Ever constant, p.1
Ever Constant, page 1
Books by Tracie Peterson and Kimberley Woodhouse
All Things Hidden
Beyond the Silence
THE HEART OF ALASKA
In the Shadow of Denali
Out of the Ashes
Under the Midnight Sun
THE TREASURES OF NOME
Forever Hidden
Endless Mercy
Ever Constant
Books by Tracie Peterson
LADIES OF THE LAKE
Destined for You
Forever My Own
Waiting on Love
WILLAMETTE BRIDES
Secrets of My Heart
The Way of Love
Forever by Your Side
BROOKSTONE BRIDES
When You Are Near
Wherever You Go
What Comes My Way
GOLDEN GATE SECRETS
In Places Hidden
In Dreams Forgotten
In Times Gone By
HEART OF THE FRONTIER
Treasured Grace
Beloved Hope
Cherished Mercy
For a complete list of titles, visit www.traciepeterson.com.
Books by Kimberley Woodhouse
SECRETS OF THE CANYON
A Deep Divide
For a complete list of titles, visit www.kimberleywoodhouse.com.
© 2022 by Peterson Ink, Inc. and Kimberley Woodhouse
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2022
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-3601-9
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the authors’ imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Cover photography by Joanna Czogala | Arcangel
Kimberley Woodhouse is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
This book is lovingly dedicated to the real Whitney.
Thank you for allowing us to name a character after you—even when I told you what we were going to put her through.
You were the first of the Powell girls to take lessons from me, and we shared so many amazing times together. I have been blessed to know you all these years.
You. Are. A. Joy.
We’ve shared laughter, tears, FaceTime calls, chats, and lots of music.
Remember how very much I love you.
Remember I’m here for you.
And remember that our God loves you more than anything and has blessed you with amazing talent. Keep using it for Him. Always.
Put Him first, and everything else will fall into place.
I’m praying for you, and I adore you.
—Kim
And to Havyn and Madysen, Tracie and I hope you have enjoyed having your namesake characters. I can’t wait to hear all about what you are up to next. If the two of you ever take up working on a farm with chickens and sheep, I’m going to laugh hysterically. Just make sure you tell me all the stories.
You two are so precious, and I love having you in my life. Give each other a hug from me and Tracie, and give your parents hugs too!
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Books by Tracie Peterson and Kimberley Woodhouse
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Dear Reader
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Epilogue
Note from the Authors
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Back Ads
Cover Flaps
Back Cover
Dear Reader
Several years ago, Tracie and I were having a book signing and fund-raising event for the scholarship fund in Cassidy Hale’s honor with the launch of our HEART OF ALASKA series’ In the Shadow of Denali. Music students of mine—the Powell girls—came to meet their beloved favorite author, Tracie Peterson. The girls’ mom—Monica—and I are dear friends, and she’s quite a fan as well. The excitement as the foursome walked into the event was contagious. Even though the girls knew me really well, had spent hours at my home, and understood that I had written several books already with Tracie, the joy of getting to meet her in person put them over the moon and in total fan mode. Giggles and smiles and chatter filled the air.
It was at that event that Tracie looked at me and said, “Books need to be written about three precocious, musical, redheaded sisters.”
THE TREASURES OF NOME series was born that day.
The three main characters throughout this series are named after my precious girls. (I will always claim them as mine—once a student of mine, always one of my kids.) Whitney, Havyn, and Madysen. And while we might have used a few character traits of the real girls, the Powell sisters in our series are purely fictitious. I’m truly thankful that the real sisters haven’t had to endure all the craziness we threw at the characters in our books.
Tracie and I have loved sharing these girls, the chicken stories, the sled dogs, the chaos with the sheep, the cheese making, and all the other adventures in this series with you.
For those of you who have read Jack London’s Call of the Wild or have seen the movie, you know the command mush is used to get the dogs to go. Most likely this is the English derivation from the French-Canadian marche, which meant “go.”
In this book, you will find these terms:
Let’s go simply means “go.” (The most common terms used are hike, let’s go, and all right, which you might remember me using in Race Against Time.)
Haw means “turn left.”
Gee means “turn right.”
Whoa means “slow down and come to a stop.”
Because I have spent so much time with real-life dog-sled pros while we lived in Alaska and during research trips there, I want to honor the knowledge they’ve poured into me and respect the amazing sport.
The Grand Nome Hotel and Golden Palace Restaurant in this book are fictitious. I know how many of you love the historical landmarks we use, but in this instance we needed to create something for the purposes of the story.
You will also notice that there are two different terms used for the native people. Inupiat is plural, Inupiaq is singular. There you have it, your language lesson for the day.
Lastly, I wanted to tell you about something that a lot of people don’t know. Are you ready?
The northern lights—auroras—make noise.
This is shown in Ever Constant, and I wanted to assure you that, yes, it is true!
I’ve heard them many times myself, but it’s not loud. In fact, the best way to truly experience them is to be out away from everything else. Their sound has been described as crackling, the bursting of soap bubbles, and sputtering. Sometimes you have to concentrate on listening to actually hear them.
Check out the Note from the Authors at the end of the book for some fun facts and links. And make sure you join us for our next series, which takes place in Kalispell, Montana.
As always, we couldn’t do what we do without YOU, our readers.
Enjoy the journey,
Kim and Tracie
Prologue
Cripple Creek, Colorado—1889
Flurries of snow drifted down from the dark and cloudy sky. Whitney Powell shivered and lifted her face to the heavens as she stopped in the middle of the quiet street. Mama would scold her for being out in the wee hours of the morning, but it was her mother’s tears that woke her.
Daddy wasn’t home. Again. Which meant one thing. Whitney wanted to growl out her anger and throw something. Really hard. She’d been old enough to understand what was going on for a couple of years now. No matter how much her parents tried to hide it.
Lifting her chin, she clenched her jaw against the chill in the wind and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. She had to fix Mama’s tears. Havyn and Madysen were too young. So even if she had to drag her good-for-nothin’ father back from the saloon––again––at least he would be home.
She cringed. Good for nothin’? What a horrible thought! What would Mama say? How often had she dril
No doubt about it, their mother would be crushed. And she’d be so embarrassed if she found out that her oldest daughter had gone to Saloon Row to haul her father home. More than once.
Mama was the best lady in the world. And the most talented. If only she could stand up for herself. She always saw the good in everyone, believed in them, cheered them on, and recognized what she called their potential.
Why couldn’t she see that people took advantage of her goodwill?
No matter how many times Mama had been hurt, she’d still forgive.
Whitney gritted her teeth. In all her ten years, she’d never met anyone on earth as good as her mama. If only she could be as kind and generous. No matter how much she tried to mimic her mother’s behavior, she couldn’t do it. Mama’s patience and goodness rivaled that of any saint. Granddad said so himself.
“Maybe by the time I’m all grown up I can be like Mama.” Her words puffed from her mouth in the icy air.
For now, as the oldest daughter, it fell to her to take care of their mother when their father wasn’t capable of doing it. She’d gone to get him four times now. Four. She’d had to scrape up all her courage to go to the saloons that first time, but she’d done it. Because she loved her Mama and couldn’t watch her suffer and worry.
She shook her head and continued walking toward Saloon Row. The still of the evening was disrupted by sounds of the establishments ahead. The noise crescendoed with every few steps.
How many more times would she have to do this? How long before someone found out? She’d thought about asking Granddad for help. Other than her sisters, he was her best friend. But he already didn’t think too well of Daddy. . . .
The wind bit at her face while the scent of logs burning in stoves filled her nose.
Music from the saloons drifted toward her, and she flinched. It was nothing like the beautiful music they played and sang at home. This was harsh, raucous, and out of tune. How could people even stand it? It hurt her ears. The closer she got, the more she hated the sound, the noise, the smells. Oh, to curl up in her bed like her younger sisters and go to sleep as if she didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders. All because Daddy couldn’t control himself.
Two men wobbled down the street toward her, then one of them doubled over and got sick in the middle of the road. She covered her face with her scarf and stepped several paces around them. Why did they do that to themselves? Disgusting.
Picking up her stride, she kept her chin down. There were things here that she didn’t want to see.
Not again.
Questions peppered her brain. She wouldn’t allow them entry. Best to think about music. Mama. Havyn and Madysen.
Wait a minute . . . the hairs on the back of her neck prickled and a shiver raced up her spine. A lump in the street—no, not a lump. A man.
For a moment, she couldn’t take another step. Could barely breathe. No. Please. That scrawny heap couldn’t be her father. But . . . the blue coat.
She’d recognize the coat anywhere. Mama made it for him last Christmas.
With a deep breath, she moved forward. At least she could be thankful he wasn’t inside one of the saloons. She hated going in them. The adults always tried to shoo her out, but her presence made it easier to get her dad out the door. No one wanted a little girl inside.
The closer her feet brought her to the telltale form, the more she wanted to run away. But then she was standing beside him. Daddy wasn’t moving. Was he even breathing?
She knelt down beside him and poked at his shoulder. Hard.
Nothing happened.
When she touched his face, it was cold. Her stomach revolted and her heart sank.
Oh, Daddy . . .
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. A sharp clenching in her chest made her gasp for air. She fought the tears that threatened to flood her eyes and race down her face. He wouldn’t leave them . . . would he?
As much as she detested his actions, he was still her daddy.
She leaned her ear close to his face. He stunk. It made her stomach turn again.
She couldn’t hear any breath.
She poked him again. Harder. And again. Even harder.
“Daddy?” She shook him with all she had.
No response.
She touched his face again. Cold. But it was snowing outside, and the temperature was frigid. Maybe he was passed out. He did that at home all the time lately.
Sitting down beside him, she shook him and poked him. Over and over. If he was dead . . . what would they do? Mama and Havyn and Madysen would cry. So would she.
What would become of them?
The few wonderful memories she had with her dad began to play in her mind. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Playing outside in the snow. Him chasing her around the house until she crumpled on the floor, giggling.
She shoved him again. “Wake up! Havyn and Maddy need some good memories too.” With her other hand, she swiped at her hair.
If he was dead . . . she’d never have to come find him again. He’d never come home drunk. Never make Mama cry.
No. He couldn’t get out of his responsibilities that easily. Someone had to take care of them. He’d promised he’d stop. Get cleaned up. Be the husband and father they needed.
A pounding started in her ears as heat rushed to her cheeks. Every ugly thing she’d ever wanted to say to him threatened to spew from her mouth as she pushed and shoved, poked and prodded.
But after several minutes, she slumped down. Not a moan or a sound came from him. Swallowing against the tears, she swiped at her cheeks.
It was no use. He was dead. Gone.
Glancing from side to side, she searched the street. Not a soul around that she knew. No one she could trust to help.
What would she tell Mama? How could she fix this?
The wind howled, and her hair flew in her face again. The strands, wet from the snow, stuck to her nose.
She couldn’t fix this. She couldn’t even get him home. It was one thing to drag her drunken father home when he had use of his legs, but when he was dead weight?
The tears stung her cheeks as they escaped, and the wind threatened to freeze them on her skin. As much as she wanted to be strong, all she wanted now was Granddad. Whenever she couldn’t turn to Mama, he was her rock.
But how could she leave her dad in the street to go get Granddad? What would happen to Daddy if she left him there? Would anyone care? Would he get run over by a horse?
How could Daddy do this to them?
For several minutes, she allowed the tears to flow. Then she swiped at them again, her wool coat scratching and rubbing her cheeks raw. Why couldn’t he do what he was supposed to do so that she could be a kid? But no . . . here she was in the middle of the street crying over his sorry form. Mama would tell her not to be angry with him. Again. But she was.
She was furious!
Whitney surged to her feet and glared down at her father. Her hands fisted at her sides. “I hate you. Hate you for leaving us. Hate you for making Mama cry.” She lifted her chin. “But I won’t cry for you. Never again.” She made the meanest face she could and forced it at him. Too bad he couldn’t see it.
“Whitney? What are you doing out here?”
She whirled around.
Granddad!
“Whoa, young lady. What’s got you all fired up?” He held his hands in front of him.
She jabbed a finger toward her father. “He’s gone and done it. He’s dead. Left us. What’re we gonna do now?”
Granddad furrowed his brow and stepped closer. Tilting his head, he placed a hand on her shoulder.
The touch melted the edges of her fury.
“I don’t know for sure if he’s dead, Whit. Why don’t you let me check?” His soft words washed over her, cooling the fire in her heart.
Her shoulders slumped, and she dove toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She didn’t want her dad to be dead. She didn’t! But he made her so mad. How could he do this to them?
A long sigh escaped her grandfather as he embraced her. “I’m sorry, Whit. You should never have to see anything like this.” His arms tightened around her, and then he pulled back, his hands on her shoulders. “Let me check on him, and then we’ll talk about it, all right?”
