She looked keenly at Joy. “I want you to know, though . . . that I will be praying for you. And I have a small group of Christian friends, women who can be trusted. I want to share your work with them. If you approve, that is.”
Joy had, with Mei-Xing’s permission, brought Emily to her and introduced them. Emily had sat with Mei-Xing for a half hour. Joy was not privy to their conversation, only that Emily had the traces of tears on her face when she came downstairs.
Joy thought for a moment. “It might be prudent not to mention my name or the name of this town.” She looked at Emily. “What we are hoping to do here could be endangered.”
Emily nodded her understanding. “I appreciate the delicacy of the situation.” She thought for a moment and then asked, “Joy, if you are successful in helping additional girls, what would you do for them?”
“I would hope to lead them to Jesus,” Joy answered simply.
“And after that? You could not, for example, continue to run this lodge if many more girls found shelter here.” She smiled. “I’m thinking in the longer term—how would these girls get on in life? Where would they go from here?”
“I have wondered that myself,” Joy admitted. “We have . . . friends who have helped a few to safety, but then what? I wonder where those women are and if they have found honorable employment or—” she shook her head, “have resorted to their old life because they are unprepared to live honestly in society.”
“That is my point precisely, Joy,” Emily replied. “And I wish that, when you come to that juncture, you would call on me. In the meantime, I and my friends will be praying for you—for your safety and success. But also for the future. I will be asking the Lord to guide me. I know that at the right time, things will be clear. To both of us.”
Joy pondered Emily’s words that morning. After breakfast and morning devotions she asked Billy to accompany her to the overlook again and this time stood, in the same place she had stood with the companion of her dream, and gazed toward the peaks.
Joy did not for one moment believe it to have been an ordinary dream. And she began to feel a sense of urgency. But what had he meant?
She thought again about the information Arnie had given her to read. Her analytical mind began to tick through each fact. Franklin. Liberty Indemnity. Cash infusion. Morgan. Financial advice. Personal holdings. Real estate. Corinth. Corinth investors. Corinth township. Liberty Indemnity.
“Lord, help me to hear you!” Joy prayed in frustration. She went through the facts again and, like a string of beads, they were all, in some manner, connected. Somehow! She just did not see, could not grasp. She thought again of the policy she and Grant had taken out with Liberty Indemnity in Omaha and how it had sorely let them down. She recalled Arnie’s frustration and her disbelief as they had reviewed the policy—
Joy stood still, her mind whirling. Liberty Indemnity was going broke. Then Liberty Indemnity was Franklin. Franklin was Morgan. Morgan was Corinth—no, Corinth was held by Morgan, in more ways than one . . . what if . . .
What if . . . She began to pull on the thread of an idea. She teased it out and looked at it from several perspectives. Her eyes widened. It was more than audacious . . . it was crazy, foolhardy . . . it was . . .
She raced past Billy on the trail and flew up the two flights of stairs to her room. Pulling paper and pen from her little desk, she began to sketch out her thoughts. She again looked at the idea from several angles and clearly saw the destruction it would require. Joy put her hands to her face.
Do what I tell you and all will be well.
Oh Lord Jesus! Help me!
She refused dinner when called and remained in her room until she had completed her work. It was up to Arnie now.
Joy had no place private to meet with him other than her room. The great room was too open. Mei-Xing occupied an alcove in the little parlor in the attic apartment. Her room would have to do.
“Arnie. I need to speak with you,” Joy said. Arnie saw her white face and came immediately. They cloistered themselves in her room as Joy explained.
“You have got to be joking, Joy,” Arnie’s face was aflame with anger and indignation. “This is monstrous!”
“Was Franklin afraid to act in Omaha, Arnie? Will he have magically changed his character because he has changed his name? He is the monster, Arnie, but we know him now. I am like a bothersome gnat to him at the moment. When I annoy him enough will he hesitate to swat me aside? No he will not!”
She took a calming breath. “He has, however, changed one thing, and in that one thing he has made himself vulnerable. Is it unreasonable to know your enemy and prepare for what he is known for? No, so I am preparing. And this time I will be prepared. This time it will be enough.”
“Will you do this for me?” She stared at her cousin. She held out instructions and letters of authorization.
Reluctantly he took them from her hand.
The following morning Mrs. Van der Pol rose early to catch the train back to Denver. She had been with them only a week, but Joy would miss her. Arnie would accompany her down the mountain and then travel on to Omaha. Joy and Emily exchanged a heartfelt farewell before Billy drove her and her luggage the short distance to the train.
Arnie and Joy also had a quiet word before he left. The rest of the household, unaware of the details of Arnie’s exchange with Joy, nevertheless saw the strain between them.
O’Dell watched both of them carefully but asked nothing. After Arnie left he kept an eye on Joy.
Joy worked furiously to catch up on the duties she had neglected the previous day. The lodge had a few paying guests coming over Christmas, which was only weeks away. While the lodge was empty they could prepare for Christmas and the guests.
O’Dell, in his role as British tourist, wandered the town. He swapped news and stories with the bar and store keepers, asked hunting advice from locals, and generally made himself known.
At lunchtime, Breona suggested that Mei-Xing was feeling well enough to venture downstairs. Joy agreed so Breona helped the girl navigate the stairs. As they entered the kitchen, the household greeted the girl. Her face had the mottled green and yellow hues of fading bruises. She swayed against Breona who quickly placed her in a chair at the kitchen table.
Joy firmly restricted her to the kitchen. “This room is the only downstairs room you may safely be in. It has no windows other than that high one. The great room, however, must be out of bounds for you. Not only has it several large windows, but this is a lodge, and people walk in without knocking.”
As she sipped a cup of broth at the kitchen table, Mei-Xing heard Joy recount how Breona and Marit had almost been snared by the false ‘help wanted’ advertisements. Mei-Xing listened attentively but did not comment.
Now that Mei-Xing’s face was mending, Joy could discern the great and delicate beauty beneath the bruising and swelling. Mei-Xing did not speak unless asked something, but her eyes took in everything—eyes that dropped their gaze whenever someone looked at or spoke to her. Eyes that spoke of shame and held little hope.
During devotions the following morning, Joy watched Marit with concern. Something was a little off—she was slower than usual and a bit distracted.
“Marit, are you feeling all right?” Joy finally asked. Breona, usually the perceptive one, shot Marit a penetrating look.
“I . . . I think I am,” the girl confessed, “but I do feel a bit funny.”
“Funny how?” Breona demanded.
“Um . . . I’m not hungry,” Marit replied. “And my belly feels . . . tight. It gets tight and then it isn’t.”
Joy and Breona exchanged knowing glances. It was not out of the question for Marit to have her baby soon. They had, as closely as they could, estimated the end of December or first part of January. It was now nearly mid-December.
Joy answered carefully. “Well, please take it a little easy today. And let us know if anything . . . unusual happens.”
Joy gathered the men togeth
er in the dining room and asked for one of them to stay near Marit during the day. Billy quickly volunteered. He wandered into the kitchen and offered to peel potatoes.
Wheatley and Domingo glanced toward Billy and Marit together in the kitchen and then looked pointedly at Joy.
“Really?” Joy was dumbfounded.
Mr. Wheatley chuckled and Domingo grinned and headed home to sleep. He would return in the late evening with his cousin, Gustavo.
At lunch time Marit complained of a backache. Her usually smooth brow crinkled into a tiny frown for a few seconds and then smoothed again. Billy observed her with wide eyes, but she seemed fine the remainder of the day.
Deep in the night Joy was awakened by a soft knocking on her door—again. “Who is it?”
“Breona, miss. It’s Marit. She’s a-cryin’.”
Joy slipped into their common area. She glanced into the alcove where Mei-Xing slept. The girl was sitting up, wide awake. They all could hear the soft whimpering coming from Marit’s room.
Breona had lit a lamp in Marit’s room. By its dim light Joy saw Marit lying on her side, curled into a ball facing away from the door. Every few moments she whimpered.
“Marit?” Joy sat on the edge of the bed and touched her shoulder. Marit stirred and whimpered again. “Marit, dear. Wake up.”
The girl moaned and, with some difficulty, turned toward Joy. “Oh, Miss Joy, I—” she gasped then and pulled her knees toward her chest. “Hurts.”
The midwife had told Joy what to look for. “How often does it hurt, Marit?”
A few seconds later Marit struggled to sit up. “I’m not sure. I vas dreaming it hurt and . . . den you voke me.”
“I, um, is the bed still dry?”
Marit looked offended. “Yes, miss. I don’t vet the bed.”
Joy chuckled. “I know, dear one, I know. But when your labor begins in earnest, you may have water flow out between your legs.”
Marit’s eyes opened wide at this. Then she grasped her bulging stomach and groaned.
“The midwife told us how to remake your bed. Breona, why don’t we strip back the bottom sheet, lay down a rubber sheet, and cover it with towels?”
Breona nodded and hustled to the linen closet. Mei-Xing hobbled to the doorway.
“May I do something? To help?”
“Yes, I think so. I know it will be hard for you to get down the stairs by yourself, but if you can do so, would you put a large kettle of water on to heat? And perhaps make some tea. It will likely be a long night.”
Joy helped Marit don socks and encouraged her to walk about their little apartment. While she did, Joy and Breona remade Marit’s bed. Breona was tense and silent. As soon as they finished, she went to check on Marit.
Joy heard a quiet knock on the apartment door. When she opened it a crack, she found Billy at the top of the stairs.
“Billy! Why are you up?”
His hair was disheveled and one suspender was twisted. “Mei-Xing’s makin’ a racket in the kitchen. Mrs. Michaels—I mean, Miss Joy—should I go for the midwife? Is she OK?”
Joy didn’t have the heart to tease him. “Marit is all right. She may be in labor, but it’s too soon to send for the midwife.”
“Mei-Xing’s a-heatin’ the stove and boilin’ water an all. Are you sure she’s all right?”
“Is Mei-Xing all right?” This time Joy did tease him. A little. Then she smiled. “Would you like me to ask Marit if you can come in for a minute?”
He flushed. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
A few minutes later he stepped into their apartment. Marit was sitting in a chair, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle. They looked at each other and Joy saw the relief on Billy’s face.
“Are you doin’ all right?” he asked awkwardly.
Marit nodded, fidgeting a little under Joy’s scrutiny.
“Well. OK then. I ought to . . . Miss Joy, when you need the midwife, just call me. I’ll fetch her.” He looked at Marit again and backed out of the room.
“That one,” Breona snorted and then chuckled.
Dawn came. Joy and Breona took turns staying with Marit while the other managed the morning’s work—including the cooking that Marit usually handled so efficiently. The men seemed subdued that morning, but Joy had no time to think on them.
Mr. Wheatley and Billy managed their chores; Domingo and Gustavo ended their night shift and left for their homes; and O’Dell donned his derby and walked the perimeter of the lodge and then kept to his usual routine of walking about the town, carrying a shotgun he referred to as “his fowling piece,” and playing tourist.
Mid-morning, Breona reported that Marit’s water had broken and Joy dispatched Billy for the midwife. Dinner was a sad affair—Joy’s stew was lack-luster and her biscuits slightly scorched.
All the while they waited . . . waited with the door to the stairway cracked an inch or two. Occasionally they heard faint crying from Marit. When this first happened, the men, with the exception of Billy, fled the house. Billy turned white but stayed, withdrawing into himself and staring straight at the wall.
As Joy and Mei-Xing finished cleaning the kitchen, they heard a new sound. A mewling that rose until it was the faint but unmistakable squalling of a newborn. If possible, Billy turned whiter and stared hopefully at Joy.
“Let’s give them some time and then I’ll go check,” she said quickly. They waited 15 minutes by the clock and then Joy could wait no longer. She threw wide the door to the stairway and the ragged cries of a baby echoed down from the third floor. She ran up the two flights, arriving breathless at the attic apartment.
“A boy!” Breona announced with glee. The midwife was now cleaning the babe, who was protesting vigorously, his hands trembling and waving above his head.
“Marit?” Joy asked.
“See fer yersel’,” Breona answered proudly. “A trouper, that ’un.”
Sure enough, Marit looked tired but elated and glowing. Breona had a washbasin of warm water and was about to bathe Marit’s sweat-soaked face.
“Let me,” Joy asked. She smiled at Marit and gently sponged her face, her chest, and arms. “Feel better?”
“Yes, miss.” She looked anxiously around Joy to where the midwife was wrapping the baby tightly in a swaddling blanket.
Joy moved and the woman handed the baby to Marit who cautiously took the bundle.
“Oh!” Marit gasped. “He’s . . . beautiful!”
Breona and Joy grinned. “Yes,” Joy agreed for both of them. “Yes, he is.”
~~**~~
Chapter 29
Christmas was nearly upon them. The household had been distracted and delighted by the arrival of Marit’s baby boy, but now they needed to focus on preparations for Christmas and their holiday guests.
Flinty, whose eyes and ears gathered more tidbits of gossip and news than most bartenders in Corinth, dropped in one morning and reported that “visitors” arriving on the train were increasing daily.
“It’s th’ Christmas rush, pardon m’ blasphemy, miss,” he offered shrewdly. “I been a-livin’ here 22 years. Ever since Judge Brown built them houses a few years back, we git a spate of partiers ever’ holiday season. Th’ bars an’ th’ boardin’ houses in town’ll be full up till after New Year’s. New Year’s’ll be the worst of it, too, it will.”
He made an indignant sound. “No decent woman can walk th’ streets of Corinth ’tween Christmas and New Year’s. Disgustin’ is what it is.”
O’Dell raised his eyebrows. “That, Mr. Flynn, may be a blessing in disguise.” He shot an amused look at Joy. “Maybe all the praying has bought us a bit more time. If Darrow and his men are busy ferrying their customers they won’t have as much time to keep an eye on this place.”
Joy didn’t reply but time was exactly what she was praying for. Time for Arnie to accomplish the tasks she had given him. Time for her plans to ripen to maturity. Until then, they must purposefully keep from attracting further attention to the
lodge. Mei-Xing was healing but keeping her safely out of sight was paramount at present.
When the baby was a few days old Marit began coming downstairs again to help. Joy and Breona made a comfortable little sitting area in the large pantry room where Marit could nurse in private and without having to climb two flights of stairs. But it soon became apparent that a certain corner of the kitchen was becoming everyone’s favorite place to loiter.
In that corner Billy and Flinty had placed a small rocking chair and second cradle, one they had painstakingly built together. As Marit slowly resumed her cooking and baking duties, someone always found an excuse to sit near the cradle and stare at the tiny baby. Joy began shooing the men off to give Marit and the baby breathing room.
Marit seemed to be recovering nicely from her pregnancy and childbirth. Motherhood suited her, Joy mused. She noted how the girl was looking and acting less child-like and more woman-like as her figure filled out and her confidence in mothering the baby grew. She was still quiet and sweet, but her face radiated a calm strength that had been lacking when Joy had first met her on the train. Was that only a few months ago?
And gifts! So many of the women of the church treated Marit as they would a daughter. They showered her with hand-made baby blankets and gowns, diapers, and tiny sweaters, hats, and clothes.
All who first saw the baby asked his name and, universally, Marit replied that she hadn’t decided on a name yet. However, after two weeks she still had not named the infant—not that suggestions were lacking. Needing to call the baby something, nearly everyone in the lodge had bestowed their own pet name on him: Breona called him “Báibín” (baby), “Little Lamb,” and “Lambie”; Flinty referred to him gruffly as “Buster.” Domingo, after hearing the volume of the baby’s squalls, took to referring to him as “El Jaleo”—the racket. Mr. Wheatley, as he gently rocked the infant, cooed, “little man.”
O’Dell, on the other hand, took pains not to refer to the baby in any manner and steadfastly declined to hold or even touch him. Joy noted a tinge of panic in O’Dell’s expression any time the infant was too near him and she laughed openly at his discomfort.
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 20