“I don’t like it, Mr. Banner. We generally ship a girl down mountain when her usefulness comes to an end.”
“And yet, I must insist, Miss Cleary. Following the outrageous loss of the Little Plum Blossom, Mr. Morgan has tasked me with restoring order to these houses—and I intend to do just that. We cannot allow an apparently successful escape to sow seeds of rebellion or spur similar attempts.
“I will, therefore, make an example of Helen and, in short order, establish the proper tone in this house. Helen is not long for this world anyway; my hands about her thin little neck will provide a pointed example.”
“But, really, Mr. Banner—at the table? I shall have girls losing their breakfasts.”
With stunned revulsion, Tory understood: They mean to kill Helen?
No, not ‘they.’ Banner.
Banner’s chuckle set Tory’s skin crawling. “Then, perhaps before breakfast would be more appropriate?”
Tory stole away, her heart racing, her mind declaring, I cannot allow this evil man to harm Helen. I cannot.
I will not.
TORY PASSED THE EVENING in fearful trepidation, watching Banner every moment she could, frantic in her mind over the coming morning. But what can I do? How could I get Helen away from this place? She is so weak already and is barely managing her work this evening.
Later, after the club had closed and after the night guards had walked the third-floor hallway, locking each of the seven bedrooms as they went, Tory climbed from her bed and paced the length of her room, back and forth, crying out in muffled pleas, O God! Are you there? I am seeking you with all my heart. You said if I sought you with all my heart I would find you—can you not help us? I am begging you!
Tory vacillated in an agony of distress. Should I try to escape and take Helen to safety? But if I try and we are caught? Banner will do to me what he plans to do to Helen.
And perhaps worse. Tory had seen the licentious way Banner had studied her, had sensed the cruelty—a lust to hurt women, to torture them—lurking beneath his cool, composed manner.
For more than an hour, Tory paced and fretted over what to do, calling on the Lord from “her” Scripture verse, the one she had memorized. For more than an hour, Tory agonized over what to do. O Jesus. If you are the Lord, please show me how to get Helen away from that monster, Banner.
She stopped in shock when, in the back of her mind, she “heard” a voice. She knew she hadn’t heard the voice with her ears; instead, it had rumbled somewhere within her.
Go, the Voice said. The Voice’s power shook Tory harder than her fear had shaken her.
Go! the Voice insisted.
Teeth chattering, Tory whispered, “Is that you, God? Are you . . . are you truly speaking to me?”
The Voice whispered this time: I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it. Go.
Tory vacillated only a moment more, but she knew the Voice would not speak again. It was now up to her to act. She nodded. “All right. Whether we live or die, I will attempt to get Helen away from here.”
She stripped off her nightgown and buttoned herself into one of the plain housedresses she wore during the day while doing chores. She was no longer shaking: Her mind was clear and sharp, her body calm.
After she had donned stockings and shoes, she went to the draperies, unpinned the drape’s hem containing her locket, slipped the locket into her dress pocket, and pinned it closed. She took up the crochet hook and the hairpin she had bent to her purposes.
Tory threw on her cloak and listened at the door to her room. She heard nothing. With unnaturally steady fingers, she picked the lock on her door. Seconds later, she stepped into the hall, noiselessly closed the door behind her, and turned the latch to reset the lock.
Helen’s room was across the hall, on the opposite side of Esther’s room from the punishment room. With as little noise as she could manage, Tory turned the latch on Helen’s door and entered. She went directly to the window, drew back the drapes, and let what moonlight there was into the room. Then she went to Helen’s bedside and placed her hand over Helen’s mouth.
She need not have been so careful. Helen’s eyes opened immediately.
Tory whispered, “We are leaving, Helen. Now.”
Helen neither protested nor asked questions. She allowed Tory to help her out of bed and stood passively as Tory dressed her and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders.
Tory put her mouth to Helen’s ear. “Is there anything precious you wish to take with you?”
Helen patted Tory’s steadying arm about her waist and waggled her head.
Now came the most treacherous moments. Mei-Xing had escaped through her window, but Tory and Helen could not: Helen did not possess the strength for such exertion. Tory would have to walk Helen out the front door. Between them and freedom lay two flights of stairs, a bolted door, and a guard.
At the top of the first staircase, Tory breathed into Helen’s ear, “Rest your weight on me.”
All down the stairs, Tory trod with care and concentration. She knew which steps creaked and where, which ones rang hollow. With Helen’s arms about her neck, Tory leaned against the bannister and eased them to the second floor.
At the second-floor landing, Tory paused and listened. She heard nothing but a low snore coming from the room nearest the stairs—Miss Cleary’s bedroom, larger than the other bedrooms and made sumptuous to suit her lavish tastes.
Afraid to linger long, Tory started Helen down the second flight. This final length of stairs terrified Tory. She knew a night guard wandered the grounds and, periodically, the house. She had also heard Gretl report that the guard—against his orders—spent most of the night in the kitchen where the gas-lit stove’s pilot light kept the room warmer than the rest of the house, warmer, certainly, than the out-of-doors.
Jesus. If you are there . . .
Tory sat Helen on the bottom step, then listened for the guard. When she heard no sounds, she crossed the wide foyer to the door. She removed her tools from her pocket and went to work on a lock that was much more complex than the bedroom doors.
After three frustrating minutes, the lock gave way. Tory sighed with relief—and recoiled when she heard a man’s footsteps approaching from the back of the house.
Tory shoved her picks into her pocket, grabbed Helen, and tiptoed across the foyer carpet to Roxanne’s office. The door was locked, and she did not have enough time to unlock it.
Looking about in desperation, Tory saw the same closet Mei-Xing had hidden in. Seeing it was her only choice, Tory shoved Helen inside—and discovered that the closet (full of umbrellas and galoshes) had scarcely enough room for Helen. At the last possible moment, Tory grabbed a heavy-headed cane from the closet. She left the closet door ajar and edged into the foyer’s corner, hardening her heart to what she must do.
Helen’s terrified eyes blinked through the crack at Tory. Tory put her finger to her lips and pushed farther into the corner’s shadow.
The sauntering footsteps drew closer.
Tory’s pulse hammered at her throat. Jesus? Are you there?
“What the . . .” The night guard, a small man who went by “Slim,” saw the closet’s cracked-open door and reached for it.
Tory brought the head of the cane down on Slim’s head. Once. Twice. When the guard crumpled, Tory hit him a third time for good measure.
She straightened and listened for any indication that her attack—or Slim’s fall to the floor—had raised Miss Cleary from her bed.
Tory drew Helen from the closet and handed her the cane. She mimicked hitting Slim should he awaken. Helen swayed, but nodded. Tory glided to Miss Cleary’s office and spent a full minute picking the lock, glancing every few seconds at Helen and Slim to ensure that both were as she wished them: Helen upright and Slim out cold.
When the office door gave way, Tory went inside to the windows and quietly removed the sheer panels under the heavier drapes. She returned to the unconscious guard and, winding the s
heers into ropes, trussed him hand and foot.
Tory stifled a laugh when she saw that Helen had retrieved a mitten from the closet and was miming to Tory that she should stuff Slim’s mouth with it. Tory took the mitten and did just that.
Leaving Helen leaning in the foyer corner, Tory dragged Slim into Miss Cleary’s office. On her way out, she set the lock and pulled the door closed. Slim would not be discovered until Miss Cleary herself unlocked her office door.
Tory and Helen left the house together, closing the door behind them.
TORY URGED HELEN DOWN the long, arching drive to the road. A mild wind rustled around them as they hurried, and Tory took only enough time to glance back a single time. The house behind them lay dark and undisturbed, but Tory knew what chaos would erupt when they did not appear for breakfast.
She pulled Helen faster until the girl’s breath came in short, desperate gasps.
“I am unhappy to tax you so, dear Helen,” Tory murmured, “but if we are seen, we will be captured and taken back. I must get you away before we are spotted.”
She did not say what urgency burned within her—did not tell Helen that Banner planned to strangle her in front of the other girls in order to “establish the proper tone” in the house. Helen was already doing her best to put one foot ahead of the other.
Down the long road, past other homes, most plain and common, Tory cajoled, impelled, and dragged her friend. Wagon wheels and motorcar tires had cut the snow and softened it during the day; the night’s lower temperatures had frozen the tracks to sharp, icy impediments for which their shoes were not designed.
Tory slipped and fell, dragging Helen down with her. Tory’s knee took the worst of the fall. She got up, limping and in pain, but Helen made not a sound. Tory knew her friend was beyond her strength. Without Tory to compel her forward, Helen would have sunk to the icy road and laid there until she froze to death.
Tory pushed them forward, always moving in the direction of the rail siding. Darrow said the blonde woman bought the large house on an overlook near the siding. I must find the siding, then the overlook.
Tory had been at the siding but once and could not picture the house in question. She had been too distressed to notice more than the trail of smoke from the smithy’s forge and the man who had watched her being taken away.
The house has to be there. I will find it. I will.
Helen faltered; Tory put her arm around her waist and dragged her forward.
I know Mei-Xing did not fall off the mountain. She fled to the woman at the lodge—Miss Thoresen. Mei-Xing is somewhere safe now. I know she is. We will go there, too. Miss Thoresen will help us.
Tory almost collapsed two more times. She could not feel her fingers or her feet. Every step now was by rote, by instinct, for she could not sense the ground beneath her shoes.
I cannot fall again. I will not be able to get up.
Tory gasped as the siding rose out of the night. She and Helen were closer than she had believed! Tory stopped and let her head fall to her breast, breathing hard, near the end of her strength. Turning her head, Tory thought the smithy to be through the trees on her right. Just enough moonlight confirmed her guess.
No, not moonlight. Morning was not far off. Morning, when Tory and Helen’s flight could be seen by anyone.
Tory wobbled her head to the left. She glimpsed a shadow behind another stand of trees where a piece of the mountain jutted out over the valley. In the palest light, the shape took form: A roofline.
“Jesus . . . thank you.”
Tory inched ahead, slowly, so slowly. She could not see where she was going; she could only point her leaden feet in what she supposed was the right direction.
Some time later—to Tory’s benumbed mind it could have been minutes or hours—she ran into a wagon. Tory forced herself to look up. The house—a two-story log-built edifice—was but yards away.
“Come on, Helen.” Tory rasped. “Come on.”
She stumbled to the back door and fell against it. Helen slipped from her frozen hands onto the icy ground.
Tory, with her last strength, raised her hand and smacked the door with her open palm. Once. Again. And again. And again. Her best efforts were too soft to be heard.
Her legs failed her, and she started to slide. I can do no more . . .
Tory began to fall, not knowing that the door had slowly opened inward. She did not see the grizzled old gent who caught her or the younger man behind the elder who scooped Helen up in his arms.
Chapter 28
The door closed behind them. Fear sent energy to her cold limbs, and Tory jerked herself from the old man’s grasp. She backed into a wall near the door, the wall of . . . a kitchen.
Helen!
Tory saw her friend propped against the chest of a muscled youth. Her latent distrust of men—all men—caused her to grab Helen from the man and pull her into her arms. Helen sagged, and the young man made to catch her. Tory growled at him. “Stay back.”
She addressed the two men with what little dignity she could muster. “Miss Thoresen. I wish to see Miss Thoresen.”
The old gent jutted his chin at the younger. “Go on up, then, Billy. Fetch Miss Joy.”
When the boy opened the door to a narrow staircase and started up, the older man reached for a lantern.
“No. Please,” Tory asked. “Please do not . . . light a lamp.” They waited in the dark kitchen until she heard footsteps shuffling down the stairs. Instinctively, she pulled herself up, pushed Helen behind her against the wall, knowing Helen would crumple if she stepped away. Fearing she would, herself, again collapse.
A tall woman with a wealth of blonde hair wound in a single, long braid, stepped into the kitchen. She looked from Tory to the old man and back.
Tory stood as upright as her fatigue would allow and whispered, “Please forgive me for waking you, miss. Would you be the lady who assisted Mei-Xing?”
The woman bit her lip. “I believe that if certain people knew we had assisted the girl who ran away from Miss Cleary’s, it might lead to difficulties for us.”
Tory began to shake. “Upon my soul, miss, I am no friend of theirs. We are in mortal trouble, miss, and must get off this mountain soon or . . .” Tory could not control her shaking; it controlled her, possessed her.
“Does this have something to do with the new boss in town? The man called Banner?”
“He is evil itself, miss—I-I beg your pardon.” Tory’s eyes teared. “Will you help us? I beg of you! He will kill Helen if he discovers us.”
Helen whimpered. Tory reached her arm about her friend.
“What is your name?” The woman asked Tory.
“Tory, Miss Thoresen. Mei-Xing was a dear friend. We just want to come away from this place . . . as she did.”
“She spoke well of you, Tory. She said you took care of her when they assaulted her.”
“Yes, miss. I did.” Tory laughed without mirth. “We are obliged to perform that service for another girl at some point. Then they return the favor when it is our turn. It is . . . It is different with Helen. It may be hard to see just now, but she was a great beauty only five weeks ago—she speaks French and Italian and even knows philosophy! But she has grown sickly . . . and has not been able to work.
“I overheard Banner tonight tell Roxanne he intends to make an example of her because . . . because he said he ‘needs to set a proper tone’ and ‘she is not long for this world anyway.’” She glanced at Helen, saddened at what she saw.
“What? He means to kill her?”
“In front of the other girls, you see. That is why we had to leave straightaway. Please. You have to help us, miss. We are begging you!”
The woman nodded again. “Wait here.”
Tory did not know what she was waiting for, but the young man had built up the fire and she was starting to warm, beginning to feel her fingers again.
Miss Thoresen returned; a small figure stepped out from behind her.
“Mei-Xin
g? Mei-Xing!”
Tory reached her arms for Mei-Xing and the girl flew into her embrace. Tory held out an arm to Helen who joined them as they held each other.
An English gentleman—a lodger, Tory presumed—entered the kitchen just then. “What’s the commotion?”
Tory paid little attention to him or others, but the woman she knew as Miss Thoresen and that others addressed as “Joy” or “Miss Joy” gave orders for her people and the Englishman to go out into the snow and hide Tory and Helen’s tracks.
It was all Tory could do to hold on to Mei-Xing and Helen, while she rejoiced over and over, We have made it. They will hide us.
Miss Thoresen spoke softly. “Won’t you please sit down? We will wait a little longer to put some lights on, but Mei-Xing, would you start some coffee?”
LATER, MEI-XING LED Tory up two flights to an attic room; Billy carried Helen behind them. “Miss Joy says I am to put you both to bed, particularly Helen.”
Mei-Xing frowned at Helen’s vacant expression. She did not voice her concerns in words, but her eyes sought Tory’s.
Tory only answered, “I will help you get Helen into bed.”
Soon after, she was grateful herself to crawl into Joy’s narrow bed built under the attic eaves. Mei-Xing tucked the quilt around her and sat close by in a chair. “I know how you are feeling, Tory” she said softly. “You are worried Banner and his men will track you here.”
Tory nodded.
“Miss Joy and her friends are good people. They have guns. They will not allow you to be taken back there.”
Tory wasn’t sure how far she could trust Joy Thoresen, but she was exhausted and had no choice but to accept her kindness. Her eyes began to droop.
She heard the wind rising outside, softly moaning through the trees, crooning a forest lullaby . . .
TORY SLEPT FOR HOURS before she awoke and crawled from the warmth of the bed clothes to relieve herself. She cocked her head: The weather had shifted, and winds that had sung such a comforting refrain as she fell asleep now blew at blizzard strength.
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