A Treasure Concealed (8 page)

T
he first snow of the season came on the fifteenth of October. It was nothing more than a light sprinkling that left the ground and trees looking as if they'd been showered with confectioners' sugar. The look was charming and glittered like diamonds in the sun, but it also left everyone with a sense of urgency. Winter would soon be upon them, and winter in Montana was nothing to take lightly.

Emily knew from having weathered several winters in Montana that this could mean anything from bone-chilling temperatures and snow to overcast days of darkened gloom. Not that there weren't sunny days, but it was never warm. Especially inside a small cabin. Having sized up their readiness for the colder months, Emily realized they hadn't laid in nearly enough wood, straw, or hay. She had thought to speak to her father on the matter that morning, but he was up and out of the cabin before she had fully awakened.

There won't be money for all that we need.
Emily dressed in her heavy layers of duck and wool.
Why can't Pa see how hard this is on us? Doesn't he
care?
If she were judging solely
on his actions, Emily would have to say no. But she knew her father's heart. He really did love and care about them. She knew he would fight to the death for her or her mother, but gold fever kept him from understanding the full impact of his dreams on those he loved.

She had thought about discussing it with Caeden, thinking that perhaps as a young man of higher education he might have ideas for what Emily could do. However, Caeden had been gone for some time—off doing the work he'd pledged to do for the government. He'd taken down his tent more than three weeks ago, telling Emily and her father that he needed to cover some territory to the south of them. He promised to return before completing his tasks, but Emily couldn't help but wonder if her mother's comments to him had frightened him away. If so, it was probably for the best. She could hardly blame the man if he was put off by a declaration that God intended him to marry Emily.

Drawing on her coat, Emily decided to put her concerns aside. There were plenty of chores that needed her attention. She added a knit scarf to her usual ensemble before making her rounds. She checked on the chickens first and threw out some feed. The rooster Jake had brought fit in nicely with the hens. He assumed his role with great authority. Maybe too much authority, for he always seemed to challenge Emily whenever she appeared. She'd taken to arming herself with a broom when visiting the nests.

Next she went to milk Bonnie-Belle in the little lean-to. Given that the cow was due to calve again in January, her milk production was on the wane. Emily knew it would just be a matter of time before she dried up, and then they'd be stuck using canned milk until the calf was taken to market.

“Hello, girl.” Emily patted the bovine with tender affection,
then reached up to take down the milk pail and stool from the wall pegs. “I don't know about you, but I prefer this chilly weather to that awful summer heat.” Bonnie-Belle lowed as if responding. Emily gave her a bit of fresh hay, then sat down to the job of milking. She liked this time of quiet contemplation. It allowed her a few moments to focus only on God. By her own admission, she'd not been overly faithful in praying or reading the Bible.

“Father, I don't always do what I'm supposed to do. We both know that.” She sighed. “I want to have faith like Mama, but I'm just so weak at times. I get pretty discouraged and afraid. You've always provided, and I know I sound like an ungrateful child, but I'm worried. I know it's a sin to worry. Mama says that to worry is to doubt you. I don't mean to doubt you, but I doubt other people.” She bit her lower lip momentarily. “I especially doubt myself.”

She leaned her head against Bonnie-Belle's warm flank. “Lord, I'm so afraid that life is slipping away from me. You've heard me say it many a time, and I suppose it's not worth saying again, but I can't help myself. You know how I long for a home of my own and a husband. I want to make my own family and be a part of a real town. I want a church to attend and a friend, maybe several. Mama says you can do that and so much more. I want to believe that.”

In all of her life Emily had only known a few people she could call
friend
, but even then they were more like acquaintances than bosom buddies. She had never felt she could confide in any of them. Not like she confided in her mother. Mama had told her that one day she would have a dear friend to whom she could tell all of her secrets and woes. So far, however, that hadn't happened, and Emily remained guarded with everyone she met.

“I know I shouldn't be so concerned with my own desires
when Mama is so sick. Forgive me for my selfishness.” She gave another heavy sigh and continued milking until Bonnie-Belle was dry and Emily's hands were aching from the cold. She patted the cow as she got to her feet.

“You've done us good, old girl.”

Emily hoisted the milk pail and the milking stool. “I'll see you again tonight.” She put the stool back on the wall and then made her way out of the lean-to and back to the house, bucket in hand.

With all of her animal-related tasks complete, Emily busied herself with kitchen chores. She poured the milk into a crock to let the cream rise to the top. She then began preparations for making bread. She hoped to bake a dozen loaves. Jake was coming soon with her pig, and together they would butcher it. Emily had promised him more bread and cookies, as well as some preserves she'd put up the month before. Not only that, but she'd agreed to take on some mending for the man. Bartering and trading for goods was something Emily prided herself in. Having grown up with money being scarce, swapping kept them from doing without. At least most of the time.

It was late in the day when Emily spied Caeden coming from over the hill. Her heart skipped a beat. He was so dashing and handsome. She'd been busy chopping wood and used his return as a good excuse to pause in her duties. With all of his goods and tent strapped to his back, Caeden resembled a peddler. The thought brought a smile to Emily's face. If Caeden Thibault wanted to be a traveling salesman, he would no doubt make a good one. He had a determination to succeed at whatever he did, and she found that quite appealing.
I wonder if anything would stop him.

“Welcome back.” She hefted the ax. “There's some stew on
the stove if you're too hungry to wait for supper. It's left over from lunch.”

He smiled. “I might sample it to warm myself up. I wasn't expecting to wake up to snow quite so soon.”

“It probably won't last, since it was just a dusting. Last year it came and went until finally in late December it snowed and pretty much stayed until spring.”

“I'll be long gone before that happens,” he said, pulling his pack from his back.

Emily frowned but turned away quickly and pretended to be completely engrossed in the next piece of wood. She set it on end, then brought the ax down with all her strength. The ax stuck, and Emily lifted both it and the small log and brought both down once again against the stump. The wood split nicely. She took both pieces and added them to her pile. “I'm going to have to get busy putting aside more wood. We don't have nearly enough for winter.” She glanced at the small pile of logs her father had assembled. “This is the last of it.”

“I can definitely help with that,” Caeden offered. “I'm not too bad at chopping and sawing, if I do say so myself.”

She made the mistake of looking back at him. His casual manner, windblown hair, and familiarity left Emily almost breathless.
It wouldn't take much for me to fall for such a man.

Emily pushed such thoughts aside. “Were you successful in your search?”

“I was. A few more weeks and I'll have all of the information needed.”

“And then you'll go back to Washington, DC?” She tried to sound as if it didn't matter what he did.

“Yes.” He deposited his things on the ground and stretched. “Let me get my tent up, and then I'll take over that chopping after supper. Maybe tomorrow we can head into the trees and
see about getting additional wood. Do you suppose your father would let us borrow that ornery mule and cart?”

“I'm sure he would.” Emily watched as Caeden began to unfasten the ropes that held his things together. “Can I help?”

Caeden shook his head. “This won't take long. Why don't you go on inside and warm up, and I'll join you in a few minutes.”

That seemed like a good idea, so Emily put aside the ax, then gathered up some of the split wood and headed for the house. She relished the warmth of the cabin and hurried to deposit the logs in the woodbox near the stove. Next she checked on her mother and found her still sleeping. Mama slept more and more these days. She rarely ate anything and only took a few sips of water. The doctor had told them this was how it would be in the final stages of her life, but Emily tried hard to ignore it. She wasn't ready to say good-bye.

“I wish we had more time,” she murmured, looking down at her mother's peaceful face.
I don't know how I will ever face each day without you here to encourage me.

She left the room quietly and went to the kitchen to start preparations for supper. A great sorrow washed over her as she thought of her mother's impending death and Caeden's return to Washington. She had some decisions to make regarding her future, and the answers would not come easy. Mama encouraged, almost insisted, that Emily plan to leave the area and strike out on her own. Emily wasn't at all sure what her father would think of such a thing, but she had been giving it serious consideration. The idea of returning to the Bozeman area appealed to her, but so did thoughts of heading farther south to Colorado. She had enjoyed their time in that part of the country, and the winters weren't nearly as fierce.

“Whatever I decide, it'll be hard to follow through unless I find some way to finance it.” She looked around the room and
shook her head. “And that doesn't look as though it will happen anytime soon.”

Caeden assembled his tent behind the lean-to as he'd done on that first day. He stashed his gear inside and then made his way to the cabin. For weeks now Nyola Carver's words had haunted him, and he found it almost impossible to stop thinking about Emily. Nyola felt certain he was intended to become Emily's husband, but he was just as sure that such a thing would never happen. So why was it so hard to dismiss the idea?

Mothers trying to marry him off to their daughters was nothing new. Caeden had been the object of such talk for as long as he could remember. But in his case, it was the mothers of wealthy families who were after him, always on the lookout for ways to benefit the family coffers. Marriages among the rich were arranged with meticulous planning.

Pausing at the cabin door to clean his boots, Caeden couldn't help but think of Catherine Arnold. She had been intended for him from the time he was eighteen. Her father was his father's business associate, and the man had plans for becoming a full-fledged partner in the Thibault business affairs. Of course, Caeden's father had no such plans. He used Bishop Arnold just as he did anyone he deemed capable of furthering his desires. And while it might be perfectly acceptable to marry his son to Arnold's daughter, Archibald Thibault would never let an outsider partner in his business. It was something Arnold never comprehended.

Catherine Arnold, however, seemed to understand her role and played it with flawless precision. She was always the picture of perfection. Graceful and elegant in all of her manners and
dress, Catherine would have made almost any successful man a good wife. Caeden shook his head. “But she's not for me.”

He hadn't meant to mutter the words aloud. He gave a quick glance around to make sure no one had overheard him. No sense in having to explain. Satisfied that his boots were as clean as he could make them, Caeden gave a light knock and pushed open the door. Ever since his first encounter with Emily he was far more cautious about just barging in—even when expected.

The aroma of baking bread filled the air and mingled with the welcoming scent of stew and coffee. The homey fragrance caused Caeden to consider how very little it took to please him and give him a sense of peace. Back in Albany he had lived in a twenty-room mansion and had never known the sense of belonging he got here in this poor man's cabin.

“I put a bowl of stew on the table,” Emily told him. She poured coffee into a mug. “I have some coffee too.”

“Sounds good,” Caeden said, taking a seat. “I'm sure this will do the trick in thawing me out.”

Caeden enjoyed the small meal, then immediately went to work on his journal. He had made continuous notes while surveying various mining claims. He'd secured soil samples that required closer inspection, and he had to be certain that their origins were correctly noted. He finished up just before Emily began to set the table for the evening meal and moments before Henry Carver stomped into the house in his boisterous manner.