It had not been easy on the girls or Pastor Medford’s church. Esther could not recall how many times she had wanted to quit and leave, but where could she go?
That was when the girls learned that farmers are tenacious people who do not give up easily: They refused to give up on the girls when they inadvertently scandalized the town with colorful language or behavior, and they refused to give up on the girls as, with difficulty, they adjusted to the simple conventions of country life.
Fiona McKennie and Vera Medford, old friends of Rose Thoresen, had patiently taught the girls to work with their hands, earning their own way, learning new skills, and developing self-respect for an honest job done well. Perhaps more importantly, they had patiently shared the Good News with each young woman and had seen all but one of them surrender their lives to the Savior.
Three of the girls had, with help from Pastor and Mrs. Medford and their congregation, found employment in other towns where their past lives would remain anonymous. Jesse, however, had shocked them all—especially Esther!—by accepting a marriage proposal from a young farmer. He was a widower with two small children who lived far from town.
“He is good and kind,” Jesse had mumbled when Esther gaped at her announcement, “and I already love his children. I might never have another chance for a respectable marriage and a family . . . what with my past and all.”
As the Nebraska winter gave way, Esther and Ava continued in RiverBend, slowly slipping into the fabric of the town. Esther sold the jewelry Cal Judd had given her. With the money from the sale, she opened this shop. She and Ava ordered stylish but inexpensive, ready-made dresses and hats from a catalog and added their own fashionable touches to them to make them desirable.
In just two months they had established themselves and their little business in RiverBend, garnering enough income to make the rent and put a little food on the table. They were struggling to become financially independent and were slowly connecting to the lifeblood of the community, a bond so spiritually vital that Esther no longer thought of leaving.
And as the prairie greened that spring, Esther had surprised even herself: She fell in love with the land. Beautiful, elegant, sophisticated Esther, whom Cal Judd had clothed in the finest fashions and jewels, was finding peace in the simple beauty of low, undulating hillocks and open vistas.
It is enough for now, Esther smiled, admiring the window display from outside. What is that verse Vera quoted to me? Something about godliness and contentment being great gain.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bruntrüllsen!” Esther smiled and waved to the woman crossing the street and received a hearty greeting in return.
Contentment! It is great gain, Esther admitted, still smiling. It is what I’ve been seeking for a long while.
Liáng stepped from the train onto the platform of Union Station, Denver. I am here, Lord, he said in silent prayer. It has taken me nearly two months, but I am here. Here to do your will.
He had to chuckle to himself. In the eyes of his congregation, his Seattle friends, and even his oldest acquaintances from seminary, he was stepping down in life.
No, Lord, I am not, he breathed. I am honored to answer the high calling you have placed upon my life.
He laughed again. He had a little in his pocket and a little more in a savings account. He had sold many of his belongings, although all the furnishings of the parsonage belonged not to him, but to the church. Those furnishings would remain in the parsonage for the next pastor. The trunks Liáng had packed were laden with books, and clothes, and little else.
“Minister Liáng!”
Liáng rounded at the call. Isaac Carmichael and Bao Shin Xang waved to him and he waved back. For now the three bachelors would be crowded in the tiny two-bedroom house, with Liáng and Bao sharing the second bedroom.
The house would provide little of the privacy Liáng was accustomed to, yet he felt blessed that Carmichael had offered to share the house. It was Carmichael who was sacrificing his privacy to accommodate Bao and Liáng!
Bao and Carmichael soon joined him. Liáng embraced the two men, glad to see their faces again.
“I have borrowed a truck from one of our church members to haul your trunks,” Carmichael pointed. “I don’t know where we shall put your things when we get home, but the more the merrier. And great news—” he grinned here —“we are invited to dinner tonight at Palmer House!”
Liáng drew in a deep breath and exhaled, a vision of dark eyes dancing before him. Thank you, Lord!
“I can’t think of a better welcome to Denver,” he answered.
The heat of summer surged back in late August, far beyond its normal boundaries. The people of Denver longed for cooling rains to relieve their discomfort. Complaints about the above-average temperatures and prayers for late monsoon rains to quench the heat were heard upon lips universally.
Within Palmer House, windows were propped open wide in the hopes of catching breezes to freshen the house. Each night the women tossed upon their beds, too miserable to sleep well. Each day the girls avoided the upper reaches of the house where temperatures—and tempers—soared. Mei-Xing, in her last month of pregnancy, suffered terribly. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and advertised of sleepless nights.
“Tabitha,” Rose called to the figure hurrying down the hallway.
The younger woman would be leaving them in a few short weeks for nursing school in Boulder. Rose had come to depend upon Tabitha’s advice regarding health issues—for even as she prepared for her departure in late September, she had set her mind to learn all she could from Doctor Murphy and to devour whatever medical reading she could lay hands upon.
Tabitha turned and walked back to Rose’s desk. “Yes, Miss Rose?”
“Tabitha, I am growing troubled about Mei-Xing and her baby in this heat,” Rose began. “I don’t like the way Mei-Xing is looking; she cannot be sleeping well. Can you recommend something to relieve her?”
At the mention of Mei-Xing’s name, Tabitha averted her eyes.
Rose had seen—and been puzzled by—Tabitha’s behavior more than once. Perhaps because of the heat, perhaps because she was weary herself, she snapped, “Tabitha! Is there a problem I should know of?”
Tabitha’s face registered surprise: Miss Rose rarely lost her temper. “Why, what do you mean?”
Rose hrmphed. “I mentioned Mei-Xing and you turned down your mouth like you had bitten into a sour apple! I don’t understand it, and I want to know what the problem is!”
“Oh . . .” That was all Tabitha said, but that single word was potent.
Rose, contrite, came out from behind her desk and placed a hand on Tabitha’s arm. “I am sorry for snapping at you, Tabitha. It was wrong. Will you forgive me?”
“Of course! We are all so miserably hot, and I—” but Tabitha did not finish her sentence.
“Please.” Rose took Tabitha by the arm. “You will be leaving us soon and, as incredibly proud of you as I am and as delighted as I am for you, I will miss you terribly! Please, let’s sit and talk a bit, shall we?” She led Tabitha into the parlor and closed the door behind them.
“Tabitha,” Rose began, “I confess that I need your help.”
The red-haired woman glanced up. She was always eager to help!
“What I need help with is . . . understanding what is troubling you with regard to Mei-Xing.”
Tabitha again dropped her eyes to the floor and Rose frowned, uneasy and perplexed.
“Can you not help me to understand? Can you not tell me what bothers you so?”
Rose had never seen Tabitha fidget as she did now—or be at a loss for words, either. Her face, bent toward the hands she folded in her lap, was flushed. What Tabitha said next confounded Rose.
“I shall be glad to be away to nursing school next month . . . perhaps before Mei-Xing’s baby comes,” Tabitha muttered.
Rose sighed and frowned, as mystified as ever. “You will be glad to be away when Mei-Xing’s baby arrives?”
T
abitha’s reply was even less audible. “Yes.”
Rose blinked. And waited. Tabitha said nothing. “What are you not telling me, my dear girl?” Rose whispered. “Are you afraid for her?”
“No! That is,” Tabitha exhaled, “No, I am not afraid for her; I am certain she will do fine. I-I love Mei-Xing, Miss Rose.”
Rose sank to her knees in front of Tabitha and held Tabitha’s hands in her own. “It has to do with Mei-Xing’s baby then, not with Mei-Xing herself. Is that it? And so also with Joy’s baby?”
Tabitha dipped her head lower. A great tear plopped onto their joined hands.
“Can you not tell me?” Rose implored.
A racking sob burst from Tabitha—the expression of a pain so deep that Rose did not try to fathom it. She only reached for Tabitha and wrapped her arms as tightly as she could about Tabitha’s shaking shoulders.
Rose held Tabitha as the girl moaned and wept. As Rose’s tears joined Tabitha’s, the Holy Spirit whispered the truth to Rose’s heart.
“O Jesus!” Rose gasped.
Many minutes later, Tabitha, with her head upon Rose’s shoulder, confessed her pain aloud.
“When I became pregnant, I was so young—just fifteen. I didn’t even realize I was expecting. No one ever told me . . . what to look for.
“I’d been traded to a low-class brothel in Kansas City. I didn’t even get sick to my stomach! But I did have . . . other symptoms and my body started changing. A ‘client’ mentioned to the madam that I had complained that certain things pained me. The madam stripped me down, examined my body, and asked questions. I was shocked when she said I was with child.”
Tabitha shook her head and looked at the wall as if seeing something else, far away. “I-I can’t speak of it; it is so hard to think of those days, Miss Rose. It grieves me so much!”
Rose held Tabitha while she wept again. “You do not need to tell me. I understand what happened. I understand now why it pains you to see Mei-Xing and Joy both expecting babies.”
But Tabitha kept talking. “The madam sent for a woman. Two men held me down while she pushed something sharp into me. It hurt. Oh, Miss Rose! It hurt so bad!”
“There, there,” Rose muttered. Her heart was clenched so tight she could not breathe. “You can let it go, Tabitha. You can let it go.”
Rose did not want to hear any more. Her heart was already breaking.
Tabitha whispered. “I bled for two weeks and could not work. The madam was so angry. She finally sent for a doctor who examined me and shook his head.
“He and the madam had a great row in the next room. I heard him shout, She will never be able to have children! The madam cursed him and shouted back, Good! This is a business, not an orphanage. We don’t want our girls dropping their bastards here!”
“O God,” Rose moaned, leaning her forehead on Tabitha’s shoulder.
Tabitha seemed unaware of Rose’s distress. “The doctor was right. I never got pregnant again. I won’t be able to have children. I will never grow a babe inside of me.”
Tabitha’s words petered out and they were both silent. Rose sighed, begging for wisdom, and Tabitha roused herself. “So, you see, it is good that I am going away to nursing school. Perhaps my life can be of some good use other than raising a family.”
Rose placed her hands on Tabitha’s cheeks and cupped her face with tender fingers. “Do not limit or underestimate our God, Tabitha,” she implored. “I, too, believe nursing school is his path for you—but not because you are defective. He has gifted you to nurse, hasn’t he? You will encounter many hurting souls in your chosen field. You will have opportunity to minister to their bodies and their hearts. Because of what you have suffered, you will have compassion for those who hurt.”
Tabitha nodded her agreement and leaned into Rose’s embrace. They both stirred when a crack of thunder heralded a much-desired rainfall.
That evening, after a good, soaking rain, the house was finally cool. Rose found herself nodding off before bedtime and realized that most of the girls had already given in to the allure of sweet, undisturbed sleep.
She was tempted to put off writing in her journal but, determined, turned to a fresh page and jotted the date.
(Journal Entry, August 29, 1910)
Lord, I want to thank you for Tabitha’s courage today to confess what has been a great burden and torment to her soul. I thank you that your forgiveness knows no limits. We place limitations on your grace, but you do not.
Father God, surely she is not the only one of our girls who carries this sadness? Will you show me what I am to do?
Fiona McKennie, the aging but indomitable matriarch of a large family in the RiverBend community, took Esther and Ava under her wing as harvest set in.
“But what about our store?” Esther objected. It was Sunday after church, and Fiona was insisting that the girls come home with her to learn and take part in canning, pickling, and drying her garden’s mountain of produce.
“And who will be coomin’ t’ town during harvest?” Fiona laughed. “Nae a woman wi’ a garden, I am promisin’ ye!”
Esther and Ava looked at each other. What Fiona said might be true—Esther and Ava had not seen a customer in the shop in two days.
When Fiona smiled, her cheeks rounded like ripe apples and her black eyes crinkled up in mirth. She grinned now and added, “Ye’ll be puttin’ up food for your ownsel’s and thankin’ me coom winter, little misses.”
Esther was intrigued. “Well then! We are at your disposal, Fiona.”
She and Ava packed a bag with aprons and a few changes of clothing—second-hand dresses women of the church had given them, dresses they wore when they cleaned the shop and their small quarters in at the back. Esther printed a note and pasted it to the “Closed” sign hanging on the shop door.
She paused before locking the door behind them to study the note. The words Back After Harvest stared at her and, for some reason, she chuckled.
“Are we becoming farmers, Ava?” she giggled.
Ava scowled and muttered something Esther could not make out as the two women climbed into the wagon behind Fiona and her husband Brian. The road was rutted and bumpy, but Esther hardly noticed. She was studying the land as they wound through the prairie toward Brian and Fiona’s farm.
Her eyes ate up the scenery and the faraway views. Such peace, Lord! she prayed in wonder.
Just before they turned onto McKennie land, Fiona pointed east where the road rambled on. “Farther doon th’ road be Thoresen land.”
“Mrs. Thoresen has land here?” Esther was surprised.
“Aye! Her own homestead where she and Jan were livin’ ’till he passed. ’Cross th’ creek was bein’ Jan’s land, now b’longin’ t’ his son Søren, who is bein’ married t’ our Meg.”
Esther and Ava knew Søren and Meg from church—and other Thoresens, many more than they could count or remember by name.
Fiona wasn’t finished. “Søren and Meg’s youngest, Jon, farms Rose’s land now. An’ b’side Søren and Meg is more Thoresen land, b’longin’ t’ Jan’s nephews, Karl and Kjell Thoresen, an’ their sons. Their brother, Arnie, chose th’ lawyerin’ life. He an’ his family be livin’ in Omaha.”
Now Esther’s head was spinning. “It seems as though everyone is related to everyone else around here,” she frowned.
“Aye, ’tis bein’ a bit loik that,” Fiona laughed in response. “Ah, s’many years hev passed. If ye could have bin seein’ th’ land when first we coomed . . .”
Brian “hrmmed” and nodded.
Esther was surprised—and oddly touched—when Fiona laid her graying head on Brian’s shoulder and they became quiet, caught up in their shared memories.
What would it be like to live your entire life where such continuity grew and multiplied year after year, generation upon generation?
Esther stared over the fields and felt an unfamiliar yearning stirring in her heart.
~~**~~
Chapter 8
&
nbsp; September
Breona awakened in the dark to Mei-Xing’s groans. She whipped the covers off and scuttled to Mei-Xing’s bed.
“Whist?” she whispered. Mei-Xing did not answer; she lay curled on her side, very much asleep. Breona frowned as she padded back to her bed. Within seconds she dozed off.
Some time later, Mei-Xing groaned anew, again awakening Breona. This time Breona did not get up, but she began praying for her friend.
As dawn crept into the bedroom, Breona arose. She was always the first up in the house and relished her morning cup of coffee in the quiet kitchen before others began to stir. She dressed and went down the back stairs to the kitchen to put the coffee on.
Half an hour later, she was joined by Rose Thoresen. “Good morning, Breona.” Rose mumbled the greeting and went directly to the large pot on the stove.
She sat down near Breona, took a sip, and sighed. “Another fine day!”
“Yis,” Breona agreed. “And a foine day fer a babe t’ be borned, I’m thinkin’!”
Rose’s head snapped up. “You think so?”
“Aye. I’m b’laivin’ Mei-Xing t’ be in labor.” Breona described Mei-Xing’s moans as she slept.
After they finished their coffee, Rose and Breona climbed the stairs to the second floor. Breona quietly opened the door to her and Mei-Xing’s bedroom. Mei-Xing sat on the edge of her bed, her arms wrapped protectively about her belly.
“How are you feeling, dear one?” Rose asked. She knelt beside the bed and looked into Mei-Xing’s face.
“I-I’m not sure.” She stifled a groan and arched her back. “My back hurts. The pain woke me.”
Rose laid a hand on her stomach and felt its rigidity. “When this eases, let’s have you walk about a bit, all right?”
Word of Mei-Xing’s labor spread through the house. All during the day different girls stopped to offer encouragement and to say they were praying—including Tabitha, who would be leaving for nursing school in two days.
Stolen (A Prairie Heritage, Book 5) Page 8