She felt naked. Exposed. Defenseless.
“Come. Let me see you.” Richard’s eyes held a strange light, and his breathing was heavy. He held out his hand to her and beckoned her to where he was sitting.
He pulled her onto his knee and wrapped his arm about her waist, pinioning her arms. She squirmed and tried to pull away, but his arm tightened, and he held her immobile.
“No,” she whispered. “Please.”
“I only wish to touch you, Sarah. It is all right for me to touch you. I am your Daddy, after all.”
As he pulled her closer, Sarah whimpered and went limp. She made herself go far away in her mind . . . back to springtime in the park, where acres of tulips waved their colorful banners and she and Mama were safe and happy.
Chapter 6
The funeral of Martha Palmer was to be held at the church of her longtime membership. She and her husband, Chester, had been part of the building committee for the stately Gothic-inspired stone church, finished and dedicated in 1888, some thirty-one years past.
Because Trinity United Methodist sat on the corner of East 18th Avenue and North Broadway, some distance from Palmer House, friends had arranged transportation for the household. Edmund and Joy O’Dell arrived to lead the little motorcade. Sarah and Rose rode with them to the church; Matthew sat between them, clutching a little wooden soldier; Joy held Jacob on her lap. Three additional motor cars for the remainder of the house followed behind.
Sarah leaned forward in her seat as they neared the church. Denver police were on hand to manage the flow of vehicles disgorging their passengers on North Broadway at the church entrance. O’Dell stopped alongside the curb and helped the women out. While he went to find a parking spot, Sarah stood with Rose, Joy, and the children, waiting for the remainder of their party to arrive—Billy, Marit, their boys, Mr. Wheatley, Olive, Ruth, Pansy, Frances, Tilda, Dinah, and Blythe.
Others gathered with them outside the church: Breona and Pastor Carmichael, Mei-Xing and Minister Liáng, Mason and Tabitha Carpenter, Corrine and Albert Johnston—and a long line of Palmer House alumni, their names and faces stretching over a decade: Gretl, Flora, Nancy, Maria, Jenny, Alice, Marion, Jane, Gracie, Trudy, Edna, Vivien, Della . . .
Even as Sarah noted the many former Palmer House girls gathering with them, she knew a number would be missing. A few had moved away and could not make the journey and, sadly, not every soul who had resided for a time under Palmer House’s roof had bowed to the Lordship of Christ. Rose and Joy had sown good seed, but a few hearts had been like rocky ground where the seed did not penetrate and take root. Other girls had “gone forth” from Palmer House as Christians, but the seed of the Gospel had “fallen among thorns” and had been “choked with the cares and riches and pleasures of this life.”
Lord, Sarah prayed, bring these young women back to you. Break up the fallow ground of their hearts so that they are able to receive your word with gladness and so you might rain righteousness upon them. I am asking in Jesus’ name: Restore their souls to you, O God.
At five minutes before the hour, Rose and Sarah, side by side, led the girls of Palmer House, past and present, down the center aisle of Trinity United Methodist Church to the three empty pews waiting for them at the front of the church. At the head of the first pew, Rose and Sarah turned, faced the back of the church, and watched the two columns of young women file into the pews. They were followed by Billy, Marit, their children, and Mr. Wheatley, then O’Dell, Matthew, and Joy, carrying Jacob.
Sarah felt Rose’s hand on her arm tremble; Rose smiled and nodded as each woman turned into the pews. Sarah knew each woman, too, some whom they had not seen in years. She found herself teary-eyed as the fruit of Rose and Joy’s labors passed before them: These were strong, upright, godly women, healed inside and out, transformed from destroyed souls to healthy womanhood under Rose’s care. It was a proud moment but humbling in its magnitude.
To you be all the glory, Lord, Sarah prayed silently. She knew Rose would be offering up the same sentiment.
Sarah and Rose took their seats last, and Sarah let her gaze wander around the sanctuary that was so vastly different from Calvary Temple’s repurposed warehouse. This edifice was lined throughout with costly carved wood, polished and gleaming; it was hung with tapestries of red velvet. The thick carpet throughout was the same deep red. Inspiring stained-glass windows filtered the daylight with color. An organ, its majestic pipes soaring high into the vaulted ceiling, focused all eyes to the front where lay, in a simple pine casket, the body of Martha Palmer.
The church’s sanctuary, including its choir loft on both sides of the organ and its balconies stretching along three sides of the church, was filled to capacity with the cream of Denver’s society—shoulder to shoulder with the residents and friends of Palmer House. All had come to pay their respects and honor to this woman who had shaped so much of Denver’s history, culture, and growth.
Even Pastor Jamison—retired for the past five years—came out of his retirement to officiate. He stepped to the raised, marble-topped lectern and said, “We have come together today to celebrate the life of an extraordinary woman—extraordinary because every accomplishment was the result of a life surrendered to God.”
ONLY “FAMILY” HAD BEEN invited to the burial service. With the many children of the mourners also attending, the graveside service was mercifully short. After Martha had been laid to rest, Sarah and Rose rode back to the church with the O’Dells for the family luncheon.
Lunch was a lively affair, despite the reason for their gathering. The sumptuous meal was catered by a nearby restaurant and could not have been more of a family reunion than it was for those who had come down the mountain from Corinth in April, ten years past. Sarah, Rose, and Joy hugged Gretl Plüff repeatedly and broke off only when Marit and Breona sought to hug her, too.
“It has been too long, Gretl. Tell us how you are doing?” Joy asked.
“To God be the glory, Miss Joy. As you know, I am the Senator’s cook and we live in our nation’s capital when the Senate is in session, then return to Boulder the remainder of the year.”
“You must see many wonderful things in your travels,” Joy answered.
“Yes, but to be here, today? With all of you? I would not trade this for the world.” She leaned forward to whisper around a grin. “A far cry from being cook to Corinth’s Gentleman’s Club, eh?”
Sarah was chatting with Tabitha and Breona while the two women’s children plus Shan-Rose, Will and Charley, and little Matty O’Dell ran the length of the fellowship hall, laughing and largely expending the energy they had derived from the lavish lunch. Rose and Joy stood close by, talking with Mei-Xing and Victoria Washington of Victoria’s House of Fashion, known to her friends as Tory.
Sarah observed a man approach Rose.
“Mrs. Thoresen, I believe?”
“Yes, I am Rose Thoresen.”
“Able Forsythe, ma’am. I am Martha Palmer’s attorney.”
“Oh, yes. You wished to see me at the conclusion of the luncheon?”
“In point of fact, ma’am, when the caterers have cleared away the lunch things and I have dismissed them, I shall address everyone here.”
Rose’s brows lifted. “All of us?” She glanced at Sarah and saw that she had heard, too.
Forsythe’s smile widened. “Yes, all of you, with the exception of the children. Since our business will be of an official nature—and somewhat tedious for young ones—I have arranged for the children to be watched over in the Sunday school wing where they can play to their hearts’ content.”
When he excused himself, Sarah and Rose exchanged hopeful glances; Sarah knew she and Rose were thinking and hoping the same thing—that, if it were God’s will, Martha had endowed Palmer House with enough funds to continue its work.
At Rose’s request, Sarah circulated among the gathering and spread the news that Mr. Forsythe had requested that everyone remain for the reading of Martha’s will. True to Forsy
the’s word, when lunch was over, two young women from the church gathered up the children and led them away. The caterers cleared away the lunch things, took down the long tables where lunch had been served, set up a small table at the head of the hall, and arranged chairs in rows in front of it. When they completed their tasks, the caterers departed.
Then Forsythe stood by the small table and invited everyone to take a seat. When the audience of around forty adults (including Stephen Sedgewick, his wife, and two grown sons) had settled, Forsythe addressed them.
“My name is Able Forsythe, attorney to the late Martha Palmer. I thank you for honoring a great woman today, and I thank you for staying at my request. We are gathered here for the formal reading of Mrs. Palmer’s will. The fact that you are here, indicates that, to one degree or another, you have been mentioned in Mrs. Palmer’s will.”
Sarah shivered, and a murmur rippled through the ranks of Palmer House girls. Sarah found her fingers being gripped in Rose’s hand.
“I, Martha Ann Palmer, being of sound mind and body, on this date, the twenty-fifth of January, in the year of Our Lord, nineteen hundred and fifteen, do declare this to be my Last Will and Testament. My sole surviving relations are my grandnephew, Stephen P. Sedgewick, lately of Colorado Springs, Colorado, the grandson of my late sister, Agatha, and two great-grandnephews, Norris and Raymond Sedgewick, the sons of Stephen Sedgewick. I have no other living relatives.
“To my grandnephew, Stephen, I bequeath my love and appreciation and the sum of ten thousand dollars. To my great-grandnephews, Norris and Raymond, I bequeath the sum of one thousand dollars each.”
The Sedgewick family nodded and murmured among themselves. Sarah supposed they were already acquainted with the specifics of Martha’s will.
After listing the pensions and provisions Martha had made for her household staff, the attorney continued, “To Mei-Xing Liáng, as dear to me as the daughter I lost, I bequeath the amount of one thousand dollars. I furthermore give leave to Mei-Xing and her husband, faithful minister of God, Yaochuan Min Liáng, to live in my home on Palisades Avenue as long as you choose. At your deaths, I bequeath the house to your children as their shared property to use or dispose of as they jointly determine.”
Sarah swallowed hard as Mei-Xing sobbed on her husband’s shoulder.
Forsythe went on, “The remainder of my estate, inclusive of all monies and the proceeds from the sale of real property, is to be held in an interest-bearing trust and disbursed by my attorneys in the following manner:
“To Mr. Earnest Wheatley, I bequeath a monthly stipend in the amount of seventy-five dollars for your care and comfort until you join us in heaven. Thank you, Mr. Wheatley, for your years of friendship to our girls and to me.
“The property known as Palmer House was gifted to that ministry in 1910. I pray its use for God’s purposes will continue unabated as long as the Lord wills. For the household upkeep of Palmer House, I bequeath a monthly stipend of two hundred dollars. For repairs and material upkeep of the house and its grounds, I bequeath an annual disbursement of five hundred dollars.”
Rose’s hand gripped Sarah’s hand so hard that she winced. Rose was crying silently, but she was not the only one. Every beating heart in that room connected by the common thread of Palmer House’s ministry was affected. Sarah heard muffled sniffs, sobs, and thanksgiving to God. She had to wipe her own eyes again and again.
Oh, thank you, Lord! Thank you for speaking to Martha’s heart. Thank you for using her gifts to take the strain from Miss Rose’s heart and shoulders.
Forsythe did not speak again until his audience had regained its composure. During the lull, Sarah saw him nod to Rose and smile. Stephen Sedgewick, too, turned to smile his approval in Rose’s direction.
Then Forsythe recommenced. “Ahem. Regarding Palmer House, the will further stipulates: The monthly and annual stipends will be disbursed to Mrs. Rose Thoresen and used for their stated purposes so long as Mrs. Thoresen chooses to manage Palmer House. At the time of her full or partial retirement from this blessed service, it is my counsel that the following individuals serve as or elect a board of directors to oversee the ministry of Palmer House: Isaac and Breona Carmichael, Yaochuan and Mei-Xing Liáng, Edmund and Joy O’Dell, and Mason and Tabitha Carpenter.
“For Palmer House to continue to receive the listed stipends from my estate, the board of directors will serve in uncompensated capacity. They will select new management for the house and approve the disbursal of said stipends to the acting management. In the event this ministry, as conceived and directed by Mrs. Thoresen, ceases to function, monthly and annual stipends drawn from the trust will end. I suggest that proceeds from the sale of Palmer House be gifted to Calvary Temple of Denver or to another worthy ministry as the board determines.”
Sarah could see Rose turning the conditions of the bequest over in her mind, nodding and agreeing with Martha’s wisdom. But Forsythe’s next words shook Sarah.
“To every young woman who lives or has lived at Palmer House and remains unmarried at the time of the reading of this will, I bequeath the sum of five hundred dollars as a bridal gift, payable upon her marriage. To those girls who have already married, I bestow the same amount, payable upon the execution of this will. If, however, a young woman who has lived at Palmer House remains unmarried, I bequeath the same sum, five hundred dollars, payable upon her thirty-ninth birthday.”
Five hundred dollars! It was a fortune many a Palmer House girl would never, in her lifetime, see again in a lump sum; it could enable a newly married couple to begin their marriage debt-free, perhaps buy a little piece of land or leverage a mortgage to purchase a home.
The girls of Palmer House, current and former, wept and rejoiced aloud.
Not Sarah. She blinked back her astonishment and focused upon the stipulations of Martha’s gifts to the girls of Palmer House.
Her generosity will enable many of our girls to marry well. With such an incentive, a decent man might take a bride with a checkered past, even a frail thing such as Blythe. But our girls could be selective; they could afford to wait for an advantageous offer. But for me? A bridal gift, payable upon marriage?
Sarah slowly shook her head. Oh, Martha.
“Ladies and gentlemen? If I could have your attention once more?”
The clamor stilled, and all eyes returned to Forsythe. “Finally, I bequeath the residual of this trust in its entirety to two individuals in equal shares. The trust will be paid out in annual increments, beginning on their respective twenty-first birthdays, to Shan-Rose Liáng and Edmund Thoresen Michaels.”
Amazed silence met his announcement.
Shan-Rose was Mei-Xing’s first daughter, a great favorite of Martha’s. She was nine years old; twelve years would pass before she would receive any benefit from the bequest.
However, her name was not the cause of the hush.
The second beneficiary, Edmund Thoresen Michaels, was Joy’s first child, the son of her marriage to Grant Michaels. He had been named Edmund after Grant’s best friend, Edmund O’Dell. Grant had suffered from viral congestive heart failure and had passed away in late April 1911 . . . four months after his son was born.
Only weeks prior to Grant’s death, the infant had been abducted.
Despite the conduct of a joint manhunt by U.S. Marshals and the Pinkertons—spearheaded by Edmund O’Dell—the trail of baby Edmund and his kidnappers had gone cold outside Pueblo, Colorado.
No trace of him had been found since.
ROSE, SARAH, AND THE O’Dells were subdued on the return drive to Palmer House. Martha’s last bequest had triggered a fresh wave of grief in Joy and a sense of failure in her husband. O’Dell gripped Joy’s hand, and they whispered together during the drive.
Rose was aware of her daughter and son-in-law’s struggles and kept to her own thoughts, also grieving the absence of her first grandson. Matty, tuckered out from a long, unusual day, slept between Rose and Sarah, tucked under Rose’s arm.
Sarah was glad for the quiet, grateful that Matthew was sleeping. It gave her time to inspect her own feelings and try to understand them.
Oh, Martha. You left me a wonderful gift, for which I am most grateful. However, I cannot claim this gift unless I marry—or until I am quite near middle-aged. Why, Martha? Why did you arrange your generous bequest this way?
She fretted over the conditions of Martha’s will. The likely topic of conversation at Palmer House for weeks ahead will be of nothing else but Martha’s generosity and of finding a suitable husband as soon as possible—while I shall be required to wait. Oh, Martha! I shall not be eligible to claim your gift for nearly eleven years . . . because I shall not marry, whatever the inducement to do so.
Irritation rippled through her. Sarah tried to pinpoint its cause. The closest she came to a name for the feeling was resentment. A nagging voice insisted, Why? Why must society insist that every woman marry, even when she has no inclination to do so? What is so wrong with remaining single?
When the motor car arrived at Palmer House, the afternoon was late. O’Dell offered Sarah his assistance: Flushed with frustration over Martha’s will, she brushed his hand away.
Rose untangled herself from Matthew’s sleepy arms, and O’Dell helped her down to the curb. He began to walk Rose up to the house also, but Sarah shook her head and took Rose’s arm from him. “No. I will help Miss Rose to the house.”
O’Dell shrugged. “As you say, Miss Ellinger.”
Sarah could tell that the older woman was exhausted, but as they walked, Rose spoke. “I still cannot take in the many blessings Martha left in her will. Palmer House will do well now.”
“I, too, am very thankful for her bequests to the house,” Sarah replied. “And because of them, I am hoping that I can soon assist you more.”
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