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

by Kestell, Vikki

  “Joy!” O’Dell tried to help her to her feet but she had no strength. Her vision dimmed. Her mother and friends gathered around her while behind them the fire intensified.

  Flinty arrived just then, his face a mask of worry and fear. He found them all together in the front of the lodge. “Thank the Lord!” he muttered over and over, even while mourning the loss of the house he had built for his bride so many years ago. “Thank the Lord!”

  Joy was finally able to draw a breath and stand. Still shaking, she peered into the trees to see again the man who had been standing in the shadows with Blackie in his arms . . . no, not arms, but one arm only. His other arm had hung at his side . . . motionless?

  She caught only the suggestion of a shadow fading into the tree line. And then along the road, near where the man had been watching, other figures emerged from the darkness and advanced toward them . . . a small group of men brandishing cudgels and clubs.

  At their head marched Banner; near his side strode Darrow, slapping his club on his open hand in thirsty anticipation. The gang formed a threatening barrier that backed Joy and the rest against the burning lodge.

  O’Dell withdrew his revolver and made sure Banner and his men saw it. He saw Arnie shielding Rose and Joy and spied the old six-shooter in his hand.

  “You have bullets in that gun now?” O’Dell asked, half joking.

  “Yup.”

  Near Banner Joy made out one of the Corinth town council men, Ernest Fletcher. Banner gestured to him and he stepped forward, glanced at a paper clutched in his hand, and cleared his throat.

  “Joy Thoresen!” he shouted.

  Arnie held her fast. Fletcher shouted her name again.

  “What d’you want with her?” Arnie shouted back.

  Fletcher peered behind Arnie and saw Joy. He pointed at her. “Joy Thoresen! I have a warrant for your arrest. Step forward to be taken into custody.”

  Joy gasped but Arnie clutched her arm tightly.

  O’Dell growled fiercely. “On what charges?”

  Fletcher consulted the paper he held and shouted back. “Arson. Endangering the property and disturbing the peace of the Town of Corinth. And attempted murder.”

  Rose moaned behind Joy and sagged against Arnie. In a spontaneous, protective gesture, the lodge’s household encircled Joy. Arnie, O’Dell, and Billy formed an outer ring with the women toward the center. Mr. Wheatley handed Mei-Xing over to Breona and faced the mob with the other men.

  The mood of Banner’s men was turning ugly; the only things preventing them from forcibly taking Joy were O’Dell’s revolver and Arnie’s pistol. And then three of Banner’s men revealed guns.

  Joy saw the standoff and, in an instant of clarity, realized . . . People I love will likely die this night if I do nothing.

  Joy closed her eyes and prayed earnestly the words she had heard Emily whisper only weeks before, God grant me the strength on that day to do what I must.

  Abruptly she shoved the satchel into her mama’s arms, slid outside the protective circle, and began walking toward Banner. Behind her O’Dell cursed and called her back. She kept walking.

  Banner sauntered toward her, an open smirk of satisfaction playing on his face. “I think you and I will finally have a meeting of the minds, Miss Thoresen,” he gloated.

  “You are behind all of this, Banner,” she said loud enough to be heard over the roar of the flames. “You set this fire—and are only trying to place the blame on me. But everyone knows you’re a liar. And a sadist. Tell me—do your men know that you enjoy abusing and violating little girls?”

  Banner’s face tightened. With no warning, he drove the end of his cudgel into Joy’s side. She heard a faint crunching and then the pain engulfed her, bending her double and sending her to her knees, retching.

  O’Dell and Arnie lunged toward her but Banner’s men, guns out, blocked them. Banner dragged Joy up and signaled two of his men to take her. When she pulled against Banner, he slapped her face with an open palm.

  Joy’s head was ringing. She could hear O’Dell and Arnie shouting but was being dragged away.

  And then someone fired a shot.

  Oh God! She steeled herself for the chaos and killing to follow but instead a silence dropped on the scene. Sheriff Wyndom’s voice boomed out of the darkness.

  “All you men holding firearms . . . drop ’em. Now.”

  For a moment no one moved. Then in the silence was heard the ominous click of a hammer locking into place. Pistols began to drop to the ground. O’Dell and Arnie held theirs on Banner until Wyndom’s voice ordered, “You too, O’Dell. Thoresen.”

  Duane Wyndom and three men wearing deputy badges walked out of the shadows into the light of the burning house. Wyndom moved painfully with the aid of a crutch, but his gun hand was steady.

  “Now drop the clubs. All of them.”

  He ordered two of the men to pick up the dropped weapons. He and Luke kept their guns trained on Banner and his gang.

  Banner’s eyes glittered with animosity. “Seems I underestimated you, Wyndom.”

  “Seems you did, Banner.”

  “See here, Sheriff,” Fletcher remonstrated. “You have no business interfering in this arrest!”

  “Wrong, Fletcher,” Wyndom replied. “I am the law here. Arrests go through me.”

  “This is a duly sworn warrant!” Fletcher insisted. “And we have been appointed to serve it.”

  “Oh? By whom?” Wyndom demanded. “Mighty convenient you showin’ up with an arson warrant and all . . . This place hasn’t even stopped burning yet. Mighty timely, indeed.”

  Fletcher waffled for a moment. “Judge Morgan,” he finally conceded.

  “Judge Morgan? So he’s a judge now?” Wyndom laughed harshly. “Even more interesting.”

  “The, er, council appointed him judge last evening,” Fletcher answered.

  “Even if the warrant is good, I would be the one to serve it. A judge has no legal standing to circumvent a standing law man.”

  “They, uh, that is we assumed, er—believed—you were, er, out of commission, Sheriff,” Fletcher looked to Banner for help.

  “You assumed wrong.” Wyndom motioned with his gun. “Get moving.”

  “Where are we going?” Fletcher asked nervously.

  “Town square. Now move along.”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 40

  News of the fire had wakened and turned out most of the town’s citizenry. Those who rushed to the lodge to help fight the fire arrived too late but witnessed the tail-end of the confrontation between Banner’s men, the lodge’s residents, and the sheriff.

  Joy could hear the bells of David Kalbørg’s church pealing, and more townspeople were gathering as the two groups, Joy’s household and Banner’s gang of thugs, approached the little plaza. Reports that Wyndom was bringing them into town at gunpoint were stirring speculation and concern.

  The band of refugees from the lodge was ill-dressed, disheveled, and smoke-stained. Rose and Arnie supported Joy as they marched ahead of Wyndom and his men. Her side stabbed her viciously with every breath and she feared her ribs were broken. She was worried, too, that Banner, Darrow, or one of their men would look closely at the blanket-clad figure huddled under Mr. Wheatley’s wing. So far no one had recognized Mei-Xing. Billy carried little Will, Marit and Breona stayed close beside him, and O’Dell brought up the rear of their straggling troop.

  Banner and his disarmed men grudgingly obeyed Wyndom’s commands but glared with menace in his direction. In the grassy area of the town square, Wyndom stepped up onto the monument’s pedestal where he could be seen. He was about to speak when the crowd to his left began to murmur and then parted.

  Dean Morgan walked through the wide berth they gave him.

  Joy had never laid eyes on the man but she had no doubt as to his identity. Everything about him spoke of the power he seemed to wield so effortlessly: the superior manner in which he held himself, the confidence of his demeanor, the exquisite
cut of his suit. And the bodyguard whose icy manner cleared the way for his employer.

  “Sheriff. Glad to see you up and about.” Morgan smiled mildly. “Perhaps, though, you are a bit ‘out of the loop,’ on this issue. Mr. Fletcher?”

  “I, uh, did tell the sheriff that we had a warrant and that you had authorized us to arrest Miss Thoresen.” Fletcher swallowed hard. “He, uh, refused to allow us to take her into custody.”

  “I see. Hmm. Sheriff Wyndom, I must ask you to stand down and let this warrant be served.”

  Murmurs arose from the citizens gathered in the plaza. Most knew Joy. She saw David and Uli elbowing their way through the throng, saw their anxious faces looking for her and the others.

  “Settle down, everyone, settle down.” Fletcher was in his element now. The crowd in the town square quieted to hear what was next.

  Obeying a nod from Morgan, Fletcher called loudly. “Joy Thoresen, I, uh, we arrest you for arson and . . . and . . . um, attempted murder.” He hadn’t read from his paper this time and fumbled his words, his delivery falling a bit flat.

  Joy concentrated on breathing; for a moment the pain in her side was so intense she could not find the strength to inhale. She had to push aside everything else, even the sound of Marit sobbing softly behind her.

  Concentrate, Joy, she ordered herself. Do not falter now. She grasped the satchel Rose still carried. She knew she had to respond perfectly—as a follower of Jesus, she could not take vengeance on this man. Whatever the consequences of this night, they had to be of his own making.

  “Actually, Mr. Fletcher, I believe the people of Corinth should hear what I have to say. After that, perhaps they will arrest Mr. Morgan, and not me, for arson and attempted murder.”

  If the plaza had been quiet before this, it was now breathless. Not a soul made a sound. Except Morgan. He snorted in amused derision.

  Fletcher glanced nervously at Morgan for direction. The stare Morgan turned on him, rather than embolden him, froze him in place.

  Banner, backed by three of Morgan’s men, moved toward Joy. “Miss Thoresen. No one is being arrested except you. And we will add the charge of public slander against Mr. Morgan to the other charges.” He looked around, daring anyone to challenge him. “The good people of Corinth are witnesses to that slander.”

  Joy raised her voice and shouted. “I believe the good people of Corinth will want to know why their city’s treasury and their personal investments have been wiped out.”

  The crowd in the plaza murmured and several men called out, “What is she talking about?” “What does that mean?”

  Her friends and family watched her with wide, startled eyes. Breona was still and watchful, the way she always was when danger raised its head. Even Marit stopped weeping and stared at her open-mouthed.

  Morgan flushed but controlled himself. “It means absolutely nothing, of course. I assure you, the city’s funds and your investments are safely held by my company. This is merely more slander.”

  “Is it, Mr. Morgan?” Joy’s voice echoed high and clear across the plaza. She closed her eyes briefly against the pain and then forced herself to stand taller.

  “Why would I burn my own lodge? Even though it wasn’t making a profit just yet, it was paid for. And it is . . . was my home. Why would I burn my own home? I am, however, well insured.” She unsnapped the satchel and pulled out a document. “I hold my policy in my hand.” She held it up for all to see.

  “And that is likely your motive, Miss Thoresen,” Morgan sneered. He called out to the sheriff, “Sheriff Wyndom, I demand that you do your duty and assist in taking this woman into custody. The issue of her insurance has no bearing on the charges against her.”

  “But it does.” Joy lifted up the policy for all to see. “You should know that I am fully insured up to $100,000 against flood, wind, theft, vandalism, and fire. I am even insured,” she paused momentarily, “Against arson. The arson coverage came into effect just eight days ago—April 15.”

  “I paid an exorbitant premium to double indemnify against arson. To be clear, I had to wait 90 days for the coverage to come into effect, but now that it has, I am insured for $200,000 in the case of arson.”

  The crowd gasped at the large amount.

  She turned in a complete circle, holding up the policy, until she was again facing Morgan. “The company with whom I hold this policy is Liberty Indemnity out of Omaha.”

  Morgan looked like he was thinking hard. His brows pulled together into a dark line.

  “You forget that I grew up in Nebraska, Mr. Morgan. You forget that I lived in Omaha, have family there—and have been burned out once before. I learned a bit about fire insurance through that experience. I also have . . . connections in Omaha and a community there that esteems me and knows I was once wrongly accused of arson. Liberty Indemnity was willing, even eager, to double indemnify my property against arson based on our . . . history.”

  She stared hard at Morgan. He had started to flush.

  She called out to the crowd again, “Liberty Indemnity.” She faced Morgan. “You are familiar with this company, are you not, Mr. Morgan?”

  Joy’s eyes locked on Morgan and then slid over to where Marit, Breona, and Mei-Xing were watching. The many months of work, worry, and prayer, most of her savings—and the futures of these young women God had allowed her to snatch from the snare of the enemy! All were on the line.

  It all came down to this moment. Would her tremendous risk pay off or would she fail, and fail these women, her sisters?

  She coughed and bit back a whimper as pain knifed through her side and into her lungs. Drawing another ragged breath she cried out, “Liberty Indemnity. A wholly owned subsidiary of Morgan Investment Holdings. Isn’t that true, Mr. Morgan?”

  Speculation and confusion rippled through the townspeople. A Corinth business man, Seth Ryan, called out, “I still don’t understand! What does that mean?”

  “What it means, Mr. Ryan, is this: Liberty Indemnity owes me $200,000. Where will that money come from? Liberty Indemnity had a very bad year last year, enabling Mr. Morgan here to pick it up at a bargain price.”

  “However, according to my very reliable sources in Omaha, Liberty Indemnity is still recovering—and will be unable to pay the claim on its own. Its parent company, Morgan Investment Holdings, is its banker, its guarantor. Is that correct, Mr. Morgan? It means Morgan Investment Holdings will pay me. Am I right, Mr. Morgan?”

  “And I’m wondering—as should you all,” Joy addressed the people standing in the dark around her and then faced Morgan again, “What impact my claim will have on your company, Mr. Morgan. How will it affect the City of Corinth and the people standing here who have invested their life savings with Morgan Investment Holdings? Does your company have $200,000 in ready, available funds, Mr. Morgan?”

  She turned her back on him and spoke to the crowd. “The answer is no. Morgan Investment Holdings does not have that money. How do I know this? I know because I have been having him investigated for the past four months. I know because I am a business woman. And I understand what he has been doing.”

  She walked slowly around the edge of the shocked and silent crowd, looking into every face. She knew that everything hung on her making them see and understand.

  “I know that Mr. Morgan is greedy. He is sinking his fingers into as many pies as possible as quickly as possible—here and in Denver. Why? Power. He wants it—he craves it. In his drive for power he is overextended—operating on a very thin margin.” She paused and said slowly, “In plain language, that means he is cash-poor.”

  A few heads were starting to nod.

  “Liberty Indemnity cannot pay my claim, so its parent company, Morgan Investment Holdings, must pay. But in order to pay my claim, Morgan Investment Holdings will have to sell many of the investments and properties it has only recently purchased.”

  “Your investments. Corinth’s investments.”

  She turned back to Morgan.

  �
�It’s not a good idea to sell what you have only recently bought, is it, Mr. Morgan? You would likely have to sell at a loss, and you would lose a significant amount of invested principal. Why, after you paid me, if the City of Corinth or these good people wanted their money, Morgan Investment Holdings would be broke. Wouldn’t it, Mr. Morgan?”

  Angry shouts erupted across the plaza as people began to comprehend.

  Morgan shouted over them, “Calm down, calm down! This is utter fabrication on this woman’s part. Your investments are perfectly safe with me—she is a liar and is attempting to bring down this town! Sheriff, put an end to this immediately!” Morgan spoke to Sheriff Wyndom but gestured to Banner’s men and they advanced on Joy.

  Sheriff Wyndom, though, pulled his gun and pointed it in the air. Its sharp report stopped the men in their tracks. The crowd again went silent.

  “I am the law in this town. No one—and I mean no one—lays a hand on this woman.”

  He turned toward Morgan and spoke bluntly, “Morgan, I invested everything I have with you before I knew better. I want to hear the rest of what Miss Thoresen has to say.”

  Morgan started to speak, but Sheriff Wyndom waved him off with the pistol in his hand.

  “Miss Thoresen,” he called, “I think the people of Corinth want to hear this again. We might not be quite clear about what you are telling us.”

  A chorus of shouts affirmed him.

  Joy, faintness creeping over her, struggled to gather her fuzzy thoughts. “It is very simple, really. I have an arson clause with Liberty Indemnity for $200,000. They can’t pay. Mr. Morgan’s company owns Liberty Indemnity. So his company owes me $200,000.” She paused, her eyes wandering around the plaza, a shadow beginning to slide down on her vision.

  Gathering herself with tremendous effort, she concluded, “The only way Morgan Investments doesn’t go under, taking the city’s and all of your money with it, is if the arsonist, the man who ordered my property torched, is found and convicted.”