Joy was frustrated by the baby’s lack of a name. One evening as she wrote a letter at the lobby desk she complained to Breona, “Why hasn’t she named that baby? What is she waiting for?”
Breona, that shrewd look on her face, pursed her lips and replied speculatively, “I’m wagerin’ it’s on th’ boy’s father she’s waitin’, miss.”
Joy swung around and fixed Breona with a frown. “Whatever in the world do you mean?”
Breona’s chin lifted in the direction of the kitchen. “That one, I’m thinkin’.”
Joy heard the murmur of Billy and Marit’s voices in the kitchen as Marit finished the dishes and Billy dried them.
“’Least I’m belaivin’ she’s hopin’ he will take th’ job. An’ be givin’ th’ boy his name.” Breona shrugged in her inimitable way. “Seems loik it’d be a prayer answered. If’n you’re b’laivin’ in prayer an’ all.”
Joy stared at the closed kitchen door.
It was Mei-Xing who began to spend most of the day near the babe while Marit worked. The bruising on her face was nearly gone. The most visible reminder of her injuries was a nose that was decidedly off-side. Not as easily seen—or healed—were the cracked and bruised ribs, the strained ankle tendons, the scabbed cuts and scratches beneath her clothes, and a heart that was destroyed.
Since she was unable to stand for long or lift much, Mei-Xing sate silently in the little chair near the cradle watching over the baby or at the nearby table cleaning vegetables and doing other easy hand work. After a few days of helping Marit in the kitchen or with the infant, Mei-Xing began to feel productive and perhaps a little needed.
She told herself not to become emotionally attached to the baby, but her heart was in such need of love that it drank in the sweet acceptance a baby offers. More than once the corner of his little blanket soaked up tears that no amount of effort could stem.
With the rest of the household, she gathered in the kitchen for devotions after breakfast each morning. The morning Bible study was now an accepted part of the daily routine. While not everyone was a believer in the Savior, they had all become engaged in the Bible reading and discussions.
Joy could hardly believe that she was leading the study herself, having only taught a girl’s Sunday school class in the past. One morning it occurred to her that she was, unconsciously, emulating her father. Joy had grown up watching Jan lead young men in Bible study and had, without realizing it, begun to lead the lodge’s devotions as she had seen him lead their family’s and the men’s studies he had led in their home.
They always ended their study in prayer, mostly with Joy asking for guidance and strength for the day. Once in a while though, someone would mention a need that the group would pray over: Domingo asked prayer for his mother’s health; Flinty mentioned that his knee was causing him pain. And Billy asked for the Lord’s direction in his life.
Christmas was on Friday. The lodge’s guests arrived two days prior. Billy, driving the lodge buggy, fetched a young couple and their small daughter from the morning train and an older couple from the afternoon train. Their guests’ first sight of the great room had prompted delighted exclamations.
Joy had asked Billy and Mr. Wheatley to gather copious amounts of evergreen boughs several days before. The women had tied them together into long strands that the men hung in swags along the ceiling line around the entire room. On the mantle of the large stone fireplace they arranged pine branches in which they nested the largest pine cones they could find.
In the middle of each wall’s center swag, Breona tied large red bows, their ends curling and trailing down. She then positioned the most elaborate bow she could fashion in the middle of the mantle. On the two dining tables they had created centerpieces that resembled miniature forest scenes, including Flinty’s hand-carved wooden deer grazing under tiny pine trees.
Completely filling a corner of the parlor stood a 12-foot Ponderosa pine, its branches festooned with swooping strands of popcorn and red berries. On the end of each branch dangled a small, glittering star.
Flinty, at Joy’s request, had cut each one from lightweight wood. The household had spent several evenings sipping cider while painting the stars a bright white and then coating them with glue and silver glitter. The stars gently twisted at the end of green thread hangers, sparkling in the light from the fireplace. And from the top of the tree gleamed the largest and brightest star of all.
“No’ seen better, even in th’ foine houses o’ Boston,” Breona had stated with satisfaction.
But the crowning piece of their decorations was a simple, even crude, manger scene. They placed the roughly carved Mary, Joseph, and empty manger amid straw strewn across a brown cloth at the foot of the tree.
Now their guests were admiring the decorations and sipping the spiced cider that Marit kept warm on the back of the great room’s oil stove. The mingled aromas of cinnamon and cloves warmed the air. Their guests’ young daughter sat cross-legged before the tree staring in awe at its loveliness.
Her mother, smiling broadly, approached Joy. “Would you allow us to put a present under the tree for Molly on Christmas Eve? And, if we could do so without harming your wonderful mantle, would it be possible to hang her stocking there?”
Joy quickly agreed and asked Billy to find a way to hang Molly’s stocking from the mantle. She noticed the other couple, a man and woman in their later years, nodding in appreciation.
The older woman leaned her head toward her husband and whispered, “It was a good idea to come here for Christmas, Geoff. Thank you. Thank you for getting us away from the loneliness of that empty house.” She smiled nostalgically across the room at Molly, who was busily counting the stars on the tree.
With all of her guests present in the parlor, Joy announced, “As you know, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Our household will be singing carols together here in the great room after dinner. I hope you will join us as we celebrate the Savior’s birth.”
And sing they did. Snow blanketed Corinth all the next day. The very air around the lodge smelled of snow. Within the warmth and serenity of the lodge, Joy, her household, and their guests gathered in the great room to sing the old carols of Christmas.
By candle- and fire-light alone, they raised their voices to sing.
O’Dell would have preferred being elsewhere—anywhere elsewhere, he insisted to himself—but he also told himself that, as a “guest” at the lodge, he needed to keep his cover story intact by participating in the holiday activities.
He didn’t sing, of course, but he listened. The songs rising around him evoked emotions and memories he had thought long gone. “Strange . . .” he muttered, and for a moment clearly saw in his mind’s eye . . . his mother bending over him, her eyes tender with love . . . and felt her gentle hand on his head.
“Joy to the world!” Mr. Wheatley sang, his voice raspy and thin. His heart was full of thankfulness. It wouldn’t be many years—perhaps only months!—before he would see his Savior face-to-face. In the meantime, for the first time since he was a boy, he had a family, people who needed and loved him.
“The Lord is come!” Marit sang the words from her heart. Something wonderful was happening to her in this place. God was drawing near her day-by-day. As surely as the sun rose each morning, the Lord himself was making his home in her heart . . . and she was coming to grips with the immensity of his love for her. Tears started in her eyes. So much joy! How had she lived before without this joy?
As she hugged the baby in the crook of her arm, she made to wipe her eyes with her other hand. But another’s finger carefully caught the tear making its way down her cheek. She looked up. Billy placed his hand over hers and gently squeezed it.
“Let earth . . . receive . . . her King!” Breona had sung those words all her life but tonight they struck her differently than they ever had. Receive her King? Have I received the King? Is that what Miss Joy means? Is that what all the Bible blather is about? She frowned but kept singing.
“
Repeat the sounding joy, repeat the sounding joy,” Joy warbled. She wasn’t much of a singer, but she knew all the tunes and all the words. Were Mama and Papa singing these very songs tonight? Were they with their grandchildren at Søren and Meg’s? Were Sigrün and Harold there, too? Kjell and Karl and all of their children?
Joy thought of the last Christmas she and Grant had spent together. They had been so happy, so in love.
“Repeat . . . repeat . . . the sounding joy.” She was still in love with Grant and, as Mama said, would never stop loving him. But, for the first time since he had died, Joy acknowledged that it might be—would be—possible to be happy again. And it would be all right to be happy again.
She glanced around the room. Her heart was full this night. She looked from face to face, at her friends and her guests, each one dear in their own way. She turned to her left. O’Dell was staring back at her, something hidden but bold at the same time in his eyes. Blushing, Joy turned away.
We three kings of orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Mei-Xing sat by herself in the kitchen, listening to the music, and wondering. Wondering why, alone in this darkened room, hiding from those who would destroy her if they found her, she felt strangely not alone for the first time in—oh, so long!
She sighed, but not in despair. She was traditional Chinese and unfamiliar with these Christian customs and these Christian songs. But she liked the one they were singing. It spoke to her, somehow. And through the kitchen’s single window, high above the sink, she could see only a patch of dark sky and, framed by the window, a single star twinkling down on her.
Ohhh! Star of wonder, star of night
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to thy Perfect Light
Star of wonder. She felt that wonder this night. Guide us to thy Perfect Light. Was there a Perfect Light to be found in this world, in this life? She looked to the star casting its light on her. And she wondered.
Long after Billy, Mr. Wheatley, and their guests had gone to bed and all the lights in the lodge but the glow from the fireplace had been extinguished, Joy, Marit, and Breona broke their own sacrosanct rule. They locked the front door and carefully checked that every window curtain was tightly drawn.
O’Dell, shaking his head, watched as the women encouraged Mei-Xing to limp into the great room. They helped her to a soft chair in the parlor where she could view the glimmering tree. Marit drew a tiny wooden infant from her dress pocket and placed it tenderly in the empty manger under the branches of the tree.
Then they gathered about Mei-Xing, Joy holding her hand gently in her own, and Joy, Marit, and Breona softly sang,
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
‘Round yon virgin, mother and Child
Holy Infant, so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
O’Dell looked away, sensing that he was intruding on something precious. Something of which he had neither place nor part.
~~**~~
Chapter 30
January 1909
The lodge had no further guests booked after New Year’s, and the household at the lodge eased into a more relaxed routine. Joy focused her energies on preparing advertising for the spring when they could expect more guests. She turned much of the day-to-day running of the house over to Breona’s capable hands.
The second week of the month she received mail from Arnie—much looked-for mail. The envelope he sent was thick, crammed with copies of reports she had requested. More importantly was his letter telling her he had done as she requested. Carefully cushioned between pages so as not to bend or fold it, was the document—at least the initial one—she had asked for, dated for January 15. She looked at the calendar and began to count 90 days ahead.
One morning after breakfast as the group finished devotions, Billy asked, “Miss Joy, may I say a word before we get to work?”
“Of course, Billy. What is it?” Joy thought and hoped she knew what it might be. Breona pinched her leg under the table.
“Well, I, that is, Marit and me, we, um,” Billy’s face flamed red as everyone began to grin before he could get the words out.
“Yes?” Joy offered encouragingly.
“Gonna get married,” he finally choked out.
Marit was red-faced, too, but Joy, Breona, Mei-Xing, and Mr. Wheatley began to laugh and clap happily.
“When you goin’ to do it?” practical Mr. Wheatley asked.
“Actually, we need to talk to Pastor Kalbørg about that,” Billy replied, grinning now himself. He held Marit’s hand possessively and she smiled into his eyes. “And we have to figure out where to live.”
Joy was taken aback. Where to live? Of course. They couldn’t live at the lodge . . .
“Would you . . . I mean, do you intend to stay working here . . . both of you?”
They both nodded, but Billy answered. “Yes’m, if you’ll keep us on. We just need a place of our own. Hopin’ we can find something nearby.”
Joy’s thoughts were whirling. She loved the idea of them getting married, but hated the thought of their happy household breaking up. Could she add on to the lodge? Give them a little apartment? The lot on which the lodge sat was more than large enough.
“And one more thing,” Billy added shyly.
“Yes?”
He looked at Marit. She smiled and ducked her head. “We have a name for the baby. Our baby.”
“William Bartholomew Evans. Junior.”
Dean Morgan steepled his fingers together and eyed Darrow placidly. Darrow fidgeted and did not meet Morgan’s gaze. Something about the man unnerved him—as did the silent, ever-watching Asian sitting by the door behind Darrow. Ever since Judge Brown had vanished and this man had stepped into Brown’s shoes—effortlessly, it seemed—Darrow had felt off-balance and edgy. And he sure didn’t like having his back to Morgan’s ice-like bodyguard.
“So a very valuable commodity, one that I particularly prized, is missing and has not as yet been recovered?”
Darrow weighed his words carefully. “Miss Cleary had already decided that the was girl to be sent down here to Bailey’s. She had tried to escape and so we disciplined her but Miss Cleary said she—the girl—lacked . . . I think Miss Cleary called it ‘the necessary enthusiasm’ to be one of the club’s special girls.” He licked his lips nervously.
Morgan tsked. “Yet I understood her to be a great favorite at the club. Why, even here in Denver in an inferior house such as Bailey’s I would expect her to be quite a little star. Surely we could have been more . . . persuasive? But perhaps I should be speaking to Miss Cleary about this rather than you.”
His gaze hardened. “In any event, we really can’t have our girls traipsing about, now can we? But perhaps more importantly, should we be permanently damaging such a rare and potentially valuable flower?” Morgan picked up a sheet of stationery and read aloud from it. “Miss Cleary writes, ‘regrettably, the young lady’s looks were ruined.’ Her nose, I believe, was broken? Is this so, Mr. Darrow?”
Darrow shivered involuntarily. No one knew when Judge Brown had left Corinth, and no one had heard from him since. The rumors only added to Darrow’s unease. “Yessir, regrettably, Mr. Morgan, sir. I’m sorry to report that, ah, one of my men was, er, that is, may have been too enthusiastic . . . in that regard. And we weren’t, ah, expectin’ her to bolt, er, that is, run again . . . what in her condition . . . afterwards and all.”
“I see.”
Those two words hung ominously in the air until sweat began to run down Darrow’s neck and back.
Finally Morgan spoke softly. “I believe, Mr. Darrow, that you have been an . . . exemplary employee and that your loyalty is not in question.”
Darrow felt a wave of reprieve? relief? wash over him.
“However . . .” Here Morgan paused again and Darrow’s gut clenched.
“I have determined that a more . . . firm and tasteful management of these . . . issues is required. To this end, I have secured the services of Mr. Giles Banner. Mr. Banner, would you be so good as to come in, please?”
Darrow was momentarily confused. More tasteful management? Services? Then he saw a man step from the doorway to the left of Morgan’s desk. He was slender and half a head shorter than Darrow. His eyes and hair were as black as the Chinaman’s and his hair was slicked back from his face.
“Mr. Morgan?” The man nodded deferentially to Morgan and then turned to look Darrow over. Darrow felt the cold disdain of the man’s appraisal.
“Ah yes. Mr. Banner, this is . . . Darrow. Mr. Darrow, as of today Mr. Banner will be assuming management of security in Corinth. I have given him my assurance that he will receive your utmost cooperation.”
Darrow’s eyes narrowed and shot from Banner to Morgan and back. He’d been demoted? Under this guy? As he tossed those words around in his mind he glanced again at Morgan. And froze.
“As I said, I have given him my assurance that he will receive your full cooperation. I can expect him to receive that, can I not, Mr. Darrow?”
The thinly veiled threat hovered between them and Darrow’s survival instinct kicked in. Choking on the words he nodded at Morgan and then Banner. “Yessir, Mr. Morgan, Mr. Banner.”
“Good man. I will be asking Mr. Banner for regular progress reports. They will, at my request, include the state of morale among his men.”
Darrow heard the slight emphasis on the words “his men.” Then the Chinaman was opening the door and Darrow found himself standing outside. Cursing violently under his breath he strode away toward the station mulling over the sudden alteration in his fortunes.
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 21