Miss DeWitt, shocked at having to face one of “those women” began to sputter. “Why, yes, she is! I have seen her at that house with my own eyes!”
Martha’s eyes glittered and she asked softly, “Miss Sarah, may I ask you a personal question? I only do so because Miss DeWitt is so concerned.”
“Yes ma’am,” Sarah managed, feeling as though her throat was filled with dust.
“Will you please tell Miss DeWitt what Jesus has done for you?”
“I—” Sarah didn’t know what to say. Her eyes shot around the room and caught on little Mei-Xing standing behind Mrs. Palmer. The girl’s ivory face suddenly curved into a confident smile. She nodded at Sarah.
And then Sarah felt it. That warm, comforting peace! She smiled back at Mei-Xing.
“What are you smiling about?” Miss DeWitt hissed. “Are you making fun of your betters?”
“No, ma’am. I wouldn’t do that,” Sarah said sincerely. “I was just feeling the peace that Jesus gives me and it . . . made me smile.”
“Harrumph!”
“You see, I was . . . once one of ‘those women’. You know,” her voice dropped quite low, “a prostitute.”
Miss DeWitt drew back a step as Sarah uttered the odious word.
“I never wanted or chose to be one,” Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “It was . . . forced on me. Nevertheless, I was one. It blackened my soul as surely as if I had chosen it. When the marshals freed us and we came to live with Miss Rose and Mr. and Mrs. Michaels, I didn’t have to do such things any longer, but . . . it didn’t help. I was still so ashamed.”
Sarah sighed. “I thought just as you do—that I would always be one of ‘those women’. But then Jesus came to live within me and . . . everything changed. He washed me as clean as a newborn baby. Just as the Bible says, I became a new creation.”
She glanced at Mei-Xing, and the girl’s eyes were shining with pride. Sarah, still in awe of the truth, looked at Miss DeWitt. “Jesus said, If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. I am free, Miss DeWitt. Free from my past, free from its chains, even free from the names people sometimes still call me. I no longer need be ashamed.”
Miss DeWitt stared at Sarah, her mouth working. Finally she clamped her lips together into a hard line. “Fiddle-dee-dee! I have never heard such tripe!”
Sarah smiled sadly at her and then looked to Mrs. Palmer. The lady dismissed Sarah with a nod.
Mrs. Palmer vigorously thumped her cane on the floor, and Miss DeWitt jumped. “Miss DeWitt, I have been wondering why you have such a bee in your bonnet over Mr. and Mrs. Michael’s efforts to provide these young women with honest employment. I b’lieve I have figured it out.”
She edged closer to Miss DeWitt and crooked her finger at the woman. Flustered and more than a bit disconcerted, Miss DeWitt leaned closer to Martha Palmer’s face.
“I know what Clay Redmond did to you all those years ago.” Martha whispered, laying one of her bony hands on Miss DeWitt’s wrist.
Miss DeWitt jerked as though she had been shot. She attempted to pull away, but Martha Palmer was stronger than she looked, and she gripped Miss DeWitt’s wrist tighter.
“I know he threw you over and your parents had to send you away. I know they forced you to give up your baby. I know because that scoundrel Redmond had too much to drink one evening and began to talk about it at the club.”
Miss DeWitt’s face was bloodless and horrified. Mrs. Palmer pulled her closer.
“I want you to know that my Chester yanked that sorry excuse for a man into a corner and told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever spoke of you again—to anyone—he would personally thrash his worthless hide within an inch of his life.”
“Ohhh!” Miss DeWitt’s eyes were wide in her white face.
“I know you have never gotten over it, Miss DeWitt.” Martha craned her neck a bit more, forcing Miss DeWitt to look at her. “It has turned you into a miserable, self-righteous fool. But there is something else I know! I know that Jesus is waiting—and he is willing—to take your shame just as he took Sarah’s shame. You don’t have to hide anymore, Miss DeWitt. You can be happy again.” Martha released Miss DeWitt’s hand and she stumbled backwards just a little.
Miss DeWitt placed both of her gloved hands over her eyes and gasped out a sob. Then she turned and ran from the store. Her group of protesters gaped after her until Martha Palmer called to them.
“Ladies! This demonstration is over. Please lean your signs against the building.” She stood in the doorway, imperious and unflappable. “That’s right. Just so. And now I would like to invite you inside to meet Mr. and Mrs. Michaels and their staff.”
Somehow Martha Palmer’s invitation brooked no refusal. After glancing at each other in consternation, the women filed meekly into the store and Mrs. Palmer undertook the introductions. The ladies met and shook hands with Grant and Joy and each of their employees.
And although they made little conversation during the short exchange, the majority went away genuinely puzzled—and perhaps a trifle relieved—to have encountered only two sweet, conventionally dressed young women rather than the flock of brazen, scantily clad floozies of whom Cora DeWitt had warned them.
After the demonstrators had departed, Martha called Sarah to her. She grasped Sarah’s hand and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Well said, child, well said.” She smiled, her neck turned sideways. “Jesus has made you beautiful and pure, inside and out. And now, by George, you are fearless, too.”
One of her wrinkled eyes winked. “Always live a fearless life, my dear. Never be afraid to testify to what God has done—and never allow anyone to diminish his great work in you.”
Sarah was struck dumb with revelation. Fearless! Yes, now she could be fearless, too.
~~**~~
Chapter 23
(Journal Entry, November 15, 1909)
In the past two days we have all heard Joy, Mei-Xing, Sarah, and Corrine tell the tale of Martha Palmer’s encounter with Miss DeWitt. Although it was the same event, each teller provided some detail or perspective that the others missed.
We are still marveling, Lord. Thank you for Mrs. Palmer and for her courage. I begin to understand that such courage is birthed in the fire of deep hardship. I thank you particularly for what Mrs. Palmer’s courage did for Sarah and for the freedom I see on her face. O Lord, you have done great things and you are greatly to be praised.
Just one more thing, Father. Please heal our plumbing!
—
Fang-Hua dismissed her guards and lackeys from the room. Morgan made the observation and wondered at its purpose. Only Bao remained, quietly subservient.
She fears witnesses to our conversation, he thought. He decided to probe. Gently.
“I believe he has gone after her,” Morgan said, steepling his fingers and adopting what he hoped was a pensive and caring tone. And after he has tired of her, I can hope he will come for you, he added to himself, carefully guarding his face.
“Her? Her? Of whom do you speak?” Fang-Hua hissed. She was seated in a tall straight-backed chair beside what he knew to be a rare lacquered table and an equally priceless tea service.
“Why the Little Plum Blossom, naturally,” Morgan replied, raising his eyebrows.
“You will not speak of her.” Fang-Hua’s tone could freeze men’s bones and Morgan shivered even while his mind continued to process new information. Could it be that Fang-Hua was nervous?
She left her chair and strode a few steps away. “Why would he seek her? To kill her?”
Interesting. Morgan was quiet for a moment, pursing his lips. On this point he was uncertain—did Su-Chong love the girl still or hate her with equal passion, now that he knew she’d been used by so many men? Su-Chong was rather a mystery.
He decided to be honest. It was so much easier to convey honesty.
“I am unsure,” he said, hesitating. “When he first recognized her, he was dumbstruck. Why, apparently he believed her to b
e . . . dead.” He let that tidbit dangle, since he knew it was Fang-Hua who had told Su-Chong that Mei-Xing had killed herself. Hadn’t the Little Plum Blossom said as much? He let it dangle because he knew it would hint at the danger Fang-Hua herself might be in.
Fang-Hua cleared her throat, unsettled. Morgan smiled within himself.
Outside of the room a servant soundlessly approached the door. She knew no one else was allowed in this part of the house at present. With care she placed her ear to the door.
“What is that to me?” Fang-Hua replied with feigned nonchalance. “If the girl chose to fake her own death, that is on her head.”
Su-Chong and Mei-Xing’s words in the Plaza still echoed in Morgan’s ears:
They said you were dead. That you killed yourself.
Your mother told you this? Your mother has always been very clever, Su-Chong. And very vindictive. When I rejected you and then you left, she hated me.
Morgan kept the shock from his face. She does not know! Fang-Hua believes Su-Chong is unaware of her role in Mei-Xing’s fate. I must guard this insight carefully and use it to my advantage.
He tapped his chin. “He may wish to take her away for himself. Or he might seek to . . .” Morgan was thinking aloud, musing on her behalf, “ask her questions.”
Fang-Hua stilled and deflected Morgan’s last words. “You think my son still harbors an affection for this, this whore?” The word grated in her throat.
Morgan shook his head in his very best regret. “I truly cannot say, Madam Chen. But I can tell you where the girl is.”
The woman turned to him. “Why did you not say so earlier?”
Morgan feigned surprise. “It is why I have come all this way, madam. When Su-Chong overpowered the men you sent to bring him home, I knew right then, I must tell Madam Chen where her son has gone!” Well played, he told himself.
“You see,” Morgan said with not a hint of guile, “he will be seeking the girl, but I, with my many contacts in Denver, already know where she is.
She studied him. “What is it you want?”
He cocked his head slightly and studied her in return. “I believe it is what we both want, madam.”
She stared back, challenging him. Finally she smiled, and Morgan, despite his best efforts, shivered again. “Please do tell me. What is it that we both want, my dear Reggie?”
Morgan flushed. No one had called him that in more than 20 years. How he hated this woman, possibly more than he hated Joy Michaels! Well, first things first.
“We, I believe both you and I, want those responsible for ruining my life and livelihood in Denver, those responsible for imprisoning me and your son. The same ones who freed the Little Plum Blossom and allowed that unfortunate moment between her and Su-Chong to occur.”
“And what people are those?” she asked carefully. “And where might we find them?”
“The first is a woman by the name of Joy Michaels,” Morgan said. “Her do-gooder interference brought the law to bear on the house where the Little Plum Blossom er, entertained her guests. Then a Pinkerton man named O’Dell who aided in uncovering my enterprises and in arresting Su-Chong. And of course, the Little Plum Blossom herself.”
“Indeed?” Fang-Hua studied him with her hooded, reptilian eyes.
“Oh yes.”
“And where might we find these people?” Fang-Hua asked, her voice growing soft.
“My sources have given me an address for Joy Michaels. Right in the heart of Denver.”
“And the little whore?”
“Oh, this is the easy part. Where you find Joy Michaels, you will find the little whore with her.”
“And what do you wish from me, Reggie?” she asked her voice even softer, more seductive.
Morgan controlled himself. “I only wish for their demise as you do. I wish nothing more. Except, of course, to leave Seattle and go about my business in peace.”
“Indeed.” Fang-Hua lifted the priceless cup to her lips and sipped. “Very well.”
—
Three afternoons later Grant and Joy received a telephone call at the store.
“I shore don’ know much ’bout these here telephones,” a loud voice on the other end said. “Some feller he’ped me figger it out an’ a nice lady sumwheres insid ’a this thing found yer number fer me! I’m at th’ train station. Kin ya come an’ git me?”
Excited to hear from him, they gave Flinty directions for the trolley that would bring him to the store. Just before closing time, the front door jangled and Flinty shuffled inside, looking about the shop in keen interest. He carried a carpetbag and a stout walking stick.
“This here’s a mighty fine ’stablishment!” he grinned. Little Blackie, released from the confines of the office, greeted him with enthusiasm.
After Flinty petted and rubbed the puppy, he looked soberly at Joy. “Yer a sight fer sore eyes, miss, an’ tha’s a fact.” He returned her hug and then pulled back, embarrassed and swiping at his cheeks.
The store staff, with Flinty in tow, took the trolley home and arrived at Palmer House just before dinner as usual. Flinty’s good humor was, without a doubt, infectious. A trifle bowlegged, he clomped into the house, set his bag and cane in a corner and immediately began re-introducing himself.
He shook hands and grinned, peppering each person with “Shore am glad y’all ’vited me t’ come! Won’t be no bother, I promise! Aim t’ he’p out and do m’ fair share, you’ll see!”
Breona was beside herself. “’Tis bakin’ an’ cookin’ all th’ day Marit has been!” she prattled happily. For a fact, Marit and Gretl had been cooking up a storm since Joy had called the house to alert them to Flinty’s arrival.
“Cain’t rightly r’call m’ last home-cooked meal!” Flinty licked his lips in anticipation.
Just then he spied Tabitha and grinned at her. “You shore got you sum pretty hair, Red!”
Tabitha froze. “Who told you my name was Red?”
Flinty, paying no notice to her frosty response, grabbed her hand and pumped it vigorously. “M’ hair ain’t s’ red n’ more, but used t’ be it were as flamin’ as yourn.”
“This is Tabitha, Flinty,” Joy said in his ear.
“Mighty pleased t’ meetcha, Miss Tabitha! My, if you ain’t a pretty girl! Th’ wife an’ I, we had us a passel o’ boys. Why, iffin I’d had me a girl child, I’m thinkin’ she’d look a lot like you!” He beamed at her.
Rose was certain Tabitha would have a sharp retort to Flinty’s greeting. And perhaps all of them were a little surprised at her reaction.
“You think so, do you?” A tiny smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.
“Yess’m! Say, d’ya play checkers?” Flinty looked hopefully at her.
Tabitha smiled a little more. “I believe Mr. Wheatley has schooled us fairly well.”
Flinty rubbed his hands together in anticipation and grinned again. “Shore is good t’ be wi’ y’all. Jest what th’ doctor ordered, I’m thinkin’!”
Rose was shocked when Tabitha grinned back.
—
Fang-Hua closed and rested her eyes. Her plans to bring Su-Chong home had failed. Her husband, Wei Lin Chen, knew that their son had escaped from jail—he read the newspapers after all—but he did not know her part in the escape. It was best that she kept her role in it from him. As she must keep other things from him.
Her husband must not know that Mei-Xing was alive. He must not find out Fang-Hua had arranged Mei-Xing’s “suicide.” He must never discover that his wife had schemed to send Mei-Xing into a life of sexual slavery. Those things must never be known by him.
But what if Su-Chong found Mei-Xing again? Would the girl tell him of Bao’s lies and how he had sent her to Denver—not into a loving, new family—but into the horror of forced prostitution? And would Su-Chong trace the scheme back to his mother?
Fang-Hua’s eyes narrowed. It was entirely the girl’s fault, of course. From the very beginning, her fault!
Just now she ha
d taken the necessary steps to eliminate the little harlot. Discreet and capable men were already on their way to this Denver city.
They would find and take the girl. No one would ever see her again. It would be as if she truly had killed herself. No one in Seattle would know or believe otherwise.
Then she would not need to eliminate her husband’s nephew, Bao, to keep her secrets safe. And his loyalty was assured—that is, if he wished his wife and coming child to remain in good health.
She did not care about the others—this Joy Michaels and the Pinkerton man Morgan wished to be eliminated. They posed no threat to her, only to Morgan.
Fang-Hua sneered when she thought of Morgan. Dear Reggie. She had allowed him to leave Seattle feeling safe in his going. He would create a new identity for himself in another city and think himself secure in it.
Of course, she was having him followed. If she desired to see him again, it would be quite simple to arrange.
She thought everything through once more and her mouth tightened into a confident smirk. Yes, she had thought of everything.
Once the girl disappeared, so would the danger to herself.
—
O’Dell was in Baltimore. He and local Pinkerton men had rescued an infant boy only the day before.
The boy’s nanny and her boyfriend had cooked up the kidnapping and ransom scheme. When the boy disappeared, the nanny had sworn to investigators that she had been attacked and the boy taken while she was unconscious. The investigators had bought it.
When the ransom was paid and the boy was not returned, they summoned the Pinkertons who, in turn, placed a telephone call to the Chicago office demanding that they dispatch O’Dell. By the time he arrived, the boy had been missing six days.
O’Dell re-questioned the nanny. She was beginning to crack from the strain. Apparently, her boyfriend was supposed to have returned the baby boy as soon as the ransom was paid. Then she was to have given two weeks’ notice and joined her lover later in Atlantic City.
Instead, the boyfriend had taken the money and left her behind. Worse, he had possibly abandoned or killed the five-month-old infant.
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 16