The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4)

by Vikki Kestell

  But it was Sarah who truly worried Rose. Since the altercation in the shop with the Schumers, Sarah had become hard, angry, and defiant, and her natural leadership was influencing the other girls to resent the rules and goals of the house. Rose understood that Sarah’s future hung by a fragile thread.

  She was saddened and concerned for both Sarah and Tabitha’s wellbeing, but they were sowing discord and strife in the house. She could not allow their negative influence to continue, no matter the cost.

  Unconsciously she rubbed her face and then, realizing what she was doing, pulled her hand quickly away. She was weary, of that she had no doubt. She had been up much of the night, praying and seeking God for guidance.

  “I want to talk to you this morning about hope, particularly hope after a very dark time,” Rose began gently. Tabitha rolled her eyes and uttered a little sigh of exasperation under her breath. Rose struggled to keep her temper in check.

  “Let’s turn in our Bibles to John Chapter 8.” She waited as everyone found the chapter in their Bible. Then she noticed that Sarah was not moving.

  “Sarah, are you going to open your Bible?” Rose asked calmly.

  Sarah stared at her for a moment. Then she shook her head. “No. No, I’m not. This Bible reading may work for you, but it means nothing to me.”

  Rose saw the astounded looks on Joy and Breona’s faces. Grant frowned softly and dropped his head. Rose hoped he was praying.

  Mr. Wheatley, sadder than she had seen him for a very long time, sent an imploring look in Sarah’s direction. Sarah turned her face from him.

  “Sarah, I understand what you are saying. I even understand what you are feeling,” Rose responded gently. “What I would ask you to do is this: Listen carefully to what I have to say this morning. If, after we have finished, you still feel the same way, you are free to go.”

  Sarah stopped short. “What do you mean, ‘free to go’?”

  “We were very clear before we moved here from Corinth. Everyone who chose to come with us agreed to participate in the house activities, including daily Bible study. If you no longer wish to participate, then you are choosing to go elsewhere.”

  Redness crept up Sarah’s neck and she snapped at Rose, “I should have known you’d throw me out. I suppose you mean to take my job, too!”

  “That is the last thing I wish,” Rose replied evenly. “I do not wish you to leave and I know Grant and Joy value you as an employee. However, if you choose not to participate, then you are choosing to go. We would miss you very much, but it is your decision.”

  Joy opened her mouth to say something, but at a look from Rose, she closed it. They had agreed that all things pertaining to the girls’ spiritual wellbeing and the conduct of the house were under Rose’s guidance. And Joy well knew that undergirding her mama’s sweet, steady spirit was a spine of steel. Her authority was not to be challenged.

  Now that Sarah had more-or-less publicly defied her, Rose could not allow it to stand. She spoke her next words to all the girls, making eye contact with each one. Tabitha smirked when Rose’s gaze fell upon her.

  Softly she said, “And I extend the same opportunity to each of you.”

  Suddenly the room stilled as the import of her words sank in. Tabitha looked around at the others, but Rose, her eyes still fixed on Tabitha, added, “I have neglected to address the serious decline in morale in our home, and I apologize for my inattention. I will remedy that now.” When Tabitha realized Rose was speaking directly to her, she flushed angrily.

  “Each of you knew the expectations before you accepted our offer to become part of this family. Unfortunately, attitudes and behaviors as of late have deteriorated badly. This must change, and it must change today.

  “Please do not make a decision at this moment; however, I do ask you to make a decision today, after our study. First, I ask you to listen attentively to what I have to share this morning. Now, will everyone please open their Bibles to John Chapter 8?”

  For a few seconds no one moved. Rose waited, staring pointedly at Sarah who seemed to be struggling with herself. Finally she opened her Bible but kept her eyes downcast, her mouth hard and angry.

  “Let’s begin in verse 31,” Rose instructed. She read aloud,

  Then said Jesus to those Jews

  which believed on him,

  If ye continue in my word,

  then are ye my disciples indeed;

  And ye shall know the truth,

  and the truth shall make you free.

  Leaning forward a little and looking earnestly around the table, Rose said, “This house has quite a sad history. Did you know that?”

  It was such an abrupt and unexpected segue, that Rose’s listeners were taken by surprise.

  “You may have heard whispers of what happened here. I, however, know the details. I would like to share them with you, because I think they will help us to understand what Jesus is saying in this passage.”

  No one fidgeted as Rose slowly told Bethy-Ann Palmer’s story. She told of the onset of her madness, explained Martha Palmer’s decision to have her cared for in the house where she grew up and was most happy. She described the treachery committed against Bethy-Ann and her heart-breaking, lonely death.

  “No one knew she had been betrayed and vilely used by a man trusted to keep her safe,” Rose said softly. Around the table faces were sober and some eyes were moist with unshed tears.

  “Martha gave us this house to use because she sympathizes with you, with what was done to you. Someone violated her child. She was unable to hold Bethy-Ann and comfort her—but she was able to give us this house so that, through this ministry, she could comfort you.

  “Bethy lived her life as a captive within this house, not because she did something wrong, but because something was wrong inside her. Well, something is wrong inside each of us. We are all held prisoner by the mistakes we have made, the wrongs we have done—or have been done to us—and choices that we regret.

  “In our minds are voices that continually remind us of what we’ve done wrong and what that wrong makes us. Those voices rehearse to us, day in and day out, every sinful act we have ever committed.”

  She looked around. “Do you know what I am talking about? Have you heard those accusing voices?” She saw several tiny nods and many grave expressions around the table. Tabitha stared back, a speculative look on her face.

  “The Bible tells us, with certainty, that God loves us and sent Jesus to prove that love. But those voices tell us, No! He cannot possibly love me! The Bible tells us that Jesus died for our sins and that he forgives our sins. But those voices shout, Why, you can never be forgiven—you are too stained, too fallen, too far gone!

  “In Isaiah, the Lord begs us, ‘Come, let us reason together; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow,’ but those voices whisper, Oh, no! Your sins are too scarlet for God to cleanse. After all you are a scarlet woman, through and through.

  “In Jeremiah, the Lord says ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you in your latter end a hope,’ but those voices! Oh, how they sneer right back! Yes, they whisper, God may have said that to someone else, but not to you! Because you are a whore! Once a whore, always a whore! You will always be a whore. You can never be anything but a whore!”

  Rose’s passionate voice had risen and her breathing was labored. “And we tell ourselves that if we run away, run to where no one knows us or knows what we have done, then we will be free—but that is another lie. For wherever we go, those voices go with us. We are trapped inside with those voices who hate us and who are determined to see us fall.

  “Along with those voices in our heads, are people who will point their fingers and cast a judgment that is contrary to what God’s word says he has done.” She looked right at Sarah. “Sarah, there is nowhere you can run where you can hide from the voices and those kind of people. Nowhere.”

  Sarah looked away, her eyes filling with tears.


  “We are, all of us, held captive by the thoughts and judgments we—and others—hold against us. But no one can keep you a captive if you choose instead to be free in Jesus.”

  Rose touched her Bible. “We read in this passage, Then Jesus said, ‘if you continue in my word, and if you are my disciples indeed—his followers—then you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.’ It does not read ‘set you free.’ It reads, make you free.

  “I do not wish to be crass, but I see such a spiritual allegory in Bethy-Ann’s story. She died, alone and shut away from everyone who could help her. She bled to death from her wounds, both physical and emotional.

  “If we allow the trespasses committed against us to hold us captive, we will bleed to death from our wounds, alone and without help. We will have shut out the only One who can heal us, Jesus, the Savior God sent to bleed for us so we might be saved.

  “Yes, we are all guilty of doing wrong things, bad things, even horrible things. Those may be the facts but, when covered by the blood of Jesus, they are no longer the truth. The truth is, when Jesus takes up residence in our very being, we are not that old person any longer.

  “When we are born again, we truly are what the Bible says . . . a new creation. Old things have passed away. All things have become new.

  “Jesus calls to us, Come to me! Come to me all you who are weary . . . weary, worn, and heavy-burdened. Come to me, and I will give you rest for your souls.

  “He calls to us, Come, lay your burden down, and I will make you free. And he promises, He whom the Son sets free is free indeed. The bravest thing any of us can do is to cast our burden upon the Lord who bore our sin and shame upon the cross.

  “Sarah, are you ready to give your heavy burden to Jesus?” Rose walked around the table and knelt by Sarah’s chair.

  The young woman leaned her head on Rose’s shoulder and began to sob. “Yes! Yes . . .”

  Joy slid out of her chair and knelt beside it, letting her tears spatter the cushion. She began to pray, and around her she realized, vaguely, that others were praying. Praying and weeping as God had his way.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 20

  Dean Morgan drummed his manicured fingertips against his immaculately pressed trousers. He, Su-Chong, and the others had been in this jail now for six months. His attorneys, under his instructions, had impeded trial proceedings as long as possible.

  They had incited extradition from other states; then they had fought the motions, using every confounding argument and delaying tactic possible.

  In the end, the State of Colorado had refused to yield its rights to him and had pushed for a trial date. His trial was scheduled to begin in early December. Time was running short.

  He had written to Fang-Hua nearly 30 days ago. I should have heard from that old witch or her emissary by now, he scowled.

  He’d passed the time in his cell performing complex calculations in his head or reading books he paid guards to bring him. The guards could not keep up with his thirst for knowledge. He had consumed 79 volumes in the past six months: histories and classics writ in Greek and Latin, autobiographies, German and French philosophy, scientific treatises, and modern literature. But he recognized that he was losing his patience.

  For the first time, Morgan felt the niggle of a doubt. He did not like the sensation and sneered at his weakness.

  With a rattle of keys and the clank of metal against metal, the door to the row opened. Perhaps he would be receiving the new books he had requested. Unmoving, expression composed, Morgan listened to a cart as it was pushed down the row. A letter here; a newspaper for a dime there; cigarettes for two bits—the inmates lining the pockets of the guards.

  The cart rolled closer.

  As he ambled by, the guard pushing the cart dropped a folded note into Morgan’s cell. The man did not pause or turn his head. Morgan waited until the door at the other end clanged shut and the keys jangled in the lock.

  He bent over and retrieved the paper. It was small, folded in thirds, folded again cross wise, and sealed. His heart hammered as he slid his nail under the seal and broke it.

  Tonight. One o’clock.

  Morgan smiled. He placed the note in an ashtray and set it afire, watching it burn, watching the wax seal melt, run, and sputter into nothingness.

  At last.

  —

  Breona poured herself a cup of tea and savored the early morning quiet. She was tired from the months of repairs and renovation, from the tensions and adjustments of having so many under a single roof.

  But, at last, life in Denver was beginning to assume a pattern, a rhythm that she could count on. In twenty minutes Gretl would come downstairs to begin breakfast preparations. Miss Rose would not be far behind her.

  While Rose sipped her coffee, she and Breona would make a list of the day’s tasks. Half an hour after that, everyone in the house would be up preparing for the day. But for now, in these quiet moments, Breona had the kitchen to herself and the utter silence of the pre-dawn to savor.

  An hour later the girls had finished their morning ablutions and were getting to their morning chores. Gretl was placing tins of muffins into the gas oven. Flora and Maria were setting the table in the dining room. Nancy was washing up from breakfast preparations. Mei-Xing, Sarah, and Corrine, dressed for their respective jobs, were taking care of their morning chores.

  Mr. Wheatley, his hair wild and untamed, was filling the kitchen’s wood box and laying fires in the great room to take the chill from the house. As the girls appeared, Breona parsed out little tasks to them. Soon everyone would gather for breakfast and Bible study.

  Breona frowned. What was that? The front door slamming noisily? Grant usually went out for the paper about this time. Breona heard running steps slapping across the entryway, down the hallway to the kitchen. Someone in a great hurry.

  Breona jumped as Grant, breathless and agitated, tossed a copy of the Denver Post on the kitchen table. “Morgan and his bodyguard have escaped from jail,” he blurted, pointing to the headline.

  —

  (Journal Entry, November 8, 1909)

  Dear Lord, I am holding to your promises today. Your word tells us, “With thine eyes thou shalt behold and see the reward of the wicked.” Morgan and Su-Chong Chen have escaped from jail, Lord, have escaped from justice. I am confident that it is not permanent—for even if they elude the officers searching so diligently for them, they can never escape you, the God of justice.

  We are all a bit shaken, of course. We prayed this morning and read where you commanded, “Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” Each of us has determined to commit this passage to memory and to follow its injunction to not allow our hearts to be troubled or afraid.

  Mei-Xing’s reaction to the news, however, was different and a little concerning. She will not speak of this man, Su-Chong Chen. How and from where she knows him is beyond us. But I sense that in some way he has a deep hold on her. Lord, please help my dear daughter in the Lord.

  —

  Bao wiped his face and his stomach churned uneasily. He had done as Fang-Hua demanded, but not everything had gone as she had required.

  Taking care that they were never seen together, Bao had ordered the two men with him to discreetly probe the jail guards. It had taken more than a week until they found several jail workers amenable to making certain “arrangements” for the right price. Once the day and time had been set, Bao had bought a fast motor car. He had given Fang-Hua’s men money to buy two speedy cars themselves and hire six able-bodied thugs. They had done so.

  When Morgan and Su-Chong exited the jail in the dark of night, two of the hired muscle had met Morgan and four had met Su-Chong. The instant Su-Chong had spotted Morgan, the four thugs had been required to force him into one of the waiting cars. Morgan drove off in the second car.

  The two cars were to rendezvous with Fang-Hua’s two men at a predetermined location. There her men would pay off the two thugs w
ith Morgan, give him some cash and the keys to the car he was in, and watch him drive away.

  The men in the second car were under orders to subdue Su-Chong with chloroform. Fang-Hua’s two men would pay off the four hired thugs and drive an unconscious Su-Chong to the second location where Bao would be waiting. There they would get into Bao’s car and abandon the second car used in the escape.

  It hadn’t worked out like that.

  Morgan showed up in the first car. The second car, which should have been right behind them, never arrived. Finally, Fang-Hua’s two men paid off the hired thugs and, with Morgan in the back seat, drove to the second rendezvous point where Bao waited.

  They had lost Su-Chong and brought Morgan to Bao instead! Bao had been furious—furious that they had lost Su-Chong and furious that Morgan had seen his face.

  “You may as well accept that the men you sent with Su-Chong are dead,” Morgan said, his matter-of-fact manner grating on Bao. “But perhaps I can be of assistance in locating him.”

  Bao said nothing but glared at Morgan.

  “You were going to cut me loose, which suited me fine,” Morgan added, “but now I don’t want that. Instead I want you to take me to Madam Chen. I will tell her how to find her son. And in return, she will do something for me.”

  “You will tell me now,” Bao stated coldly. He glanced at his two men, and they silently removed guns from their pockets.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Morgan replied, examining his nails. “If you kill me, you will not know where Su-Chong has gone. Fang-Hua will be quite displeased.”

  Left without an alternative, Bao signaled to Fang-Hua’s men. Bao, Morgan, and the two men climbed into Bao’s vehicle and began a five-day drive to Seattle using a predetermined route of lesser-traveled roads and places to safely sleep.

  —

  Su-Chong Chen abandoned the car a short way from Union Station. The four thugs he left inside the car would not speak, but their bodies would surely tell a tale: The police would believe he had hopped a freight train out of Denver.