A Treasure Concealed (26 page)

Caeden rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I guess because I have a lot to be forgiven. Is there a limit to God's forgiveness?”

“If there is, I certainly haven't found it.” He smiled. “No, my boy. God's forgiveness is limitless. Just as His love is. What is required of you . . . of all of us . . . is a sincerely contrite heart.”

“I spent so many years angry at God. Angry and rebellious and far from righteous.” Caeden grimaced. “I'm deeply ashamed of the man I once was.”

“And have you asked God to forgive you for these many rebellious and angry sins?” Uncle Jasper's tone offered no condemnation.

“I have,” Caeden admitted. It wasn't nearly so hard to confess as he had thought it might be. “I told Him I was sorry for how I'd let my father's bad behavior dictate my relationship with Him. I can see now what Mother meant when she told me God's love was enough for her—that it helped to ease her sadness and kept her from complete despair. I just want to know that I can have that same love.”

“You can,” Jasper said after a moment's contemplation, “but I can't make you see that or feel it. You have to find that for yourself. It's all about trusting, Caeden. You need to trust that God is who He says He is. You need to believe that His Word is true and never changes. The same God who loved your mother is the same God who loves you. The truth given in His Word to her is the very same on which you can count now.”

Caeden let out a heavy breath. For several minutes he did nothing but stare into the fire. After a while he spoke. “Trust has always come hard. I'm not sure I would even know how it felt.”

“You trust that young woman of yours, don't you? She has promised to wait for you. You do believe her, don't you?”

“Of course.”

Jasper smiled and leaned forward. “How can you be sure she'll keep her word?”

Caeden smiled. “That's easy. I know her. She's a woman of her word.”

“Exactly. And as you get to know God better, you'll learn that He is also one to keep His word. Trust comes in time. Trust comes in knowing Him better and better. After a while, you'll know how that feels. There will be a peace that comes to rest in your heart.”

That statement caught his attention. Peace. There was a certain peace in his heart. He no longer felt that same restlessness
that he'd known in years gone by. He no longer felt imprisoned by the haunting memories of the past.

“There is peace. You're right. I just didn't realize that was what it was.” Caeden looked at his uncle in wonder. “It's unlike anything I've ever known before.”

“Yes. The Bible calls it a peace that passeth all understanding. In that peace, you will be able to see more and more of God's blessings. And, Caeden, He will bless you. He already has, and you have no further to look than your young lady.”

George appeared at the door of the library. “Sir, this letter just arrived for . . . Mr. Thibault.” His formal announcement made Caeden chuckle as he got to his feet. “Honestly, George, I'd much rather you call me Caeden and ruffle my hair like you did when I was little than to call me Mr. Thibault.”

George said nothing but extended the envelope to Caeden with a wink. Caeden looked down at the writing. He recognized the name of the gem expert to whom he'd sent the Yogo sapphires. Emily's sapphires.

“What is it?” Uncle Jasper asked, coming to join Caeden at the door.

Caeden read the letter, then looked into the envelope again to pull out a check for a sizable sum. He looked up to meet his uncle's curious gaze. “Blessings. God's blessings.”

F
rom the moment he arrived at the Arnold residence, Bishop Arnold tried to get Caeden to join him in his study for a few private words regarding a business venture. Caeden refused, telling the man that he had only one point of business on his mind and it didn't involve a private audience with Arnold. Unhappy at this turn of events, Arnold led Caeden into a large sitting room, where Catherine and her mother were already standing to receive him.

“Mrs. Arnold, I want to thank you for inviting me here this evening,” Caeden said, giving a slight bow. “Catherine, you look lovely in that plaid.”

Catherine smiled knowingly and brushed down the skirt of the red-and-green plaid gown. “I thought it rather festive for the season.”

“Indeed it is,” Caeden agreed. “In fact, your entire house looks quite ready for Christmas.” Pine greenery and red ribbons trimmed out the fireplace mantel, and a sprig of mistletoe hung over the archway that led into the music room.

“We have entertained several times this Christmas season,” Mrs. Arnold replied. “I do so love this time of year.”

Caeden allowed Bishop Arnold and his wife ten minutes of conversation and questions about his trip and how he'd fared before clearing his throat to make his announcement.

Arnold gave a chuckle, no doubt believing Caeden meant to discuss the wedding. Caeden did nothing to correct his thinking. Catherine, who had remained fairly silent since Caeden's arrival, watched and waited for him to break their engagement. He had no idea of how she would respond. He didn't know if she would play the woman scorned or collapse in a fit of tears or simply take it all in stride. What he did know was that this was what they both wanted and he couldn't finalize their agreement soon enough.

“I am sorry to say that my coming here tonight is not for the purpose you'd hoped for.”

Bishop Arnold's expression sobered a bit. Caeden definitely had his attention. Catherine moved closer to the fireplace—farther from the others in the room.

“I am afraid that I have come to break my engagement to Catherine.”

Bishop Arnold opened his mouth to speak, but Caeden held up his hand. “I would rather you hear me out than ask questions.”

Arnold's face reddened, but he closed his mouth.

“Catherine and I have long held the opinion that we were not suited for each other, and with that in mind I must end this engagement. While I hold that Catherine is a lovely woman who will make some man a wonderful wife, I am not that man.”

“But we have an agreement,” Arnold interjected. “You gave me a sizable dowry.”

“Which you may of course keep.” Caeden saw Catherine's slight smile and just the hint of a nod.

“That . . . that . . . isn't the point. You . . . we were going to push ahead in business together,” Arnold sputtered.

“I never agreed to that, Mr. Arnold. I have no intention of joining our businesses or fortunes together. I will refrain from voicing all of my reasons, but I believe they are known to you.”

“I demand you give your reasons,” the older man countered. “I have nothing to hide. You, on the other hand, may feel a need to keep a great many things from exposure.”

Catherine stiffened and lowered her face to gaze into the fire, while Mrs. Arnold looked most uncomfortable. Caeden felt sorry for the Arnold women. None of this was their fault, and any angry retort he might have given was squelched when he thought of causing them pain.

Caeden shook his head. “Mr. Arnold, I am sorry that this comes as such a disappointment to you. I believe it's best if I simply take my leave now.” He walked to where Mrs. Arnold stood and lifted her hand. “Thank you again for inviting me to dinner, but I must decline.”

She nodded, and Caeden gave her a smile before releasing her to stand before Catherine. “I know what our engagement meant to you.” With his back to the others, he gave her a wink. Catherine maintained a sober expression. “I hope that you won't think poorly of me. I do wish you all the best for your future.”

“Thank you, Caeden. I appreciate that you came here tonight to release me in the comfort and privacy of my home. I will always remember you fondly.” She smiled, and Caeden did likewise.

He regained his stern expression when he turned back to face Bishop Arnold. “Good evening.” Caeden headed for the door, where one of the housemaids appeared with his coat and hat.

Bishop Arnold followed close on his heels. “This isn't over. I won't allow you to simply put my daughter aside in such a
manner. You gave her no explanation—no understanding of what she's done wrong.”

“She's done nothing wrong.” Caeden did up the buttons of his black wool coat.

“Then why end our arrangement?”

Caeden looked Arnold in the eye. “Because I do not love her and never will. And any thoughts you had about our becoming business partners of any sort were exactly that. Your thoughts. I would never do business with you, Arnold. You and my father were cut from the same cloth. I couldn't stand the underhanded dealings from him, nor will I put myself in a position to endure them with you.”

Arnold's face reddened and his nostrils flared. Narrowing his eyes, he pointed a finger at Caeden. “You slander me and you slander your father. I won't stand for it. I will pursue this in court.”

Caeden shrugged. “Do so if that is your wish; however, I would remind you that your finances are quite depleted and can certainly not support a lengthy legal action. I, on the other hand, can withstand any lawsuit you deem necessary for years to come.” He turned his top hat in hand and studied it for a moment.

“Furthermore, given your ambitions to align yourself with McKinley's presidential campaign, I would think you'd want to avoid scandal and a public acknowledgment of your business failings.” Caeden looked up again and saw that the truth of the matter had finally started to hit Arnold. “And should you press this further, I will make certain to give an interview to every newspaper that asks. That would certainly deter McKinley and his people from wanting you to be a part of their campaign, much less any more important roles. Now, if you'll excuse me, my uncle is expecting me.”

The young maid who stood silently at the far end of the foyer stepped forward to open the door. Caeden hadn't thought much of it when she'd admitted him to the house earlier, but it now seemed evident that the loss of money had caused Arnold to dismiss his butler. Yet another example of others suffering for the sins of one.

“Pa, you must listen to reason.” Emily put her hands atop her father's shoulders. “The doctor said you mustn't overdo. You need to take your recovery slowly.”

While it had been wonderful news to hear from the doctor that her father was now starting to walk just a bit, he had also requested Emily come to Lewistown to force her father to listen to reason. She had laughed at the note mentioning the word
force
where her father was concerned. Henry Carver had never allowed anyone to force him into much.

“I'm feeling better, Em. I can't see just sittin' around. I need to get back to work.”

Emily straightened and looked down at her father. “The doctor said that might not be possible. You need to face the truth, Pa. You might never be able to work at mining again.”

“Bah, he didn't think I could walk again either. Now just look at me. I'm gettin' better every day. No, sirree, I'll not be defeated by any man tellin' me what I can and can't do.”

“But you won't continue to improve if you overwork your body. You aren't young anymore, and you need to give yourself time to recover.”

“And I say I can do that better at home. If you won't arrange it, I'll fix it myself.”

“And just how would you propose to do that?” Emily pulled
up a chair and sat down. She was exhausted from arguing with her father. “Look, it's nearly Christmas. Why don't we just stay here at least that long? We can enjoy each other's company. After that we can see about arranging for you to travel back to Yogo City.”

Her father seemed to mull this over for a moment. “I suppose I can agree to that if you can promise to get me home afterwards.”

“I'll go speak with the doctor right now and see what I can arrange.”

Emily had rejoiced to hear that her father was making great progress. It was nothing short of miraculous, the doctor had declared, and that too made Emily glad. She had prayed long and hard for her father's recovery, and it seemed God had gone far beyond her expectations. She wouldn't admit it to her father, but she felt almost certain that if Pa thought he could once again work the mines, that was exactly what he would do.

Life had never been worse for Kirk Davies. He knew he was close to death—and he feared it. When Taber suggested they return to Utica and see the doctor again, Davies didn't protest, but neither did he believe there was anything to be done. Something told him he wouldn't recover, and the very thought left him terrified. What happened to a person once they passed from this world? Were those religious ninnies right in thinking there really was a heaven and a hell?

“I'm scared, Taber. Never . . . never felt so bad.”

“You've got me scared too.” The sound of his brother's voice was one of resignation. “We'll be to the doctor in just a little bit.” He held fast to Kirk while the two rode double on Kirk's
sturdy gelding. Having had no wagon or even a cart to use, this was their only option.

It was seven o'clock and pitch black when they entered Utica. Kirk found himself barely conscious, and every thought was of his impending death. Life had never been fair to him, so he had no reason to believe death would be either. He thought about all the stories he'd heard about heaven and hell. Heaven was for good folks and hell was for bad. He knew he wouldn't have qualified as good, even on his best day. That left him only one possibility, and that was hell.

He'd heard a great many stories about the torment and pain of hell but had never believed them. He hadn't bothered to believe in God either. Seemed to him a man was supposed to be able to tend to himself without some imagined deity watching out for him.

Maybe death was just the end of things. A blank void—a nothingness. If it was, then Kirk didn't figure he had much to fear. After all, if death was the end of it all, then he'd be out of pain and know nothing more. But even this failed to offer him much in the way of comfort.

Maybe, just maybe, the doctor was wrong and there was something he could do to help. Could be he'd learned something more about wounds like Kirk's. It was possible.

Taber pulled him from the horse and carried him to the door of the doctor's house. “It'll just be a few more minutes,” he told Kirk. “Just hang on.” He kicked at the door and called for the man until the door finally opened.

“What's the . . .”

Kirk raised his head and saw the doctor's face at the door.

“Oh, it's you,” the doctor said. “Lasted longer than I figured.”

Taber pushed past the doctor. “Where do you want him?”

“I can't do anything for him,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “I told him that when I first saw him. If I'd have amputated the leg, he might have had a chance.”

Taber placed Kirk on a chair. “I don't want your excuses. I want you to save his life.”

The doctor crossed his arms. “This man is going to die. I cannot stop that—it is inevitable.”

Hearing the doctor's words was like the pounding of nails into the lid of his coffin. Kirk shuddered and let the words sink in with the finality intended. This really was the end, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

He closed his eyes. It was almost as if hearing the words had given him permission to let go. “Tab . . . Taber.”

His brother knelt beside him. “What is it, Kirk?”

“The doc can't . . . can't help.” He strained to draw breath. “Take . . . care . . . of business. You . . . know . . . what to do.”