And I am the Devil’s servant.
~~**~~
Chapter 16
Palmer House was quiet and unexpectedly empty when Joy returned. She made a quick search of the lower floor and then skipped up the staircase to check Sarah’s room. She was not there either. Joy recalled then that Emily Van der Pol had invited her mother and the other women to attend lunch at Emily’s home.
Concerned about Sarah, Joy sat on the bottom step, chin in hand, and wondering where to look next. That was when she heard the low murmur of voices, floating through the open parlor windows. Quietly she stepped into the parlor. She could see them through the sheer window curtains, seated on the bench in the gazebo.
Sarah’s cheek was resting on Mr. Wheatley’s thin shoulder, his gnarled old hand resting lightly atop her head. Sarah sniffled and wiped her eyes with what Joy assumed was one of Mr. Wheatley’s threadbare hankies.
Joy was eavesdropping and knew in her heart it was wrong, but she wanted so desperately to know if Sarah was all right. She inched farther into the room, nearer the window.
“I don’t know what I shall do now,” Sarah sobbed. “I have nowhere else to go. Mr. and Mrs. Michaels have been so good to me and I have learned so much, but they cannot possibly have me in their store any longer! It will ruin their business, and I know how much they are depending on the store’s income!” She turned her face into Mr. Wheatley’s chest and wept fiercely.
Mr. Wheatley whispered something, his papery voice not carrying to Joy.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so! How could they? You don’t know how many people heard all the terrible things we said.” Sarah wiped her nose and drew a ragged breath. “I . . . I behaved so badly, too. Miss Joy must be so disappointed. What will I do now? I have no skills, I cannot sew or cook . . .”
He said something else and Sarah was still for several moments.
“But . . . how would . . . how could I ever . . .” she groaned and shuddered. “Every customer who ever comes into the store will know. When I wait on them, they will be thinking, ‘That’s her. She’s one of them.’ How could I ever bear it? And the way they will look at me—just like Mr. Schumer did—”
A growl from Mr. Wheatley gently interrupted her.
She replied, “I can’t believe you called him that!” and giggled, just before another sob caught in her throat.
He spoke again for a moment.
“Oh! I do know God loves me! . . . That is something I have come to believe with all my heart, but it doesn’t change anything, does it? . . . They will still be looking at me as though I were a . . . slut.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper on the word ‘slut’, but Mr. Wheatley’s response was strong, angry even, and Joy drew back, a little shocked.
“Now you listen to me, Miss Sarah! Don’t you ever be calling yourself such a word again! Do you hear me?”
Sarah drew back too, astonished, and eyes wide.
Mr. Wheatley “hrmphed” and patted her on the shoulder. He lowered his voice again, and what he said next was lost to Joy.
Sarah shook her head slowly. “I am so grateful that you care, dear, dear Mr. Wheatley, but no, I guess I don’t believe that. Nothing can change the facts . . . I think Miss Rose and Miss Joy are the most wonderful people in the world, but . . . nothing can erase what I have done, what I am.”
She rose shakily and got to her feet. “I’ve heard it said so many times, it must be true. Once a whore, always a whore.”
—
By that evening, everyone in the house had heard what happened in the store. Sarah merely shrugged her shoulders when Flora gingerly brought it up, and replied, “I am what I am, Flora. If I am to support myself other than as a whore, I may have to leave Denver and find a place where no one knows me. At least I have a little retail experience now.”
Joy and Grant met with Sarah privately and assured her that her job was not in jeopardy. Sarah listened coolly, thanked them, and said she would return to work in the morning. She resisted their further attempts to speak of the incident with the Schumers.
Rose and Joy, as they prayed together, sensed something more than just the incident with the Schumers. It was as if a dark tide was turning against their work, and things, often only little things, were beginning to go wrong.
“Lord,” Rose prayed earnestly, her head near Joy’s as they knelt together to petition heaven, “We are calling on you! We sense that the enemy of our souls is opposing our efforts. Lift us up, Father God, and give us strength to endure and overcome.”
The hardest part for Rose, Joy, and Mr. Wheatley was watching Sarah erect walls to keep others out. She believed she was blocking out the pain and shame, but they knew she was enclosing herself within those walls and closing herself away from those who loved her.
Her icy façade was affecting the other girls, too. Where before she and Corrine had chatted and giggled on the trolley to and from work, now Sarah kept to herself, barely speaking to Corinne.
Corrine, in turn, felt rejected and became despondent. Joy found her wiping her eyes at the store, and her work began to suffer.
And Tabitha! If that girl had been harboring any “wait-and-see” attitude regarding the spiritual restoration Rose taught in their daily devotions and Pastor Carmichael preached on Sundays, she scoffed openly at it now, her verbal barbs sharper and more frequent.
—
Esther smiled graciously and played her role, but it took all she had to hold herself together. Her dream of having her own house with Ava, Molly, and Jess, making their own choices, and never, ever having to submit to a man’s mistreatment again was over. And Cal . . .
Cal acted as though nothing had changed. He came once a week as before and was just as attentive and gentle—as long as Esther did exactly as he required.
Still her perverse heart craved his attentions! She found herself trying so hard to please him, even as a voice deep within warned of the futility of their “relationship.”
At Cal’s direction, a third guard joined Jack and Donovan during business hours. Besides them, three other men now stood guard at the house during the day, and another two when business hours were over. Cal had made it clear: Esther and the girls were not to leave the house without permission or unaccompanied.
And so we are prisoners once again, Esther moaned within herself. While smiling and mechanically responding to a gentleman caller, Esther played the awful scene in her mind again.
Ava had cursed Cal when he had told them the “new rules of management.” One blow of his powerful fist had sent her to the floor. He helped her up and, with his own hand, bathed the blood from her mouth and nose.
“I am so sorry I had to do that, Ava. Can you forgive me?” he soothed her. Ava stared at him, dazed, but also dumbfounded.
“I don’t ever want to hurt you, truly I don’t.” Cal insisted gently. “Please don’t cause me to lose my temper.” He held a cold cloth to Ava’s face and then held her close to his chest as a mother would hold a hurting child.
He looked at each of them in turn. “I will love and care for each of you, but I expect loyalty and obedience in return,” he said in a perfectly rational tone. “You must learn to follow my guidance, or I will have to discipline you. I won’t enjoy it, but if I must, then I must. Am I making myself clear?”
It made no sense. It was insane! But they were helpless to question or resist him.
Molly and Jess had shot panicked glances at Esther, but Esther would not meet their eyes. She nodded her acquiescence, and Molly and Jess meekly followed suit.
“I have wanted an upscale cathouse for quite some time,” Cal continued, still cradling Ava gently. “And you have made a wonderful start here. However, I can tell your resources are thin. Tomorrow I will take you to see a house I recently bought just for you. It is twice this size, and we will decorate it in the finest style.”
He turned to Esther. “My darling, you have exquisite taste. You can look forward to several outings with me to select all the f
urnishings. And please, spare no expense to beautify the house in the best style. I will trust your judgment completely.”
He carefully extricated Ava from his embrace. “Dear Ava. You may not be up to working tonight. Shall I have Molly fetch you some ice and help you to bed?”
Without waiting for an answer he stood up. “Now I have business at the Silver Spurs that demands my attention. Ladies, will you please be ready Friday at two o’clock? I will come for you and we will view the new house together and make our plans. I expect you to look as lovely and genteel as the day you handed out your calling cards.”
He turned back, remembering something. “And that reminds me. We must have new cards printed immediately with our new address.”
Esther came back to the present and poured another round of drinks for the men sitting in her parlor.
No, not her parlor. It was Cal’s parlor now.
—
“And you cannot tell me where you are going or how long you will be gone?” Ling-Ling’s voice was shrill, her words accusatory.
“As I said,” Bao answered patiently, “It is business for Madam Chen. It is not to be spoken of. By anyone.” He emphasized his last words, hoping his wife of little more than a year would understand the unspoken consequences of imprudent words.
She was pregnant, nearing term, and nervous. Her pregnancy and the anxiety she harbored seemed to have strengthened the character flaws he had believed only minor before they married.
Bao finished his packing, wondering again what task took him to Denver. Denver. The name of that city burned like gall in his gut. Every thought of the town and what he had done to Mei-Xing pierced his soul anew.
Bao knew that his Uncle Wei Lin Chen’s dealings in Seattle’s prostitution trade had provided Fang-Hua with connections in Denver. He shuddered again.
Mei-Xing was not, he knew, in Denver, but in some small town in the mountains not far away. He shuddered as he recalled Fang-Hua’s vindictive—no, diabolical—plan for the Li’s little daughter. A plan to sell her to a brothel where she would be suitably humbled and enslaved to a life of unspeakable perversion.
And he had willingly gone along with Fang-Hua’s evil plan. He had insinuated himself into Mei-Xing’s confidence, had portrayed himself as sympathetic to her situation, and then lied to her about a new life in faraway Colorado.
He had counseled her to leave a note of goodbye that would end her parents’ and her family’s shame before their good friends, the Chens. He had sent her to Denver to be met, he had assured her, by a childless couple who would receive and embrace her as a daughter.
He had done all this for promotion and prestige, and to gain Fang-Hua’s favor, so that he could marry Mei-Xing’s maid, Ling-Ling. Thinking of the “treasure” he had married, he laughed aloud but without mirth.
“What are you laughing about,” Ling-Ling demanded. “I am near to giving birth, and you are leaving me! You show no consideration for me, no respect for my position in our community or as mistress of this house!”
Her voice had ratcheted up several notes and Bao wondered if she was on the edge of one of her now-legendary tantrums. Ling-Ling missed no opportunity to gloat over her stature as his wife while, at the same time, obsessing over any perceived or imaginary slight. How many times now had he bribed their servants to stay in their employ after they had suffered the lashing of Ling-Ling’s tongue?
“You are selfish—you care more for that old hag than you do for your own wife!” Ling-Ling screamed.
Bao rounded on her suddenly and grasped her roughly by the wrist. He pushed her backwards, hard, until she sat on the bed. He leaned over her, pressing his face into hers.
“Your mouth dishonors me,” he hissed. “It dishonors me and it dishonors my family. More than that, it endangers us and all we have.” He released her with a jerk. “You will not speak to me in this way again, nor will you question where I go or why.”
Ling-Ling stared at him in fear, her mouth forming a small “o.” Bao folded his arms together and stared back. Finally he spoke, slowly, deliberately.
“You forget from where you come, Ling-Ling, and of whom you speak.” His words sank to a whisper. “Do not forget how Fang-Hua repaid Mei-Xing for her insult or forget your part in it.”
Ling-Ling did not know what had become of her mistress, Mei-Xing. She had participated in deceiving Mei-Xing’s parents—making them believe she had taken her own life—but beyond that Ling-Ling knew only that Mei-Xing had left with Bao, never to be heard from again. Now something akin to terror flickered in her eyes.
Bao finished his packing and closed the case. He left the bedroom without speaking again to his wife.
An hour later a messenger from Fang-Hua arrived with a sealed package. Bao was surprised at its weight. As the messenger departed, he spied two bulky figures standing in the shadows.
“Who are you? What is your business?” he demanded.
One of the men answered him in a hard voice, one that brooked no disagreement. “We are to accompany you, Bao Shin Xang. It is all explained.” He pointed to the package.
Bao flinched. Likely, if he failed in his mission, those two men had additional instructions.
“A car will come in the morning and take you to the train,” the man in the shadows said softly. “Read your instructions well and be ready at the appointed time.” With that the two slipped away.
Bao was cold and shaking. There was no way out for him except to succeed. He ordered hot tea and then closeted himself in his office. With the tea steeping on his desk and the door safely locked, he slit open the package.
It was filled with stacks of currency. And gold. That was why it weighed so much! The package also contained a single sealed envelope with no name on the front.
Bao began to sweat. He was not a drinking man, but he suddenly desired the burn of alcohol down his throat and into his chest. He poured a short drink and swallowed it down whole.
The fire made his eyes stream. When they cleared the envelope was still there on his desk, waiting. Waiting to strike at him like the venomous serpent who had written it.
Bao could wait no longer. He slit the envelope and removed a single page written in a clear, spidery hand, the calligraphy characters formed with old-fashioned elegance. He began to read, growing amazed then astounded and alarmed in turn.
You will go to the city called Denver and there discover where a man called Morgan is imprisoned. In the same place you will find my son.
With the moneys I have provided, you will bribe officials to help both of them to escape. Once clear of pursuit, the Morgan man may go his own way. He is of no consequence, but you will bring my son back to me.
You are not to personally approach the men you hire to do this. Your face must never be seen by them. The men I send with you will do your bidding and make every arrangement as you say. They will travel near you but not with you. You will meet with them secretly and only when necessary.
Have a care, Bao, in this that you do. My son may not come willingly. The men I send with you know this and they know his strength and skills. They must ensure he comes to me without harm, but it is you I will hold accountable.
One thing further. Somehow, my son has seen the chòu biăozi, the little harlot, who was not worthy of him. He now knows she did not die by her own hand. He must not be allowed to find her again or know I had part in her deception. Take much care with this.
Bring me my son, Bao. Or do not expect to ever see your own.
Bao shuddered. I must not fail, he repeated to himself. I must not fail.
Early the following morning a black motorcar deposited Bao at the King Street Station where he boarded a Great Northern train headed east and then south to Billings. In Billings he would transfer to the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy and travel on to Denver.
The car that dropped him pulled away. Minutes later a second auto stopped at the station. Two men exited the motorcar and boarded the same train, a few cars down from Bao.
Chapter 17
With Grant, Joy, and Billy fully engaged in managing the store, Rose found herself overseeing renovations on the house, the carriage house, and the old caretaker’s cottage, while Breona supervised the day-to-day household duties. Mr. Wheatley and the girls received their daily assignments from Breona, leaving Rose to deal with (and pay for) carpenters, painters, and roofers.
And Lord knows what else! Rose exclaimed to herself when she received an estimate for repairing the roof. Winter was close on their heels; the roof repairs could not be put off. Neither could last week’s bill for firing up the coal furnace, the house’s main source of heat.
Rose hadn’t been alarmed when she saw the charge for filling the coal bin. Not, that is, until the cheerful man who delivered the coal asked which day of each month she wished to have him refill the coal bin.
“We will use the whole bin each month?” Her voice had cracked a little, thinking of the tiny house she and Jan lived in for so many happy years, heated by a single wood-burning stove.
“Well, yes, ma’am,” the man replied. “P’raps not this month, but certainly when the cold sets in.” He added gently, “This is a mighty big house, ma’am.”
Rose had nodded and mentally added yet another significant expense to the monthly budget—a budget coming, at present, almost entirely from her own savings. Even when Michael’s Fine Household Furnishings began to turn a profit and as additional donations from Emily Van der Pol’s women’s group came in, most of the house’s upkeep would come out of her own pocket.
Until the other girls find work and begin contributing substantially, she mused.
Marit and Gretl were helping with the grocery and butcher bills by peddling their baked goods each day on nearby street corners. Maria, Flora, and Tabitha were taking in laundry and simple mending under Breona and Rose’s tutelage. And Nancy was caring for the four energetic children of a recently widowed school teacher, a man so desperate for help that he was willing to overlook Nancy’s background on the strength of Emily’s reference.
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 12