A Treasure Concealed (18 page)

“I am going to get down and stretch.” He rubbed his neck again. “You should take a walk around as well. I'm sure there are facilities for freshening up.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I suppose you're right.”

Caeden opened the coach door and stepped down. The air had turned much colder. He glanced at the sky and saw a bank of clouds moving in from the south. “Looks like we may be in for snow or rain.” So far the weather had been good and the trip uncomplicated. If it started snowing, they could be delayed for days.

He helped Catherine from the coach and offered her his arm. “I'm sure,” she said, taking hold of him, “Father will be pleased at this display of intimacy.”

“Your father is a fool. There's no gold in those mines. At least not the kind Singleton promises him. He's going to put himself in further debt and have nothing to show for it. It will be his ruin.”

Catherine looked quite alarmed. “Are you certain?”

“I am. I know the area and have been studying the mineral potential for months. I just don't foresee a large strike. I could be wrong, of course, but I don't think I am.”

She tightened her hold on his arm. “What can we do?”

“I don't know. I suppose once we get there and actually see the mines Singleton is offering, I can share my opinion, but when I gave it earlier no one actually cared. Besides that, if Singleton is the charlatan that I believe him to be, he will no doubt have made arrangements to ensure there is gold in the mine he wants to sell your father. He'll probably go so far as to have actual nuggets lying around.”

They reached the house, but Catherine made no effort to
move from Caeden's side. “I don't know what will become of our family if he buys the mine and nothing comes of it.” She gave a heavy sigh. “These have been such difficult times. He and Mother fight constantly over money. He's sold off all but one carriage and three horses. He even sold some of Mother's jewelry.”

“I am sorry. I wired my uncle to look into the matter between your father and mine. I meant what I said. If I have proof of my father cheating yours, I will repay with interest.”

She smiled and gave his arm a squeeze. “You are a good man, Caeden. One day you will make a good husband and father.”

Her words stayed with him even after they were once again on their way. Emily had said something similar. Could he be a good husband and father? The only example he'd had was no good. Of course, he'd witnessed other men with their families, but his own was good at putting on a show in public. Caeden knew better than to believe that the person a man was in the midst of his peers was the same man in the privacy of his home.

Doubts began to build, and Caeden found himself questioning his plans to ask Emily to wait for him. She had known life with a loving father. But Henry Carver was also a selfish man to drag his loved ones around in search of a dream that most likely would never come. Caeden had to allow that every man was flawed and full of self-interest. After all, he could claim no less for himself. However, he hated the idea of Emily going on day after day hoping and praying for her father to find the treasure he sought.

But the sapphires could be quite valuable. And
if they are, then Henry will have his fortune—his
buried treasure
.

Caeden thought of his mother and her faith that Archibald Thibault could change. Right up until her last breath, she told Caeden he needed to have faith. But Caeden knew it was going
to take more than faith to be the man he wanted to be. His anger and bitter heart had kept him closed off and unwilling to give of himself.

God, I don't know if I can change. I don't know if I can
let this hatred go.

When he realized he was praying, it startled Caeden enough that he sat straight up on the coach seat.

“Are you all right?”

Caeden looked at Singleton. The man looked back at him with concern. Caeden nodded. “I'm fine.” He caught Catherine's worried expression. Thankfully, Mrs. Dyson and Bishop Arnold had dozed off.

Caeden settled back in his seat. “I'm quite fine. Just had some disquieting thoughts.”

E
mily waited impatiently for news of her father. The county farm, or poorhouse as most called it, also served as a hospital to the indigent of the area. The people were kind, and the doctor seemed quite capable. At one point he had even called in a surgeon. The doctor assured her that her father was receiving the very best of care, but Emily found the wait almost unbearable.

Of course, the doctor had great concern for her as well. When they'd first arrived, he had tried his best to put her to bed too, but Emily refused. She insisted instead that they allow her to sit outside the room where her father was being kept. That way should anything happen, good or bad, she would be there at his side. For the next twenty-four hours it seemed there was a constant parade of people in and out of her father's room, but still the doctor would not allow her admission.

Her head continued to throb, but for Emily that pain was nothing compared to the piercing ache in her heart. She had just lost her mother, and now her father lay near death. What would be left to her if he should die? There was no other family.
Emily knew she could turn to Millie, but that would only be a temporary solution. There was no work to be had in Yogo City or Utica for that matter.

The idea of work had crossed her mind more than once. What little she'd heard from the doctor made it clear that her father would be weeks, if not months, in bed. Emily knew she would have to find a way to provide for herself. She pulled Millie's shawl close, wondering only momentarily what had happened to her own coat. For some reason she had been separated from it in Utica.

“I wish you would go get some rest.”

She looked up to find her father's doctor studying her with an expression of concern. “Your father hasn't even regained consciousness, and frankly that's for the best at this point. He needs a time of absolute rest in order for the swelling to go down. You could use that time to get some rest yourself.”

She stood and waited for the momentary dizziness to stop. “I appreciate your concern, but I want to see him.”

The doctor nodded. “Very well. Come with me.”

Emily followed him into the room where her father had been since they'd brought him in the night before. She thought for a moment that the doctor had been wrong and that her father was dead. He was so gray and still. She edged closer to the bed.

“The surgery went well. I believe he will recover if we can prevent infection from setting in.”

It was the first hopeful thing anyone had said. Emily looked to the doctor. “You believe he'll live?”

The older man smiled. “I am cautiously optimistic. That's all I can be for now. Your father narrowly escaped death. I'm still not at all certain how he managed to make it this far. However, he seems to be made of stronger stuff than I gave him credit for.”

Emily nodded. She felt the strain of her injury and the last
twenty-four hours taking its toll. Just as her knees buckled, the doctor caught her around the waist.

“You're going to bed now. Doctor's orders.”

She didn't argue.

Waking up in a strange place was most disconcerting. For a moment, Emily couldn't remember where she was or why. The large dormitory-style room was arranged in a neat and orderly fashion. She saw there were two other beds occupied, but several others were empty.

She sat up and slid her legs over the edge of the bed. To her surprise she didn't feel dizzy. Perhaps she was finally starting to heal. Emily allowed herself a moment and then tested her strength by standing. Her head hurt, but the pounding was gone and so too the cloudiness that kept her from being able to think clearly.

She saw a woman at the end of the room. She was dressed in black with a starched white apron. Emily made her way to where the woman worked at cleaning off a tray.

“How are you feeling, Miss Carver?”

Emily was surprised that the woman knew her name. “I am better.”

She smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you'd sleep straight through another night.”

“Another night?” Emily looked around her. “How long did I sleep?”

“Probably not as long as the doctor would like.” The woman—older than Emily had first thought—smiled, revealing several holes where teeth should have been. “He tends to be strict when it comes to his patients.”

Emily knew the only patient who really mattered was her father. “Can you tell me how to find my pa?” She figured if the woman knew her name, she would also know her father.

“I'll take you there. The doctor should be with him.” She put the tray aside and led Emily through the door and down the hall. There was no further exchange between them, and for this Emily was grateful. She didn't want to talk about her condition or make small talk. She only wanted to know how her father was doing.

The doctor glanced up when he heard the door open. He beamed Emily a smile. “Come and see who's awake.”

Emily saw that her father was looking at her with great concern. “Emmy?”

“I'm here.” She rushed to his bedside. “Oh, Pa.” She shook her head at the sight of him lying there. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better.” He looked at the doctor. “I 'spect he can tell you more than I can.”

Emily turned to face the physician. “How is he?”

“So far he's doing well. There's been only a slight fever, and the wound sites look good. I'll leave you two to talk, but, Miss Carver, don't make it long. Your father needs absolute rest—no movement whatsoever. I've given him something to make him sleep and keep him still.” He reached toward Emily's head. “First let me take a look at your wound. Sit here.” He motioned to the chair beside the bed.

Emily took a seat and waited while he unwound the bandage and set it aside. The spot was tender as he moved her hair. “Your wound looks good, although how that Utica physician managed to stitch it so neatly without shaving off a good portion of your hair is quite beyond me.” He stepped back and smiled. “Wouldn't do for such a pretty young woman to be bald. We needn't worry about rebandaging.”

She nodded. Once the doctor had gone she looked down at her father. “Now you tell me how you feel, and don't try to lie to me. I want the truth.”

Henry Carver gave a hint of a smile. “You sound just like your ma. Honestly, I'm doing fine. I can't feel much below my chest, but the doctor said that's to be expected because of the swelling.” Then his expression changed. “But what of you? There's a bruise on your face and a wound atop your head. What's happened to you?”

He didn't remember that Davies had struck her? Of course he wouldn't know about Davies hitting her with the butt of his pistol, because he'd already been shot. “Davies shot you and I bit him. Then he hit me over the head. The doctor in Utica said he put in twelve stitches, but it feels like it might have been a hundred.”

Tears came to her father's eyes. “I'm sorry. I should have been better prepared. Since he hadn't been around, I guess I thought maybe he'd moved on.”

“Well, here's the strange thing about it all. The marshal in Utica told me it couldn't have been Davies.” She stated the information in a matter-of-fact manner. “He said Kirk Davies was in his jail all night and the next day until we arrived in our wounded state.”

“I guess I don't remember much.” Her father closed his eyes. “Are you absolutely sure it was Davies?”

“Yes.” Emily didn't wait for him to ask further questions on the matter. “I know it was him, and I can prove it with that bite. I bit him hard. He must have a good-sized wound on his left thigh.”

Her father opened his eyes again. “You stay away from him, Em. He's no good, and if he was responsible for all of this, then he's going to consider us unfinished business.”

She didn't want to give her father any reason to worry. “I
don't intend to go looking for him, Pa.” At least that much was true. “I do, however, plan to have another talk with the marshal when I get back to Utica.” Of course, that wouldn't be for some time.

“Men like him never give up,” her father muttered.

“He blames us for the death of his brother.”

“He blames me,” her father said. “That much I remember. In fact, it's coming back to me. I remember it was Davies. All of this is about punishing me. And all I can do is lie here and not move.”

Emily could hear the weariness in his voice. “I promise you, I'll be careful. I'm going to leave you to rest like I promised the doctor. He says you're going to be here for a while. He said your injuries are quite . . .” Her voice broke. She had tried so hard to rein in her emotions, but it was just no use. She fought back the tears, but they came all the same.

“Emmy, don't take it so hard. God's got a reason for allowin' all of this.”

She forced herself to regain control. Looking up, she could see her father's worried face. “I'm sorry, Pa. I'm just tired. Everything that's happened has overwhelmed me. I don't understand why God would let it happen. I don't understand where He was when Davies was trying to kill us.”

Her father said nothing, so Emily continued. “I know that you and Mama always told me that God would watch over us. You told me that I just needed to put my faith in Him and He would see to all my needs. Well, I trusted Him, and this happened anyway.”

“Life's not easy and trouble is just a part of it,” her father murmured. It was clear the medicine was taking effect.

Emily wiped away her tears. “It's never been easy. Ever. We've struggled just to exist, and now this. You nearly died. Even now
you have a lengthy and painful recovery ahead of you. Where is God in all of that?”

She got to her feet much too fast and for a moment felt the room swim. She drew a deep breath. The rage that had built inside threatened to consume her every thought.

“It's not fair, Pa. It's not fair and it's not right. If this is God's idea of watching over us, then I don't know that I want to put my trust in Him.”

“Now, Em,” her father began without even a hint of condemnation, “these things are hard to be sure, but that's no reason to get mad at God. Seems to me the devil is due his blame in all of this.”

“But God is supposed to be stronger than the devil. God is, after all—God Almighty. Why would He let the devil torment us that way?” She searched her father's face, hoping he might reveal the answer to her questions.

“Why'd He let the devil torment Jesus that way?”

It was a simple enough question, but it took the fight out of Emily. She wanted answers—no, she desperately needed answers. However, it wouldn't do her father any good to hear her continue to rant. Emily drew a deep breath to steady her nerves.

“I'm sorry. I should never have said those things. I'm going to go now. You rest, and I'll come back in a few hours.”

“Em, don't give up your faith just because of what happened. If you do, the devil and Kirk Davies win. Just keep that in mind.”

She nodded. “I will.” For a moment she thought of kissing his forehead, then passed on the idea. The doctor had said he needed to remain perfectly still. “I'll come back as soon as they'll let me.”

The moment she stepped from his room and closed the door behind her, Emily lost all control and began to sob. She drew a fisted hand to her mouth as if to force it all back inside—the
tears, the emotions, the confusion. Tears blinded her eyes and anger blinded her heart. She didn't want to let the devil or Kirk Davies win, as her father suggested, but her faith was dwindling fast. How could God desert them this way? Hadn't her father and mother always told her that God would watch over her in everything? Hadn't they taught Emily to hold fast to the teachings of the Bible and trust God? Hadn't they taught her to love God with all her heart?

But how can I trust and love when God allows evil
men to do such things?

She stumbled out the front doors to the building and made her way across the small porch and down the steps. The brilliance of the sun made her close her eyes. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to leave.

“Are you all right, miss?”

She barely opened one eye to see who was speaking. An older man was standing next to her with a look of concern. Emily closed her eye again. “I'm afraid I am in a rather weak state. I think maybe I should sit a little while.”

“Let me guide you back to the chairs on the porch.” He took hold of her arm and turned her around. “Just take it nice and slow. There's a step just before you and then another two.”

Emily allowed him to guide her, barely opening her eyes to keep from stumbling up the stairs. Once they were back in the shade of the porch, she found it easier. She opened her eyes and met the man's smiling gaze. “Thank you.” She hugged her shawl to ward off the cold.

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather go back inside?”