O’Dell, knowing the difference between genuine grief and guilt-induced panic, pressed the woman hard. Finally she broke.
O’Dell and the local police tracked the boyfriend and the money north to New York. One of his men suffered a gunshot wound to his chest during the takedown, and it had been touch and go for him, but they had gotten the kidnapper and most of the money. The boyfriend confessed to leaving the baby at a convent outside of Philadelphia on his way to New York.
The next morning, in a fine Baltimore hotel paid for by the grateful parents of the recovered baby, O’Dell was enjoying the rare sweetness of a happily concluded case. Leaned far back in an easy chair, his feet up on a coffee table, and surrounded by thick cigar smoke, he had nothing to do but savor the moment.
His partner in recovering the child, a local Pinkerton agent, lounged in a nearby chair catching up on the news. His face was hidden behind a stale copy of the Baltimore Sun.
“Say, what was the name o’ the mug you collared over near Denver?” Rourke asked.
“Hmm? Morgan. Dean Morgan,” O’Dell replied. Yet another difficult case brought to a successful conclusion, he reflected contentedly.
“Man-oh-man, O’Dell! Look here! Somebody sprang that guy and his bodyguard from jail.” Rourke jumped up and shoved the paper into O’Dell’s lap.
O’Dell’s feet thumped to the floor. He spread the paper on the table and stared at the story that began on the front-page below the fold and continued on page 4. He read the report—already a week old—three times and then leapt to his feet and began throwing his things into a well-traveled satchel. Ice had settled in his chest.
“Call Parsons right away for me,” he barked around the stub of cigar clenched in his teeth. “Tell him I’m on my way. I’ll check in with him before going on to Denver.”
He finished stuffing his things into the satchel and snapped it closed. “Have him call McParland or whoever McParland has running the Denver office now. Tell them that Joy Michaels and all those with her need protection. I want men watching her and her friends around the clock.”
He grabbed the case, snatched up his bowler, and slammed the door behind him. It had already been a week. Were his friends in Denver safe? Was she safe? His heart was thundering in his chest.
By the time he arrived in Chicago, Parsons could assure him that the house in Denver where Joy Michaels lived was under continual surveillance. “So is the store she and her husband lease,” Parsons added. “Thing is, no one has sighted Morgan or the Chinaman, Su-Chong Chen, anywhere. Common thinking is that they are clean away.”
O’Dell slid a cigar out of his pocket and into his mouth. He rolled it around for several minutes before, deep in thought, he replied. “The question is, where would they go? Morgan must still have resources on the outside or how did he pull this off?”
Parsons frowned. “We know Morgan is an assumed name, as was Franklin. Over the past ten years he has lived in many cities, in each place under a new name—each one a complete invention.”
“You’re right about that,” O’Dell replied. “Morgan is an enigma. No one knows who he really is and where he originally came from. I’d give my eye teeth for that information. I’d bet you a box of cigars that he has left a trail of crimes from coast to coast—if we knew where to look.
“And Morgan is not to be underestimated. He is brilliant; his ability to slip on a new identity is one of his strengths. My concern is his narcissistic pride.”
“His pride?”
“Yes. I saw something in him that night in the plaza—a genuine disbelief that quickly turned to rage. He could not believe his brilliant plans had been uncovered, and he was enraged that they had been scotched. With his talents, he could quietly find a fresh start somewhere.”
“Except?”
“Except his pride has been wounded, his confidence shaken. For this reason, I would not put it past him to seek revenge. That is why I asked you to order guards on Joy Michaels.” He took his cigar out of his mouth and tapped the unlit end on the table for emphasis.
He leaned forward. “Who would he know with enough money and influence to bust him out of that jail? It has to be someone with a great deal of money and someone who knows who he truly is.”
“You have an idea,” It wasn’t a question. Parsons knew O’Dell and how his mind worked.
“I do. That night, in the plaza, something else happened. One of the girls who lived at the lodge, a little China doll by the name of Mei-Xing, confronted Morgan and his bodyguard, Su-Chong. She likely saved Rose Thoresen’s life.”
He related the scene to Parsons who listened intently.
“I remember from your report. Very interesting. So?”
“So first off, Mei-Xing Li isn’t a poor, uneducated emigrant girl who answered an employment advertisement. She is educated, cultured, and obviously from money. We know she was abducted and taken to Corinth against her will, but she has always been closemouthed about it. She has never offered any details and refuses to talk about her family.
“Secondly, and this is the more curious part, she knows Morgan’s bodyguard. From what I know of him, Su-Chong Chen is a ruthless killer. I’m pretty sure he poisoned one of the witnesses against Joy Thoresen in her Omaha arson trial and strangled the other.”
O’Dell sat back. “This is why it is imperative that a guard be maintained over Miss Li and Mrs. Michaels. If Morgan or Su-Chong seeks retribution, it will be against them.”
Parsons nodded. “Agreed. For the time being.”
O’Dell looked at the ceiling and wished he could light the moistened cigar he was again rolling around in his mouth. “Thirdly, how does Mei-Xing know this Su-Chong? And not as a mere acquaintance, but know him well enough that seeing her undid him.
“Her words alone caused him to release Mrs. Thoresen. Mei-Xing and this man, Su-Chong Chen, have some sort of history, even though she is little more than a girl.”
“And?”
“Morgan’s only known associate—still living associate—is this Chinaman. That’s why I’m wondering just how Mei-Xing knows Morgan’s assassin. Why the secrecy on her part? Are they from the same city? And if so, is Morgan also from the same area originally?”
“You want to find out?”
“Yes.”
“Where would you start?”
“When Mei-Xing first arrived at the lodge in Corinth, she had been beaten and was badly injured. While she was healing, she let slip to one of the other women at the lodge that she was from around Seattle. We have her name, Mei-Xing Li; we have the Chinaman’s name, Su-Chong Chen; and we have a place.”
“You want to go to Seattle.”
O’Dell nodded. “I want to leave tomorrow. I have two names and a city. If their families can be found, we might find Morgan, too. The real Morgan.”
“Will you interview Miss Li before you go?”
A shadow passed over O’Dell’s face. “No.”
Parson wondered about O’Dell’s reaction but only demanded, “I want regular reports.”
O’Dell jumped to his feet and flipped his derby on to his head.
“I’ll be in touch.
—
If anyone at Palmer House doubted Flinty’s contribution to the household, those doubts were erased within days. The little bow-legged man crawled over every inch of the house, the carriage house, and the caretaker’s cottage, made copious notes, and sat with Rose for hours advising her.
He scrutinized the plumbers who came to revamp the recalcitrant toilet system. He questioned them until they sent pleading looks in Rose’s direction. After they left, he revisited each toilet, making adjustments until the flushing water flowed as easily as a garden spigot.
“Yessir!” he finally admitted. “I’m thinkin’ we won’t be needin’ no fancy plumbers fer a spell!” With that pronouncement, he seemed to deflate and took to a deep arm chair in the great room. For two days he was barely able to drag himself from the chair to the table for meals and then to bed.<
br />
“I am so glad he has come to us,” Rose told Grant and Joy, “But we must insist that he regulate his energy just as we’ve advised Mr. Wheatley. It breaks my heart to see how he has exhausted himself for us.”
But after a few days rest Flinty was up supervising the final details of converting the carriage house to a little cottage for Billy and Marit. He gleefully reported that they would be able to move into it in a week’s time. Grant and Joy would see their quarters ready a month after.
Flinty’s arrival brought a light-heartedness that had been lacking for weeks, perhaps months. Meals were now filled with laughter and good-natured teasing as Mr. Wheatley and Flinty vied for checkers partners among the girls. And the girls hung about in the great room in the evenings hugely entertained by the competition of tall tales between the two old men.
Rose took a deep breath of gratitude and reminded herself daily of the many adversities and adversaries now overcome. We have so much for which to thank you, O Lord, our God! But I do not presume that life ahead is all flowers without thorns. We press on in your strength, Father, and trust you for the future as well as for today.
~~**~~
Chapter 24
(Journal Entry, November 19, 1909)
Good morning, my Lord! This morning I read Isaiah 59:19 in your Word:
When the enemy shall come in like a flood,
the Spirit of the Lord
shall lift up a standard against him.
O Father God! Many floods have washed over us and many voices have lifted against us, yet you have defeated them all. We are weary, Lord, but we are rejoicing in you!
I ask that you bring us now into a time of peace, that we should rest and recover, Lord. How I thank you for the souls you have entrusted to us and the faith they now have in you.
—
“Mei-Xing must have spent the night with Mrs. Palmer,” Nancy remarked Saturday morning as they sat down to their breakfast.
“Oh? She did not come home last evening?” Rose responded, distracted by her shopping list and the day’s tasks. Thanksgiving was but five days away, and the house would be filled with friends and family for the long weekend.
“No,” Flora answered as she buttered a biscuit.
Rose nodded. “Likely Mrs. Palmer’s dinner ran late or something unexpected came up. Martha would not have kept her overnight otherwise.”
The normal morning chaos ensued as Joy, Grant, Sarah, Corrine, and Billy prepared to leave for the shop and as Breona set the day’s chores for the rest of the household.
“Gretl, please be havin’ Flora an’ Maria cook w’ ye t’day. Girls, will ye be makin’ breakfas’ t’morra by yer ownsel’?”
“Not to worry, Miss Breona,” Gretl answered pleasantly. “They are ready for it, I’m thinking!” She smiled at Flora and Maria who were nervous at the prospect of cooking a whole meal for the house on their own. “Let’s plan the menu so you can think about it during the day,” Gretl suggested.
“Nancy, will ye be helpin’ with th’ ironin’ this morn?”
“Yes, miss.” Nancy did not watch the school teacher’s children on Saturdays.
Breona always asked rather than ordered. The girls sometimes wondered amongst themselves what would happen if they ever replied, “No, Miss Breona, I would rather not!” Each one agreed that she would not be the first one to ever try that.
The shop’s staff had departed and Rose and Breona were nearly ready to leave for the market when the front doorbell chimed. “I will get it,” Rose called cheerfully.
She looked through the peephole and saw the visor of Benton, Martha Palmer’s chauffeur. Puzzled, and with a strange foreboding, she unlocked and swung the door wide.
“Good morning, Mrs. Thoresen,” he greeted her politely. “Will Miss Li be ready soon?”
A cold hand snaked about Rose shoulders and she felt its fingers travel down her spine to her legs. For a moment she could not answer.
“She . . . she did not stay the night with Mrs. Palmer?” Rose was becoming light-headed.
“Why, no, Mrs. Thoresen.” The man looked confused. “I delivered her here just before nine o’clock last evening.”
“But, but she, she didn’t . . .” Rose’s legs gave out and she sat—hard—on the floor.
“Mrs. Thoresen!” The chauffeur knelt beside her and took her hand. “Someone! I require assistance immediately!”
He turned back to Rose and insisted, “But I watched her until she went up the porch steps! I didn’t leave until I saw her on the porch! And the guard was there! I saw him! He does not leave until midnight!”
But the day guard, finishing his morning rounds, discovered the night guard in the shrubs on the side of the house, beaten and in serious condition.
Joy and Grant returned home just after the police arrived. The officers asked many questions, and Benton, Rose, Grant, Joy, and the others answered them all. As the morning dragged on, the face of the officer asking most of the questions grew grimmer.
“Dean Morgan and Su-Chong Chen are still at large and, as far as we can tell, they are the only enemies Miss Li has. We assumed that they fled town after their escape. It is possible, though, that they have been hiding within the city.”
Breona, as broken as Joy had ever seen her, could not be consoled. Her eyes were red and swollen from weeping. Joy and Rose exchanged a long look. Mei-Xing had already suffered so much . . .
—
(Journal Entry, November 22, 1909)
Mei-Xing has been missing three days, and the police have found no trace of my little daughter in the Lord! They assume that Morgan and Su-Chong Chen have taken her. Could they be wrong, Lord? Are they looking in the wrong places?
O God, my heart is breaking, but you know where she is. She must be so frightened! Please comfort her. Please comfort us!
Lord, only the other evening I asked you for a period of respite. Now I realize that even as I asked this, Mei-Xing was already gone. But you had also given me Isaiah 59:19—I just did not understand why!
O Lord, I am now holding to that promise with all my strength. Holy Spirit, raise up a standard bearer! Send him to us, Lord!
When the enemy shall come in like a flood,
the Spirit of the Lord
shall lift up a standard against him.
—
As he had told Parsons, O’Dell had no intention of stopping in Denver to interview Mei-Xing Li. He was determined to sever all ties with Rose Thoresen and Joy Michaels. As far as he was concerned, he had seen the last of them. Then fate—or someone higher?—had stepped in and reshuffled the cards.
Just as O’Dell was switching trains in Denver, a Pinkerton agent waylaid him and handed him a note. Parsons had heard about Mei-Xing’s disappearance. Knowing O’Dell’s train was nearing Denver, Parsons had called the Denver office with instructions for an agent to meet O’Dell’s train and make sure he received the news.
Rubbing his eyes in worry and weariness, O’Dell hailed a cab. “Yer a fool, O’Dell,” he cursed himself. “A bloody fool.”
Rose heard the bell of the front door but continued to stare at her open Bible on the table in front of her. The cup of tea near Rose’s hand was as cold as her heart.
What a blow had been struck them! The entire house seemed frozen, unable to move. Joy and Grant and their staff went to the shop today, but their hearts were grieving. Breona, usually the liveliest soul in the house, moved about mechanically, a stricken look etched upon her face.
Preparations for a Thanksgiving dinner were neglected. No one could bear to think of a festive dinner with Mei-Xing missing.
Mr. Wheatley crept into the dining room. “Missus, you have a visitor,” he whispered.
Rose did not acknowledge him. She was lost in thought when another set of footsteps entered the dining room.
“Mrs. Thoresen?”
Rose stirred and finally turned. His bowler in his hand, cigar peeping from his breast pocket, Edmund O’Dell smiled gently at her. Rose
could not help it. She launched herself from her chair and into his familiar arms, bursting into tears.
She cried herself out and felt better for it, but could scarcely let go of O’Dell. Eventually he steered her to a sofa and sat beside her, holding her hand while she gave him the details he needed.
Later, O’Dell sat at the dining table surrounded by familiar—and yes, loved, blast it all!—faces. He could not deny the affection he held for Rose, Breona, Mr. Wheatley, Flinty, Marit, and little Will. His heart was happy to see them, even though he had set his will to harden himself toward them.
While Breona and Marit plied him with coffee and cake, baby Will, nearly a year old now, perched on his knee. O’Dell mocked himself. Is this the great O’Dell, dandling a baby on his knee? he scoffed inwardly. Who would have dreamed such a thing?
Will stared soberly at him and then clambered up O’Dell’s chest and planted a wet kiss on his lips. Something in O’Dell’s heart, long hidden and denied, shuddered and moved, and he was undone. He scrambled madly to stuff it back in its place, but could not.
He knew that he would stay on in Denver. He would see Grant and Joy together and would face his pain like a man. He would stay because he must search for Mei-Xing rather than go on to Seattle.
Those he loved needed him.
~~**~~
Chapter 25
December 11, 1909
Ling-Ling’s body lay lifeless and cold upon her bed. They had washed and dressed her and removed all evidence of her long labor. Bao stared at her body, staggered at death’s finality and unable to accept it.
In the crook of her arm they had laid a small bundle, the child that had perished with her. A son, they told him. The infant’s face was covered with the corner of the blanket. Bao could not bring himself to lift the cloth and look upon the tiny face. The child had been weeks overdue, until the doctors, delivering the grave news, told him they could not find a heartbeat.
Ling-Ling had already known. The baby had stopped moving, and she had been hysterical for days, mourning the loss but still carrying the child. Finally the doctors had recommended Bao seek an herbalist.
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