Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2)

by Kestell, Vikki

  David nodded. “All right. I’ll get that done before this gets any bigger. They may cut us off from the telegraph and the trains before long.”

  “Wait. Wait a moment.” Joy’s brow creased and she paced the kitchen deep in thought. “You say they are looking for her. They cannot know with any certainty that she is here—there is no way for them to know that. What if we continue to act normally while keeping her hidden?”

  Wyndom and David thought on her idea. “It might work,” Wyndom admitted. “So we don’t act like we’re drawing up sides? We just act as usual. But we will still need outside help. This is just a delaying tactic.”

  David nodded in agreement. They determined the contents of the wire and he left quickly. Joy looked at the sheriff again. “We will need your leadership, Sheriff Wyndom. Sooner or later this will come out. My friends and I will stand, but we will need your guidance.”

  “So it’s ‘sheriff’ again?”

  She inclined her head. “A man is a man when he acts like one, isn’t that so? You are the sheriff here when you act like the sheriff.”

  He winced. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

  “Come with me. I want you to see what they have done to this poor girl.”

  Joy led him up the back stairs and they quietly entered Joy’s room. Breona sat beside the bed holding the girl’s hand. Joy could see the young woman start and tense as Sheriff Wyndom followed her into the room.

  “It’s all right. He is the sheriff,” Joy soothed.

  Joy twisted the lamp stem until light bloomed in the room. One swollen, blood-red eye slowly gravitated toward Wyndom, who flinched as he took in her tiny, battered frame. Breona excused herself and Joy sat down beside the bed, taking the girl’s hand in her own as Breona had done.

  “You know my name,” Joy began. The girl blinked her one open eye. “I would be honored if you would call me Joy from now on.” The girl blinked again and Joy felt a slight pressure on her hand.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  Joy saw the girl’s cracked lips move but no sound came out. Pain creased her face.

  Joy tore off a piece of clean cotton, dipped it in water, and gently swabbed the girl’s lips while squeezing several drops into her mouth. She repeated this several times. Finally the girl began to whisper.

  “My name is Mei-Xing.”

  “Mei-Xing,” Joy repeated. “That is very pretty. Is that your last name, too?”

  “No.”

  Joy thought she understood. “Do you have family?”

  Mei-Xing closed her eyes.

  “I understand. You don’t need to tell us.” Joy patted Mei’s hand gently. “Sheriff Wyndom needed to see what . . . those people did to you. We don’t want to tire you though. I will have Breona make some bland soup for you. Something that won’t sting your mouth.”

  Joy got up to leave and saw panic in Mei-Xing’s eyes again. “Don’t worry. We won’t leave you alone. And we are guarding the lodge.”

  Downstairs, Sheriff Wyndom gathered everyone together. “Morgan’s men don’t know where Mei-Xing is yet. We have decided to keep them guessing as long as possible.”

  He gave instructions to go about their normal routines. Flinty and Wheatley he set on the second floor, out of sight but with window views of all sides of the lodge. “We all need to have the same story if anyone comes asking questions. I want you to keep an eye out for anyone approaching the lodge. Give warning so that all of you can be prepared. And anyone who doesn’t work here should stay out of sight. That means you,” he nodded at Flinty, “me, Pastor Kalbørg, and anyone he brings with him.”

  Wyndom gestured to David. “You and I need to backtrack and try not to let anyone know we were here this morning.” He pointed at Billy. “Find the girl’s footsteps to the back door. Wipe them out. She was bleeding, too—get rid of any signs of blood.”

  An hour later Darrow and three men strode into the lodge. They found Marit placidly polishing the furniture. Joy was at the lodge registration counter busily writing responses to recent guest inquiries. Their only guest, Mrs. Van der Pol, was nodding in a comfortable parlor chair, a book in her lap.

  Joy frowned, put a finger to her lips, and indicated the napping woman. She came out from behind the counter and walked out the front doors. Darrow and his men reluctantly followed her. She pulled the door snugly behind them and rounded on Darrow.

  “Mr. Darrow. I heard Sheriff Wyndom warn you quite emphatically not to trespass on my property. I must insist that you leave immediately.” Indignation flashed in her eyes, and one of Darrow’s men growled at her challenge.

  Darrow’s eyes narrowed and he ignored her protest. “You have any unexpected visitors last night or this morning?”

  Joy pulled herself up to her full height. “Visitors to our lodge send advance reservations. The only guest we have at the moment is Mrs. Van der Pol—whose rest you had better not have disturbed!”

  Her mouth set in a straight line, Joy was the picture of a righteously outraged innkeeper. Darrow continued to stare at her. She stared back, lips pressed tightly together.

  “We are looking for someone,” he finally stated.

  Joy shrugged in annoyance. “And what has that to do with us?”

  “Thought you might have seen . . . someone.” The staring contest continued.

  “I told you. Now, before I send someone for the sheriff, I suggest you get off my veranda and off my property.”

  Darrow’s voice dropped and he spoke very softly, “Miss Thoresen, I want to give you a word of advice. We might be dancing around at the moment, but unlike others, I see through you. If I find that you have put your oar in where it does not belong again . . . let’s just say that this, this lodge, as you like to call it, well, unexpected things have been known to happen. Accidental fires, for instance.”

  If Darrow had expected Joy to quail at his threat, he was surprised—and taken aback at her reaction.

  Flushing in rage, Joy shoved Darrow. Hard. Off-balance, he stumbled back—and off the steps of the lodge. Before he or his men could react, Joy shouted at him, “You sorry excuse for a man! You think you can scare me? I’ve been burned out before, you coward! Don’t you ever set foot on my property again! If I see you here again, I promise I will shoot you myself!” She turned, let herself inside, and locked the door behind her.

  Darrow picked himself up and, snarling at the assistance offered by his men, dusted the snow off his backside. Without another word he strode back toward the town.

  Inside, Joy leaned her back against the locked door, her breasts heaving. Two graying heads peeked over the second floor railing. “They’re headed back ter town,” Flinty called softly, Wheatley beside him. The kitchen door opened. Billy and Domingo filed solemnly into the dining room where Marit stood awestruck—dusting rags hanging limply.

  From the living room a cultured female voice called, “I really do think I should know what is going on, don’t you?”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 26

  With Flinty and Mr. Wheatley keeping watch from above and Breona staying with Mei-Xing, the rest of the household gathered in the parlor. Mrs. Van de Pol studied Joy with a keen interest.

  “I should let you know that I am a light sleeper. I couldn’t help but notice . . . a great deal of activity late last night. Quite early this morning, actually.” She smiled. “I suppose that is why I dozed off while reading. In point of fact, I was wondering if you took on another guest in the night. An unexpected one?”

  Joy met the woman’s frank gaze. “I apologize, Mrs. Van der Pol, for disturbing what was supposed to be a restful stay for you. We, ah, are having some community, er, issues. Rather than continue to provide a less-than-tranquil visit for you, perhaps it would be best if we made arrangements for you to return home first thing tomorrow. I think that would be . . . safest.”

  The woman studied Joy for several moments and then said decidedly, “I would like a word with you, Miss Thoresen. Would you be so
kind as to walk with me to that delightful overlook just down the path?”

  Joy and Mrs. Van der Pol donned cloaks and hats against the chill air and set out down the path. Joy was convinced that her guest would have complaints, and rightly so. If she also complained to her influential friends in Denver, it would spell the end of Corinth Mountain Lodge before it had even well begun.

  The two women stood together looking out into the vast wilderness below and beyond them, the beauty both breathtaking and humbling. Joy told herself again that she did not come here often enough. The older woman sighed in contentment.

  “I cannot get enough of this. I truly hope to come again in the spring.”

  That was not at all what Joy had expected. “You wished to speak with me, Mrs. Van der Pol?” Joy hated to break the wonder of the moment.

  “Yes.” She chose her words carefully. “I am a Christian woman, Miss Thoresen. I have come to understand that you are also?” It was both a question and a statement.

  “I am. I have not always followed as faithfully as I could have . . . should have, but I am giving my all now . . . as best I can.” Her words sounded hollow and somewhat insincere to her own ears.

  Mrs. Van der Pol nodded. “I believe that all of us tend to walk a winding path. Not intentionally, of course. The path Jesus sets before us is straight and narrow but like children trying to walk a chalk line, we often step off that path. What is important is that we allow him to take us by the hand and put our feet back on that path. Don’t you agree?”

  “That is an apt description,” Joy answered.

  The older woman nodded. “I wish to confide something in you, Miss Thoresen.” She looked sideways at Joy who nodded in surprise.

  “Of course! I would be honored.”

  Mrs. Van der Pol looked out into the vastness again. Her face was tinged with a certain sadness. “Miss Thoresen, while I am a follower of Jesus, my husband is not. Quite the opposite, I’m afraid. You see, I believe he attends this town’s . . . entertainment on a frequent basis.”

  Startled at this revelation, Joy absorbed what she heard in silence.

  “I discovered his deception quite by accident. He usually employs the ruse of some business dealing elsewhere when he . . . visits here. I came to Corinth because I wanted to see for myself what drew him. Of course, it is all very respectable on the outside, isn’t it? And I can’t very well see the inside of those two beautiful houses. Jesus talked about something similar, I believe, when he said ‘clean on the outside but dead men’s bones on the inside,’ hmm?”

  She sighed. “I also came to think and pray. About what I am to do. Is there anything I can do, Miss Thoresen?” She turned to Joy. “You took in a girl last night, did you not? Did she run away from one of those . . . houses?”

  “Yes,” Joy answered frankly. “She has been badly beaten. Horribly beaten.”

  “I want to see her.”

  It was said with such strength that Joy was taken aback. “For what possible purpose?”

  “Because I am going to help somehow. I want to expose the deeds of darkness to the light. Even if I am to tell only of this incident, I will do so. And I am an influential woman, Miss Thoresen. I can be a valuable ally.”

  “Indeed,” Joy answered. Suddenly she felt as though great avenues of possibilities had opened, even if she couldn’t yet clearly envision them. And her heart lightened.

  “Please call me Joy,” she added, smiling.

  Mrs. Van der Pol returned her smile. “And I am Emily.”

  O’Dell had filled a notebook. He had meticulously entered everything that could be uncovered about Joy Michaels into that book. He shook his head. Where had this woman gone? What was her connection?

  His one attempt to interview Arnie Thoresen, Joy Michael’s cousin and attorney, had been met with unyielding refusal. The two Pinkerton agents Thoresen had hired were both down south, unable to give him an introduction. And no one else in Omaha had heard of the woman’s whereabouts since the day she left the city five months past.

  It was just a matter of time until he found what he needed, though. He was almost ready to approach the cousin again and force an interview. Almost.

  He reached the Omaha Pinkerton office that morning and saw Stick leaning against the brick wall. The kid was hoping for another day of work, but O’Dell had exhausted his need for Stick’s service.

  “Hey kid.”

  “Mornin’, Mr. O’Dell, sir!”

  “Listen, I’m not going to need you today . . . I’m probably heading home.” O’Dell flipped him a half-dollar. “You’ve been great, though.”

  Stick handily caught the fifty-cent piece. “If’n I find out something more for you ’bout Missus Michaels, you want I should bring it by?”

  “Absolutely. If you find something, give it to Mr. Groman. Now take off—and don’t spend that all in one place.”

  O’Dell entered the offices and went straight to the desk of Patrick Groman, head of the Omaha office. He flipped his bowler onto one of Groman’s chairs and dropped into the other.

  “I’m headed back to the Chicago office. Wanted to let you know and thank you for your help—especially the kid. I think I’d keep an eye on him. Couple of years, he could make a good agent.”

  They both turned to the sound of a small commotion in the outer office. Then Groman’s door burst open and Arnie Thoresen stepped inside.

  He frowned when he saw O’Dell. “I need to talk to you,” he growled at Groman. “Now.”

  O’Dell and Arnie Thoresen descended the steps of their car in Corinth before the train had fully come to a stop. After Arnie had shown Groman the wire from David Kalbørg, Groman had summoned O’Dell into his office and told Arnie flatly that O’Dell was the man Arnie wanted with him. After Arnie had accepted an introduction to O’Dell, the two of them had caught the next train to Denver and on to Corinth.

  O’Dell had picked up a lot of the information he had been looking for from Arnie during their trip. Bickle might have missed it, but not by much. It hadn’t been Breezy Point—rather, an insignificant township with a grandiose name: Corinth.

  Arnie and O’Dell stepped off the train in the twilight. Arnie, who knew the way, was about to gesture the direction of the lodge when three armed men leaning against the small station stood up. They scrutinized Arnie and O’Dell and began moving their way.

  “Follow my lead,” O’Dell whispered.

  O’Dell, surprising Arnie, began walking to meet the men. “I say, any of you chaps know where a couple of thirsty blokes can buy a drink in this town?” He addressed the tallest of the three men in a perfect British accent. The men immediately relaxed.

  “It’s a walk of ’bout half a mile,” one of them offered. “But Charlie’s has good beer.” The other two nodded.

  Tipping his bowler at them, O’Dell set off in the direction indicated. Arnie followed along quickly.

  “That was quite a trick,” Arnie admitted.

  “I have my talents. Now how do we double back?”

  Several minutes later, Arnie and O’Dell, having circled around the lodge through the trees, knocked discreetly on the back door. Billy’s voice boomed a challenge from beyond the door, “Who’s there?”

  “Arnie Thoresen. And a friend.”

  Billy threw open the door and welcomed them inside, checking first to see if anyone had seen them.

  “Arnie!” Joy hugged her cousin with abandon. “I am so glad to see you—so relieved! Where are the Pinkerton men?” She saw a second man enter and gasped in surprise. “You!”

  O’Dell had removed his derby hat, but Joy saw it in his hand. He bowed slightly. “Edmund O’Dell, miss. Of Pinkerton’s, Chicago.”

  “Chicago? But we saw you in Denver—you assisted us when Darrow tried to take Marit!”

  “That was indeed . . . serendipitous, miss.” He could see the puzzlement on her face, but he was equally surprised—it was her. He was struck—again—by the woman’s beauty. Lovely . . . The word came, un
bidden, to him.

  Arnie introduced O’Dell to the small group gathered in the kitchen, and then asked, “Where is Breona, Joy?”

  “She is upstairs . . . with our other guest.”

  Joy asked Billy to fetch Breona. Then she sat Arnie and O’Dell down with coffee and began to tell them about Mei-Xing. She described Darrow’s visit to the lodge looking for the girl and the precautions they had taken to remove traces of Mei-Xing’s path to the lodge. “We are doing our best to act normally and go about our regular routines. It will take a few weeks for Mei-Xing to heal. Until we can spirit her out of town, we will keep her hidden on the third floor.”

  O’Dell stole another look at Joy Thoresen. She was gorgeous. And fearless! His heart tipped over a bit and he yanked his attention away from her.

  “So you think Darrow and his crew are still looking for the girl—what did you call her?—and don’t yet know she’s here?”

  “Mei-Xing,” Breona answered. “She’s a China lady. Bein’ from Seattle parts.”

  “Why, Breona! How did you find that out?” Joy asked, surprised. “She seemed reluctant to talk about her family.”

  “Aye, that she is. But we got t’ talkin’ and she let on aboot th’ seawater an’ all from near where she growed up.”

  O’Dell frowned. “We haven’t had any reports of girls taken from west of here, only east.”

  He shrugged and returned to his present concerns. “I agree with your approach. The longer you can keep up the pretense that all is normal, the better. As some like to say, you may have ‘dodged a bullet’ this time.”

  He thought for a moment. “Arnie and I got off the train posing as travelers. I think the men watching the siding bought our story. Perhaps I can keep up the pretense by taking lodging here and walking openly around Corinth.”

  He directed his next words at Joy. “Just what is your plan here, Miss Thoresen? What are you trying to accomplish in Corinth? Because whoever hired those men has a large investment in this town, a significant, money-making investment. Whoever that is, he calls the shots in this place—law or no law. If they find you are hiding this girl, they will view you as a threat to that investment. And respond accordingly.”