9
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
He’d missed something important.
Frank Rhoads tapped his pen in rapid succession on his desk. If he could just put his finger on it, he knew he could crack this case.
Twenty years he’d worked for the Pinkertons. And he’d never had an unsolved case. Never.
Frank scanned all the papers in front of him. Where had this Tony Griffin fellow gone? The man had an exemplary record with the bank. Not one sick day in all his years there. So why . . . only three weeks after the largest heist in the history of First National Bank, did the manager go missing? It just didn’t add up. And the story he got was that the man had become seriously ill and left the state for treatment. But no doctor had any record of that. Nor any hospital. Just the word of the two bank employees under the manager.
There was nothing on Tony Griffin. Maybe Frank was just chasing his tail. Wouldn’t be the first time. He dropped the stack in a heap and threw his pen at the wall. What was he missing?
He stood and stretched and walked around his desk. The answers had to be there. Somewhere.
Frank sat back down and shuffled through the papers again. Another name caught his attention.
Gregory Simms. Now, there was a fella who was always in trouble. Petty stuff but trouble nonetheless.
For years, Chicago had been a prisoner of the mafia and gangs. Prohibition had increased the crime rate in his city. Over seven hundred gang murders had been directly related to the liquor trade.
Even after Capone and all the others they’d locked up, there were plenty of men in the lawbreaking business. And they liked it.
Frank chewed on a toothpick. Simms wasn’t a mastermind. But Frank bet the man knew something about it.
Maybe it was time to track Gregory down. But what could he bring him in on? “Connor!” Frank yelled out his door.
“Yeah, boss?” The short man leaned in.
“I need you to find this guy for me. And fast.”
“Got it.” Connor grabbed the paper and ran back out to the hallway.
The papers slid around his desk like a deck of cards. What was he missing? It was here. He knew it. The toothpick cracked in his teeth as he chomped down.
Jeannette, one of the secretaries, sauntered up to his desk. “John thought you’d want to see this, Frank.” She let the packet drop and sashayed her way back out.
Frank opened the envelope and looked at the pictures. Dropping them to his desk, he cursed under his breath. His gut had been right. Simms definitely had something to do with it.
The new agent ran back to Frank’s desk, sucking in air. “Sir?” He bent at the waist and put his hands on his knees.
“Go pack a bag. We’re going to New York.”
“Sir?”
“We just found Gregory Simms.” He pointed to the pictures—a man and woman lying at odd angles with bullet holes in their foreheads, holding bank bags with First National Bank imprinted on them. “And he’s dead.”
JUNE 1935
It was gradual, but guilt ate him alive. Every day that passed and Jeremiah didn’t tell Dr. H. the truth felt like another day past the point of no return. May had come and gone like a thief in the night. How could he tell his mentor now? They had hundreds of people to care for, and chaos reigned in the Matanuska Project. As he worked side by side at the clinic-now-hospital with Harold, Jeremiah passed iodine to the doctor. Would there ever be a good time to tell the truth? And if he did tell the truth, what would Dr. H. think of him? Would he shrug it off in his casual style or would he feel betrayed and demand Jeremiah leave? Shaking his head, Jeremiah realized he’d become just like the very people he despised—worried about what others thought of him, dishonest, and selfish.
Another measles case had come in that morning. If they didn’t do something soon, one of these sicknesses could turn into an epidemic. That was a fear no one wanted to voice. But it hung in the air. And it was another excuse to keep from telling the truth. Would Dr. H. care that his license was revoked? Or would he still value Jeremiah for his skill? Lots of people practiced medicine without a license in remote areas. But did they carry the title Doctor?
And there was the entire matter of his former engagement to Sophia. Another secret. One that weighed him down the longer he was around Gwyn.
Jeremiah washed his hands for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning. His skin cracked from all the cleaning. For now, it was best to focus on what he could do to help. And forget about his troubles.
Gwyn walked in the door and swiped at her brow. “Good morning, Father, Jeremiah.” Without even pausing, she moved to a cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a jar. She handed it to Jeremiah. “Here. Nasnana makes it for us.”
He recognized the tub. He’d seen Dr. H. slathering the cream on his hands on many occasions. “Thanks.”
“It’ll help with the cracking until your skin gets used to the dry air.” Gwyn moved over to her father, pushing her blond curls out of her face. “They’ve set the first log for the construction office.”
“Good, it’s about time.” Harold washed his hands and reached for the cream. “That should build some excitement and momentum.”
“It is.” She nodded. “Now if they could just get the supplies shipped properly. The whole last shipment of perishables was spoiled when it arrived.”
Jeremiah watched the exchange, rubbing the thick cream into all the cracks on his hands. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but Gwyn wasn’t anything like other women he’d met. She was amazing. Even though he tried not to, he watched her as much as possible. She seemed genuine in her love for everyone around her. And she was good at everything. The rest of the world might have plenty of amenities to make life easier, but Gwyn was perfectly comfortable doing for herself. She didn’t seem to mind the labor that went into simple tasks. All the other women he’d known were spoiled and selfish. Not wanting to get their painted fingernails dirty. But not Gwyn.
As a nurse, she was finer than any he’d worked with in Chicago. She could also teach and counsel—always making the other person feel as though they could accomplish anything.
Gwyn cocked her head as she listened to her father. Her often quiet ways hid a lot of the strength and knowledge within—she was like a buried treasure. Didn’t know what was there until he dug deep enough.
Jeremiah watched her walk around the room. None of the women he knew would be caught dead in the dress she had on. It was at least a decade behind the fashions of the city. But its simplicity and modesty caught his eye more than the flashy, provocative styles women pranced around in nowadays. And when it came down to it, she was comfortable in a pair of overalls or pants, covered in mud in the garden.
He leaned back against the cupboards. No denying it. Gwyn Hillerman had worked her way into his heart. Only problem was, he couldn’t do anything about it. Because as soon as she learned the truth, she’d kick him clear into the Bering Sea.
And then there was Clarence. The man was slick, he’d give him that. But did he always have to appear whenever Jeremiah managed to get a moment alone with Gwyn? The man’s manners might be impeccable, but Jeremiah had looked at his hands. Clarence had never done manual labor a day in his life. So what was he doing up here? And why couldn’t he leave Gwyn alone?
“Jeremiah—” Dr. H. cleared his throat. “Jeremiah, did you hear a word I said? Are you feeling okay?”
Just a little lovesick. “Sorry, Harold. Would you mind repeating it?”
“There’s a reporter and a photographer out front. They’ve been hounding me for days for a quote or two and a picture. Would you mind joining me?”
All the blood seemed to rush from his head to his feet. With the way the country was watching with baited breath to hear any and every tidbit they could about the colony, there was no way Jeremiah’s presence here could go unnoticed if his picture was in the papers.
“Jeremiah?” Harold reached out. “You don’t look so good.”
He put a hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry. I think I might be sick.”
Gwyn rushed to his side. “Let me get you a cool cloth.”
“No!” He pushed toward the back door. “No, please. I don’t want to vomit on anyone.”
“Rose,” Gwyn whispered. “Rose, honey, wake up.”
The young widow’s face was pale and drawn. It had been three weeks since her husband’s death, and Gwyn’s father was very worried. He’d asked her to go spend the day with Rose and see what she could do to bring the young woman some encouragement about life.
Long black lashes blinked against her cheeks as Rose opened her eyes. Tears formed before she spoke. “I can’t believe he left me.” Sobs shook the young woman in her bed.
A soft cry rose from a box beside the stove. The tent homes were sturdy enough, but when the winds decided to blow, it was sometimes hard to stay warm. At least Rose had the presence of mind to keep the baby’s bed by the warm stove.
Gwyn went to pick up the seven-month-old baby, who was entirely too tiny for his age. His little lips moved in motion to feed. “Hi there, little one. You must be hungry. Let me bring you to your mommy.”
Cuddling the baby close, she took the little guy to Rose. Couldn’t she find the will to live at least for her son? “Rose, I think he needs to nurse. Would you like me to help you sit up?”
The young widow worked to stop her tears. “Yes, please.”
After helping Rose and giving her a moment’s privacy, Gwyn decided it was best to get Rose talking. There had to be some way to bring the woman out of her shell of grief. “Rose, I don’t know your baby’s name.”
“Daniel.”
“That’s a good strong name.”
“Yes, he’s named after his father.” A few fresh tears ran down her cheeks.
“Daniel. It suits him.” Gwyn swallowed. “I heard they started on your house first. That will be a blessing, won’t it?”
Rose looked out the tent flap toward the mountains. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Daniel was so excited about this land. We were going to raise our family here.” She sucked in a gulp of air. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about his sickness. Why didn’t he tell me?”
Gwyn reached over and wrapped her arms around Rose and baby Daniel. Mr. Benson died of tuberculosis just three short days after the tract drawing. Apparently, he’d wanted to keep his illness a secret so that he could provide a future for his wife and son. “I don’t know, Rose. I don’t know.”
The baby settled down and began to nurse in earnest. Gwyn wanted desperately to help ease the young mother’s pain but knew she had no experience in this area. She’d never had a husband or child, so how could she possibly relate to the misery and loss this woman was feeling?
“Just talk to her,” Father had urged. “Just help her to keep focused on what’s important.”
But what was important to this devastated young widow?
“Were you excited to come here, Rose?” Gwyn asked. Anxious for something to set her hand to, she reached into a basket of freshly laundered diapers and began to fold them.
“I was.” She stared off into space, not even seeing Gwyn. “Daniel’s excitement was contagious. He told me our life was going to be so much better than what we’d had. He promised we’d be happy here.”
“It’s a wonderful place to live. There’s purity and peace that can be had here,” Gwyn said without thinking and immediately regretted her reference to peace. “I was so surprised to hear about the colony at first. I have to admit I felt rather guarded about my home.” Rose said nothing, so Gwyn continued.
“Alaska has always been such a blessing to me. I love the people here and the beauty. It’s a good place to raise children,” she said, nodding toward the baby. “You certainly don’t have to worry about all the problems they suffer down in the States. Life here is much simpler, although it does require a strong back and a will to survive.”
Rose looked at her blankly. “I haven’t got that will.”
“Oh, but you must. Look at little Daniel. He needs you to have that will. And God can give you that will. He provides all of our needs.”
Rose pulled back and gave Gwyn a strange look. “Do you know what Daniel’s last words were to me?”
“‘God has provided.’” She sobbed. “Those were his last words. And then he died.”
God has provided. How could she tell a woman—going through horrendous grief after her husband’s death, in a territory thousands of miles from her home—that those words were true? Lord, give me the words to say . . . please. . . . I don’t want her to give up, and I’m so weak.
Rose collapsed in Gwyn’s arms. Her sobs shook all of them as they huddled on the bed. “I hate God. He took Daniel away from me. What am I going to do?”
The words hung in the air and mixed with the baby’s cries.
God has provided.
Gwyn walked back to the clinic. She hadn’t had the right words to give Rose. Had she failed? What good had she been?
Clarence Novak stood in the road, waiting . . . for her?
Just what she needed. He was the most annoying man she’d ever met.
“Good morning, Miss Hillerman.” His smile was all too white, his suit all too clean. “May I walk with you?”
“Oh, I’m not on a walk. I’m on my way back to the clinic. If you’ll excuse me.” She picked up her pace.
He didn’t take the hint and stepped in beside her. “It’s a lovely day. If only we had a grand restaurant here, I’d love to ask you to dine with me.”
Maybe he’d get the hint if she didn’t respond.
“But since we don’t have anything like that right now, and I’m spending all my spare time helping my brother, perhaps you’d agree to a picnic sometime?”
The words were all too smooth. As if she couldn’t have a reason to refuse him. She looked out to the trees. How could she get rid of him? “That’s awfully kind of you to offer, Mr. Novak—”
“Please, call me Clarence.”
“Uh, that’s a nice offer, Mr. Novak, but I’m really quite busy, and I don’t think it’s wise to take time for frivolous things right now when all these families need to get ready for winter.”
“Oh, but a picnic isn’t frivolous, and besides, winter is a long ways off.”
“Not by Alaskan standards. There’s a great deal that needs to be accomplished in these brief summer months,” Gwyn countered with an air of authority.
“But everyone needs some time off now and again.”
“That may be true, but as a nurse here, and as someone who’s lived here for many years, I know how difficult it can be, so I have a responsibility—”
His all-too-soft finger covered her lips. “Gwyn, you work entirely too hard.”
“If it’s all the same—” she removed his hand and stepped back several paces—“I’d prefer you call me Miss Hillerman.”
“Come now, don’t be such a little mouse. You must know that my intentions are pure. I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I stepped off the train.” He stepped forward and closed the distance between them. “I think you’ve felt something similar for me.”
Gwyn stepped back again. “Mr. Novak, I’m not sure what kind of women you are used to being around and associating with, but that is a bit too forward for my liking.” She walked away as fast as her legs could carry her.
But he caught up. Wouldn’t this man ever take a hint? “I apologize. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped my bounds. How about I just walk you the rest of the way to the clinic?”
Did she have any choice? “Apology accepted. But I am in quite a hurry, so I won’t be much for company.”
“I don’t mind.”
But she did. Didn’t he understand that? Maybe she hadn’t been bold enough in her words. Were women these days more forward than men? She had no idea. All she wanted was to conduct herself in a manner worthy of the Lord. All those crazy social rules were above and beyond her knowledge.
“The clearing of the land is coming along quite nicely, if I do say so myself. William is a bit lazy, but I’ve put in lots of labor to help the family out.” His chest appeared to puff out with each word.
He couldn’t be serious. He actually wanted her to believe that? Not only was he forward, he was a liar. His hands were smoother than any person’s she’d ever seen. If he’d ever picked up a hammer or saw she would have been surprised. This man made her feel so uncomfortable.
“You should come out and see it sometime. I imagine myself building my own cottage one day. Just a vacation home, you see. I’d still like to return to the city and all the luxuries there.” He looked over at her.
She avoided his gaze and kept walking. “That’s very nice.” If only he knew how his words repulsed her . . .
“But this is a wonderful adventure. I’m glad I can be of service to those less fortunate.”
Less fortunate? What was he implying? Here he was, mooching off his family that had little to nothing. He slept in their tent. He ate their food. Gwyn bit her tongue so her temper wouldn’t get the best of her.
The clinic was in sight now. Clarence tugged on her arm and stopped her. “I enjoyed our walk, Miss Hillerman. Maybe we can do it again sometime?”
“It was very gracious of you to accompany me.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “I hope you have a nice day.” With that, she turned on her heel and half walked, half ran the rest of the way to the clinic door.
Sadzi was right. Slimy described Clarence Novak to a tee. And now she felt like she needed a bath.
Gwyn yanked open the door with a little too much force. She had allowed Clarence to irritate her, and that hadn’t helped her mood. She ran straight into Jeremiah’s back. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jeremiah.”
He turned, a frown on his face. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“I just came back from checking on Rose Benson,” she huffed. Why did she feel so defensive? He must’ve seen her with Clarence. Could the day get any worse? “Father and I are really worried about her and the baby.”
His expression softened. “How is she?”
“Distraught, discouraged. I don’t think she’s eating much, and the baby is weak.”
“You’re upset.”
“Yes, I’m upset.” Gwyn grabbed a clean apron. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can talk about it.” She cinched the knot a little too tight.
“I hear they started her cabin. It was the first one?”
Was he trying to make small talk? Calm her down? “Yes, I just wish there was some way to encourage her.”
“I’m sure you did everything you could.”
She nodded. But it wasn’t true. Once again, she hadn’t measured up. She’d failed. Rose had looked no more encouraged by the end of their visit than she had when Gwyn first arrived.
“For some reason I don’t think you believe that.”
She met his gaze and could see he seemed sincerely concerned about her. “I suppose I don’t.”
“But why?” His voice was gentle and soothing.
“I don’t know what it is to lose a husband that way, or any way, for that matter. I’ve never been married. Never been in love, and I certainly don’t know what it is to be a mother. I said what I could and tried to offer solace, but my own experiences are limited.”
“Have you never suffered a loss?”
“Of course I have,” she replied.
“Loss of any kind shares similar tendencies. Pain, betrayal, anger, shock. Those are all things you’ve felt before.”
Gwyn felt her anger calming. “Yes. That much is true.” She felt her heart skip a beat as Jeremiah offered her a smile.
“It’s all about reaching a person where they hurt.”
For a moment Gwyn lost herself in his gaze and found herself wondering what it would be like just to put her head on his shoulder. He seemed such a pillar of strength. But as quickly as the thought came to mind, Gwyn pushed it away. What in the world was wrong with her? She turned away, anxious to busy herself with something else.
“Did you hear about the new visitor?”
His words helped her shift gears. “What? No. I haven’t heard much news lately. Is everything okay?” She busied herself with the pretense of counting bandages, knowing that if she looked into his greenish eyes she’d never hear another word.
“Yes, the president sent up a man named Eugene Carr. Seems like a nice enough fellow. He’s here to calm down all the complainers.”
“Oh. I’m sure that will be a fun job.” She felt a pang of guilt. “Sorry for the sarcasm. I’m not good company right now. I suppose I’m not feeling very gracious either. Those people knew coming here wouldn’t be easy. They knew there would be a great deal of work to do. It’s not like they didn’t have—”
“Gwyn!” Nasnana burst through the door, her cane clattering to the floor. “Can you come with me?”
“What’s happened?” Gwyn went quickly to pick up the old woman’s cane.
Nasnana took the piece and steadied herself. “It’s the river. It’s flooding Matanuska. The people need help getting away from the water.”
“Matanuska?” Jeremiah moved closer. “I thought we were in Matanuska.”
Gwyn tore off the apron she’d just tied and grabbed the rubber waders. “We’re in the Matanuska valley, yes, but there’s a small village of native people right on the river. It’s called Matanuska as well, named after the river.” She grabbed her father’s rain slicker. “Father, are you here? I’m going with Nasnana. I’m wearing your gear.”
“I heard.” He appeared beside Jeremiah, wiping iodine off his hands. “Nasnana, are there any injuries? Should Jeremiah or I accompany you?”
The clinic was packed. They’d had their hands full with TB patients and children who’d contracted measles. “If it’s nothing serious, I can do it, Father. Why don’t you send me with one of your medical bags? That way you and Dr. Vaughan can stay here.”
Her father shook his head. “While I’m confident with your nursing abilities, Gwyn, I’d feel more comfortable if Jeremiah went along. I don’t like the thought of you and Nasnana going alone.”
“We’ll be all right.”
“I know you will, but Dr. Vaughan needs to be there, just in case. I’ll be busy here, but you send word if you need me, all right?” As Jeremiah packed a bag, her father reached out to hug her. “I’m sorry things have been so busy lately.” Her father pulled back and kissed her forehead. “Be careful. Don’t take any chances. Floodwater can be very dangerous and unpredictable.”