“Marit,” Joy broke the quiet.
“Yes ’m?”
“How long before your baby comes?” Joy asked.
Marit’s plump face creased in concentration. “I . . . I’m not sure, Miss Joy. I don’t know how to figure it.”
As if I do, Joy sighed to herself cynically. Is this what “for more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married wife” means? She chided herself and squared her shoulders. “Let’s see if we can ‘figure’ it, shall we?”
Joy and Breona asked Marit several questions. Joy ran the months quickly in her head. “Uli will be able to help us determine this better, but from your looks and what you’ve told us, I think you have less than four months before the baby comes. Perhaps the end of December or first of January.”
“David, Uli, and I prayed about what to do last night after you went to bed and again this morning. I am confident the Lord will give us an answer. We will likely need to leave soon. Perhaps I will take you myself back to Omaha.”
“Whist? Should we be thinkin’ on leavin’?” Breona asked sharply. “Truth, will that not be pointin’ th’ very finger at yer cousins?”
“But how could we stay, Breona?” Joy asked gently. “What possible story could we put on our being here that would protect you both and David and Uli’s family and church?”
Breona bristled a little, and Joy smiled and thought with admiration, this girl has such spirit!
“I’m thinkin’ Marit is lookin’ a bit loik you,” Breona responded. “Easy enow, it’s bein’ yer sister or yer cousin she could.” Almost fiercely, she added, “She’ll be havin’ thet wee one, an’ has no’ a husband, yis? So! So ’tis here you brung her. T’ hide her away.”
Joy nodded slowly. “All right . . . and what about you?”
“Miss, I am bein’ a housemaid since I were 11 years grown. I’ll be workin’ for ye doin’ th’ cleanin’ an’ th’ washin’. Helpin’ w’ th’ babe, an’ all.”
Joy’s thoughts were buzzing quickly through Breona’s ideas. Marit watched the interplay between Joy and Breona quietly.
“An’ we canna be stayin’ wit’ yer cousins loong, Miss Joy,” Breona said flatly. “They have no’ th’ room, an’ we should be puttin’ some daylight twixt us an’ them, aye?” She almost glared at Joy. “I’ll no’ b’ leavin’ Marit, miss.”
Marit stared down. “I don’t know vat I’ll do, Miss Joy. I vas counting on the job to take care of the baby. How vill I take care of him? Vhere vill I live?”
“A job,” Joy mused. “Yes . . .”
Joy was concentrating hard. “What if . . . what if you had a job, too, Breona? Not a housemaid’s job, but one in a shop or store? What if you both did?”
Marit stared hopefully at Joy but Breona protested, “I’m no’ bein’ shop quality, miss. I canna speak well an’, an’, well, I’m no’ presentable, miss. No’ t’ mention, I’m knowin’ nothin’ of shops an’ stores!”
Joy nodded, still concentrating. “No. But I do. Oh yes. I do.”
~~**~~
Chapter 17
“What if we don’t hide?” Joy asked, taking them by surprise. David, Uli, and Joy were gathered in the warm kitchen that evening. Out of doors, a chill wind gusted and moaned. David and Uli listened, more than a little chagrined, as Joy elaborated.
“Breona suggested it first. She is adamant that Marit needs a secure place to stay and have her baby—and as equally adamant that she will not leave her side!” Joy smiled. “Breona has only known Marit a few days but has already developed a strong attachment to her.”
She looked down. “I confess, I have also. I don’t want to send these girls off with strangers and not know if they are all right. I don’t want to think of Breona and Marit alone in the world with no way to care for themselves.”
She mused, “Perhaps ‘hide in plain sight’ describes it better. Marit and I look similar enough to be sisters. We could introduce her as my sister and say that we have brought her here to have her baby.”
David was shaking his head. “I don’t like that, Joy. We shouldn’t cloak our work in untruths.”
Joy frowned. “You are right. Perhaps that isn’t the right way, but . . . David, when girls come to you for help, don’t you hide them? Don’t you intentionally deceive those who are looking for them? When those two thugs threatened you, did you tell them the truth?”
“Those men have no rights on those poor women!” David burst out in anger. Uli touched his arm. She shook her head gently and he looked away, chastened.
“What you said is true,” Joy responded evenly. “They also have no right to Marit or Breona. If we deceive those men about them in some way, isn’t that the same thing?”
Joy turned to Uli. “Wasn’t there a woman in the Bible who let the Israelite spies into Jericho and hid them, deceiving her own people?”
“Well, yes. Rahab. I see what you are saying, but . . .”
“Didn’t the Lord reward her?” Joy asked David.
He frowned.
“And wasn’t she . . . a harlot?” Joy asked softly.
“Have a care, Cousin Joy,” David warned.
“Well, I don’t think we need to lie about who Marit is here in Corinth. Perhaps she is a dear friend or distant relative who is in a family way and we have removed her from prying eyes and wagging tongues. Who she is exactly is no one’s concern,” Joy answered doggedly.
Joy had told David and Uli the circumstances of Marit’s pregnancy, and it was not in their nature to judge her anyway. Uli simply asked, “So what are you thinking?”
“The Lord directed me to come and to help you with this work. I know in the heart of my very being that he led me to come here, so I don’t want to just pick up and go—because I also know that meeting Marit and Breona on the train was no accident. They do not think it right to leave either, and they both need employment.”
Joy was thinking aloud now. “I have some money left from the sale of our property in Omaha. I thought I would look for something here that can support the three of us—four, after the baby comes. I didn’t see any services near the train siding. Perhaps a shop or little eatery that caters to travelers? It would need to be large enough for us to live in, so that attention is deflected from you and the church.”
Uli nodded encouragingly at this. Joy continued. “Cousin David, Cousin Uli. You pled with me to come to Corinth to help. I know that the Lord directed me here. I have been wondering . . . It is no small thing to rescue the one or two who somehow escape . . . but how do we embolden others to help and perhaps end this wickedness? We prayed just this morning, asking the Lord to show us his plan. Is it possible that making a stand, even such a small one, is part of that plan?”
Joy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know precisely what the Lord has in mind but—would you know of any buildings available here in Corinth?” She looked at David.
David thought for a moment. “Perhaps. I would need to speak to the owner of a place I know is empty.”
The next day David went to pay a call on one of his parishioners. When he returned, he offered to show Joy a vacant house and introduce her to the owner.
“Corinth was a booming mining and logging community at one time,” David told Joy on the drive into town. “During the mining heydays a few folks made their fortune. Afterwards, Corinth began drying up like many of the boom towns up the creeks and rivers that flow out of the Rockies toward Denver.”
“All Corinth had to offer then was a beautiful place to live—if you were willing to live modestly. About 10 years ago a few wealthy families built summer homes here. But she also had something of interest to a group of unscrupulous men—she was less than two hours from the city by train. Three years ago one man in particular began buying up the best properties, including those two houses near the center of town.”
David drove Joy beyond the train siding and onto a promontory that jutted far out over a valley. He pointed Joy toward a large two-story house. The lines of the h
ouse were clean and lovely. “That man and a few others tried to buy this house, but the owner would not sell it.”
Although in disuse, the house was still striking. Even better, it had a commanding view of the valley and the mountains around it. Joy spied trails leading away from the house and she found herself eager to explore them.
A rustic lock secured the front door. David drew a key from this pocket. “The owner is a member of our church. After his boys moved away and later his wife passed on, he closed up the house. He operates a little smithy over there, on the other side of the siding. The railroad uses his services, as do town folk.”
They stepped inside. Dust motes floated in the dim sunlight. The bottom floor had a single great room in the front with ornate windows facing the valley. A stunning rock fireplace dominated one end of the room; a more practical oil stove stood at the other side. A wide staircase with a curving banister at the back of the great room led upward.
The rear of the first floor contained a spacious kitchen and two attached rooms. The smaller of the two rooms, lined with shelves, had obviously been the pantry. A narrow flight of stairs led from the kitchen to the second floor and on up to the attic. Joy flinched as a mouse skittered across the floor.
On the second floor they wandered down a long hallway and peeked into six bedrooms. One of the bedrooms was obviously the master and had a small, attached sitting room. At the end of the hall, just past the larger bedroom, a door opened to a balcony that spanned that end of the house. David wrestled the door open for Joy but cautioned her about the condition of the balcony. She stood safely in the doorway and stared with pleasure over the trees at the view of the mountains before her.
Above the second floor was a wide attic beneath the high-pitched roof. Joy glimpsed daylight through the roof in two places. Boards creaked and groaned. Cobwebs clung to the bare rafters and dust lay thick and undisturbed across the floor.
“Entirely too much work, I’m afraid,” David apologized.
“On the contrary, it may be perfect,” Joy murmured. “May I meet the owner?”
“His smithy is on the other side of the platform, just back in those trees,” David pointed and Joy spied a wisp of smoke and a stove pipe peeping out beyond the trees.
A few minutes later, Joy shook hands with Joe Flynn, “‘Flinty’ to my friends,” he said, grinning. His red hair, streaked with gray, still hinted at how he had earned his name.
“Thank you, Flinty,” Joy grinned back. “What can you tell me about the house you have for sale?”
“Well, miss, it ain’t ’zactly fer sale now, but . . . it’s a fine place, jest a little long in the tooth, kinder like me, ya see?” He laughed and then looked her over quizzically. “Needs a mote o’ work.”
“Yes, I agree. Is it basically sound, though?”
“Yep. Built her m’self, ’bout 30 year ago now, back when Corinth was flush with silver. Raised four boys there, we did. After they growed and moved away the missus liked to have lodgers but she’s been gone eight years and it’s too much work fer my taste.”
“So it’s been empty eight years?”
He nodded. “Yes ’m.”
They talked weather, church, and neighbors. Flinty showed them his forge and a machine part he was repairing. Joy and David sipped coffee and listened attentively for an hour while Flinty told them about his wife and their years together. He talked openly about the hard life he’d lived before he met Jesus, and the changes God worked in him over the years following. After a time the conversation came back around to the house.
Flinty looked from David back to Joy. In response to some unspoken question, David nodded.
Flinty looked at her speculatively. “Well, miss, it’s like this. City big shot came lookin’ t’ buy m’ house, few years back. Got the best views in Corinth, it does. But he’d already bought two in town and, not meanin’ to be indelicate, miss, I knowed what they’s usin’ them houses fer.” He spat in disgust and then blushed. “I ’poligize, miss. But that’s why m’ house ain’t ’zactly fer sale.”
Joy nodded. “Flinty, what if I told you that not only would this house not be used for those purposes but would actually be dedicated for God’s purposes?”
Flinty looked at David again. “Well, seein’ as how yer th’ preacher’s cousin an’ all . . . we might dicker a bit.” Several minutes later Flinty found out from personal experience how astute a business woman Joy was. She agreed to his asking price—less ten percent!—and with his agreement to oversee a scribbled list of repairs that Joy drew from her pocket.
He beamed at her anyway. “You drive a good bargain, miss, but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. Most excitement and best comp’ny I’ve had in a year!” He shook on their deal enthusiastically. “Yes ’m! You’re jest what the doctor ordered, I’m thinkin’!”
Joy smiled back. “I have thoroughly enjoyed our visit too, Flinty. And I’ll have a check to you by evening,” she promised him.
~~**~~
Chapter 18
They came to their new home early the next morning with buckets, mops, brooms, soap, rags, and hope. Hope. Breona took one look at the large, empty great room and, grinning hugely, started dancing a little jig. Marit clapped her hands and then shot Joy a mortified look.
Joy just laughed out loud. She grabbed Breona’s offered hand and they skipped together across the floor. Joy bowed, Breona curtsied, and they sashayed down the length of the room. Soon the two of them were twirling around together, giggling and laughing in abandon, while Marit kept time.
Tiny as she was, Breona demonstrated that day that she was a force to be reckoned with. Before Marit and Joy realized it, she had organized them and issued assignments. Joy was amazed how quickly and thoroughly Breona worked. Not only was she undaunted by the task before them, she seemed to relish the challenge. Joy’s heart warmed to the young woman.
Marit, cumbered by the growing baby, worked slowly but steadily and with a will. Breona gave her tasks that required less bending and stooping and encouraged her to take regular breaks. Joy, on the other hand, had to push herself to keep up with the whirlwind known as Breona Byrne.
By noon the first floor sparkled. The great room’s oil stove sent out welcome warmth. They decided to sleep, for the present, in the room behind the kitchen and cleaned it thoroughly for the coming night. The kitchen stove, scrubbed and newly blackened, popped and crackled with a wood fire. A small pot of soup simmered on the back of the stove.
They took a quick lunch break, sipping their soup out of chipped mugs, and then tackled the bedrooms on the second floor. They wiped down and washed every wall and ceiling. Soon windows gleamed and floors were spotless.
Around three o’clock David arrived with a wagon load of used furniture, many pieces donated by church members. Uli had also sent along bedding for them although Joy and Breona would still be sleeping on the hard floor until more beds could be acquired.
“As soon as I am able to, I will make arrangements for what we need to set up housekeeping,” Joy told the girls that evening. They sat around a battered (and wobbly) table in the kitchen, nursing their worn hands and tired backs.
“But miss, vat kind of business vill ve do here?” Marit finally asked.
“Aye—and I’m still feelin’ loik bait on a hook, pardon me frank speech, Miss Joy,” Breona added. “How air we bein’ safer all alone over in this place th’n at yer cousins?”
“We require some help,” Joy responded. “I have letters to write, but for the next several nights, Mr. Flynn will be sleeping here to safeguard us. As to our business, trains come through Corinth twice a day. What do passengers traveling through need or want?”
They grew thoughtful. Joy had a few ideas but wanted to hear what Breona and Marit might come up with.
Marit offered timidly, “Vell, hot coffee is alvays nice.”
Joy smiled in approval.
“Yis. An’ hot meals. And other foods folks can be takin’ on th’ train.” Breona’s brow fur
rowed as she concentrated.
“I can cook,” Marit offered boldly.
“Excellent! Do you have any baked specialties?”
“Vell . . . breads, of course,” Marit suggested.
“Limpa bread?”
“Oh ja! And sveet baked goods, like julekake and cardamom braids—oh! And cookies! Lefse, krumkake, pepparkakor, and brunscrackers—so many kinds I made with Mor vhen I vas little.” Marit radiated enthusiasm.
Breona looked skeptical. “Niver heard on ony o’ those . . .”
“Traditional Swedish baked goods, Breona,” Joy said reassuringly. “I think travelers may think of them as novelty items, and if they get a whiff of fresh pepparkakor—those are Swedish gingersnaps—they won’t be able to resist.”
Breona nodded reluctantly. “Don’ seem enow t’ get us by, tho’, do it?”
“No. It wouldn’t be. But I have another idea. What if we advertised in Denver papers . . . tourist accommodations in the fresh mountain air, by the week or the month? Scenic views, healthful walks along the overlooks, and excellent food! I believe that quality people wanting to leave the city for a week or a little longer might find the short train ride here very inviting . . . and would pay well for the experience.”
Marit looked about at the condition of the building and the sparse furnishings and said nothing. Breona might have alleged Joy had lost her mind, but wisely kept her own counsel, too.
Finally Marit said meekly, “Do you think ve can fix up this house up for quality people?”
“Ah, that is the question, isn’t it?” Joy said softly, “However, I know something you young ladies do not. I own a large quantity of fine furnishings. We were to open a shop, my husband and I, one specializing in select household goods but we . . . Well, we were unable to. All of those beautiful things, far more than we will need, are still waiting for me in a warehouse in Omaha.”
She stood up resolutely. “This building in itself may not look like much at the moment, but it has the space we require. I will hire workers to improve it and to make it livable again. And then we will decorate it as if it were a fine city hotel.”
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 12