That had been his first plan. Ride the train out of town and then drop off somewhere in the mountains and hole up. The police would have no idea where to look for him. But his plan had changed.
Before he left the car, he ripped up one of the men’s shirts and tied a thick pad of folded fabric to his outer thigh. One of the dead thugs had been good with a knife. He could not see the cut, but knew it was deep, running diagonally from several inches below his buttock to his hip.
Su-Chong was losing blood. He could not escape the police and this town in his present condition. He needed to get to a place where he could stop the bleeding and heal.
He removed various clothing items from each of the men, shedding his prison wear and dressing quickly. He bundled his blood-stained prison pants in one of the men’s shirts. He would dump the bundle a few blocks away where it wouldn’t be found. He kept other items of clothing taken from the bodies so that he could vary his look every few blocks.
Su-Chong wended his way through downtown neighborhoods, stealthily moving from shadow to shadow. He changed clothing twice and now wore a long coat and a dark watch cap pulled over his smooth, black hair, his braided queue tucked inside.
To prying eyes he was but one more indistinguishable shadow in the nighttime gloom. The dark of night would cover him for only another hour, but he intended to be safe before the light of another day.
At last he reached a ring of buildings, primarily offices and store fronts. The building in the center of the block, surrounded by four others, was his objective. The windows of the buildings were dark, as they should be.
He looked for and located a loose brick near the rear entrance. He wrestled the brick until it came free from the wall. Within the block’s space he found the key, as he had expected to.
Checking again to ensure that he was unobserved, he eased into the doorway and slid the key into the lock. With a satisfying click, the door opened. Su-Chong closed and locked the door behind him.
The man most Denverites knew only as Dean Morgan was nothing if not forward-thinking. Morgan always devised clever contingency plans in the unwelcome event his past should ever catch up with him. Su-Chong was aware of many of them. However, Morgan had hidden this place even from him.
Since Su-Chong accompanied Morgan everywhere he went, the mere incident of Morgan going out without him had raised a red flag. On that particular day, Su-Chong had followed Morgan and found he had secured a set of rooms on the top floor of this building.
On a subsequent visit, Su-Chong had observed Morgan hiding a key behind a loosened brick. One night Su-Chong had sneaked out of his room in Morgan’s apartment and visited Morgan’s secret rooms.
The apartment was small but well-stocked. The cupboards of the tiny kitchen were filled with canned goods and staples. It was obvious that Morgan had prepared the place as a bolt-hole—a safe house he and only he knew of.
Except it would be Su-Chong who would use Morgan’s rooms to hide from the law. He needed time and a safe place to heal from the skirmish he’d fought with the men his mother had sent.
His mother. Su-Chong frowned and pushed the thought of her from his mind. He had more important issues before him.
He reached the top of the building and crept to the end of the hall. He felt along the ledge above the door. There. A piece of the frame had been cleverly chiseled out and then fitted back in place. As he lifted the piece of chiseled wood from the frame, a thin ribbon attached to it came with it. Hanging from the other end of the ribbon was a second key.
Within seconds he was inside.
~~**~~
Chapter 21
(Journal Entry, November 10, 1909)
Mrs. Brewster returned our plate in person today, the one we filled with Marit’s ginger cookies and sent home with her and Mr. Brewster. She apologized for keeping the plate so long.
“Truthfully, Mrs. Thoresen, I’ve been remiss. I have wanted to bring it sooner, but . . .” I waited for her to finish her thought, which she finally did, in a great rush.
“Miss DeWitt is terribly wrought up regarding your, er, school. All the neighbors have discussed it and have agreed that, to date, your presence has only been a credit to the neighborhood. Why, just the improvements to the grounds have been a marked advance given the state they have been in for so many years!
“Unfortunately, our wait-and-see decision has rather incensed Miss DeWitt. Since she has not been able to garner the support of the neighborhood, she has taken her cause to other like-minded women. I’m afraid they are bent on seeing your venture discredited.”
The poor woman hurried on, quite as though a mad dog was chasing her. “I wanted you to know that she is planning something. I don’t know the particulars, but it has to do with the furnishings shop your daughter and her husband have opened.”
She leaned toward me and whispered very seriously. “Please do not think Mr. Brewster and I have anything to do with her plans!” I assured her I would not think badly of her and thanked her for her concern.
Lord, we have encountered more difficulties this year than I could have imagined! So, of course, as soon as she left, I wanted to telephone downtown and warn Joy and Grant, but instead I am bringing all these concerns to you!
You already knew all about Miss DeWitt and her schemes, didn’t you, Father? I no longer trust in my own strength or abilities. They will not suffice! Rather, I choose to trust and believe you will defend us against Miss DeWitt’s accusations, for your word declares that you will defend us.
And so I cast the care of this situation on you. I know you care so very much for us. We also wait in faith for the police to recapture Morgan and Su-Chong.
Lord, we trust you.
—
That afternoon Rose told Joy and Grant of Mrs. Brewster’s visit. They, in turn cautioned Billy, Corrine, and Sarah.
“As you said, Mother Rose, we can do nothing but trust the Lord with this,” Grant agreed. “We will pray; however, we will be watchful as well, asking the Lord to guide us when the time comes.”
Rose watched Sarah fold her hands tightly together. The girl had come a long way in her walk with the Lord since the morning she had truly surrendered to him. Morgan’s escape had shaken all of them and elicited many worried questions. Rose had led them to daily confess their trust that God would see justice done.
Your heavenly Father will walk with you through this, dear Sarah! Lean on him, Rose encouraged silently.
—
Pastor Carmichael called upon Palmer House later that evening. The household had attended Calvary Temple a few Sundays now, but as yet had not introduced themselves to the pastor. The young man, dressed in ordinary clothing, somewhat worn but presentable, apologized for not being expected.
“I pray you will forgive my unannounced visit,” he whispered to Rose. “I do not have a telephone, and Pastor Jamison has given such a glowing account of your work, I could wait no longer to make your acquaintance. On Sundays I am much too occupied to greet newcomers.”
“Pastor, you are welcome,” Rose assured him. Billy, Marit, and little Will had retired upstairs after dinner, as had Grant and Joy, so only Rose, Mr. Wheatley, and the girls remained to visit with him.
Rose conducted him to the great room rather than the parlor, as he had expressed a wish to meet everyone in the house. Many of the girls were clearly flustered at their unexpected introduction to the preacher, but he soon set them at ease, asking easily about the renovations to the house and their further plans.
“I heartily commend you all,” the pastor told them, “and am praying for your continued good work! In fact, I wish to ask more questions, if I may be allowed?”
Just then Breona and Gretl entered the great room with two trays of tea and cakes. As they began to serve, Rose introduced them to the young pastor. Gretl curtsied and handed him a plate with a slice of chocolate cake; Breona came after and settled a cup and saucer beside him.
“It’s Miss Byrne, is it?” Pastor Carmichael aske
d.
“Yis, sir,” Breona replied softly.
“I thank you kindly,” he added.
Breona colored a tiny bit and said nothing further, but Rose noted that the pastor’s eyes followed Breona around the room. Finally he turned his attention to Rose again.
“Mrs. Thoresen—and all of you, in fact—I believe you have been to Calvary Temple and have seen what God is doing in our services?”
“Yes,” Rose replied. “I have come away so blessed and refreshed!”
He nodded. “I am glad indeed. The Lord is moving mightily on the hearts of many. And we have seen several . . . young ladies come to the Savior and seek a new life in him.”
He cleared his throat. “One of my questions, perhaps a delicate one, is to ask if you are open to receiving new . . . household members?”
Rose nodded, too. Several girls looked to her for her answer. “We are, Pastor.”
He sipped his tea thoughtfully. “The Lord has brought five of our congregation out of this way of life. They are doing well, although the transition was difficult and sometimes dangerous. Lately two of the ladies have gone out onto the streets to share what the Lord has done for them—but always accompanied by several strong men charged with protecting them.”
He met and held the gaze of several of the girls. “I know how force and brutality were used against many of you. I would never wish you to be in danger of such abuse again and I would, personally, stand between you and any who would ever attempt to harm you.”
Turning back to Rose he said, “May I ask you, when we are sharing the Gospel on the street, may we speak of your house as a refuge?”
Rose nodded her acquiescence. “But for safety’s sake, we have thought that our location should be withheld until a young woman is ready to make the decision to leave. Perhaps when she is, we could come to the church and meet with her, explaining what is required for her to stay at Palmer House.”
“I agree with you, Mrs. Thoresen. I would not wish any of the men who, er, manage these ladies to know your location.”
Breona gave the conversation half of her attention as she minded the tea things, shuttling between the kitchen and great room to refill the tea pots. But she found herself listening for the pastor’s voice.
Loik foine music, ’tis, she thought idly, smiling. Then she blushed a little. Just a very little.
~~**~~
Chapter 22
They did not have to wait long for the attack Mrs. Brewster predicted to break. Two mornings later Grant, who had entered from the back door, unlocked the front entrance to Michaels’ Fine Household Furnishings and turned the “Closed” sign to “Open,” ready for another day of business.
He was met by a knot of women clustered on the walk just outside the door. They stared daggers at him through the glass. At their fore was Miss DeWitt.
Grant stepped out of the store. “Good morning, Miss DeWitt. Good morning, ladies.” Grant already deduced from the signs they carried why they were there.
One sign read, Do Not Patronize This Store. Another, in bold red, declared, House of Ill-Repute! Yet another boasted, Do Not Buy Your Furnishings from Fallen Women. Instead of responding to Grant’s greeting, the women turned up their noses and began walking an oblong circuit the length of the shop, holding their signs high.
They were picketing the store!
“How long will they do this?” Joy asked, worry creasing her brow. It was nearing noon, and not one customer had crossed the lines of women demonstrating in front of their shop. A small crowd had gathered across the street, pointing at the protesters and chattering to themselves. New passersby joined the assembly while others, having watched their fill, continued on their way.
“Surely they must be getting weary,” Corrine observed. “They have been walking for three hours now.”
“If you watch closely, they take turns taking breaks,” Sarah pointed out. “I have counted twelve ladies, but only nine march at a time. Three walk toward the park every 15 minutes and then return and relieve three others.”
“They are well-organized, I’ll give them that,” Billy answered wryly.
“What are we going to do, Grant?” Joy whispered.
“We are going to pray.” He gathered the store staff around him and, within view of the protesters, they held hands and bowed their heads.
At closing time Grant locked the doors and turned over the “Open” sign to “Closed.” The protesters smiled broadly and congratulated each other. Not one customer had entered the store all day.
The next day the women and their signs returned. And the day after that. Each morning Grant and Joy gathered their staff and prayed for a quarter of an hour. Then they busied themselves cleaning the store and reorganizing their stock.
On the fourth morning, around 11 o’clock, Martha Palmer’s liveried driver pulled up in front of the store and stopped. The elderly woman was impeccably dressed as was her usual manner.
Aided by her companion, Mei-Xing, Mrs. Palmer slowly stepped out of the car and steadied herself with her cane. The group of protesting women considered the formidable old lady warily.
Most knew her by sight. All knew her by reputation.
“Pardon me,” Mrs. Palmer said clearly. “You are blocking my way.” She began to hobble toward the shop’s front door with Mei-Xing following closely behind her.
The women, unsure of what to do, parted for Mrs. Palmer. All but Miss DeWitt. Scowling at the timidity of her followers, she placed herself between Mrs. Palmer and the door.
“Good morning, Mrs. Palmer,” she said, twisting her sour face into what might be construed as a smile.
“Good morning. It’s Miss DeWitt, isn’t it?” Martha Palmer asked, looking up at her.
“Why, yes, it is.” Miss DeWitt was somewhat flattered that Mrs. Palmer knew her by name. She smiled again.
“Well, now that we’ve cleared that up,” Martha replied tartly, “would you kindly move out of my way?”
“Pardon me, Mrs. Palmer, but may I draw your attention to our efforts here today? We are protesting this store and its patently dishonest presentation of itself as a respectable establishment.”
“You are, are you?” Martha Palmer twisted her head so that she could look Miss DeWitt in the eye. “Well, I am here to support this quite respectable store. Now, for the third time, please give way and allow me to pass.”
“I . . . I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mrs. Palmer,” Miss DeWitt stammered. The conversation was not going as she had anticipated and she flushed, a bit affronted before her fellow protesters.
“Eh? Can’t do that?” Mrs. Palmer chuckled. “Miss DeWitt, please allow me to demonstrate how simple it is.” She turned slightly. “Miss Li? Your arm, if you please.”
Mei-Xing stepped to her side with alacrity and Mrs. Palmer shifted her weight to Mei-Xing’s arm. As soon as she was steady, she raised her cane a mere six inches and gave Miss DeWitt a sound rap in the shin.
“Oww!” Miss DeWitt hopped aside in obvious pain.
“As I said,” Mrs. Palmer said dryly as she hobbled forward, “quite simple.”
Most of Miss DeWitt’s compatriots appeared shocked; a few smothered spontaneous smiles, and one could not quite hold back a titter. Mei-Xing opened the door to the shop and Martha Palmer hobbled her way into the store.
“Mrs. Palmer! Good morning—how lovely to see you today!” Joy was sincerely delighted to see the lady and Mei-Xing.
Martha craned her neck and grinned at Joy. “Heard you were experiencing some trouble and thought I would come and have some fun.”
Joy’s face fell. “Thank you for coming. We have not had a single customer in four days.” She looked through the door’s glass. Miss DeWitt was scolding her followers and pointing at the door. The women picked up their signs and, as Miss DeWitt gestured, resumed their march up and down the walkway.
One of the demonstrators, however, was arguing with Miss DeWitt. As Joy watched, the woman lost her patience with Miss DeWitt, th
rew down her sign, and stomped off.
“Look! One of them is leaving!” Joy, Martha Palmer, and Mei-Xing drew near the door’s window and watched the woman leave. As they did, Miss DeWitt saw their smiles and turned a bright, angry red. Abruptly, she put her hand on the door’s knob and pushed her way into the store.
“Now see here, Martha Palmer! I cannot believe you actually struck me! Why, I could have the police called on you for assault!” Miss DeWitt had pursed her lips together until they resembled an indignant prune.
Martha rounded on her. “And I cannot believe you have committed such egregious defamation of character, Cora DeWitt. I will be in contact with my attorney this very day regarding it.”
“Wh-what? You cannot do that!” Miss DeWitt sputtered. “Why, look! There is one of those women. Right there!” She pointed a gloved finger at Sarah, who immediately cringed. “The owners promote this, this place as an upstanding, reputable establishment, all the while employing fallen women as clerks!”
Martha glanced across the store to where the staff was clustered, watching the exchange between the two women. Joy, seething with indignation, could no longer contain herself.
“See here! I will not have you disparage my girls in my own shop!” she cried, advancing on Miss DeWitt. “You will—”
“My dear Mrs. Michaels,” Martha interrupted quietly. “Would you please be so gracious as to step back a moment and allow me to handle this?”
Without waiting for Joy’s response, she called to Sarah. “Miss Sarah, kindly come here.” Corrine and Sarah were standing together and Sarah glanced at Corrine with panic in her eyes.
“Please, my dear.” Martha repeated. Sarah straightened herself and walked to the elderly woman. Mei-Xing, off to Mrs. Palmer’s side, slanted Sarah a sympathetic look.
Once Sarah was near her, Martha Palmer asked, “Miss DeWitt, is this the young woman to whom you refer?” Sarah managed to stand erect under Miss DeWitt’s critical scrutiny.
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 15