He held her at arm’s length and glared fiercely into her face. “It is not your fault that those . . . men are evil. Joy is right. We can’t fix the evil in this world—we can only fight it when it is in front of us.”
As Mei-Xing sobbed on his chest, O’Dell ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “By God, I am near ready to go to war over this little town.”
When the others returned from church O’Dell met them and gave them the sobering news, not sparing the blame for his own actions. “This is my fault and my responsibility. I apologize to all of you, but particularly to Mei-Xing for the fright this gave her. Breona and Marit, I am so sorry about your rooms and your things.”
He had already re-hinged and closed the kitchen door to keep the cold out, although it would no longer latch or lock. It was obvious that both the door and the frame would need to be replaced.
“I let my guard down,” O’Dell said through gritted teeth.
“Looks like we all did,” Billy answered gravely. “We started thinking they weren’t watching us no more. Well, they are.”
Flinty just set his lips together firmly in a way that said he agreed with O’Dell—the blame lay with him. But the old man did not utter a word of recrimination. He and Wheatley set out for his shop to gather what they needed to remake the door.
Breona and Marit went upstairs to survey the damage and there they found Mei-Xing, humming softly, tidying up. She had swept up the broken pottery and potting soil, placed all the drawers back in the dressers, and remade the beds. Not knowing how Breona and Marit wanted their clothes refolded and placed in the drawers or hung in the wardrobes she had simply gathered them and laid them on the beds. In Joy’s room, Mei-Xing was carefully doing for Joy what she was not present to do for herself.
Breona remarked to Marit. “Let’s be givin’ Mei a hand. I’m not wantin’ Miss Joy to be coomin’ home t’ this on top o’ all her grievin’.”
Rose Brownlee Thoresen was leaving RiverBend, perhaps for the last time. She had kept that thought from intruding as she and Joy sorted her household and she made herself choose what to keep and what to give away. Søren’s youngest son, Jon, and his fiancée would be marrying in the fall. Rose had offered the house for them to live in and they had gratefully accepted.
Rose and Joy wrapped and boxed up a few treasures Rose would store in the attic, packed Rose’s trunks, and waited that morning for Søren to take them to the train. But when they were in the wagon, Rose looked back and, with great gulping sobs began to truly say goodbye. Joy held her mother’s hand tightly and she and Søren resolutely set their faces forward, allowing Rose the dignity of her grief.
In Denver, Emily Van der Pol met them and took them to her home. They were to spend two nights with her so that they could meet with the small group of women Emily had assembled. She assured Joy that the women were honor-bound to keep her confidences.
“I want to let you know that we sent Tory and Helen to dear and trusted friends in Philadelphia.” Emily told them. “Sadly, Helen passed away not long after they arrived.”
Joy and Rose received her announcement soberly. The news was not unexpected to Joy, and she knew Tory would grieve for her friend. “And Tory?”
“She is settling in. We have found a place for her with two older women, sisters, both widows and well off. They have apprenticed Tory—with her approval, of course—with one of the finest clothiers in their city. A personal friend of theirs, I might add. Tory, with her strong sense of style and elegance, may do well there.”
The following afternoon Joy and Rose accompanied Emily to Grace Minton’s home where they took lunch with seven distinguished-looking women. After lunch, Joy shared about the work they were doing in Corinth and the ideas she and Uli had formed. When she finished she answered questions. Then Joy asked Rose to address the group.
Rose engaged frankly with the women, some her age, but most a few years younger. “As you have no doubt already noted, my daughter is very committed to helping women escape from prostitution, a life of . . . shall we call it what it often is? A life of slavery. A life in which a woman’s body is not her own but is subject to the whims and debasing acts of any man with money.”
“For many of these women, prostitution was a ‘choice’ between starvation and daily bread, homelessness and the very roof over their head. I have often thought there but for the grace of God go I.” She smiled, but her smile was pained.
“We are here today to talk about the practical aspects of funding a home where a few of these women can find refuge, forgiveness, and hope for the future. Joy has provided you with the details, and I . . . I have committed to using my own funds to buy such a house.”
As the eight women heard this, they looked on Rose with new respect.
“My purpose today is to challenge your group. Will you do no less than I?” She looked at each of them in turn. “I know that some of you are blessed as I am to have your own money. Perhaps, for some of you, your husband holds the purse strings, which makes helping our work financially a bit more difficult. However, what I propose is this: Every dollar we raise toward these endeavors you, as a group, will challenge yourselves to match.”
Several of the women began to whisper together; one or two asked additional questions. For a few minutes the group lapsed into silence and then Grace spoke.
“Mrs. Thoresen, Miss Thoresen, would you be so kind as to excuse us for a few minutes? We would like to discuss this and pray over your proposal. Perhaps you would enjoy seeing our small collection of paintings in the library?”
Joy and Rose went to the library to wait. After 30 minutes a maid brought them tea. Another 30 minutes went by before Emily came into the room, smiling.
“Would you please rejoin us?”
When they returned to the parlor, Joy could not help but notice the smiling accord of the women waiting for them. Grace spoke for the little group.
“We have been praying for months—ever since Emily called on us to help safely remove Tory and Helen from Corinth.” She laughed a little. “I will admit that was more excitement than I perhaps wish to experience on a regular basis, but . . .” and here her face crumpled and she struggled for composure. “When we realized what we had saved them from, it has been our fervent prayer that the Lord would show us how to enter more fully into this work. You have provided that guidance today.”
She looked around the room to approving nods and turned back to Rose and Joy. “We accept your challenge.”
That evening Emily, Rose, and Joy had just finished dinner and were discussing in what areas of the city to look for a house when the door to the parlor opened and a gentleman with graying hair entered. As the three of them stood to greet him Joy noticed how flushed Emily became.
“Ah, there you are, my dear. I apologize; I did not realize we had guests,” the man greeted her affably. And then he caught sight of Joy and halted as though thunderstruck.
She, too, froze for a moment but stared directly into his disquieted eyes. She knew him. He was the man who had so brazenly looked her over and tipped his hat to her at the little Corinth station. She remembered him—and she knew that he recognized her.
Emily made awkward introductions. “I believed you would be out of town one more night, Randolph. My friends are on their way in the morning, but we have had . . . a delightful visit.”
Mumbling hurried pleasantries, Emily’s husband retreated from the room. Emily took a deep breath, and Joy and Rose glimpsed the pain Emily usually managed with such dignity, that of an unfaithful marriage. She turned to them.
“Randolph was not really himself just now. He seemed quite . . . undone, particularly when meeting you, Joy.” She looked down, red with shame. “Perhaps you have encountered him before?”
Joy nodded. “I’m sorry, Emily. I have. And I am certain he recognized me . . . from Corinth.”
Emily shook her head in regret. “I had not anticipated that he would be home early. Well, I have always placed my many pro
blems in the Lord’s hands, especially those concerning Randolph. I must trust that my God is orchestrating things to his good pleasure.” She sighed and looked at Joy and Rose frankly. “Sooner or later he will know what I have undertaken in partnership with you.”
She added somewhat to herself, “Sooner or later there will be a confrontation and all the lies will be laid bare. God grant me the strength on that day to do what I must.”
~~**~~
Chapter 35
April 1909
Joy and Rose boarded the narrow-gauge D&RGW to Corinth the following morning. As they headed toward the mountains Rose exulted over the views. Joy never tired of the splendor rising before them. For a long time they watched in companionable silence as the train chugged toward the mountains and then began its climb into them.
Joy and Rose arrived late afternoon in Corinth. While spring was making inroads upon the prairies and even around Denver City, Corinth lagged behind. They bundled themselves against the chill before leaving the train and found Billy and Marit selling breads and hot coffee to their fellow travelers.
Marit embraced Joy and shyly greeted Rose. Billy, who had met Rose many times in Omaha, smiled at her with affection. “I’m mighty sorry for your loss, Mrs. Thoresen,” he added softly.
Rose nodded her thanks, and then Billy offered, “Shall I run back to the lodge and get the buggy?”
“Just the wagon, Billy. Mother has a number of trunks, and we are both accustomed to riding in a wagon.” She turned back to Marit. “How is little Will? I have missed him! And Breona? Mr. Wheatley? Is he well? Oh, how I’ve missed all of you.”
She longed for Little Blackie and his affections. Perhaps she would even be pleased to see O’Dell again.
Several days later, sometime after midnight, Mr. Wheatley awoke to a soft knocking at the back door. He roused Billy and they stepped into the kitchen and opened the newly repaired door a crack. Two figures huddled on the doorstep in the dark.
“Miss Joy?” Joy awoke with a start, slightly disoriented. It took her a moment to recall where she was. She was back in her room in the lodge in Corinth. Breona, Marit, baby Will, and Mei-Xing were in the apartment with her. Joy had installed Rose in one of the guest rooms on the second floor. Little Blackie, snuggled against her feet, raised his head toward the door.
Then she heard the knocking again. “Miss Joy?” It was Billy.
Feeling that she was reliving other nights, Joy walked into their little sitting room and saw Mei-Xing’s wide-awake eyes watching her. Joy cracked the door.
“It’s happened again, miss. Some girls are downstairs in the kitchen.”
When Joy entered the kitchen she found the girls standing by the back door. One looked ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. They were both shaking with cold and covered in only the flimsiest of dresses.
“Hello,” she greeted them softly. “Would you like something warm to drink?”
The nervous one studied her. Finally she nodded.
“Billy, please find some blankets? I will stoke up the fire. Our guests are very cold.”
As Joy was adding fuel to the stove, Rose entered the kitchen. She took in the situation immediately. “Please. Come rest yourselves at the table, girls.” She held out an arm and gestured them further into the room.
Both of the girls were incredibly young, perhaps only 13 or 14 years old. While their clothes were made of expensive fabrics cut in recent fashions, the girls’ bosoms scarcely filled out the low-cut bodices. Their faces were garishly painted. One girl’s hair was dirty blonde; the other’s was a plain brown, both pinned up in a style beyond their years. They looked like children playing dress-up in their mother’s closet.
As they sat down Rose gently patted the blonde on the shoulder. The girl yelped in pain and swatted Rose’s hand aside.
“I’m so sorry,” Rose apologized. “I-I didn’t know . . . are you hurt?”
“It’s nuthin’,” the girl shot back defiantly. She sent a concerned glance at the brown-haired girl who sat in a stupor, shivering and glassy-eyed.
Joy set mugs of tea before both of them. The blonde wrapped her hands around the warm mug and blew into the cup, anxious to sip on it. The other girl stared straight ahead, oblivious to her surroundings. After a moment, the blonde took the other girl’s hands and gently placed them around the mug.
Joy sat down across from the blonde girl. “I’m Joy. This is my mother, Rose. What is your name?” Rose came around to Joy’s side of the table and sat down next to her.”
The young woman examined Joy for several minutes. “They call me Ruby.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ruby,” Joy replied. “What is your friend’s name?
Ruby’s hardness cracked a little. “Beth. She’s not . . . in a good way.”
“I can see that,” Joy answered carefully. “What can we do to help her?”
Ruby looked down and when she looked back up, her eyes flashed with a wild, angry light. “Give me a gun. Give me a gun so I can shoot that son of a bi—” She bit off the curse words and then snarled, “That monster, Banner.”
Joy sat back in her chair in shock. Billy and Mr. Wheatley shifted uneasily where they were standing near the door.
“You would like to . . . shoot Banner?”
“Jest try me!” Ruby shouted. Her eyes were almost frantic.
Joy waited until Ruby calmed a little. “Can you tell me why, Ruby?” She steeled herself to hear what Ruby had to say and she saw her mama, eyes wide, clutch the edge of the table.
“What he done to her, fer starters.” She spat out the words, pointing at Beth and, as suddenly as her anger had flared, it died away. She whispered sadly, “What he done to me . . . and others.”
Joy didn’t know what to say or do. She turned to Rose, who shook her head wordlessly.
Oh Lord, please tell me what to do! Joy prayed silently. She looked at Billy and Mr. Wheatley. Billy gestured outside and Joy nodded. They slid out the door. He and Mr. Wheatley would hide out in the stable until it was light enough to cover the girls’ tracks.
“Can you . . . can you tell me what Banner did to you, Ruby?” Joy kept her voice as calm and soft as she could manage.
“Wouldn’t ya rather see?” Ruby yanked the bodice of her dress from her shoulder. Her shoulder and arm were covered with bite marks, most of them horribly swollen and bruised, at least two oozing blood where the bites had broken the skin.
Rose gasped and put both of her hands to her mouth. Joy, dreading and sensing something this awful, had willed herself not to flinch. If Beth were as badly abused, it would explain why she was traumatized.
She looked Ruby in the face for a long moment. “I’m glad you and Beth came to us, Ruby, and I’m so sorry you’ve been ill-treated. Would you allow us to draw you a hot bath and find you some warm, comfortable clothes?”
Ruby looked stunned by the offer of simple kindness. Joy continued. “We have some salve that will help with the pain. Then we’ll tuck you into bed so that you can get a good rest. Tomorrow we will figure out how to help you get off this mountain.”
Joy crawled into her bed again just after sunrise but could not sleep. How had Ruby known to come to the lodge for sanctuary? Should they bring in Sheriff Wyndom and show him the girls’ wounds? Ruby had . . . fire. She was a survivor, but . . . Beth was locked in a world of her own for now.
When Joy did see Ruby and Beth late in the morning, Beth was still sleeping so soundly Joy wondered if she would ever wake. Ruby, though, was up and prowling about, needing to know the “lay of the land” and where the doors were. Just in case.
After she had eaten hungrily she looked directly at Joy. “Can you get us to somewheres better’n Corinth? I grewed up in these mountains . . . sure like t’ get far away.”
Joy studied her for a moment. “There may be a way.” She took a breath and then asked, “Would it be all right with you if I asked you some questions? If you would rather not answer, that is fine.”
T
he girl, pale and childish-looking now that her face was washed of the paint she had worn, just shrugged.
“Some of the . . . working girls . . . here in Corinth . . .” Joy fidgeted trying to find the words.
“What about ’em?”
“Some of them were lured to Denver by newspaper ads for honest work, and then they were abducted.” Joy just said it straight out, but Ruby only nodded, not shocked.
“Heared som’thin’ ’bout that,” she admitted.
“That isn’t how you . . . started working?” Joy reddened.
Ruby’s sardonic laugh echoed through the kitchen. “Mebbe not the ’zact same way.” She rocked her chair on its back legs and then let it drop with a bang. “M’stepfather. He was always bashin’ me ’round. When m’ mam died, he started lookin’ at me wrong, too. Said I’s ‘evil’ fer temptin’ him. One day he bashes me on th’ head an’ I wakes up in Miz Cleary’s house. Guess he sold me there.”
Joy’s mouth opened but she could not speak. She thought of her papa and the great care he had taken for her life, for her safety, happiness, and nurture.
Ruby had talked on, oblivious to Joy’s discomfiture. “—Not to the club, o’course. Th’ girls gotta be extry special fer that. You know. R’fined an’ s’phisticated-like.”
Ruby had told her, with a touch of pride, “I grewed up in these mountains—know all them trails. ’Stead a headin’ down on foot an’ freezin’ t’ death, I tore off a piece o’ Beth’s dress and snagged it up on a bush back b’hind the station where one o’ the trails starts. Then we hot-footed it over here.” She laughed. “Bet that old fool Darrow will be runnin’ down thet trail t’day.”
Ruby hugged herself. “We been at th’ house six months, I guess. They only keeps new girls there ’bout that long. When one’s ’bout played out an’ they’re ready t’ ship her off t’ Denver, that’s when they let . . . Banner hev ’er.”
“And he . . . they let him do whatever he wants?”
Ruby just gave Joy a dark, knowing sneer.
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 25