This woman was a force to be reckoned with.
She cleared her throat. “Do you need my help to move him back to the bed?”
Peter set his black bag down and shook his head. “No. I can manage.” He’d been told that Chuck had been a robust and strong man before his bouts with apoplexy. The last year had taken a devastating toll. The man before him was thin, his skin sagging.
Peter leaned down and lifted the older man into his arms. A man who had lived a long life. Worked hard. Provided for his family. A man who had hoped to see many years to come. A man who told him just a few days ago that he was ready to put his efforts into walking again.
And yet, there was hope. Chuck had been taken from this life of suffering and gathered into the arms of his Savior.
No matter how many times Peter faced death, he never got used to it. This time, the loss lodged a lump in the back of his throat. How many had he not been able to save?
Why God?
Why did he keep failing?
“Failure is just the first step to surrender.” Chuck had told him that. He’d shared hours of wisdom with Peter. Hadn’t tried to hide his failings. Yearned to be a better man.
It had challenged Peter to do the same.
Why did You take this man, Lord?
He shook his head. It wasn’t his place to question. Not now.
He laid a blanket over Chuck. Rigor mortis had set in, so the man had been dead for some time.
Peter looked at Whitney. “When did you find him?”
“About an hour and a half ago.”
“He didn’t have breakfast with the family this morning?”
“No.” She lifted her chin. Did she think he was criticizing her? “Granddad was awake when I went out at five thirty, but he asked to have more time to rest because he didn’t sleep well last night.” She pointed to the box in the chair. “Apparently, he stayed up writing his thoughts. I found the stack of paper in the bed. So I went out to run my dogs and then the rest of us had breakfast. Everyone else went back out to work, but it was my morning to help Granddad with his exercises. Since he’d seemed so weary, I thought I would bring him over to the fireplace and play for him. . . . But when I came to wake him, I found him on the floor.”
She related it with such control. “Was he breathing at that point?”
She bit her lip. Controlled, yes. But there were deep emotions there. Lord, help her.
“No. His skin was already cold to the touch. I held my hand over his nose and mouth for more than a minute, hoping that he’d just fallen and I would feel him breathe. But he was already gone.”
He dipped his chin. “I’m sorry you had to discover him like this.”
She winced. “I’m glad I found him rather than my sisters. This is devastating to them.”
He met her eyes. “What about you? You were so close to your grandfather.”
Her shoulders lifted a bit. “I’m fine. Things have to be taken care of.”
It wasn’t healthy for her to keep everything bottled up––not even for an expert like her. Still now was not the time to probe deeper. But he would. Eventually. “Would you get John and Daniel for me? Your sisters too . . . there’s a lot we need to discuss.”
“All right.” She left the room, and Peter stared down at the man who’d built this farm from nothing. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you your wish to walk again, Chuck. But I’m grateful for the time I’ve known you.” He lifted the blanket to cover Chuck’s face.
On second thought, maybe he should go speak with them instead of asking them to join him in here. With quick steps he made his way to the large family gathering room.
The family stood as he entered.
“Please take your seats. I realized it would be easier if I came to you.”
John reached out a hand. “Thank you for coming, Peter.”
“Yes, thank you.” Daniel offered his hand as well.
“I’m sorry for your loss. Chuck was a good man. He taught me a lot.” Peter waited as they all took their seats. With a deep breath, he dove in. “I will prepare the body for burial today, but as you know, it’s next to impossible to dig graves in the winter. You are probably aware that in town they store the coffins until the thaw. Since you have your own family cemetery here on the farm, Chuck won’t need to be taken into town, but we need to find a place to store him where wild animals won’t pick up the scent and try to get into the coffin. Is there a place here where it will stay cold, but also be protected from wolves and such?”
The ladies looked at each other with wide eyes. He hated having to discuss such delicate matters in front of them, but it was necessary. And they understood the harsh life in Alaska better than anyone else he knew.
Daniel lifted a hand and pointed to the fireplace. “You know, when I was in the Yukon, we often built huge fires to thaw out portions of land where we needed to dig for gold. It worked, but it took time. Maybe we could do that so we could give Chuck a proper burial sooner rather than later.”
John patted his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “I think we should do it.”
“What about a coffin?” Havyn wiped at her eyes. “Do we need to go into town and purchase one?”
Shuffling sounded near the door.
“That won’t be necessary.”
All eyes shifted to find Christopher Powell standing there, his hat in his hands. “It would be an honor for me to build Chuck’s coffin. I can start on it right away. If you will allow.”
Peter glanced back to the family and then to Whitney. Her furrowed brow and the sparks in her eyes gave away her anger that their father had come. How long would she hold him at arm’s length? While Peter understood the struggle and the painful history, the man was still her father. And she desperately needed him—even if she didn’t realize it.
Madysen sprang up from the couch and went over to greet her father. “Would you? I know Granddad would appreciate that. As we all would.” She glanced back at everyone, her eyes pleading.
“I could get it done by tomorrow.” Christopher looked down at his hat. “I owe the man my life.”
As the family stood and went to the man, the conversation stayed hushed as they expressed gratitude and sorrow.
Everyone except Whitney.
She hung back from the huddle of her family and watched. Then without a word . . .
She turned on her heel and raced out the door.
TWO
So good ol’ Chuck was dead. Very interesting. The question was, how could he use this to his advantage?
Judas paced his office. All these years, he’d worked to get himself into the family’s good graces. They trusted him. Relied on him. But it hadn’t gotten him any closer to acquiring Chuck’s land. Or finding out where the man’s gold came from. Gold that Chuck seemed to have in abundant supply. . . .
Out of everyone in this town, Chuck had been one of the few Judas couldn’t control. He had nothing on the man. During Chuck’s apoplexy recovery, when the family didn’t know about their plentiful resources, Judas thought he’d wriggled his way in . . . but no. They paid their debt off to him as soon as Chuck could communicate.
Well, things were bound to change now.
A knock at his door brought his attention up.