Forever Hidden

  Books by Tracie Peterson and Kimberley Woodhouse

  All Things Hidden

  Beyond the Silence

  THE TREASURES OF NOME

  Forever Hidden

  THE HEART OF ALASKA

  In the Shadow of Denali

  Out of the Ashes

  Under the Midnight Sun

  Books by Tracie Peterson

  BROOKSTONE BRIDES

  When You Are Near

  Wherever You Go

  What Comes My Way

  GOLDEN GATE SECRETS

  In Places Hidden

  In Dreams Forgotten

  In Times Gone By

  HEART OF THE FRONTIER

  Treasured Grace

  Beloved Hope

  Cherished Mercy

  SAPPHIRE BRIDES

  A Treasure Concealed

  A Beauty Refined

  A Love Transformed

  BRIDES OF SEATTLE

  Steadfast Heart

  Refining Fire

  Love Everlasting

  For a complete list of titles, visit www.traciepeterson.com.

  © 2020 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 2020

  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 978-1-4934-2281-4

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

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the authors’ imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Jennifer Parker

  Cover photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC

  Kimberley Woodhouse is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.

  To Miss B (otherwise known as Miss B Havyn). Keep singing, beautiful girl. I miss seeing you every week for lessons, but it’s a privilege to watch you blossom and grow from afar. (Thank goodness for the technology of today!) Oh, make sure you do the monkey exercise . . . at least once a day. For me.

  And to Monica and Merle Powell, precious friends and an amazing couple. Thank you for allowing us to make fictional characters out of your girls. It has been so much fun. Although, we could never capture how amazing they really are! Keep on keepin’ on—we cherish your friendship.

  And to Chuck and Diane Bundrant. What an absolute privilege it is to know you and call you friends. Thank you for your generous spirits and love for people. You’ve touched thousands of lives.

  To God be the glory!

  Contents

  Cover

  Half Title Page

  Books by Tracie Peterson and Kimberley Woodhouse

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Dear Reader

  Prologue

  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

  29

  30

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Authors

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  Dear Reader

  This series began with three beautiful young ladies whose cinnamon-colored hair and dark brown eyes stirred us to create stories to match their spirits. Whitney, Havyn, and Madysen Powell were my (Kim’s) piano and voice students. In January of 2017, they came to one of our book events, so excited that not only did I know the amazing Tracie Peterson, but we wrote books together. Tracie was completely captivated by my girls and told me that someone had to write stories about them. The idea was born and we ran with it.

  In researching our next locale for this series, I came across some historical pictures from Nome. A few in particular were of the Nome Dairy and Poultry Yard. Inspiration struck when I saw a picture of a man with a yoke over his shoulders, two pails of milk dangling, with walls of snow around him that rose in height above his head. On top of the snow, a chicken appeared in mid stride. It cracked me up. I had chickens when we lived in the country in Colorado. I loved those girls. And yes, they all had names. In fact, the mom of one of my piano students made a sign for my chicken house with all of their names. Check out my blog for pictures.

  Apparently, I am not the “type” in most people’s minds to have chickens. So “Kim’s chicken adventure” amused my husband and my friends. Jeremy would often find me out there feeding them and carrying on conversations. (Don’t judge. Yes, I talked to my chickens. Yes, they chattered back. One followed me around like a puppy, always at my heels.) I even had a wonderful lady bring me a chicken at a large women’s event I spoke at—and much to Kayla’s shock, I drove all the way from Nebraska back to Colorado with the chicken in the car.

  Needless to say, all the chicken stories in this series will be based on real events from Kim’s crazy time of having chickens. And one even from my dad. Well, my grandmother always told me the story. And made sure I saw the chicken grave. Every time we visited. Tracie also made me chicken pillows. I should post pictures of those too.

  While Whitney, Havyn, and Madysen are named after the real girls, please remember they are fictional characters. But if you ever get the chance to hear the real-life Powell girls sing or play, you should take it. I promise you won’t be disappointed.

  As always, Tracie and I find it an absolute joy and privilege to bring you another story. Thank you for reading. For praying. For investing in us.

  Enjoy the journey,

  Kimberley and Tracie

  Prologue

  Cripple Creek, Colorado—1891

  Your husband is . . . well . . . he’s gone.” Chuck Bundrant bit the inside of his cheek after he gave the news to his daughter. “I’m sorry, Melissa.” It was necessary to tell her the news, but the apology left a bitter taste in his mouth. The truth about Christopher Powell was much worse than Chuck would ever tell his girl, but at least it was over and done now. While he hated to see Melly hurt, what coursed through him was more than just relief. Gratitude and joy were the first words to come to mind.

  His son-in-law had been a constant thorn in his side.

  “Chris . . . is dead?” Melly blinked several times and half sat, half fell into the chair behind her. “But . . . what . . . ? What happened? Can I see him?”

  “I’m sorry. No. He’s already been buried. He was beyond recognition. I’d hate for you to see him like that.”

  She took a deep breath and put a hand to her mouth. After several moments, she lowered her hand and looked him in the eye. “What will we do?”

  “You don’t need to worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.” Si
ghing, he touched her shoulder as he looked out the window to the snowy landscape around them. Down the hill, he could see men with wheelbarrows hauling rocks out of his mine. The clanking of picks and shovels echoed through the mining camp. “Why don’t you and the girls move in with me? You spend most of your time here anyway, around the piano.”

  Her chin lifted and he got a glimpse of his strong and independent daughter. “I appreciate that, but I can’t do that to you. When we’re here, it’s for the girls’ lessons. And you’re never here during that time. I don’t think you realize what it would be like to have us around at all hours. The girls are rambunctious . . . playing their instruments or singing . . . all the time. You’d never have any peace. Besides, I can’t expect you to take care of us . . .” Melissa used her hands as she spoke—a normal habit for her whenever an instrument wasn’t in them. But her frantic movements now and the speed of her words showed her distress.

  A fact that made him feel even more of a horrible father than when he couldn’t control his son-in-law’s actions. Was he doing the right thing? It wasn’t like he could change the course of events now. “You’re my daughter, and your three precocious redheads are my granddaughters. Who, I might add, bring joy to my life every day. I know quite well how energetic and . . . loud they are. They keep me young.” His words seemed to go unheard. She just turned her face to look out the window.

  “It’s not supposed to be this way.”

  The words were hushed. Her hands still.

  He started to make a retort about the no-good man she’d married, but when her shoulders slumped, it pricked his heart. By the look of her, shock had settled in. Why was Christopher’s death so hard for her to believe? Didn’t she know her husband for who he was? Or was he that good of an actor? Of course it wasn’t supposed to be this way. Couples were supposed to grow old together and raise their children in loving homes. In a normal marriage situation, that would be true. But theirs?

  Chuck had thought for sure the news would bring her a bit of relief. After all, she’d never again have to deal with a husband coming home drunk. Or worry that he would gamble away all their money. But watching Melissa now . . .

  He’d thought wrong.

  He’d been so focused on his own distaste for the lowlife that he’d let himself forget who his daughter was at the core of her being. She’d always had a heart for people, always believed there was good in them. When she eloped with the rogue all those years ago, she’d raved about what a good man Christopher Powell was deep down.

  Chuck knew better the minute he met Christopher. He’d seen him for what he was: a gambler. A drunk. A man who made a habit of coming to his father-in-law for money to cover his debts. At family gatherings, Christopher always put on a show. Cleaned up real nice. Showered Melissa with attention. Knew how to talk the talk of society.

  Of course, if Chuck was honest . . . he’d put on as much of a show himself. Pretending to like the man his daughter had married. All to keep the girls happy. The façade had become a way of life. But the girls were sharp as tacks . . . surely they had noticed their father’s behavior or heard the rumors of Christopher’s exploits around town?

  No. They’d never given any indication of it. All they ever showed was adoration for their father.

  Melissa stared out the window, still and quiet. And then she looked at Chuck. The depth of emotion in her eyes moved across the room like waves that rushed over him, threatening to swallow him up. Guilt filled his gut. Rather than the take-charge, everything-is-in-hand father he wanted to be, the moment—and even the future—seemed out of his control. She turned back to the window without saying a word.

  One thing was clear.

  His daughter needed his comfort.

  He sat on the ottoman in front of her and listened to the rhythm of tools clanking against rock in the distance. The sound had always been soothing to him in the past. Now, it felt like a hammer to his chest. Pounding over and over that he’d failed. “My darling girl, I’m . . .” He swallowed. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  The words pulled her attention from the window. A sheen of tears covered her eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over this, Papa.” The drops escaped and slipped down her cheeks.

  Leaning forward, he took her hands and clasped them in his.

  Lord, I need Your help. Your compassion. Give me the words . . .

  “When I lost your mother, I thought I would die right along with her. But God had me here for an important reason. That reason was you. I had to be both parents to you and help you grieve the loss of your mother. You had so much talent oozing from your fingertips that the only thing I could figure was to give you more lessons. More instruments. With every teacher I could find. So every day, we traveled from one teacher to the next, filling our days with music. Music helped you heal . . . it helped me too. In more ways than you can imagine.” Memories of those years brought a rush of feelings he couldn’t distinguish because he’d tried to lock away the death of his beloved. “I can’t take the pain and hurt of this loss away, but I can be here for you. We’ll get through it. Just like we did before. Together.”

  She sniffed and pulled one of her hands away to wipe at her cheeks as she gave a slight nod.

  Time to steer the conversation in a different direction. Take the reins of the situation back and encourage her that everything would be fine. Christopher was no longer part of the equation. Melissa would grieve. The girls would too. But they’d be back to normal soon enough. In the meantime, Chuck would have to be their strength, hold them together, comfort them, and take care of things. Something his son-in-law had never done.

  “I still think it’s for the best that you and the girls move in with me. I won’t take no for an answer.” He managed a smile.

  The expression on her face was one of resignation. “But, Papa . . . once I married, you were relieved of your duty to take care of me. This isn’t fair to you.” Her voice drifted to a soft murmur as she looked away. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” The repeat of her statement, and the depth of pain in her voice, made his hands fist. He wanted to throttle Christopher, but that wasn’t possible. How could the ne’er-do-well have thrown away his family like he had? All for what? Gambling? Other women?

  He closed his eyes against the last thought. Melissa would never find that out. Not as long as he lived and breathed.

  But he needed to help her understand the reality. “Melissa, I’ve been taking care of you behind the scenes for years whether or not it was my duty. So of course I’m going to continue to do that. There was nothing to relieve me of . . . I’ll never cease being your father. The mine is doing very well and I’m by myself, tinkering around this large house.”

  She snapped her attention back to him, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean taking care of me behind the scenes?” Melissa grabbed the armrests as her eyes narrowed. “You don’t mean . . . no . . . Christopher would never do that. . . .”

  He let understanding come to fruition in her mind. He was so tired of all the lies and his daughter continuing to believe that Chris would somehow, one day, miraculously change.

  She straightened. “I take it from your silence that yes, he did. I can’t believe it. He lied to me. Over and over again.”

  Emotions played across her face as Chuck watched it all sink in. Disbelief turned to shock.

  “I knew he had a gambling problem, but he tried to overcome it. At least he said he did. And it seemed he’d get better for a while and he’d be home more . . . and he told me that he paid the bills. We didn’t have much, but, Papa, he treated me like a queen—even when he was drunk, he never got mean.” Coming to her feet, she balled her fists at her sides and paced the room, jaw set and firm. The fire was back in her eyes.

  So. She’d moved from shock to anger.

  She shook her head as she paced. “Let me get this straight. . . . Christopher’s been coming to you for money? For how long?”

  At last, the truth was coming out. B
ut he couldn’t triumph in that fact the way he’d thought he would. It was causing his girl too much pain. “Since the week after you married.”

  A sharp gasp caused her to cough. “Things weren’t great, but I would never have dreamed that . . .” She lifted her chin and pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve to wipe at her nose and eyes. “I know how much you disapproved of him at the beginning, but I loved him. Knew that he had so much potential . . .” She sniffed. “What am I supposed to do now? I don’t have any way to support myself and the girls.” She turned away and looked out the window again. After several moments, her shoulders stiffened and she looked back at him. “It seems you were right all those years ago, and I should have listened.” With slow steps, she headed back to her chair and sat.

  He’d ached to hear those words, but they brought little joy. “It doesn’t matter now. And it brings me no pleasure to be correct on this.” If only he could take away the pain he saw in her face.

  Dipping her chin, she drew a deep breath. “I suppose I should tell you that his creditors have been coming by the house for several weeks now.” When she looked back up at him, her lips formed a thin line. “I haven’t wanted to say anything because Chris said he’d take care of it. As much as I hate to inconvenience you, now I need to ask for your help with that too.” Her eyes darted down to the hankie in her lap.

  A deep pink color tinged her face and ears. It made Chuck wish he’d punched Christopher Powell in the face at some point over the past fifteen years for the obvious pain and embarrassment he’d caused Melissa. The one good thing the man had ever done was give them Whitney, Havyn, and Madysen. Chuck was glad the man was out of their lives. But he couldn’t say that right now. “No need. I’ve already paid off his debts.”

  “But how did you . . . ?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I took care of it. He’s buried. You can move on.” He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. Even though he’d been thinking it, he never should’ve said it out loud.

  “Move on? Isn’t that a bit callous?” The look she gave him stabbed him in the heart. “Flaws and all, I still loved Chris. And how exactly am I supposed to move on? I just found out that my husband is dead!” Her voice rose in pitch. “I have three girls that need raising. And now it will be without their father—who they adored. The man that I loved.” Hurt, anger, and fear all resided in her gaze. “And my girls . . .” She took another deep breath. “This loss will not be easy on them. On top of that, they need education, food, clothing. Good heavens, we live in a mining town. It was all right as long as Chris was attempting to be a miner, but now . . . I don’t know. I don’t think Cripple Creek is the right environment for the girls. How can we possibly stay here?”