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  Hidden in a Whisper

  W E S T W A R D C H R O N I C L E S

  TRACIE

  PETERSON

  Hidden in a Whisper

  Hidden in a Whisper

  Copyright © 1999

  Tracie Peterson

  Cover design by Melinda Schumacher

  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—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-0-7642-0049-6 (2005 edition)

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging has catalogued the original edition as follows:

  Peterson, Tracie.

  Hidden in a whisper / by Tracie Peterson.

  p. cm. — (Westward chronicles; 2)

  ISBN 0-7642-2113-2

  I. Title. II. Series: Peterson, Tracie. Westward chronicles; 2.

  PS3566.E7717 H53 1999

  813′.54—dc21 99–6413

  CIP

  * * *

  Dedicated to

  Ramona

  With thanks for the years of friendship—

  for walking through dark valleys with me—

  for celebrating in the sun.

  You are truly a gift from God.

  Books by Tracie Peterson

  www.traciepeterson.com

  A Slender Thread • What She Left for Me

  Where My Heart Belongs

  ALASKAN QUEST

  Summer of the Midnight Sun

  Under the Northern Lights • Whispers of Winter

  BRIDES OF GALLATIN COUNTY

  A Promise to Believe In • ALove to Last Forever

  A Dream to Call My Own

  THE BROADMOOR LEGACY*

  A Daughter’s Inheritance • An Unexpected Love

  A Surrendered Heart

  BELLS OF LOWELL*

  Daughter of the Loom • A Fragile Design

  These Tangled Threads

  Bells of Lowell (3 in 1)

  LIGHTS OF LOWELL*

  A Tapestry of Hope • A Love Woven True

  The Pattern of Her Heart

  DESERT ROSES

  Shadows of the Canyon • Across the Years

  Beneath a Harvest Sky

  HEIRS OF MONTANA

  Land of My Heart • The Coming Storm

  To Dream Anew • The Hope Within

  LADIES OF LIBERTY

  A Lady of High Regard •

  A Lady of Hidden Intent

  A Lady of Secret Devotion

  WESTWARD CHRONICLES

  A Shelter of Hope • Hidden in a Whisper

  A Veiled Reflection

  YUKON QUEST

  Treasures of the North • Ashes and Ice • Rivers of Gold

  *with Judith Miller

  TRACIE PETERSON is a popular speaker and bestselling author who has written more than sixty books, both historical and contemporary fiction. Tracie and her family make their home in Montana.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Chicago, February 1885

  INEVITABLE. HER MOTHER HAD SAID it was inevitable.

  Rachel Taylor stared at her gloved hands and tried to imagine what she would say when Braeden made his appearance at the park gazebo. They had met here every Sunday afternoon for the past two months, defying the cold, bitter winds that blew off Lake Michigan. Defying the gossip that surrounded any lady who met a man unaccompanied.

  But today would be the last time they would meet.

  Her mother had said it was inevitable that a dashingly handsome man of means such as Braeden Parker would find himself attracted to women of more physical beauty and social standing than Rachel could boast. And so it had happened—at least according to the women who boarded in her mother’s house. The esteemed Mr. Parker was seen to have been in the company of a rather wealthy and beautiful blond socialite. Not only in her company, but in her arms—maybe even her bed, as some suggested.

  It hardly seemed to matter that Braeden also inhabited Rachel’s heart and would for as long as she lived. But fate seemed cruel and God rather distant on the matter.

  Rachel considered herself plain and at times even unpleasant with her curly auburn hair and green eyes, but Braeden had pledged to her his love and showered her with words of admiration and praise. He had likened her ruddy complexion to the blush of a rose. Her green eyes, he had said, were like twin emeralds burning with the fire of adventure and love of life. He saw in her the epitome of perfection. At least that was what he had told her.

  Rachel rose and walked to the gazebo railing. Pieces of white paint were chipping away, evidence that the winter had been unduly harsh.

  Life was unduly harsh, she decided.

  She sighed, trying to pretend that this wasn’t the most difficult day of her life. Her head ached with a dull pounding that seemed to permeate her every thought. The pulsating beat was driving her mad. Fool!

  Fool! Fool! It seemed to beat in a driving rhythm. Rubbing her temple with gloved fingers, Rachel closed her eyes, hoping, even praying that when she opened them again she would find it was nothing more than a nightmare.

  But opening her eyes revealed the culmination of her pain. Even now she could see Braeden making his way down the cobblestone path.

  He whistled a tune and it carried on the chilly, damp breeze, reaching Rachel’s ear as a painful reminder of what she was about to lose.

  It seemed destiny had mapped for her a future that did not include her beloved Braeden.

  He waved from the distant walk, then grabbed hold of his bowler just as the wind caught hold of the edge. He smiled as though all was right with the world. Perhaps he had hoped she would never find out about his secret—certainly he had never figured on her putting an end to their romance. But then, ending their romance had been the furthest thing from Rachel’s mind as well.

  Only a year ago Rachel lost her father, a rail yard worker, in a tragic accident. Crushed between two freight cars, he had died within moments of the impact, love for his wife and daughter the final things he had spoken of. Rachel still found it difficult to believe he was gone. He had doted upon her as his precious little princess, and Rachel had found herself rather accustomed to his spoiling.

  Her mother, now widowed and forced to turn her home into a boardinghouse, busied herself with her friends, listening to one tale of woe or another, encouraging news from the neighborhood, and reveling in the information. Always given to seeking out the latest tidbits on the community, the boardinghouse made this lifestyle even more productive, and Elvira Ta
ylor always knew what was happening well before anyone else. That’s why Rachel couldn’t doubt her now. As much as it grieved her, Rachel knew her mother was seldom wrong when it came to telling tales on other folks. She didn’t share this latest information with Rachel to be mean or malicious; in her mind she was simply looking out for her only daughter. Her hope was to keep a young and vulnerable Rachel from falling in love with a man who would only use her and then discard her for someone else.

  Her mother believed there was nothing wrong with sharing the news of one person’s mishap or another’s triumph. The neighborhood was her personal domain, and everything that took place was of the utmost importance. It didn’t matter that the preacher spoke out against gossip on Sunday mornings. As far as Elvira Taylor was concerned, it was her civic duty to know the lives of her neighbors. After her husband’s death, this duty only became more prominent and essential. Her mother clung to her friends while Rachel had turned to Braeden for comfort. But no more.

  Braeden had nearly crossed the park, and Rachel turned her attention back to the water of Lake Michigan—fearful that if she did otherwise, she might betray her misery.

  God help me, she prayed. At twenty-one, the last thing she wanted was to turn down the prospect of marriage to the man she loved. But at twenty-one she was also old enough to understand that emotions counted for very little when it came to committing your life to another person. Her mother constantly reminded her of her gullible nature— her willingness to believe the best about everyone. Rachel had thought it was Christian charity that allowed for this, but her mother said it was immaturity and lack of life experience. She supposed, given the most recent events of her life, that this fact was well proven.

  “You must be half frozen,” Braeden said, ascending the steps to the gazebo. “I shall have to warm you up.”

  She could hear the teasing in his voice without even turning to greet him. She bit her lip for courage. What should she say? How could she explain? Once she turned to face him, he would see the redness of her eyes and guess that she had been crying.

  As if understanding something was wrong, Braeden’s voice changed. “Rachel? What is it?” He turned her gently to face him and his voice became more pleading. “Has something happened? Is it your mother?”

  Rachel shook her head and forced herself to meet his gaze. Her heart seemed to shatter. She had thought it already broken, but it wasn’t until just now, seeing him face-to-face, that she knew her heart was completely destroyed. She would never love again.

  “Then what is it?” he asked, the compassion evident in his voice.

  Rachel studied him for a moment in silence. She wanted to memorize everything about him—his blue eyes, fringes of golden hair at the base of his bowler. She wanted to remember the squareness of his jaw, the prominent nose, and thick blond moustache. She wanted to take these things with her—to hide them in her heart for those long, lonely nights when the memories came to haunt her and her conscience taunted her that perhaps she had not made the right choice.

  “I’m afraid this is good-bye,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. Funny, she thought. In a whisper of hearsay her future had been destroyed. Now in a whisper she would bid her love farewell.

  His expression changed from compassion to confusion. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I cannot marry you.”

  “Am I entitled to a reason?” he asked gently yet urgently.

  Rachel shook her head. “I believe you know the reason, and speaking of it would only give me pain.”

  Braeden’s brows raised. “No, I don’t know the reason, and as much as I am loath to cause you pain, I must know what divides us.”

  Rachel turned back to the railing. “I have been given some information.” “Do you mean gossip?” he questioned sarcastically. He pulled her around and forced her to look at him. “What has your mother told you this time?”

  “Leave her out of this!” Rachel demanded.

  “Why? Is she not the reason you are breaking our engagement?”

  “We are not yet formally engaged.”

  “We are enough so that our hearts are one. Or so I thought.”

  “I thought so too,” Rachel said, her voice quivering. She was desperately close to tears. “Apparently you have different plans. Would you have kept your other friend on as a mistress once we were married? Or would I have suffered the fate of mistress while you married her?”

  “I have no idea what you are speaking of,” Braeden replied.

  “You were seen with another woman. A lovely blond-haired woman of means.”

  Braeden shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh?” Rachel replied, moving away from him and pulling her cloak tight. “You were seen in her arms at the Tourey Hotel as you made your way up the stairs to …” Her voice broke off.

  “What?” Braeden paused, as if trying to remember the scene. “You can’t believe for one moment—” “I didn’t want to believe,” Rachel interjected. “But my mother’s best friend saw you with her own eyes. She was at Tourey with a group of women from the church to meet the choir director and his wife. They all saw you, Braeden.”

  “It isn’t what you think. It’s nothing more than a misunderstanding. I swear to you.” He came to her and reached out to take hold of her.

  “There have been other times,” Rachel replied. “It isn’t the first time someone has come to me about you being in the company of other women.”

  “Of course I’ve been in the company of other women. I move about in many circles of friends, family, and business acquaintances. How can I help but be in the company of women?”

  “You know it is more than that.”

  “No, I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me.”

  Rachel twisted away. “I know I’m not a wealthy woman, nor am I beautiful and endowed with elegance and graceful charm. But I am a woman of my word, and I expect to be treated with honesty. If you had found another woman more suitable to your interests, you could have simply told me. I would have been hurt, but not like I am now.”

  Braeden’s expression changed yet again, and this time Rachel recognized the anger in his eyes. “You would believe those ninny-headed women who live to tell tales and spread all matter of story over me?”

  “My mother wouldn’t lie to me,” Rachel protested.

  “Your mother wasn’t there, according to you. She simply took the observation of her friend.”

  “You weren’t at the Tourey Hotel last Friday?” she asked, seriously considering that he might be telling the truth.

  Braeden’s face paled. “I was there, but it was on business.” He sounded guilty to Rachel, even as he spoke the words.

  “You are a prosperous accountant,” Rachel said softly. “You are handsome and easily hold the attention of most any woman who comes into your presence. I do not blame you for finding someone more beautiful, more fitting to your status.” Tears filled her eyes as she moved toward the steps of the gazebo. “But I do blame you for the deceit.”

  “And I blame you for destroying our love with mistrust!” Braeden declared. “How dare you come to me on a matter of such grave importance and base your entire decision on nothing more than the words of hearsay! Love requires trust. Have you not learned that in your twenty-one years?”

  “I’ve learned a great deal in my twenty-one years,” Rachel replied sarcastically. “My father was a good teacher, even if my mother tended toward gossip, as you are so good to point out. Perhaps the most important thing my father taught me was that men often deceive innocent young women in order to get something that should never have been theirs to begin with.”

  “Are you accusing me of less than proper behavior?” Braeden questioned. Rachel quickly walked down the stairs and started up the cobblestone walkway. Braeden was at her side before she had taken five full steps. He grabbed hold of her arm and turned her to face him.

  “Answer me,” he said, his
face only inches from her own. “Has my behavior not spoken for itself? I have treated you with nothing but gentleness and respect. I didn’t even kiss you until you agreed to become my wife.”

  Rachel trembled from his touch. She was so under his power that it became imperative to get away from him before she changed her mind and agreed to believe him over her mother. “You stole that kiss, along with my heart,” she murmured. “But you’ll get no other part of me. Now leave me to go in peace.”

  He dropped his hold. “Then go,” he said, his voice edged with pain and regret. “Go and listen to your stories and lies and let them keep you warm on a cold winter’s night. Let them speak to your heart when you are lonely and sad.”

  Rachel said nothing more. She pushed up the walkway, praying he would not come after her. If only he had denied being at the Tourey, she might have believed it a case of mistaken identity. But he hadn’t denied it, and something in that helped her to believe that she was justified in ending their engagement.

  A light snow began to fall as the sun was swallowed up by heavy gray clouds. Tomorrow she would board a train for Topeka, Kansas. She would accept the position offered her by a friend of the family, becoming a trainee for the Harvey Company restaurants along the Santa Fe Railroad. And she would forget that Chicago and Braeden Parker ever existed.