I must vacate the house and release Miss Greenbow, he reflected, and then I must prepare to leave my church.
~~**~~
Chapter 6
Joy unlocked the back door to Michaels’ Fine Furnishings. Billy, Sara, Corrine, and Blackie followed her inside. Joy and her employees readied themselves and the store for a new day of business. At nine o’clock sharp, Joy unlocked the front door and hung the “Open” sign in its place.
Joy’s stomach roiled as she walked back toward the office. Growing a baby is wonderful, Lord, she reflected, but I will be glad when this part passes!
Abruptly, Joy bolted for the small water closet just off the office. When Joy stepped out of the wash room, Sara noticed her pasty face.
“Are you all right, Miss Joy?”
When Joy didn’t answer, Sara ran to fetch her a glass of water. Before she could hand it over, Joy rushed back into the water closet. Sara heard the unmistakable sounds of stomach distress. Blackie sat down outside the water closet door and waited, attentive and anxious, for Joy to emerge.
Sara looked across the store to Corrine at the cash register. They both turned their attention to the bathroom door as a somewhat green Joy emerged. Sara glanced back at Corrine and gave her a slow, exaggerated wink. It took several moments before Corrine’s mouth dropped open. Sara placed a warning finger to her lips.
“Here, Miss Joy.” Sara smiled and offered the glass of water. Joy took it with a shaky hand.
Joy had taken a few sips before she noticed Sara’s broad smile. “What is it, Sara?”
“I am so very happy for you and Mr. Grant,” Sara answered.
Flustered, Joy tried to pretend she didn’t know what Sara was implying but Sarah, still smiling, shook her head. “How far along are you?”
Joy managed a small, weak laugh. “I’m that transparent, am I?”
“It is hard to hide morning sickness.”
Sara was still smiling and Joy could not resist her goodwill. “Hide it? I just want to survive it!” And then they were laughing together.
“We weren’t going to tell anyone yet,” Joy admitted. “Grant wanted to shout it to the world but I . . . I wanted to treasure and savor this wonderful secret just a little longer.”
Sara leaned toward Joy and whispered, “Well, you might want to make sure your mother knows before everyone else figures it out.”
“Oh! That would never do! I will tell her as soon as we are home this evening.”
Corrine scuttled across the room and glanced between Sara and Joy. “You are whispering about something!” she accused them.
“Yes, I suppose we are,” Joy laughed. “Please don’t make me tell—just yet.”
Corrine wagged her finger. “Then you had better out with it soon!”
Joy laughed again. Yes. All right. Tonight at dinner.”
Corrine squeezed Sara’s arm. “Just think! Two babies at Palmer House!”
“Tut-tut! No talking about it until after dinner,” Joy admonished, grinning.
Joy peeped into the great room and found Rose as she had expected to: seated at her desk, wrestling with the house’s books, a harried but determined look on her brow.
“Mama?”
Rose glanced up and the weight of the house’s finances dropped away. “Joy! You are home early, aren’t you?”
“Yes, a little. Sarah will lock up today. I left early . . . so I could visit with you. Do you have a minute?”
“Indeed, I do!” Rose laughed and then grimaced. “On days like today I so miss Flinty’s knowledge and counsel.”
She and Joy sank into two of the great room’s overstuffed chairs. Rose rubbed her tired eyes. “We have patched and repaired the roof, but we must have a new one, you know, and so much of what I do—contacting roofers, asking for bids, deciding if they are honest—would be easier for . . . well, for a man to do.”
Joy thought for a moment. “Grant is feeling quite without purpose because coming to the store is too much, Mama, but he would be pleased to offer any advice that doesn’t require him to run up and down stairs.”
“Of course! Why did I not think of him?” Rose sighed. “And do you think he would be willing to help me with the house’s books?”
“He would be delighted, Mama. Please ask him?”
“Yes. Yes, I will. Now what did you want to talk about?”
Joy studied her mother knowing this moment would be etched in her heart forever. “Well . . . I wanted to talk about babies.” She smiled and Rose smiled back.
“Oh, I know! I am so excited that we will have another baby in the house! Little Will is growing so quickly. He is not really a baby anymore.”
“Yes, but I said babies, not baby, Mama.” Joy was teasing her mama, drawing out the pleasure of announcing this miraculous surprise.
Rose blinked. “Babies? As in more than one baby?”
“Yes, Mama.” Joy couldn’t help it. The memory of her father’s last words to her was etched into her soul: I bless you. I bless your children. The Lord will give . . . Tears began to prick her eyes.
“Why, Joy! Dear, what is the matter?”
“The matter? At this moment, I am a happy woman, Mama. A happy, happy mother-to-be.”
Rose’s eye widened. “Mother-to-be?”
Joy nodded. “I am expecting, Mama.”
“You’re going to have a baby?”
“Yes, Mama. Grant and I are having a baby! In January, I think. It is a miracle.”
Rose gathered her daughter into her arms. “My daughter, a mother! O Lord Jesus! Thank you!”
Then Rose held Joy by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Why, that means I am going to be a grandmother! I’m going to be a grandmother!”
Their joyous laughter echoed around the high walls and ceiling of the great room.
That evening at dinner, a perplexed Breona studied Joy and Grant. They be positively bubblin’ wi’ somethin’, she marveled, unable to ascertain what.
She pursed her lips and slanted a look toward Miss Rose. Loike a cat in th’ cream, she muttered to herself. Rose’s usually pale face was flushed with color and an irrepressible smile tugged at her mouth.
Sarah and Corrine stifled giggles and Joy, with a playful frown, hushed them. Breona set her fork on her plate and her eyes narrowed. Corrine glanced Breona’s way, blushed, and casually—much too casually!—dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
Breona folded her arms and frowned. Why, they be hidin’ somethin’! she groused, put out that she was not in on the secret.
She did not have to wait long. As they neared the end of the meal, Grant spoke.
“Everyone,” Grant opened, gaining the attention of those at the table, “Joy and I have something . . . to tell you.” He glanced at Joy, who could scarcely keep from blurting the news herself. They exchanged a tender look.
“We are, Joy and I,” Grant grinned, “going to have a little one.”
The few seconds of silence after his announcement were followed by chaos and jubilation. Several women at the table left their chairs and ran to embrace Joy.
Breona was overcome. Miss Joy is t’ have a bairn! Oh, thank you, heavenly Father!
Then she caught sight of Tabitha, two seats down from her. The old coldness—an angry, defiant stoniness—had fixed itself on Tabitha’s face. Without a word, she left the table and climbed the staircase.
Concerned, Breona’s head swiveled toward Rose, but Rose, her mouth parted in apprehension, was already staring after Tabitha.
Liáng and Miss Greenbow gave the little house a final examination. They had worked all morning and it was now clean and ready to turn back to the landlord. However, as they had cleaned, Liáng sensed that the woman, their dear friend, was disturbed.
She has already said that she had a new assignment, Liáng worried, so it could not be the loss of this job.
“Miss Greenbow,” he asked gently, “is something troubling you? May I be of any help?”
She twisted the rag in h
er hand and sighed. “Thank you, but I don’t think you can be of help.”
Liáng thought for a moment. “Is it because you have not heard from Mr. O’Dell?”
She looked away. “Well, I have heard from him, actually.”
The flatness of her response told Liáng all he needed to know. “I am truly sorry. I had hoped . . .”
She sighed. “I suppose I had, too, but . . . truthfully, I am not entirely surprised.”
Liáng looked a question to her.
“I think . . . I think his heart already is—and has been for some time—engaged elsewhere, Mr. Liáng. To someone he cannot have, I surmise.”
“Oh, my dear!” Liáng took her hand. “I had no idea.”
She sniffed and laughed a little but sniffed again. “I have prayed over it and the Lord has assured me that all is well. I know Mr. O’Dell is an honorable man. If he could not give me his whole heart . . .”
“Then he would not trifle with yours? Is that it?”
She nodded. “Yes. That is what I believe.”
Liáng thought over Miss Greenbow’s words as he drove back to the parsonage: I think his heart already is—and has been for some time—engaged elsewhere. As Liáng pondered those words, he frowned and listened to the whispers of his own heart. Part of him dreaded the coming Sunday morning, for he would be announcing his resignation during the morning service.
When his flock asked him where he would be going, he would find it difficult to explain that his heart, too, was engaged elsewhere—but not to a larger, well-heeled congregation, one that would pay him more and provide him with a nicer home and a newer automobile! No, his heart was pulled by a sovereign move of God happening in a crumbling warehouse. A move of God that thrilled and challenged Liáng to the depths of his soul.
How would he explain his choice to the people he had so faithfully served for eight years but who were, at best, moderate in their love for God?
I will say only that I am called to Denver to minister to the large Chinese population there, he decided. Yet he knew that good friends—including Jinhai Li—would press him for more details. To Jinhai, at least, he would feel free to speak of the move of God in downtown Denver, a mighty move of the Spirit that was calling drunks, prostitutes, and the destitute to the Savior and delivering them in miraculous ways.
However, and especially to Jinhai, Liáng would be careful to make no mention of another way in which his heart was becoming engaged. No, he could make no mention of that individual. He needed to keep that thought to himself, tucked deep inside, but carried with great care.
“Just so, Mr. Michaels. Place this over your mouth and nose and breathe normally.” Dr. Peabody held a hard, ugly, rubber, cup-like device in his hands and demonstrated. From the outside of the cup emerged a fat hose. The hose, in turn, led to a cylindrical tank standing near the doctor. The tank had gauges on its top and a bag that expanded and deflated as Dr. Peabody breathed.
Joy’s eyes went wide and she looked from the breathing apparatus to Grant and back. The noises it emitted made her skin crawl.
Grant, however, took the offered mask and, after studying it, placed it on his face as directed. He breathed in the extra oxygen for a minute and then sighed and relaxed.
“How do you feel?” Joy whispered.
“Better,” he spoke through the mask. “I feel better.”
Doctor Peabody lifted Grant’s free hand and examined his nail beds. “Good,” he muttered and scribbled something in Grant’s record.
Grant removed the mask. “How often do I use it?”
The doctor stared at him and frowned. “My dear man, you are going to require its use day and night. Do not worry about becoming dependent upon it.”
He looked away and murmured, “As the heart, er, declines, you will notice that your need for oxygen increases. You can adjust the flow of gas with this dial. The straps on the side of the mask will allow you to fasten it to your head so you can sleep with it.”
The doctor turned to his desk and wrote some instructions. “You must schedule regular tank deliveries so that you do not run out—that would be quite unwise. I’ve listed the telephone number here. Oh, and someone must help you move the tank when you change rooms. The hose is long, providing a nice range of movement, but it has its limits.”
He pointed at Grant. “You, sir, are never to attempt to move the tank yourself, nor are you, Mrs. Michaels, particularly in your condition. The tank is quite heavy and unwieldy.”
Grant and Joy glanced at each other. This was far more than they had anticipated—and they would need to move the tank farther than merely from room-to-room! They would need to move it from the cottage to the main house and back again each day, at a minimum!
“Billy,” Joy blurted. “Billy is as strong as a horse! I know he will be happy to do this for us, Grant.”
Grant nodded, but the disquieting sensation of his world shrinking, contracting even further, was overwhelming. Sensing that he was short of breath, he raised the mask to his face and inhaled. Almost immediately, his anxiety eased. He pulled the cup away and stared at it.
“I believe it truly is helping me.” He was both relieved and in awe.
Joy had perceived her husband’s disquiet. She placed her hand upon his. “If it helps you, then it is worth its weight in gold, no matter the inconvenience.”
~~**~~
Chapter 7
(Journal Entry, July 15, 1910)
Grant’s heart doctor has prescribed an apparatus to help with Grant’s breathing. We are adjusting to the machine’s unsightly presence and continual sounds, but the improvement Grant is experiencing is remarkable. All of us can see how much more comfortable he is, how well his complexion appears, and how great a difference the machine has made in his daily enthusiasm and energy.
Billy has proven himself a blessing of inestimable worth in this regard: Each morning when Grant is ready, he carries the tank into the house with Grant following along behind him. When Grant and Joy are ready to retire, Billy takes the machine back to their cottage. We did not foresee, however, the difficulties we would encounter during the day, after Billy has left for the shop.
It was Mr. Wheatley who recognized that Grant needed an easier means of conveying the tank and its gadgets through the house—particularly when needing to use the necessary. Calling on the memory of his friend, Mr. Wheatley said, “I figure Flinty would have taken one look at this contraption and built wheels for it. Since he is not here, I hope I can do half as good a job as he!”
Well, Mr. Wheatley and Grant put their heads together and, employing the wheels from an old baby buggy, they designed a little cart that Mr. Wheatley hammered and screwed together. Last evening, Billy strapped the “contraption,” as Mr. Wheatley refers to it, onto the cart. Now even Grant can wheel it from room to room without overtaxing his strength.
The marvels of science can be such a blessing, Lord! We thank you for this machine. We all realize that it is keeping Grant with us longer, even if we do not speak of it.
Esther dabbed at the perspiration beading on her brow. Changing the window display in their tiny store was the highlight of the week—not only for her but for the women of RiverBend and its surrounds. The bright sunlight beating through the glass while she arranged colorful hats, dresses, and other accessories had, however, overheated her.
I do not think I will ever get over how such a simple presentation of pretty things can be the talk of the town, Esther mused, smiling.
“Here, Esther.” Ava handed Esther a glass of cool water and then fanned herself. “It’s going to be a scorcher today.”
Of the six women who had fled Denver and the Silver Spurs on Christmas Eve last year, only Esther and Ava remained in RiverBend. Six of us fled Denver, but mostly we all fled Cal Judd, Esther reminded herself. Even as hot as the reflected sunlight had made her, Esther shivered.
With most of the community hearing “through the grapevine” why Esther and the other women had abandoned Denver f
or the unlikely haven of RiverBend, their stay had seemed temporary at best. After all, RiverBend was a small town that existed only to serve the farmers of the area—mostly simple, God-fearing, church-going families. The town did not have a drinking or “sporting” establishment, nor would its citizenry ever tolerate one.
Esther and the other girls had feared (and rightly so) that the community would shun them. For the first few weeks, their presence had created a firestorm of controversy and division.
Pastor Medford had personally visited the most vocal of the critics. He had shared with them what Joy Thoresen Michaels had found in Corinth, how God had moved to destroy the stronghold of evil in that town and how—one girl at a time—many damaged hearts were coming to repentance and salvation in Christ.
Joy and her mother, Rose Thoresen, were respected in RiverBend, as were Pastor Medford and his wife. Jacob and Vera Medford spent countless hours in the homes of their congregation’s members and with other pastors and leaders of the farming community. With great conviction, the Medfords shared Joy and Rose’s ministry in Denver and how God was blessing it with many redeemed hearts and lives.
Still, criticisms did arise. To each dissenting voice Jacob placed the question, “What should we, who profess to be followers of Christ, do to help those women who have been forced into such slavery and have now turned to Jesus?” Once confronted with such a decision, the critical voices had, with the exception of a few adamant individuals, trickled to a stop.
The girls still faced suspicious looks and scrutiny from some, but not all the folks had been insensible to the needs of Esther and her companions. Jacob Medford had spoken passionately to his church, reminding them that Jesus had not come to heal the well but the sick, and his people had responded from their hearts.
Enough of RiverBend’s citizenry wanted the girls to succeed at leaving their old lives for new ones that, in their simple ways, they had welcomed and helped the six women while they got their bearings and began to make long-term plans.
Stolen (A Prairie Heritage, Book 5) Page 7