It isn’t enough, Lord, not nearly enough.
Rose did not begrudge the drain on her savings. In her heart she had already pledged her worth to this work. But if they used it all, then they must be completely self-sufficient.
Or, rather, lean more deeply on you, Lord, our Provider! she added silently
They had worked so hard, God had answered so many prayers, and they had already battled through many obstacles, but Rose could not deny that she was weary. She thought again of the proposed sewing school and the small café they hoped to open and sighed.
So much to do. So many demands.
“Missus, I hate t’ bother you,” Mr. Wheatley said meekly. In truth Rose considered him a welcome interruption.
“Yes, Mr. Wheatley?”
He ran gnarled fingers through the grey tufts standing up on his head. “Don’t know how t’ put this delicately, but . . . well, th’ latrines are all backed up.”
Rose put a hand over her eyes. Dear Lord! Please help me—you didn’t design me to handle plumbing problems!
“I’m real sorry, missus,” Mr. Wheatley apologized, as though he had caused the problem. “They built this house real fancy with toilets and all, but I can’t say as I have much experience with ’em.”
“No, no, Mr. Wheatley! You certainly did not cause the plumbing to stop up,” Rose remonstrated. And then, perhaps because she needed to laugh rather than cry, she slyly added, “Or did you?”
The look of consternation that washed over Mr. Wheatley’s face was what Rose needed to draw a low chuckle from her. “I am only teasing, dear Mr. Wheatley. The joy of the Lord is our strength. I am in need of a little joyful strength at the moment!”
With that, he relaxed and grinned. “I know just what you mean, missus. I am certain th’ wall of pyracantha on the side of this house holds a personal grudge against me.” He pushed a sleeve up to his bony elbow and revealed a thoroughly poked and scratched forearm.
“Goodness! I believe you are right!” Rose said with a little rueful laugh.
Mr. Wheatley re-buttoned his shirt cuff. “Pardon me for my boldness, missus, but I was wondering if I could make a suggestion?”
“Of course, Mr. Wheatley. Please do not apologize,” Rose replied.
“Well, it’s this way,” he said slowly. “When Pastor David and his family and Flinty were down here couple of months ago helping us move in, Flinty, he kinda mentioned that he’s awful lonesome up on the mountain, now we’ve moved away.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve been meaning to mention it, but we’ve all been working s’ hard.”
“Thing is,” he continued, “Flinty, he knows a powerful lot about such things as plumbing and carpentry and furnaces and so on. Built that lodge himself, he did. He might not be s’ strong himself these days, but he could direct us in the right way, if you take my meaning.”
Rose nodded thoughtfully, but Mr. Wheatley wasn’t quite finished. “I been praying on it for a while, too, ’cause I’m thinking Flinty ought not t’ be living alone much longer. Don’t think he eats right, for one thing. If he came t’ live here, he would earn his keep, I don’t doubt that, and it would cheer him to no end t’ have folks he loves about him. And I’m thinking Marit might put some meat back on his old bones.”
Rose thought on his suggestion. What a relief it would be to have a knowledgeable person to advise her!
“Thank you, Mr. Wheatley. I will discuss your idea with Grant and Joy. I believe we would all love to have Flinty here. Where would he sleep, do you think?”
“Well, that butler’s room next to mine has a lot of funny shelves and what-not for silver trays, fancy dishes, and wine bottles, but I don’t think Flinty would mind a-tall.”
“Oh, Mama! It would be so good to have Flinty here,” Joy exclaimed later. “And his advice would be invaluable, especially for you.”
Grant, who did not know Flinty well, was willing to respect Joy and Rose’s opinion in the matter. “Will he be satisfied with room and board?” he asked. “We certainly cannot pay him.”
Rose smiled and thought of Flinty for a moment. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he were willing to pay us room and board,” she finally said. “With his boys grown and gone out into the world, we are as close to family as he has.”
“Well, he cannot come soon enough for me!” Grant laughed. He and Billy had spent hours plunging out stopped up toilets. Even after all their efforts, only the commodes on the first floor flushed cleanly.
Reluctantly, but fearful of a disastrous overflow, he had mandated that the second and third floor toilets not be used until the problem was fully resolved. They would wait to have the plumbers in until after Flinty arrived to advise them.
“I am certainly the least liked person in the house at the moment,” he added ruefully.
“I must agree,” Joy replied, the sarcasm in her voice a reminder of how far the toilets were from their third-floor bedroom.
—
Rose composed a letter and sent it off to Flinty the following day. At dinner that evening she told the household that they had invited Flinty to come live with them.
Breona, Billy, Marit, and Mei-Xing responded enthusiastically. But not everyone reacted as well.
“What? That old man?” Tabitha asked incredulously. “Don’t we all have enough to do without having to care for another old geezer?”
Mr. Wheatley looked down at his plate, and color flooded Rose’s face as she attempted to control her anger. “Tabitha, Flinty will carry his own weight here just as you do,” she replied tightly.
She paused and stared at Tabitha, clearly incensed. “We need ‘that old geezer’ in our home, my dear, as much as he needs us. And perhaps it would do your heart some good to stop and consider where you would be if this house were not here for you.”
Rose’s pointed words hung over a very still table. Finally Tabitha shrugged. “Fine then. Just so I don’t have to clean up after him.”
The rest of the meal was uncomfortably quiet, and Rose was still angry when dinner was over. She went immediately to her room and knelt beside her bed.
Lord, she prayed silently. Please help me. Draw near to me, Lord, and guide my steps and words aright. I am sorry I lost my temper and I forgive Tabitha, Father God. I do! I just don’t know how to cope with her selfish outbursts. O Lord, I need you.
As she often did, Rose looked back on her marriage to Jan and those many happy years in their tiny prairie home for comfort. She had been raised in relative ease and modest wealth and had never worked hard a day in her life, but still, the day she stepped off the train in RiverBend, the prairie had called to her. It had beckoned for her to let God dig deep into her soul and let him bring her up to higher ground.
Lord, she prayed, when I arrived in RiverBend, I was as unprepared for the hardships of prairie living as I am now for the new responsibilities you have laid upon my shoulders. Yet I found you in that place, our beloved prairie, and I learned to face and overcome adversity in your strength.
You have instilled that same strength and faith in my daughter Joy—and now you have given us, Joy and me, many daughters to raise! Help us, O God, to walk faithfully before you. Help us, Lord, to shoulder the work you have given us and to faithfully pass on to our girls the heritage you instilled in us.
Lord, I ask you to break the yoke of bondage that is holding them and our home in its grasp. O God, I am asking in the name of Jesus for you to come with power and set these captives free!
~~**~~
Chapter 18
(Journal Entry, November 1, 1909)
Good morning, Lord. Thank you for your new mercy each morning. I know you will strengthen me this day for all that you place before me, especially for reaching these young women. You are my refuge and my fortress! You are my God and I trust in you.
I am reminded today of the mystery of the locked attic. Emily is coming to visit tomorrow. I will ask her. Surely she will know something of this house’s secrets!
—
&n
bsp; Emily Van der Pol came to tea at Palmer House that afternoon. Rose was grateful for the reprieve from her duties.
“My dear Mrs. Thoresen, I do not like to see you looking so fatigued,” Emily said with a little frown.
Rose smiled. She knew she must appear tired. “I admit that the responsibility is sometimes more than I can handle. It can be . . . challenging.” She did not mention her growing concerns about the atmosphere in the house.
“I pray for you daily, Mrs. Thoresen,” Emily replied. “This entire venture is uncharted territory.”
Rose passed Emily her tea and hoped to change the topic. “Emily, when Pastor Jamison visited weeks ago, he said a puzzling thing. It was when we reached the attic stairs and I said the door was locked. He replied, and I recall his exact words: I do understand. Perfectly.”
She looked at her friend steadily. “Emily, what did he mean? What is the secret hidden in this house?”
Emily closed her eyes. “Oh dear. I had forgotten that you did not know.” She moistened her lips with another sip of tea. “Where shall I begin?”
Rose urged gently. “How about at the beginning?”
Chuckling, Emily said, “Always the best place, yes? Well.”
She sighed. “Chester and Martha Palmer had only one child, a daughter, who was the light of their lives. They had quite despaired of having children, you see, and Martha was, I believe, in her forties when their baby arrived. Elizabeth-Ann was her name.
“She was a lovely young thing, so sweet and pure. My parents and the Palmers were such good friends, and Bethy-Ann and I were often playmates, although I was older than she.”
Emily smiled in remembrance. “We called her Bethy, even after she wasn’t a child. As I matured and my social obligations took more of my time, I did not see Bethy-Ann as frequently. Then I was engaged and married.
“Bethy should have come out into society during her sixteenth year, but for some reason the Palmers decided to delay her debut. They did not speak of their reasons to anyone, but slowly some rumors began circulating—a few tales of odd behavior on Bethy’s part.”
Rose waited, a little frown creasing her forehead.
“I dread to speak of this, I truly do. It breaks my heart,” Emily said slowly. “I called on Bethy-Ann one afternoon after my parents had announced my engagement. She was so happy to see me, so very happy and effusive that I started to think it a little odd. While we were taking tea, she began to confide in me about some people who were bothering her. I asked their names, but she would only call them those people.
“I really could not understand what was happening to my little childhood friend. She was 16, but seemed to be retreating into childhood rather than maturing.
“I mentioned it to my parents and I will never forget my mother’s face. She knew what I did not know, that Bethy-Ann was going mad. The doctors could not cure her. They gave her potions to calm her but those made her nearly catatonic, and Martha forbade their use after a few months’ trial.
“I heard that when Bethy-Ann had spates of joy and those around her did not celebrate as she did, she would become angry. When her condition worsened, she even became devious and vindictive, playing terrible pranks on anyone she thought had offended her or, as she saw it, was intent on harming her.
“Martha and Chester built this house and moved in when Bethy-Ann was eight years old, you know. How she loved this house! As she descended into madness, she would roam the halls, morning to evening, more and more a child than an adult, talking with her dolls and playing make-believe.
“Bethy-Ann’s behavior became so erratic and her emotions so unpredictable, that Chester and Martha were forced to hire two full-time nurses to watch over her. After three years, the doctors insisted that the Palmers put Bethy-Ann away, but they could not bear to.
“The stress on Chester and Martha was terrible, but Martha kept a level head. She had to, when Chester became ill. Martha realized that Chester could not recover if he were constantly exposed to the stress of Bethy’s eroding behavior. So she bought the home she presently lives in and moved the two of them into it. She left Bethy-Ann in the care of her nurses and the house staff, and focused her attention on Chester’s recovery.”
Emily shuddered. “I heard that Bethy-Ann missed her parents terribly and ran through their rooms and the upstairs halls screaming and crying for them at all hours of the day and night. Eventually—thank the Lord—she calmed and adjusted.”
Emily dabbed at her eyes. “I was 29 the last time I visited Bethy-Ann. She did not know me, but we had a lovely little lunch party in the gazebo. Two men, dressed as servants, stayed close by but at a respectful distance while the housekeeper served the lunch. Bethy-Ann had three of her favorite dolls at the table and we talked of nothing but happy nonsense for an hour and a quarter until it was time for me to go.”
“As I gathered my things to leave, she declared she did not wish me to, and threw herself into such agitation that the two men standing by had to subdue her. They were gentle but firm; I could see they were accustomed to handling her mad fits, but I could not stand to see it. I fled from this house and never returned. Until Martha gave it to you.
“Bethy-Ann was a prisoner here, but at the same time this house, with its long halls and many rooms, its stairways and turrets, and the wide attic she loved to play in, became her entire world.”
Emily gazed at Rose with sadness. “It was supposed to be safe here.”
Rose shivered, unable to bear what was coming, yet unable to stop listening. “What . . . what happened to Bethy-Ann?” Rose had to know!
Emily turned and stared into the distance. “She died the next year. I cannot repeat everything I know. I will only tell you this. Someone, some man who had access to her, took advantage of her innocence. Martha never did discover who it was. The terrible wrong only came to light because Bethy-Ann became pregnant.”
Rose took a deep breath. Her heart was breaking for the little mad girl.
“She was perhaps four or five months gone, but no one realized she was with child. They only discovered it when she miscarried.
“The poor girl. She could not have known what was happening. She fled, bleeding, to the attic where she felt safest. There, alone, and in what must have been terrible confusion and pain, she lost her baby.” Emily fell silent.
It was several long minutes before Emily sighed and looked down. “She was allowed to roam the house freely, as you know, and was often quietly occupied for hours. By the time the staff became concerned and began looking for her, following the drops of blood . . . she had died, curled on the floor of the attic, clutching one of her little dollies in her arms. She was 25 years old, but had never grown up in her mind.” Emily wiped away a stray tear.
“Martha had the house shut up. She refused to let anyone tell Chester, whose health was so tenuous. For five years she let him believe Bethy-Ann was alive. He passed away seven years ago never knowing she had gone before him.”
Emily smiled wanly. “You know, Martha once said she would never sell this house and would see it burn before someone else lived in it. For many years she struggled to come to terms with losing both Chester and Bethy-Ann. I have to believe that her heart melted when she heard you and Joy speak the needs of these girls, all of them younger than Bethy-Ann when she was taken advantage of.”
“Yes,” Rose replied thoughtfully. “She said the Holy Spirit told her to give us this house.”
Emily nodded and clasped her hands in her lap. “My mother urged Martha to either sell the house or tear it down, but Martha said she could neither bear to see someone, some stranger, live where Bethy-Ann had died, nor see it torn down, for the same reason. It was an untouched, unvisited monument to innocence lost.”
“So that is why the Lord spoke to Martha to give it to us,” Rose said slowly. “It will be used by our girls—and they are no stranger to the violation and pain Bethy-Ann suffered.”
Emily nodded in agreement.
“Thank you f
or telling me this, Emily. Thank you.”
~~**~~
Chapter 19
(Journal Entry, November 3, 1909)
How my mind has been preoccupied all day with Emily’s tale of Bethy-Ann! I believe I understand Mrs. Palmer a little better now, Lord. Thank you for comforting this great woman and giving her grace toward us.
And you have been dealing with me, too. I have drawn back too long from confronting the situation in our home. I suppose it is natural to want to avoid conflict, but the strife and division I have tolerated in the house will bear disastrous fruit if I allow it to persist.
Your chastisement is upon me, Lord—please forgive me. I seek you now and will not resist your guidance. I seek the power of your Holy Spirit to do all that is before me on the morrow. You will not fail, my God: You shall be my shield and buckler.
—
Rose opened her Bible and looked at the faces gathered around the table, each one now dear to her. What she saw was not encouraging. Corinne, Maria, and Gretl were fidgeting, their disinterest apparent. Nancy was sullen and withdrawn. Tabitha and Sarah radiated defiance.
Breona had told Rose that Tabitha and Nancy had quarreled the night before again, with Nancy coming out the loser. Tabitha seemed to know instinctively whom she could bully and so would take her frustrations and ill will out on the weaker girls more and more often—Nancy, principally.
This morning Rose sensed that those who had lived at the lodge in Corinth were holding their collective breath. Waiting for her to do something. Rose saw that Mei-Xing was quietly watchful. They must all know how tenuous the atmosphere in the house had become and how strained the relationships among the girls were.
Underlying everything was a growing sense of hopelessness—if God did not intervene soon to change the atmosphere in the house, how long could they remain together? How long before some of the girls gave up and began to pull away? Then where would they go and what would become of them if they left?
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 13