All Things Hidden Read online

  © 2013 by Peterson Ink, Inc., and Kimberley Woodhouse

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6348-3

  Song lyrics quoted: “’Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus,” Louisa M. R. Stead, 1882.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Kimberley Woodhouse represented by The Steve Laube Agency

  Cover photography, illustration, and design by Brandon Hill

  This book is lovingly dedicated to

  Lori Healy

  Through all the TV craziness, home schooling, the writing of books, traveling with us on book tours and signings, and sorting millions of phone calls and emails—you’ve been a constant friend and trusted assistant.

  Thank you, precious lady.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Authors’ Note

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Books by Tracie Peterson

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Authors’ Note

  The novel you are about to read is fiction, though it is bathed in historical detail, facts, and yes—a few factual characters. We loved researching and discovering these fascinating people who were pioneers of their time, but most of the personality traits and characteristics were fleshed out in our own imaginations and should be construed as such.

  The Hillermans and Dr. Vaughan were not historical people of this time period, but many of the other characters were. Please see our note to the reader at the end of the book to see the list there. (Yes, there really was a man chosen with a wooden leg, there was a teenage girl who had a bear cub as a pet, and one of the colony houses was torn down three times and restarted.)

  In addition to the characters, a major part of the story is the grand setting of Alaska. Were you to visit the Mat-Su Valley today, you would see a landscape much different from the time of our novel. In fact, the cities of Wasilla and Palmer didn’t exist yet. But thanks in part to the colony and the other homesteaders who stuck it out during the Great Depression, the valley flourishes today.

  Our great country’s history is rich, and we invite you along on a journey to discover one of Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal projects: The Matanuska Colonization.

  Enjoy the journey.

  Tracie and Kimberley

  1

  FEBRUARY 1, 1935

  ANCHORAGE, ALASKA TERRITORY

  Fear twisted Gwyn Hillerman’s stomach just like her fingers twisted the delicate handkerchief into a knot. If she wasn’t careful, the fabric would be ruined. Forcing her hands to still, she glanced out the picture window on the southeast side of the large lodge. Wind whipped at the jagged peaks surrounding the small town of Anchorage, the snow whirling around like a dance. But even the rugged beauty of her beloved mountains couldn’t calm her spirit. Usually the daily sight of God’s handiwork cheered her, no matter how hard the wind blew, how low the temperature dropped, or how deep the snow drifted. It was Alaska, after all—the most beautiful place on the planet.

  But today was different. A heavy sigh left her lips. How long must they be kept waiting?

  She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. The warm glow from the fireplace couldn’t ease the chill of anxiety. What was this new board? And what would it mean for them? Would a group of total strangers make life-changing decisions without concern for what others in the area might want?

  As much as Gwyn loved people and loved helping her father doctor the few families in their remote area, she held an equal amount of hate at the thought of change. Maybe because Mother always wanted change.

  Which was why she’d left them.

  Gwyn glanced at her father. Gray hair, shoulders straight and strong, twinkling gray eyes as he read the Anchorage Daily News. His face held an expression of expectance. Almost joyous. The exact opposite of what Gwyn felt inside.

  This beautiful and grand territory was her home. Not here in the bustling little town of Anchorage, but in the quiet valley—the snow-covered mountains of the Chugach and Talkeetnas on the east and the north. The Knik Arm joining them to the Cook Inlet in the south. The moose, the bear, the spruce, the snow . . . The Matanuska valley was her valley. The people were her people; she’d known them almost all of her life. But more than that, she belonged here. It was etched on her soul.

  Gwyn’s thoughts went back to their comfortable place—worry. What would the government board members require of them? Would they ask her father to take another post? How could she leave her home?

  She had a few memories of life back in Chicago, but they were disconnected. Unreal. This place—Alaska—held her in its mesmerizing grip. She didn’t want or need change.

  Change meant new. Different.

  But most of all, change meant heartache.

  Gwyn unwound the fabric from her fingers and attempted to press it flat. Each tick of the clock seemed to span longer with each beat. She folded the kerchief in rhythm, feeling as if time almost stood still. She allowed herself to dart a glance to the clock over the fireplace in the large meeting room. It couldn’t be working properly.

  Good grief, she’d allowed her nerves to get the best of her once again. With a huff, Gwyn blew a few curls off her forehead. She stood and walked around the room before she could mangle the monogrammed cloth in her hands. Again.

  Time to get her mind off these worrisome thoughts. Worry never helped. Besides, it was a sin. She could almost hear Nasnana’s voice—in her gentle singsong way—drilling those words into her as a child. A lesson she still needed to learn. The older native woman had taken Gwyn under her wing at an early age, when Gwyn formed an attachment to Nasnana’s granddaughter, Sadzi. The two girls had been inseparable, and Gwyn would always be grateful for the woman’s guiding hand in her life.

  But even with Nasnana’s advice and direction, Gwyn’s habit of giving in to worry had gotten her into trouble on multiple occasions. A glance down at the frayed fabric between her fingers proved she hadn’t conquered it yet. But she would.

  With a nod to emphasize her point, she tu
cked the hankie into her pocket and focused her thoughts on the furnishings around her. Dark wood beams covered the ceiling, but the log building’s interior walls were plastered and painted a creamy white. Three long tables surrounded the room, but they wouldn’t do at all. Crossing her arms, Gwyn cocked her head to the right and narrowed her gaze. The chairs sat in a crooked line, if one could even call it a line. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason whatsoever. Well, she could fix that.

  Gwyn scurried around the room, straightening chairs and the several sets of wooden benches that took up residence in the middle.

  Another glance at the clock. Bother. That spent all of two minutes. She blew a stray curl off her forehead. She needed something to occupy her mind. Something other than worry. As the fire roared in the grand fireplace, Gwyn looked out one of the windows. Snow dwelt two inches above the ledge and they still had a good bit of winter left. A memory surfaced.

  “Father?”

  The newspaper crinkled. “I’m sorry, Gwyn, did you say something?”

  “Do you remember the winter we had blizzard after blizzard and the snow reached the roof?”

  “I do.” He chuckled and the paper rustled some more in his hands. “You dug tunnels all the way around the house. Oh, the energy of youth.”

  She laughed with him and crossed her arms. “If I recall, you helped.” It had been a tough winter. Their first without her mother and sister.

  “I did.” He patted the chair next to him with the now-folded newsprint. “Come, sit.”

  Plopping down onto the seat in a manner her mother would deem unladylike, Gwyn fidgeted some more.

  Her father reached out a strong hand and covered both of hers. “I’m sure it will be good news, my dear. What’s causing all these nervous jitters?”

  Gwyn met his gaze. Harold Hillerman was a handsome man. Add to that, he was caring, positive, helpful, a wonderful doctor, and he loved the Lord. How could her mother have ever thought to leave this man? It didn’t make sense. Gwyn shook her head to rid her mind of the negative thoughts. It’d be best if she didn’t cause him more concern. When she worried, he hovered and tried to fix everything. Father hadn’t quite recovered emotionally since Mother and Sophia abandoned them for the amenities of “civilized society.” Oh, he was strong and steadfast, as always. But Gwyn never wanted to see the same pain in her father’s eyes again. More than that, she had no intention of being the source.

  She pasted on a smile. “Of course. It was just a bit of a shock—the request that we attend a meeting, when we have no idea what it’s about.” She squeezed his hand and released it with a long sigh. “I’m not very good at surprises. Or waiting.”

  Father chuckled. “With this, I’m all too familiar.” He gave another pat to her hands. “Change is coming, my dear.”

  Of course it was. And that was the exact thing she didn’t want.

  The clock chimed, bringing her attention back to her impatience. What could be taking so long? They’d taken the time to travel to Anchorage and now were kept waiting. Although the board technically wasn’t late . . . yet. She and Father were just early. But the waiting . . . oh, she abhorred waiting.

  She placed her hands on her knees, straightened, and breathed deeply. Gwyn longed for the crisp, frozen air outside and the cabin she called home. Meeting with a bunch of government bigwigs in town was not her idea of an outing.

  Outings were for friends, a hike in the woods, snowshoeing up the pass, catching salmon in the stream, picking berries, or helping her father deliver a baby. Meetings in town would never be on her wish list of outings.

  A slammed door made her jump. Heavy footsteps followed, echoing on the wooden floor. Finally. The waiting would be over. Her spine straightened out of habit as her fingers fidgeted with the hankie again.

  A stout man walked into the room, followed by an assortment of five well-dressed businessmen. The leader carried a mess of papers. When he reached the table at the front of the room, the others began to take chairs and sit. The stout man’s papers slid in disarray as he dropped them in a heap. Gwyn longed to reach out and straighten the pile.

  A heavy sigh preceded the leader’s drop into his chair. “Good afternoon, Dr. Hillerman, Miss Hillerman.” His smile seemed genuine. “I’m George Townsend. I’ve been asked to head up this new board of the Alaska Rural Rehabilitation Corporation—ARRC—until President Roosevelt gets everything in place. These gentlemen are here to assist as well.”

  Gwyn’s father walked to the table to shake each man’s hand. “We’re eager to hear what news you have and how we may be of service.”

  Mr. Townsend nodded his head and leaned forward. “Thank you. Have a seat and let’s get right to it. President Roosevelt has initiated some new experiments to help the country through these tough times. The ARRC will be a part of that. On January fifteenth, the decision was made to move forward with what the president calls the Matanuska Colony Project.”

  Gwyn drew her eyebrows together. The Matanuska Colony Project? Referring to her valley? The president of the United States?

  Her father sat back and nodded. “January fifteenth? You’re moving forward pretty fast.”

  “That’s why we summoned you as soon as we heard and why we’re a little unorganized.” Mr. Townsend shuffled through the messy pile. “Forgive me as I work to be clear on this matter. It will progress even faster as we approach the end of winter.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and continued. “The Matanuska Project is to bring relief to a portion of the American people and bring settlement to Alaska. The president wants them here by May to prepare for the next winter.”

  Gwyn’s stomach dropped. Settlement? They meant to settle the valley? Mr. Townsend continued speaking to her father, but her ears clamped shut. She loved Alaska. Truly, she did. And she loved to share with others. Hadn’t she always wanted the world to know what an incredible land she lived in? To give people glimpses of the wonderland that was her home? But she’d only done that twice. And those were wealthy tourists wanting to explore the Last Frontier. But they came and went and left the valley in peace.

  “Approximately two hundred families will be chosen for the colonization of the Matanuska valley,” she heard the board chairman say as she started listening again. The man slid his glasses to the end of his nose and held out two of the sheets of paper from his stack to read. “Families will be selected from those areas with a climate closest to Alaska’s and those hardest hit by the droughts: Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota.”

  She swallowed. Her throat was so dry. What she wouldn’t give for a huge glass of water.

  Her father chimed in. “Will there be any medical personnel coming as well?”

  The man to Mr. Townsend’s right responded. “Not at this time. The Red Cross will hopefully send some nurses, but right now this is all we know. That’s why we asked to meet with you. We would like to avoid any epidemics or deaths that would cast a poor light on the area to the rest of the world.”

  Her ever-calm father crinkled his brow. “You should know by now my dedication to healing people, but this is a large number of people we’re talking about. I can’t guarantee the health of everyone just so we look good to the press—besides, we haven’t had any press up in our area for some time, sir, so why are you concerned?”

  “We appreciate your honesty, Dr. Hillerman, and we’re asking you to do this for the benefit of future Alaskans. These people will need medical care. As to the press, the president’s declaration has caused quite a stir in the newspapers. We’ll probably have a lot of tenderfoot reporters up here as well.” The man at the end of the table puffed on his cigar. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re all in the papers every day.”

  Discussion erupted around the table as the men voiced their excitement about the chance for Alaska to make its mark on the world. Other people would surely see the beauty and opportunities in this Last Frontier. Hope would be Alaska’s new motto.

  Gwyn bowed her head. Two hundred families. That could be well o
ver a thousand people. With no clue how to survive in the often harsh land that was Alaska.

  Her brain replayed those three words again and again like a stuck phonograph.

  Two. Hundred. Families.

  She attempted to swallow again and almost choked. Her throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

  Two. Hundred. Families.

  Heat rose up her neck and into her face. She attempted to breathe.

  But the air in her lungs fought for space to move around the words. . . . Two. Hundred. Families.

  And they would be here in less than four months.

  Harold watched his daughter stare out the window of the train. For twenty-two years he’d been blessed by her quick mind and quiet spirit. This wouldn’t be easy for her, all the chaos and upheaval. Gwyn liked things stable. Organized.

  And steady. She enjoyed the quietness of their lives. But even though he understood her underlying fear, she’d done a great job in front of the board, showing her strength and ability to assist and tackle a project. It’d been obvious she was dumbstruck at the beginning of the meeting, but as the plan unfolded, his brave Gwyn had straightened her shoulders, cleared her throat, and answered their questions without any hesitation.

  The Matanuska Project. His heart sped up a little at the thought. The president’s task was unprecedented. But the biggest question dangled out there: Could they be ready in time?

  Harold allowed his thoughts to go back to the meeting. What little facts they knew for certain were overwhelming. The colony families would be chosen by each state’s local aid workers. The federal government would pay for their transportation and for shipment of two thousand pounds of household goods per family, and would build them a house and a barn on their forty-acre parcel, which would be purchased for five dollars an acre and given out by lottery once all the colonists arrived. Each family would be granted a loan to pay for their land, farm equipment, and household goods as needed. For all of that, the colonists must agree to live in Alaska for thirty years. Eighty thousand acres were already set aside in the Matanuska valley.

  As the train chugged the forty-plus miles toward their valley, Harold considered the needs of the colonists. Adding another thousand people—if not more—to care for in a very rural area would tax his time and energy. What would this mean for him? He was the only white doctor outside of Anchorage for hundreds of miles into the interior. His heart had always been for the Alaskan Indians. If that many people moved in, how would he have time to travel to the remote villages? He already cared for almost a thousand people.