Ever Constant, page 4
“The terms of Chuck’s will. How much is his fortune, and where is it?”
Davis shrugged and shifted in the chair. Was the man sitting on a tack? “I don’t know the total of his fortune. He didn’t put any of that into writing, and he definitely didn’t put it in the bank. But I can tell you he split his property and everything he had between his three granddaughters. Originally, it was between his daughter and the granddaughters, but after Melissa died, he asked me to update the will, which I did. That’s all I know.”
Worthless fool. “I find that hard to believe.”
Davis held out both his hands. “I promise. That’s all I know. I’ve only seen Chuck once in the past year. You know how secretive he was.”
Leaning back in his chair, Judas examined the man. “Fine. You can go. But not a word of this to anyone.”
Davis stood and rushed out of the room. Judas would have to deal with the debts later. For now, he might still have a use for the lawyer.
Sad, really. The man had once been quite the upstanding citizen. Now look at him.
His secretary stood in the doorway. “Anything else, Mr. Reynolds?”
With a tap to his desk, he looked up. “Yes, arrange with the hothouse to deliver several bouquets out to the Bundrant farm. One for each of the ladies. Make sure there’s a personal card with each one that expresses my deepest condolences and sympathy. That if they need anything—anything at all—they need but ask.”
“Right away, sir.” She pulled the door closed as she left.
He turned his chair to stare out the window. What he needed was leverage. For all that Chuck kept things close to the vest, Judas had managed to wriggle his way into the man’s good graces. The whole family considered him a close friend. Truth be told, his relationship with Chuck had been the longest-standing so-called friendship he’d ever managed. Probably because he had no use for anyone once he’d attained what he wanted from them. Easy enough to make useless people disappear over the years, and no one was the wiser.
But Bundrant had managed to keep him at a distance where his finances were concerned. Judas hadn’t been deterred. Indeed, he’d risen to the challenge of capturing Chuck’s fortune. Nothing like a good contest to get the blood flowing.
But things had changed the past year. Havyn married John Roselli, whose grandfather had been close friends with Chuck. John seemed as righteous as they came. Then Madysen married Daniel Beaufort. While Beaufort had a past, he’d shown that he’d changed. Of course, Daniel’s father owed Judas a great deal of money, but that didn’t help him get his hands on the Bundrant farm.
Then there was the eldest Powell sister . . . Whitney. Still unmarried.
A thought about how he might use her had flitted through his mind once before, but he’d brushed it off after watching her reaction to Sinclair. Now? Maybe it was a good time to revisit the idea.
There was a good deal of age difference between him and Whitney . . . but that didn’t matter in this day and age. Besides, she trusted him. After all, he came to her rescue in the Sinclair incident. He’d stepped in when Sinclair spread rumors about Whitney after he attacked her, making the man admit, in front of the entire town on multiple occasions, that he’d lied. So Whitney owed Judas for restoring her reputation. Now that enough time had passed, he could remind her that he was her knight in shining armor.
He allowed a smile. It was about time he settled down and took a wife. Whitney was no-nonsense. Business minded. Not to mention beautiful. The choice couldn’t be a better one.
He’d always wanted a son to carry on his name. To be remembered.
Maybe it was a good time to pursue more of a political career. With an upstanding bride by his side, he couldn’t lose. Not that anyone in this town would ever go against him.
Standing up, he reached for his hat and coat.
Time to put the plan into motion.
After all, it was only right for him to call on the Bundrant family and express his deep sorrow in person.
Whitney climbed the small hill to the fenced-off family cemetery. Funny, when Granddad first worked on the area and told the family his plans for a cemetery, they thought it would be years before any of them would have need of it. Then life dealt them the blow of losing Mama.
With slow steps, she crested the hill and stared at the wooden cross in the center. The snow was deep. None of them had been up here for several weeks. There was a good chance she wouldn’t even be able to open the gate. But she could climb the fence, if need be.
Frozen in place, she continued to stare. This was not how life was supposed to go.
A tear slipped out and rolled its way down her cheek, making her feel the sting of the frigid temperature.
The cold forced her forward with a shiver as she wiped at the frozen streaks on her cheek with her mitten.
Over the fence and through the deep snow, she trudged toward that cross marking where they’d buried their mother just a few short months ago.
“Mama . . .” The name escaped on a whisper. Several heartbeats passed as she wrestled with her heart and mind. “I never understood why people spoke to the dead, but I guess it makes sense now. Makes it feel like maybe you’re not gone. Not really. Just for a little bit.”
The wind whipped her scarf into her face. She tugged her hat down a little lower and crossed her arms over her chest. “I feel like I’ve been wandering around in a fog without you. Didn’t realize how much I needed you until you weren’t here anymore.” Her throat threatened to close with the words. She shut her eyes and forced herself to stand tall.
She was supposed to be the strong one, wasn’t she? “The thing is, Mama . . . you were the one who held us together. You were the strong one. When I was young, I thought I had to fix things, but all along, you carried the load. So much more than any of us ever imagined. You protected us from the harsh realities of mining life. You did what you could to shelter us from the truth of what Daddy was—always talking about him in a positive way and telling us how much he loved us. No matter how many times he failed you . . . hurt you, you never spoke ill of him. For many years, I thought that made you weak. And that you allowed people to take advantage of you. But I was wrong.”
She choked back a sob. “There were so many things I was wrong about. I’m sorry, Mama. I never thanked you properly for everything you did for me. For all of us. And now that Granddad’s gone, I’m afraid I’m not good enough to fill either of your shoes. I feel lost.”
Admitting it out loud made the burden on her shoulders lighter . . . but the ache worse.
She couldn’t fault Mama for loving her dad. For seeing the good in him. That took a special person, someone who had an enormous heart and offered grace and forgiveness. Things she didn’t excel at.
Many days, she’d pleaded with God to make her more compassionate and fun loving like Havyn. More merciful and positive like Madysen. More gracious like Mama.
But she was simply Whitney. Strong-willed. Stubborn. Hard.
Broken and lost.
Where did that leave her? Havyn and Madysen were both married. She wouldn’t change that for anything. John and Daniel were great men. She loved having brothers now too. But Dad had come back, bringing Eli and Bethany—his new family—and the distance in her heart grew.
Oh, her sisters never left her out of anything. But Whit hadn’t shared with them what was going on in her heart and mind the past few months. They thought her quiet moods were because of the attack.
But she had much more to heal from than just Garrett Sinclair. Admitting it felt wrong. Like she was betraying herself. But she was too weary to try to cover it up anymore.
Tears dripped down her face. “Oh, Mama . . . I wish you were here.” A sob caught in her throat.
The snow crunched behind her, and she swallowed against the overwhelming grief, swiping at her cheeks. Whitney turned to see Ruth headed her way.
At least she didn’t dislike Ruth anymore. What had started out as an awkward relationship between them, since she was Dad’s new wife’s sister, had turned into a timid friendship.
“Hi.” Ruth’s cheeks were pink. It made her look young and vibrant. She stayed outside the fence and leaned over it. “I’m so sorry to hear about Chuck.”
Whitney took one last glance at the cross.
“I’m sorry, Whitney. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll head back and wait for you back at the house. Or maybe I’ll go visit your dogs—”
She held up a hand. “No reason to apologize. I’ll walk back with you.” Whitney climbed back over the fence and forced every bit of emotion back into her heart. She was the strong one. Right? “It’s hard to believe. I don’t know if I’ve been able to process it yet. That’s why I came up here to talk to Mama. Which probably sounds silly, but I miss her more than I can say.”
Ruth stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug.
It wasn’t as good as being hugged by her mother, but it soothed the cracked places in her heart she hadn’t even realized were there. But she couldn’t give them attention. Pulling back, she stiffened her shoulders and put on the mask she’d become all too accustomed to wearing.
“Pastor Wilson and Mr. Norris brought me out since Chris was already here. He came early to finish the coffin for Chuck.” Ruth linked arms with her. “I know they are here to help with the plans for the funeral. But I wanted to tell you . . . anything you need me to do, I’m here. Just say the word.”
“Thank you.” The words were easy enough to say, but they were empty.
They hiked through the snow down the hill toward the house. Smoke puffed from the large chimney in the center of their home. The place that Granddad had designed and built for them. It was the most amazing house. Had she ever told him how much it meant to her? How much he meant to her?
“Losing your grandfather so soon after your mother must be devastating. How are doing? Have you eaten? Slept?”
Whitney waved her off. “I’m doing all right.” A tiny part of her ached to talk about it, longed to tear down the walls around her heart and be seen, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “How’s the search for Stan going?” Ruth’s husband had been missing for a long time.
Ruth shook her head. “Whitney Powell. You’re trying to change the subject.” The look in her eyes was full of compassion. “But I won’t push. Whenever you need to talk, I’ll be here. It’s a promise.”
“I appreciate that. I do.” But she had to get the conversation off of her. “And Stan? Any news?”
“No news. Sadly. Every time we think there’s a lead or some bit of news, it goes nowhere. Chris is trying to keep my spirits up, but I’ve resigned myself to hearing the news that Stan is gone.” She sighed. “I guess it’s easier to guard my hopes and my heart. The longer he’s gone, the more I have to face that reality. One day, I’ll have to tell my children, and that’s the day I don’t look forward to.”
“I’m sorry, Ruth. Truly, I am. I know you must miss your children something fierce.” The woman had left them with her mother back in Colorado while she came to Alaska to find her husband. How she handled the separation was beyond Whitney’s comprehension.
“You understand loss and heartache better than anyone else. Time away from my children is much harder than I imagined, even though I know they are in excellent hands with my mother. But I haven’t heard their voices in far too long . . . haven’t been able to hug them. Watch them grow.” She put a hand to her throat. “It’s even harder to have no news on Stan. I don’t know why . . . but I thought if I came up here that I could help find him. That I would know where he was, that I could feel him somehow. But instead . . . I feel nothing. And it’s heartbreaking. Does that even make sense?”
Whitney pressed her lips together. “It does.”
“I don’t mean to burden you with more, Whitney. Please forgive me. You of all people understand the constant bad news. How it’s easier to steel yourself for the next blow. You must have felt like you were walking on eggshells for months now. Waiting for something else to happen.”
Amazing how Ruth could put it into words. “It’s been the hardest year of my life.”
“Just remember that you have a friend here, all right? I know you have your sisters, but I’ve seen how difficult it has been for you to be strong and be the oldest while the others are married. It must be lonely for you.”
Lonely was never a word that she would have used to describe herself. Never.
A loving family with lots of laughter and music had surrounded her for her whole life. There were moments she ached to have time to herself, so she could get her thoughts straight. But now . . . now she wished it back. For her family to be intact again. For Madysen to be twirling around the parlor with some fanciful idea in her head, excited to share the joy. For Havyn to come in and chatter with one of her chicken stories. For Mama to play the piano and try to wrangle them into practicing at the same tempo.
For Granddad to be sitting in his chair, his face beaming, clapping his hands and telling them that his girls were the most talented in the world.
Why hadn’t she treasured and appreciated those times while she had them? Why couldn’t she understand this big hole left behind? Nothing seemed right. Or normal. Or okay.
“Whitney?” Ruth’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Are you all right?”
They were already back to the house. Funny, she hadn’t even paid attention to where she was walking. “I’m fine.”
“I’m having trouble believing that.” Ruth reached for Whitney’s hands. Then she squeezed them. “You’ve endured a horrible loss. It’s perfectly acceptable for you to say that you are struggling. You don’t always have to be the strong one. Let those of us who love you help to carry the load.”
Ruth sounded so much like Mama. Her words struck Whitney’s heart and made her want to crumple into the snow and cry. But she couldn’t do that. Not with everything to be done. “I appreciate that, Ruth. I do.” She knew her words sounded cold, but that was all she could offer at the moment.
“Miss Powell . . . Whitney.”
She lifted her chin and looked toward the door. Pastor Wilson stood there, his eyes full of compassion. “Thank you for coming, Pastor.”
He held out a hand to her. “We’ve gathered in the parlor to discuss the arrangements for Chuck. Will you join us?”
“Of course.” The expression in his eyes pierced her chest like a knife. The man had journeyed with them through too much this past year.
She looked away, needing no more reminders of all she had lost.
They followed the pastor into the parlor after shedding their coats and gloves. Whitney steeled herself for the conversation to come.
She looked around the room to each face. Havyn and John, Madysen and Daniel, Pastor Wilson, Mr. Norris, Chris—her dad—and two of his other kids.
Havyn scooted closer to John and patted the settee next to her. “Here, Whit.”
Taking the seat, she turned to their pastor. “I know you are very busy, but we appreciate you taking the time to come out and help us with this. Granddad was quite specific about what he wanted.”
The pastor chuckled. “Chuck was indeed specific. That’s why we came as quick as we could. Mr. Norris has offered his Roadhouse to have a service since so many in town would like to be present. Things can be done a little different since it’s the middle of winter. We can do the service at the Roadhouse and then if people want to come out here for the burial they can, but most people won’t expect a burial to be happening anyway.”
“We’re going to start the fires as soon as we are done here, and Amka has taken it upon herself to arrange for the grave to be dug. It will have to be done in layers as the fire thaws the ground, but Inuksuk and Yutu have assured me they will get it taken care of so we don’t have to worry about it.” John leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “We know that Chuck wished to be buried immediately. But this will have to do.”
“Will tomorrow after lunch work for the service in town?”
Madysen lifted her hand and piped up. “That won’t interfere with your business, Mr. Norris?”
“Not at all. I will close tomorrow morning and set up the room. There will be plenty of time to reopen for dinner.” The owner of the Roadhouse had been lavish with his generosity to them over the years. As Whitney watched the man’s face, she realized his eyes shone with unshed tears. He’d been friends with her grandfather for many years.
“Your goodness to our family is overwhelming, Mr. Norris. Thank you.” Whitney tipped her chin toward him but couldn’t meet his eyes. The numbness inside her grew.
“It’s the least I can do for Chuck.”
Pastor Wilson clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “I have notes from Chuck about his wishes. He wants several hymns to be sung and for the Gospel to be shared. In his words, ‘I don’t want sad and dreary. I want joyful. People celebrating with me that I’m in heaven.’ Now, I know that is hard to even imagine for us. It’s extremely difficult for those left behind to embrace joy in the midst of their grief. That’s why I’d like to ask if there’s anything you ladies would like me to include? Any wishes that you have?”
“Granddad asked if we would sing at his funeral.” Havyn’s words sounded as if they were choked. She caught Whitney’s gaze. “But I don’t know if we can do that. Can we?”
She’d forgotten about Granddad’s request.
Madysen chimed in. “I will probably cry my way through it, but I think we should. It was what he wanted. What do you think, Whit?”
As much as it hurt to even think about, Whitney straightened her shoulders. “Since it was Granddad’s wish, I think it’s the best way we can honor him. It’s what we should do.” Easy enough to say, but doing it would be another thing altogether. The mask and the numbness would have to stay in place.
For as long as it took to make it through.
Riding out to the Bundrant farm, Peter prayed for each member of the family. Havyn and John had become good friends to him, and he had the opportunity to be their doctor as they awaited their first child. Always an exciting time.
