washington didn’t seem to think this through. Construction should have taken place before anyone came up here. A hospital and proper staffing should have been established, not to mention schools and regular supply shipments.”
“Hindsight, eh, Doctor?”
“More like no sight,” Harold countered. “Someone came up with the idea that doing anything was better than doing nothing. They couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Harold watched the man leave. Eugene Carr had quite the burden to carry, and no doubt Harold had just added to it. But the truth had to be said. Not only was Carr responsible now for the well-being of thousands of people, but the president and the rest of the country would be watching. And no doubt many a finger would be waiting to point out the failures and assign blame, while all these people headed unprepared into an Alaska winter.
The door closed, and Harold stood for a moment with his hand on the knob. Weariness overtook him. His mind kept going over everything they needed to make it all work.
Then there was Gwyn. Guilt grew in his mind. Had he been neglecting her these past few weeks? He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had a decent conversation. She was a great nurse, but she was also trying to keep their own garden going and helping with the co-op’s experimental station that the university had been working on for years. There were a lot of mouths to feed this winter.
The weight on his shoulders seemed to grow. Was he doing the best thing for his daughter? Good grief, he’d nearly lost her just a month earlier. If it hadn’t been for Jeremiah’s determination to reach Gwyn and the little native girl . . . they both might have been killed.
Thoughts of Jeremiah weighed on him as well. The young man was an incredible physician. He was so thankful that he’d been able to work with him as a young boy and see him today as a man who loved medicine as much as Harold did. But Jeremiah was also very troubled.
Harold had hoped that perhaps his daughter and the young doctor would hit it off, but as he watched the two of them, he wasn’t sure. There seemed to be an attraction, but Jeremiah kept his heart guarded in such a way that suggested real trouble to Harold. If only he’d just sit down and talk about it. Harold was certain there was nothing they couldn’t deal with.
As weariness took over, his mind automatically went back to Edith. He’d loved her. Poured his heart into her. But it wasn’t enough. Before the colony, there’d been many days he felt so alone, his heart ached to be ripped from his chest. And as he cried out to God, he wondered what could come from his broken marriage. But the Lord had been doing a work in his heart.
Harold wanted to forgive Edith. He knew now she would never return to Alaska. The papers were hidden away, and he kept the secret from Gwyn. He supposed he’d known it all along, but for his older daughter’s sake he wanted to have hope. Maybe that had been foolishness on his part. His eyes clouded with unshed tears. He missed his wife more than he liked to admit. Sophia too. She had always been such a dainty little girl. He could almost see her dancing around the room, pretending to be at a grand ball.
Wiping his eyes, Harold shook his head. This was serving no good purpose. It wouldn’t help the problems at hand. Forgiveness was what he would focus on. His forgiveness of Edith and a prayer that she would offer the same for him.
Maybe someday.
Gwyn called out at Rose’s tent and waited just a moment before pushing the flap open. “Rose? I’ve brought you some soup.”
The room was lit only by the sunlight that came in behind Gwyn. Since the day was warm, Gwyn put the soup on the table and tied back the flap to allow some fresh air into the musty room.
Rose sat on the edge of her cot rocking back and forth while holding Daniel securely to her breast. She hummed a song—nothing Gwyn recognized. Even so, it made Gwyn smile.
“It’s good to see you up. Nasnana and I thought you might like some soup. It has a good, heavy meat broth with vegetables. I think you’ll like it. Nasnana is coming to visit as well. She’s gone to get the woman to nurse Daniel.”
Rose said nothing, but Gwyn didn’t mind. The woman had been through more than anyone should ever have to endure. Gwyn searched the tent for a spoon and finally found one. Bringing the soup to Rose, she smiled. “It’s probably not as hot as it could be. If you’d rather, I could warm it on your stove.”
A quick glance over her shoulder and Gwyn could see that the stove door was open. It appeared there hadn’t been a fire going for some time. “I suppose it would take too long.” She looked back at the humming mother. “Why don’t I take Daniel while you eat?”
Still Rose said nothing. Gwyn frowned.
“Rose?”
The young woman didn’t acknowledge Gwyn in any way. She continued to rock and hum, lost in her own world. A sense of dread washed over Gwyn. She returned the bowl of soup to the small table and approached the cot with empty hands.
“Rose, let me have Daniel.”
The woman didn’t move, neither did she fight when Gwyn took the baby from her arms. Pushing back the cover, Gwyn touched the soft pale cheek of the infant. He was cold and the body was stiff. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. Daniel had died sometime in the night.
“Well, I see you’re enjoying the fresh air,” Nasnana said as she entered the tent with a small dark-haired woman at her side.
Gwyn turned with the baby in her arms. She couldn’t hide the shock and when she opened her mouth nothing came out. Nasnana seemed to understand immediately. She whispered something to the young woman, who turned and left the tent.
“Let me have him,” Nasnana said.
The images in Gwyn’s mind swirled. She played out everything they’d done in the days since her father had first sent her to visit Rose. She saw Nasnana and Sadzi helping her feed Rose and care for Daniel. She remembered the native woman nursing Daniel and how he appeared eager to feed.
Why hadn’t it been enough? Why hadn’t Daniel lived? She’d done her best. She’d given it her all, and yet she’d failed. The baby was dead.
“Poor little one. He was just too weak to live,” Nasnana said, re-wrapping the blanket around his tiny frame.
“It’s all my fault,” Gwyn finally said.
“Nonsense, child. These things happen far too often. Life is a fragile balance, and we cannot determine who will live and who will die.”
Gwyn looked back at Rose, who hardly seemed cognizant of the situation. She was still rocking and humming. Feeling the overwhelming urge to scream, Gwyn ran from the tent, only to ram headlong into the tall, well-muscled frame of Jeremiah Vaughan.
He took hold of her. “Easy there.”
“Let me go. It’s my fault. I failed her.”
He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
Gwyn tried to pull away. “I failed Rose. Daniel is dead. He’s dead. He died in the night, and no one was here to save him.”
Jeremiah held fast her left arm while taking hold of her chin. “Stop this,” he said, forcing her to look him in the eye. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t fail anyone.”
She slammed her head and then her hands into his chest. She fisted his jacket and wailed. “He’d barely started his life. And Rose . . .” She couldn’t even finish the thought. It was all she could do to breathe.
Jeremiah wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Shh, it’s all right.”
“It’s not all right,” she protested and sobbed. “It’s not all right that babies die—that husbands die. It’s not all right to love someone so much only to lose them. I tried so hard.” She stopped fighting and just rested in his arms.
“You did everything possible, Gwyn.” His voice was low and tender. “You aren’t to blame for any of this. Sometimes we lose patients. I’ve lost them myself. It’s never easy, and we always try to second-guess our actions, but I know the care you offered Rose and Daniel. Your father knows it as well. You didn’t fail.” He stroked her head as if she were a child. “You’re the finest nurse I’ve ever known—the finest woman. I’ve never known anyone with more love and consideration for the people around her.”
Gwyn looked up, surprised to find their faces so close together. Stunned by the nearness, she pushed away and stared at Jeremiah for a moment. Her heart seemed to beat so fast—so hard. The breath caught in her throat, and rational thought fled. She missed the feel of Jeremiah’s arms around her—the strength that they represented.
Then the reality of what had taken place in the tent crashed in. Shaking her head, Gwyn sidestepped Jeremiah. “I . . . need . . . I must . . . tell Father.”
Tony Griffin had been there, all right. Frank chewed on his toothpick. The trail came to an abrupt stop in New York, but he had plenty of leads to follow the trail backward.
One of the biggest was Gregory Simms and his girlfriend. Even though they were both dead, there had been incriminating evidence on the bodies and in the hotel room. Everything pointed to Simms pulling off the First National heist. But it didn’t add up. Simms was no mastermind.
So why was Tony Griffin, an exemplary bank manager, hanging out with Simms, a man with a criminal record in New York City? Frank couldn’t prove it yet, but there was no way it was a coincidence. Maybe Simms had something on Griffin. Maybe he’d somehow forced Griffin to help him rob the bank. But Simms didn’t have enough creative thought to come up with such a scheme. He was a know-nothing hood who did well to steal enough to keep himself fed.
Frank looked over all his notes. What if this was just the tip of the iceberg? What if Simms was working for someone else? What if they’d taken Griffin hostage? There were just too many variables. Not only that, but there was evidence that pointed to Griffin showing up in several other locations. If he was a hostage to a gang of thieves, why hadn’t they just let him go . . . or killed him?
Looked like Frank needed to do some more digging and traveling. Seven states in all. And Tony Griffin had been in all of them. Everything in his gut told him that Tony was involved—that this had been an inside job from the start. But why couldn’t Frank find him? He had to crack this case.
Wasn’t it bad enough that the country was suffering through the worst economy ever? And then some idiot decides he’s gonna rob a bank and live high and mighty while the rest of the world starved.
But what got to Frank the most? This wasn’t just any bank. A bank the feds hadn’t been able to touch in years, even though they knew that some of its clients were questionable. So why would anyone be stupid enough to steal from the mafia?
The toothpick snapped in his mouth. There was more to this robbery.
He pushed out of the lobby of the hotel and grabbed a paper. More headlines about the colony in Alaska. No doubt another exercise in futility. Well, that was great, but he had a case to crack.
He tucked the paper into his briefcase and headed to the station. He needed to catch the next train back to Chicago.
The tears wouldn’t stop. Gwyn sat with Sadzi on her bed, just like they had done as little girls. Only now the weight of loss threatened to drown them both.
Her sadness for Rose multiplied every time she thought of precious baby Daniel. How could she pass on God’s hope to someone who didn’t believe there was a God? Gwyn herself didn’t even understand why God would take first Rose’s husband and then that beautiful little boy.
Sadzi wrapped her arms around her again. “Gwyn, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Anything?”
Gwyn sniffed and wiped the tears again. Her handkerchief was soaked through. “No. Thanks for being here, but I’m just so tired. And I’m confused.” She thought again of Jeremiah and the way she had felt in his arms a couple days ago. The memories startled her, making it impossible to think clearly.
“You should get some sleep. You know what my grandmother says, ‘Things always look better on the backside of a good rest.’”
“But things won’t look better this time. Daniel will still be dead and I won’t have any answers for Rose.”
“Maybe it’s not your job to have answers,” Sadzi replied. “Grandmother has stayed with her around the clock and hasn’t said much either. She reminded me last night that only God has the answers. And only He can show them to Rose in her heart. We need to surround Rose with love, encourage her, and leave the rest up to our heavenly Father.”
Gwyn climbed off her bed and went to wash her face. She was exhausted. She couldn’t think clearly when she was this tired. And she just wanted to help. She hated to think that she had failed a sister in Christ.
“Gwyn, are you still going to the July Fourth festivities tomorrow?”
With everything going on, Gwyn hadn’t thought about the date.
Even though Alaska was only a territory, it was still owned by the United States, and all the new colonists were U.S. citizens as well. Everyone could use a much needed break. The planning had been brief, but it had been exciting to think about—at least until now.
Gwyn dried her face. With all the newspaper reporters here, as well as the men who filmed the newsreels, the entire world would be able to hear and see how the Matanuska colonists celebrated the Fourth of July. The president and everyone who’d supported this experiment would want to show the world how happy and well settled the colonists were—whether that was true or not. She thought it rather funny the way the reporters told their stories to suit whatever slant they preferred.
She sucked in a breath as she thought of Rose. The woman appeared to have lost her mind. There would be no celebration for her. How could they rejoice with so much sorrow all around them? Then again—how could they not? They could, as her father once said, focus on the sad and painful details of their fallen world. They could allow themselves to concentrate only on the bad—or they could remember that Jesus had said there would be trouble in this world, but He had overcome, and because of that, they could as well.
The tears had to stop at some point. “You know, I am going to the celebration. I think we all need to go.”
“There are some pretty handsome men among all those workers.”
Sadzi, dear Sadzi. Nothing could keep her down for long. Her zest for life bubbled out of her. And she was a hopeless romantic. Gwyn couldn’t help but grin. “You always make me smile.”
“And laugh.”
“Yes, and laugh.” Gwyn reached over and hugged her friend. “Thank you.”
Sadzi pulled back and wrinkled up her nose. “Is it rude to hope that Clarence won’t be there?”
Gwyn marveled at how quickly Sadzi could change subjects. “Ugh. Clarence. I can’t stand that man.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”
“It’s okay. You were thinking it. I saw it on your face.”
“I’m just so tired of him always appearing. He’s like one of our mosquitoes—big and annoying.”
“And you’d like to swat him.”
Gwyn gasped. �
��I never said I wanted to hit him!”
“Hey, I was just referring to your comparison of Clarence with a mosquito.” Sadzi held her hands up. She mumbled under her breath, “Not that a little splat wouldn’t do him good.”
“What was that?” Gwyn giggled at her friend’s comment.
“Oh, nothing. I wasn’t saying anything about squashing an annoying bug. I was being the perfect lady. I promise.” Sadzi’s long black hair shimmered.
Gwyn reached up to her own curls. She’d always wanted straight hair, even found herself jealous of Nasnana’s and Sadzi’s beautiful straight-as-a-board hair.
Her best friend of almost two decades went to her bureau and started digging through her clothes. “Now, I know there is someone worthy of dressing up for.”
“What?”
“Don’t deny it, Gwyn. Dr. Jeremiah Vaughan is probably the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on. I know you’ve noticed. And he’s noticed you.”
Gwyn couldn’t help but remember how he’d stroked her hair and offered her comfort. He had been so kind, so gentle. But that was just an act of consolation. He knew she was grieving and in shock. It wasn’t as though he cared for her.
“No he hasn’t.” She twisted one of her curls. “Jeremiah’s a very nice man, but he’s much too busy to worry about . . . well . . . to notice me.”
“Only because he’s fighting it. He’s probably doing that out of respect for you and your father,” Sadzi said over her shoulder as she pulled out Gwyn’s best dress. “You haven’t worn this in ages. I think it’s high time we brought it out.”
“I don’t know. It seems too dressy. And short.”
Her friend smiled at her. “And this is from several years ago. The styles are even shorter now. But this is well below your knee.”
All Things Hidden Page 14
