Evenings were passed decorating the house with evergreens, colorful bows, and strings of cranberries—and singing. The girls of Palmer House sang sacred songs and hymns; they joined in carols; they lifted their voices to sing praises to God for the birth of the Savior.
As the residents of Palmer House twined boughs through the banisters that ran up the staircase and as they bedecked the windows with greenery, they rejoiced that this Christmas would be so different from their last.
The year before, they had been mourning Mei-Xing’s abduction, unable to generate enthusiasm for a Christmas celebration. And just days before Christmas they had located Esther and her girls—trapped in Cal Judd’s “high-class” bordello. Christmas Eve had not been spent in festivities; it had been spent fasting and praying for the success of O’Dell and Marshal Pounder’s men to snatch the women from Judd’s hands and spirit them out of Denver.
Now the family at Palmer House decorated, wrapped little gifts in secret, sang beloved carols from their hearts, and breathed silent prayers of thanksgiving that this Christmas would be peaceful and joy-filled.
And while they prepared for their Christmas festivities they prepared for visitors!
Gretl would be coming home on Christmas Eve from her position as head cook for a wealthy family in Boulder. She would spend a precious four days at Palmer House.
Joy’s cousin Arnie and his family would arrive from Omaha two days before Christmas and stay a week and a half.
Arnie’s sister Uli and her family would not arrive until the day after Christmas but would stay until Friday. Uli’s husband David was a pastor in Corinth; he and his family would celebrate Christmas Day with their church before taking the narrow-gauge train down the mountain to Denver.
Friends would swell their ranks, too: Martha Palmer would join them for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day as would Pastor Carmichael, Minister Liáng, and Bao Shin Xang. Only Mr. O’Dell had declined their invitation.
Esther and Ava were thrilled when, two weeks into December, Brian and Fiona asked them to spend Christmas week with them. The girls would close the shop the afternoon of Christmas Eve and not reopen until the following Saturday!
Fiona made a point of informing them that Connor would not be present during their visit. Esther tried to keep the young man from her thoughts, but he had left two further offerings on their back step: A small turkey and a dozen fresh eggs, probably from his father’s farm.
Actions speak louder than words, Esther grumbled, except when it comes to apologies.
What hurt her most was that Connor had taken no time to know her or Ava! He had not inquired into the saving work God had done in either of them. Even now as he, presumably, was rethinking his judgment of them, he had made no effort to apologize for the ugly things he had said.
With effort, Esther again put Connor from her mind. Instead, she was grateful that their December sales were proving to be good.
Lord, we will not have to beg for help this winter, she rejoiced, taking stock of their food supply and little cash box. Perhaps we can be a blessing to someone else, because we shall have enough and some over!
For many a farmer dragged his feet through the door of their shop that month, each man hoping to buy a special Christmas gift for wife or sweetheart. Ava, in particular, became so adept at helping their male customers find what they were looking for, that her fame spread by word of mouth.
The bell over the door would jingle and a weather-hardened man, hat in hand, would self-consciously inquire, “Would Miss Ava be available?”
Esther was thrilled for Ava’s newfound popularity. Esther had always been the leader; Ava, the follower, had always been eclipsed by Esther’s charm and beauty. Here in RiverBend, however, Esther’s exceptional comeliness tended to terrify and tongue-tie male customers whereas Ava’s plainer looks and her ability to suggest just the right gift made her more approachable.
As their December sales came to a close, Esther could not help but notice how Ava had bloomed. Why, she is more confident and cheerful than she has been since . . .
Esther had a sudden recollection of the afternoon Cal Judd had announced that he was taking over their small but exclusive bordello. Ava had cursed Cal to his face, and he had, with no hesitation, punched her with his closed fist, knocking her to the floor—shattering her nose and her confidence with the same blow.
Lord, please heal our hearts from the dark days we brought on ourselves through our stubborn self-will, Esther prayed in humble gratitude. Let me never again turn from your grace and mercy.
And please hide us in the cleft of the Rock—hide us forever from Cal, I beg of you, my Jesus!
Christmas Eve arrived and found Palmer House aglow with light and bursting with laughter and good cheer. Martha Palmer, ensconced in the best chair in the great room, beamed her pleasure. Family and friends sang carols and indulged in the many treats Marit had stored up in the pantry. Little Will ran from person to person, doted upon and spoiled to his heart’s content.
Liáng stared across the festivities, his heart feasting on Mei-Xing and her child. It seemed to him that, since Shan-Rose was born, Mei-Xing’s countenance was always bathed in joyous serenity.
O Lord, she is beautiful in so many ways, he mused. And what a great desire burns in my heart for her! What shall I do, my Father, seeing I am now poor and unsuitable for her?
The girl glanced around the room, a gentle smile lighting her eyes for each person. When her eyes reached Liáng, her smile widened and Liáng’s heart swelled. He bent his head once and, clearing his throat, looked down. When he raised his face, Mei-Xing had turned back to Breona.
Rose Thoresen’s slender figure glided to his side and paused. Liáng was quick to turn his eyes from Mei-Xing and pray no one had discerned his thoughts.
Mrs. Thoresen, however, looked from him to Mei-Xing and back. She whispered, her words only for them, “Mei-Xing does not yet realize.”
Liáng flushed and shook his head. “I beg your pardon, madam. I do not take your meaning.”
“Minister Liáng.”
He was forced to face her. Rose smiled into his eyes. “My daughter Mei-Xing does not yet realize that she loves you.”
Liáng paled at her words. Mei-Xing loves me? That cannot be! He again cleared his throat. Was he that transparent?
Liáng shook his head. “She-she cannot know her heart or mind yet, Mrs. Thoresen; she is but a girl.”
“Sadly, she is not, sir,” Rose returned, her words firm. “Like the others, she had her girlhood taken from her. She can never go back to it, especially now that she is a mother.”
Rose threaded her arm through Liáng’s and steered him—ever-so-gently—into a more private corner of the great room. “Minister Liáng, did you know that twenty years separated me from my late husband Jan? And yet, it did not seem to matter. We grew to be dear friends the year that I grieved the loss of my first husband and our children.
“I learned so much from Jan, from his faith and godly life. We became friends in the Lord before other . . . feelings grew between us. In fact . . .”
Here Rose turned and faced Liáng again. “In fact, I did not recognize the depth of our friendship, the dearness of our fellowship, until he proposed to me. We had a very happy marriage, Mr. Liáng, a truly blessed union. So much of whom I am in the Lord—so much of my emotional maturity—I owe to my husband’s exemplary walk with Christ.”
She cast her eyes to where Mei-Xing and Breona were seated. The two girls were giggling, their heads close to each other over the baby, and their laughter reached Liáng and Rose across the room. Mei-Xing noticed Rose watching her and she blew Rose a little kiss.
Rose thought her heart would melt. Thank you, Lord, for the many sources of comfort and joy you have brought to me in my later years!
She patted Liáng on the arm. “Be a little patient, dear friend. But also be hopeful.”
Cal Judd was in a foul mood, and it did not take much to put him in one these days. Today he
was waiting for his lawyers to visit—the same paid lackeys who had promised that he would be released in six months or less from the dank hellhole he’d sat in for nearly a year now.
Nearly a year! While I have paid them a small fortune to grease the skids for me! he groused to himself.
When the keys jangled in the door to the cellblock, Cal listened carefully. Yes. He recognized the footsteps of his two attorneys, Claypool and Nixon, walking down the row of cells: Claypool, the older partner, had a tendency to shuffle; Nixon’s shorter stride and small feet tapped a staccato on the stone floor. Judd stood up, facing the bars of his cell.
“Mr. Judd, we have good news,” Claypool said by way of greeting. Nixon deferred to his partner and waited without words for Judd to respond.
“Do tell.”
“You will be released next Monday morning.”
“It’s about time.”
“Yes. It took longer than we expected. We had to, er, renegotiate due to recent personnel changes at City Hall, but we have been successful.”
Judd nodded. “And the other matter?”
Claypool gestured to Nixon, who swallowed to mask his nerves. “Still no sign of the young lady, er, in question. And after the Pinkerton agent returned to his home office in Chicago, we lost track of him.”
Judd scowled. So O’Dell has stayed clear of Denver. Smart of him. But Esther could not have disappeared without a trace!
He folded his arms across his chest. I am surrounded by incompetence, he seethed.
With a great effort, he calmed himself. I need only apply the right amount of pressure in the appropriate manner, and the information I require will rise to the surface, he told himself.
“Obviously I will have to take charge of the investigation myself as soon as I am out of here. I see your methods aren’t up to the task.”
“With respect, Mr. Judd, we are attorneys, not detectives,” Nixon protested.
“And yet you suffered no scruples when you accepted my money for your efforts.”
Nixon shifted on his feet and slanted his eyes toward Claypool. “I am certain we would be happy to consider a partial refund, Mr. Judd, under the circumstances.”
Judd stared through the bars at the little man. “Very well, gentlemen. Thank you for personally bringing the news of my release.”
Judd wasn’t as disturbed as he had allowed his bumbling attorneys to believe. No, I never put all my apples in one basket. Judd pursed his lips and plotted his next moves—come next Monday and my release from this stinking hole.
Cal’s lieutenant, Brady Forbes, had managed the Silver Spurs and Cal’s other business interests during his incarceration. If the reports were accurate, Forbes was doing a credible job. He pondered again what Forbes had reported to him back in June.
“Just as you asked, Boss, we let one of the doves, a girl named Edith, go to that church downtown you put us onto. Sure enough, she did not come back, but we followed her easy enough—straight to a fancy house, ’bout two miles away. Lots of young women living there, Boss, including our little dove. We’re keeping tabs on her, just as you ordered.”
Forbes gave him regular surveillance reports on the “fancy house,” and Judd was certain that he’d located those who, along with O’Dell, had conspired to interfere in his business dealings—those who, along with O’Dell, had spirited Esther and several of his other girls out of Denver.
Esther! No matter how long since he had last seen her, Judd desired her with an intensity that enraged him.
Esther! No matter how far away she ran, Judd was hell-bent on finding her.
He clenched his teeth as memories of Esther’s beauty engulfed him: her midnight blue eyes inflaming him; her lovely face and body igniting in him a fiery need to possess—and to punish.
I only need to apply the right pressure and, soon enough, little Edith will fly the coop—leading me straight to Esther.
Dear, sweet Esther! My traitorous little trollop. I told you I would find you.
~~**~~
Chapter 13
January 1911
When the happy Christmas season came to a close, winter was no longer novel or festive: It was just cold, tedious, and inconvenient.
Joy began leaving Blackie home to keep Grant company, and Rose again prayed over the rate at which the coal bin emptied. Grant, who now kept the books for her, realized how little money they actually had and insisted on extreme economies.
“I am so grateful for your help, Grant,” Rose told him—as she generally did a few times a week. “I am appreciative of your leadership in the finances.”
Grant’s laugh was short and wry. “What you mean is you appreciate that I am the one announcing to the girls that we are tamping the furnace lower and I am the one ordering that no one is to add coal or wood to the fireplaces after eight o’clock in the evening!”
Giggling, Rose nodded. “Oh, yes! Ever so grateful! Because you enforce such distasteful rules, they mumble bad things under their breath about you rather than about me.”
“A fine Christian woman you are!” Grant muttered, pulling his mouth down into grave lines. “And I had thought so much better of you, you know. My own mother-in-law! Taking advantage of a poor, sick man.”
Rose laughed aloud. “You are a terrible actor, Grant Michaels! Quite terrible.”
Then she studied him, abruptly serious. “I don’t believe your color is at its best today, Grant. How are you feeling?”
Grant shrugged. “The oxygen machine is not, perhaps, helping quite as much as it did when I started using it, but I feel all right while I am sitting.” He reached down to pat Blackie who was curled around the legs of his chair.
“Perhaps you should talk to the doctor? Maybe he can recommend a change to the machine’s settings?”
“I will tend to it, Mother, so please don’t concern Joy over my health.”
It was not a request. Rose understood and nodded her acquiescence. “As you wish, Grant.”
The Denver Post duly reported Cal Judd’s release in Monday’s morning paper. By Wednesday, Pastor Carmichael had telephoned with an alarming report.
“The women in our church who minister to the doves on the street have heard a rumor, and I felt I should call you with all speed. The rumor is that Cal Judd is looking for a runaway from the Silver Spurs—a girl named Edith—and he has offered a sum of money to whoever locates her.”
“We have waited too long to send her away,” Rose sighed as she hung up the telephone. She called Edith to the parlor that evening.
“Edith, my dear, for your own safety and the safety of this house, we must send you on from here.”
Edith gulped. “But wh-where will I go?”
Rose took her hand and stroked it. “You will be going to friends in another town. It is a small town; you will need to make some adjustments, but we have sent other girls there. Our friends and the town folk will help you. We just cannot afford for Cal Judd to ever find you or trace you back to this house.”
Rose had already placed a trunk call to RiverBend to Pastor Jacob Medford and his wife, Vera. They, with help from Brian and Fiona McKennie and Rose’s stepson and his wife, Søren and Meg Thoresen, had taken in Esther and four other young women the previous Christmas. Because Cal Judd considered Esther his special property, Palmer House’s involvement in her escape had become quite dangerous.
Sara and Corrine helped Edith pack her meager belongings. “We’re sorry you cannot stay here longer and we will miss you,” they commiserated, “but we would rather know that you will be safe and cared for.”
Early in the morning a brave Edith said her goodbyes. Rose embraced her at the door. One of Samuel Gresham’s men had been tasked with driving Edith to the station and putting her on the train to RiverBend.
Morgan observed as the black automobile pulled up to the curb. It was the same automobile that transported Mei-Xing to her work each day. However, only one man, the driver, disembarked, instead of the usual two men.
Th
e car is early, and this is a departure from their routine, Morgan noted eagerly. He sat up straight and paid close attention. The guard strode up the walk and returned—escorting not Mei-Xing, but one of the other young women, a girl with brown, curly hair.
The guard carried a carpet bag. He opened the back door for the girl, put the bag on the seat next to her, walked around the car, got into the driver’s seat, and drove them away.
Then, for the first time, Morgan saw the other “watcher” start his automobile’s motor. A few seconds later, he followed after the black car.
Morgan stayed seated, deep in thought, for a quarter hour. Someone had watched Palmer House for several weeks—at the least. Morgan really couldn’t say for how long, because the sentinel had been in place when Morgan rented his room.
Someone has been watching, he mused, but not for Mei-Xing, and Morgan was no closer to knowing who or why than the first day he’d noticed the other watcher.
All he knew was that the other observer did not return.
Edith stepped off the train in RiverBend and gawked about her, a bit dismayed. As scenic as someone might describe the small town and the prairie beyond it in springtime, the dull, drab January afternoon did nothing to recommend either the town or its surroundings.
Edith lingered on the siding, waiting, but no one greeted her or seemed to be looking for her. She stared at the sooty remains of the last snowfall running in a muddy stream down the center of the town.
Three men began unloading crates from a boxcar onto the platform. Edith clutched her small bag and, with a sigh, turned toward the tiny train office.
“Kin I help ya, miss?”
Edith jumped. The voice came from behind her and she whirled around.
“Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean t’ startle ya none. Jeremy Bailey, at yer service. I run this station.”
Edith eyed the lanky forty-something man, and he eyed her back, openly curious.
Stolen (A Prairie Heritage, Book 5) Page 13