Esther was at his elbow then, whispering furiously, “Mr. O’Dell! Cal is in the parlor. He has a gun!”
I should have figured Judd would be here, O’Dell chastised himself. He nodded and shoved her unceremoniously out the door.
He turned to Tyndell. “All right, change of plans. One guard and Cal Judd in the parlor. Let’s make it clean and make it quick.”
O’Dell and Tyndell heard two men descending the stairs, presumably Randy and Mike. As their footsteps hit the bottom landing, O’Dell and Tyndell moved into action.
Cal Judd did not get to where he was without a suspicious, hyper-vigilant mind. Something was wrong—Esther had not immediately returned with new guests, and he did not hear her voice welcoming them. The entryway was quiet. Too quiet.
When O’Dell and Tyndell jumped into the parlor, Judd was ready. Smoke tore from his gun and Tyndell slumped behind an ornate Victorian settee. O’Dell dove back behind a wall post. The several gentlemen lounging in the parlor shouted and threw themselves on the floor. Confusion reigned.
Randy and Mike sprang from the stairwell and tackled Jack, the third guard, just as he pulled his gun. Randy called out, “O’Dell! We’ve got this guy!”
That left only Judd.
Randy hollered again. “Judd has a derringer! Sounds like a Remington!”
Two shots, .41 caliber, O’Dell automatically calculated and stared across the room at the wounded marshal. Tyndell was not moving.
O’Dell launched himself from behind the entry wall to the back of the settee near Tyndell. A .41 caliber is slow and O’Dell was fast, but not fast enough. Judd’s second shot slammed into O’Dell’s left shoulder.
He hit the floor hard and groaned, then turned to Tyndell. The man’s eyes fluttered but his chest was wet with blood.
Gingerly O’Dell sat up. His arm ached and felt numb; however, he knew could manage himself for now. And Judd’s fancy little popgun should be empty.
O’Dell thought briefly of rushing Judd and shooting him dead. Afterwards he could say that he hadn’t been sure, couldn’t be sure, the man was out of bullets and couldn’t take the chance that he wasn’t. He cursed himself for having a conscience.
“That’s it, Judd!” O’Dell shouted. “You’ve killed a U.S. marshal and you’re out of bullets. You’re done for. Throw out that palm pistol and surrender.”
The silence dragged on for five minutes. Then a silver, pearl-handled gun arced across the room and landed on a carpet near O’Dell.
“I’m coming out.” Judd stood up and O’Dell, keeping his revolver on him, called for Randy and Mike to take him into custody. Judd stared coldly at O’Dell as they fastened the cuffs and dragged him outside. O’Dell followed.
Pounder had the guards, Donovan, Jack, and a third man, lined up against a police wagon. As the marshals led Judd toward the wagon, he spied Esther, standing off to the side, her arms wrapped tightly around her bare shoulders.
Judd called out to her, his voice strident with barely suppressed rage. “Are you part of this, Esther? Did you conspire with this Pinkerton to do this to me?”
Esther, terrified and shaking, did not answer. O’Dell walked over and stood beside Esther. He would have handed her his jacket but the left sleeve was soaked in blood that trickled off his fingers onto the ground.
“I should have aimed better, Pinkerton,” Judd called, his words cold with menace.
His eyes returned to Esther, and his tone changed then, his words soft, as if reproaching a child. “Sweet Esther. Disloyal and disobedient—after all I have done for you, given to you, and how I have loved and cared for you. Your error will cost you dearly.”
“No, Judd. In fact, I promise you will never see her again,” O’Dell replied, placing himself between Judd and Esther.
Judd lunged at O’Dell, but the marshals held him back. “This is the second time you have interfered in my affairs,” he roared at O’Dell, his neck and face red, veins distended in anger. “You had best watch your back, Pinkerton! I will come for you, I promise you that.”
Not if I see you first, O’Dell answered silently. In his heart he knew that leaving Cal Judd alive was a mistake that would come back to bite him. But on the other hand, so was shooting a man in cold blood. Blast and damnation!
Judd hadn’t finished ranting yet. “Esther! Listen to me! No matter how far you go or where you hide, I will find you! And when I find you and I finish with you . . . little children will run screaming from the sight of your face! No man will ever want you again, except in the dark.”
Esther shuddered and hid herself behind O’Dell’s broad back. O’Dell just stared nonplussed at Judd as the marshals forced the struggling, cursing man into the back of the police wagon.
He motioned to Esther and they went back into the house. There he found five other women milling about the downstairs, unsure of what to do.
“I am offering you all a chance to change your lives,” O’Dell stated tersely. “For those of you willing, tomorrow I will take you aboard a train and to a distant locale.”
“Would Cal be able to find us?” Ava asked hesitantly. O’Dell noticed that her nose was changed from the last time he’d seen her, bent to one side, certainly broken.
“I don’t believe so,” O’Dell replied. “But if you decide to come, it must be now. Tonight you will stay with friends of mine. Pack and take what you need. Leave the rest. You have 30 minutes.”
Hesitantly, Esther asked, “Friends of yours?”
“Yours, too. They found your note, Esther,” he replied softly, and he saw the glistening moisture that gathered in her eyes.
A half hour later Esther, Ava, Jess, Molly, and two other girls crowded into two cars driven by Pinkertons. O’Dell took a last pull on his cigar. The next few days would be trying at best.
God, if you are there, I’m guessing I need you. O’Dell dropped his half-smoked cigar on the ground and jumped in the waiting car before it sped into the night.
~~**~~
Chapter 27
(Journal Entry, December 28, 1909)
Father God, you have answered our prayers for Esther, Ava, Jess, and Molly! I stand in awe and amazement, Lord, and thank you.
Your word tells us that you are “able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think” and you have. Two women in addition to “our” girls arrived at Palmer House Christmas night. They came with a price, though, and I do not forget this.
One of Mr. Pounder’s marshals was terribly wounded in their rescue. We do not know yet how he will fare, but we are praying diligently for him. And our dear Mr. O’Dell also suffered a gunshot to his shoulder.
Dr. Murphy came immediately to care for him and pronounced Mr. O’Dell the worst patient he has tended to date. While the wound was not difficult to treat, Mr. O’Dell lost a great deal of blood and the good doctor demanded bed rest.
Our Mr. O’Dell, however, would have nothing of that. He and another Pinkerton man left with the girls the following morning, taking them away from Denver. I will not say where in this entry for fear it may some day be read by those who wish to pursue them.
He did not say, but Mr. O’Dell’s eyes told me that he is worried. As he bade me goodbye, he whispered that he cannot return to Denver for a time. He will, he said, go directly to Seattle and attempt to find Mei-Xing’s family.
I understand his concern. Cal Judd, a name now infamous in our home, is in jail, but we have already seen that the law is not always able to retain evil men. Still nothing has been found of Dean Morgan or Su-Chong Chen.
If Cal Judd were to be freed from the restraints of the law, to what lengths would he go to reclaim Esther? Mr. O’Dell’s worries were unspoken but his eyes told me all. For these reasons, the Pinkertons maintain a guard here and at the shop. We are taking precautions, Lord, but our trust and hope are in you.
—
Bao Xang hovered with indecision across the street from the Li home. What he was considering would have severe, irrevocable conse
quences. Nevertheless, for the first time in the weeks since Ling-Ling and the baby had died, his heart felt stirred, as though something right might come from his wretched, miserable existence. Perhaps Mei-Xing could even be restored to her family.
He shook his head and thought of the more likely consequences of his actions. If he told Mr. Li that Mei-Xing had not killed herself, and that, instead, Fang-Hua had arranged for Mei-Xing to be forced into a life of prostitution, would Mr. Li even believe him?
What would Mr. Li do when Bao told of his own part in the deception? He wondered if the man would kill him on the spot.
A suitable response, he mused. A just end to my dishonorable life.
If Mr. Li did believe Bao, what would he do with the information Bao gave him? He was a wealthy, powerful man, with many loyal employees. He was honest to a fault.
The Chens were also wealthy and powerful, but they did not conduct their businesses honorably. Bao knew well of their gangs of thugs, their cutthroats and “fixers.”
If he told Mr. Li, what would the man do? Would there be a bloodbath?
He paced down to the corner, lost in his indecision, and stood staring at nothing.
“Friend, you seem disturbed.”
The presence of another man so near him shocked Bao out of his stupor. Wild-eyed, he backed away without thinking and stepped off the curb.
With a cry, the stranger leapt toward him and, grabbing him by the lapels, jerked him back onto the sidewalk. “Have a care! You will be run down!”
To emphasize the man’s point, a sleek motor car flashed by, dangerously near the gutter.
“Are you all right?” the man asked solicitously.
Bao nodded and stared about him. He had not realized he was so close to the corner.
“I am Yaochuan Min Liáng,” the man, a Chinese perhaps 35 years old, said quietly. He held out his hand and Bao automatically shook it. “You are Bao Shin Xang, are you not?” The man asked his question in Mandarin.
Bao jerked back his hand as though it were afire. “How do you know me?” he demanded.
The man pointed to the Li home. “I am a friend of the Li family. You have been on this sidewalk for several hours. You are a friend of this family. The servants know you and expressed some . . . concern.” His expression was gentle, sympathetic. “Mr. and Mrs. Li tell me you recently suffered a great loss.”
Bao opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He looked toward the Li home, half expecting and dreading that Mei-Xing’s parents would be watching from the windows.
The man placed a hand on Bao’s arm. “Mr. Xang, I am Mr. and Mrs. Li’s minister. Your heart seems greatly burdened. Would you care to talk? I am a good listener,” he assured Bao.
“Their minister? But, they are not Christian, are they?” Bao frowned and looked at the man with wary eyes.
“Ah. Yes. They are new to their faith,” Minister Liáng told him. “They, too, have lived through a crushing time. Their trials have led them to faith in Christ.”
Liáng looked about. “Come, Mr. Xang. Shall we go into that little shop down the street and share a pot of tea? I could use a hot cup.”
Bao allowed himself to be ushered along. Perhaps this man could hear what he could not bring himself to say to Mr. and Mrs. Li’s face. Perhaps fate was showing him the way.
An hour later, hunched over the now-empty pot of tea, Minister Liáng stared at Bao in disbelief. Bao had been on the verge of confessing his burden many times since they sat down, only to avoid confronting his torment by turning the conversation in another direction.
Minister Liáng saw a troubled heart and, puzzled by Bao’s behavior, continued to try to draw him out. Oddly, he had finally deduced that whatever was tormenting Bao had not to do with his wife and son’s demise, but with the Li family’s daughter.
“Bao,” he said, earnestly imploring the young man before him, “If you know something about Mei-Xing’s death, I urge you to cleanse your conscience. The God of Grace will forgive you, whatever it is!”
“God of Grace?” Bao had never heard this. He turned it over in his mind.
“It is about Mei-Xing Li, is it not? This is why you have been standing across the street from the Li home?” Minister Liáng insisted, near to losing his patience.
Bao stared at him and then dropped his head. “I am an evil man, Minister Liáng. It is only fitting that such disaster has come upon me and my family. I . . . I am haunted by Mei-Xing. Soon, I will ensure that justice is meted out on my head as well . . . and, before I am gone, I must speak the truth.”
Minister Liáng shivered. “You must tell me then, Bao. Whatever it is. Mr. and Mrs. Li deserve to know the truth.”
Bao squeezed his head with both hands as though he could block out his agony. “You don’t know what the truth will do! You do not know!”
He spoke loudly and the minister shushed him. Curious faces turned in their direction.
“The truth is important, Bao,” Minister Liáng assured him softly.
Bao laughed, sounding crazed as he did. “The truth will mean war, sir! It will lead to death, death, and more death!”
Liáng caught his breath and began to pray. Oh Lord, you know this man’s beleaguered heart. I begin to see that his pain has unhinged him. Father God, have mercy on him right now. Restore his mind and deliver him from the evil that is oppressing him! For Yaochuan Liáng felt the evil torment under which Bao was laboring.
They were both still for a time, Liáng praying silently, and Bao staring at the table. At last Bao whispered, “She is not dead, you know.”
He had spoken so quietly that Liáng was not certain he had heard correctly. “She is not . . . did you say she is not dead?” Certainly he meant his wife, only a few weeks gone now.
Bao nodded. “Yes. I said that. She is not dead.”
Yaochuan Min Liáng studied Bao. The younger man seemed calmer, but Liáng had seen mad men appear calm and sane one moment only to descend into babbling lunacy the next.
“I understand she had a difficult childbirth,” he temporized, hoping to lead Bao toward reality.
Bao gave a short, harsh laugh. “I do not speak of my wife, Minister Liáng.”
Liáng’s mouth dropped open. “You, you do not?” His head began to spin as Bao’s words took on new meaning. Impossible meaning.
Bao’s face contorted in anger. “That evil witch hates her. Hates her with all the venom of a serpent. Mei-Xing spurned her son, you see. Fang-Hua wanted to punish Mei-Xing, punish her in the most vile, degrading manner she could conceive.”
Yaochuan Liáng could not breathe. He knew the Chen family and knew Madam Chen by reputation. What had been whispered to him in confidence by his parishioners had horrified him. “What . . . what did Fang-Hua do?”
Bao told him. Dry-eyed, he recited the entire tale. Once he began, he could not stop until he had told it all.
Yaochuan Liáng’s vision darkened and he felt nauseous. He dropped his head to the table. This could not be true! He thought of Mr. and Mrs. Li, so broken by their daughter’s suicide, so filled with recrimination. He recalled how their unrelenting guilt had driven them to despair . . . until, urged by a trusted family servant, they had come to him and found forgiveness in Christ.
What would this news do to them? Was it true? Could it be? He shivered. If Fang-Hua Chen were involved, it could be true.
“How do you know she is still alive?” he whispered to Bao.
The man looked blank for a moment. “I know because Su-Chong has seen her.”
Yaochuan Liáng drew back in astonishment. “Su-Chong? Has he been heard from, then?”
Bao nodded slowly. “Men I employed have seen him. In the Denver city of Colorado.”
Yaochuan Liáng said nothing, but his eyes asked the question.
“Fang-Hua sent me to Denver to break him from jail,” Bao replied as though it were an everyday event. “She sent me to bring him back here, but he overpowered and killed the men we hired. He saw her before
he was arrested and now he is again looking for her. Looking for Mei-Xing.” He related Morgan’s conversation with Fang-Hua.
The minister sat back. It was too much. Too much to take in, to grasp.
“Will you tell them? Will you tell Mei-Xing’s father and mother?” Bao asked. The young man’s exhausted eyes begged him.
The dangers were every bit as great as Bao had insisted. But what if what he said was utter nonsense, the ravings of a mad man? And yet his tale seemed all too plausible.
“No,” Liáng answered slowly. “It would serve no purpose at present except to horribly distress them . . .” his sentence trailed off. But something had to be done. The web of evil had to be untangled, beginning in the right place.
“No. I will myself go to the town you spoke of,” Yaochuan Min Liáng said softly. “This town of Corinth?” The name sickened him, now that he knew of its wickedness. “I will go and, if what you have said is true, I will find Mei-Xing and take her out of that horror.”
For the first time in many months, Bao felt a ray of hope. “You will help her?”
Liáng nodded, his face sober. “No one must know, Bao. You must return home and grieve for your family, but speak of this to no one. We will trust that the God of Grace will guide me on Mei-Xing’s behalf. I will ask him to make a way for me to restore her to her family.”
It was the second time Bao had heard Minister Liáng speak of his God of Grace. Was this the Christian god then? No matter. He was certain no god could possibly have grace for him.
—
Edmund O’Dell disembarked in King Street Station and took a cab to a modest hotel near the waterfront. He and another Pinkerton agent had seen Esther and the other girls safely to Rose’s friends in RiverBend. Then he had immediately set out for Seattle.
His shoulder burned fiercely and he was exhausted. Inwardly he railed at his body’s weakness. How many weeks had he spent in Denver searching for Mei-Xing? And had he found any trace of her? Absolutely none. His inability to pick up a trail churned like gall in his gut.
Frustrated, he set his will like iron to press on, ignoring his body’s needs. He had no time to waste on an aching shoulder. Discovering Mei-Xing Li and Su-Chong Chen’s roots was his best hope now.
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 19