Tory wiped a stray tear with Grant’s handkerchief. “Helen died three days later, yet in those three days she was so happy, so peaceful. When Miss Eugenia would sing to her, Helen would smile and she was beautiful.”
Grant cleared his throat, clearly moved, but Joy and Rose were weeping unabashedly.
“Thank you, dear Lord,” Rose murmured. Joy nodded in agreement, unable to speak for the awe of that moment.
“I gave my heart to Jesus when Helen passed,” Tory added, sniffling through her tears. “And I am determined to serve him however he leads me. The Misses Wright apprenticed me to Monsieur LeBlanc, and I have been working for him for more than a year.”
Joy looked up sharply. “M. LeBlanc is well known, even in Europe, for his designs.”
“Yes, miss. I began in the workroom, but when I showed him some of my sketches, he assigned two seamstresses to me to make two of my designs.” She ducked her head modestly. “The dresses were well received, and M. LeBlanc moved me permanently to my own design table with my own seamstresses.”
Joy and Grant murmured their compliments and congratulations, but Rose’s heart began to beat a little more quickly.
“Many months back I received a letter from Mrs. Van der Pol about this house, the girls you have living here, and some of your plans,” Tory continued. “I have been praying for you and wishing I might help in some way. Of course, since I am apprenticed to M. LeBlanc for five years I could not come to help, although I felt the desire to do so very much.”
“But one day just two weeks ago, M. LeBlanc called me into his office.” Tory paused. “He had received a visit from the Misses Wright.”
She looked earnestly at the small group gathered around her. “M. LeBlanc is a good man, a man who loves the Lord. He knew who I was—what I had been—when he took me on, but he had compassion on me.
“We all agreed that it was best for his business to keep my past in confidence, but . . .” here her voice trailed off, “my designs were beginning to bring me recognition, and we were both somewhat concerned that eventually my past would come out.
“When I received the letter from Mrs. Van der Pol, the Misses Wright explained to M. LeBlanc that I was needed in Denver. They expressed their confidence that the Lord would make a way. And he has.
“M. LeBlanc has released me from my apprenticeship. He and the Misses Wright have decided to anonymously establish me in my own shop here in Denver. M. LeBlanc is sending a large selection of fabrics and notions and several machines here.
“The Misses Wright have provided funds to rent space for the first year. They will remain silent partners in my endeavor, and I will share the profits with them. All I need is a suitable building to begin.”
Instinctively, she turned to Rose. “Mrs. Thoresen, that is why I am here. I want to train your girls to design and sew.”
“Merciful heavens above!” Rose exclaimed.
Joy gaped. “Mama!”
—
Minister Liáng looked over his shoulder—again.
I would not make a very good investigator, he fretted. He checked his pocket—again—for the note Bao had written. It wasn’t signed, and the contents were terse: Tell this man what he asks.
Liáng pushed farther back into the shadows, waiting for the woman who cooked for the Chens to return to her home. The cook in the Chen home is related to Ling-Ling, Bao had said.
He heard shuffling steps approaching and froze. The steps came closer and Liáng saw the woman, probably in her early fifties, approach the door of the little house.
“Madam Wong.” Liáng spoke softly.
The woman jumped and peered into the shadows fearfully. “Who is there?”
“A friend of Bao. May I speak with you?”
She shivered and looked about her, much the same way Liáng had done a moment before. “Quickly.” She opened the door and they disappeared inside.
She locked the door behind them and ushered him into her kitchen, closing the door behind her and pulling down the shade on the single window. Only then did she light the lamp on the table nearby.
“Who are you?” She examined Liáng’s face. “I do not know you.”
“No, nor I you. Our mutual, ah, friend sent me.”
“He is in great peril,” she hissed. “My daughter has overheard Fang-Hua give orders. If they find him . . .”
Liáng nodded. “We suspected as much. I am sorry to involve you, but I have come on an important errand, important enough to risk his safety and ours.”
He handed her the note; she read it quickly. “What do you want?”
“May we sit?”
Reluctantly, she agreed. Liáng studied the woman. Her face was lined from years of hard work, but he sensed a good heart in her.
“A few months ago a man who calls himself Morgan came back to Seattle after a long absence. Do you know the man of whom I speak?” He looked steadily at the woman, hoping she could sense his heart, too.
She slowly inclined her head. “Yes.”
Liáng hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he let it go. “This man, Morgan, grew up in Seattle?”
She nodded again.
“Do you remember when he was young and they called him Reggie?”
She chuckled once, silently and without mirth. “Yes.”
So close, Lord! So close!
“His real name was Regis, no? Do you remember his last name?”
This time she frowned and thought for a moment. “No; I didn’t know him as Regis. I only remember ‘Reggie.’ He was an arrogant white boy, full of himself, but I do not know a last name.”
Liáng deflated. He stared at the table, wondering what to do next. What would O’Dell do? What would he ask this lady?
“I believe he has an uncle still living. He raised him, his sister’s son.”
Liáng’s mouth dropped open. “Where . . . how do I find him?”
Madam Wong took the note Bao had sent her and scribbled something on the back. “You will find him here.”
Liáng grabbed the scrap of paper and read it. Freddie Fetch. Bogg’s.
“What is this ‘Bogg’s’?”
She snorted. “The lowest sort of bar on the wharves for the lowest sort of people. You be careful. It is not for Chinese.”
She put her hand on his arm. “And that man Freddie is not to be trusted.” She made a small gesture, her finger drawn across her throat. Liáng swallowed. He understood. Perfectly.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“You had better go. Tell B—” she stopped herself. “Tell our friend we hope for the best for him.”
When Liáng arrived back at the bungalow, he found O’Dell, Bao, and Miss Greenbow waiting up. He quickly conveyed his conversation with Bao’s distant cousin-in-law and showed them the scribbled words.
“Freddie Fetch,” O’Dell repeated. “Would that make Morgan’s name Regis Fetch?”
“Not likely. He was Freddie’s sister’s son.” Liáng hesitated. “This ‘Bogg’s’ is a white man’s bar. She warned of the place, said Freddie could not be trusted, warned me not to go there.”
O’Dell nodded. “Then I guess I will have to.”
Miss Greenbow opened her mouth to object. At a look from O’Dell she closed it.
~~**~~
Chapter 40
(Journal Entry, April 22, 1910)
Two very notable events have occurred here at Palmer House, and I thank you for both of them, dear Lord. First, Tory has come with the backing of her wealthy patrons to establish a design and sewing house. O Lord, your provision is always so much more than we expect!
The second is the addition of a new girl. Her name is Jenny. She is a funny little thing, just as plain and sweet as a prairie girl from back home. I already love her.
Joy and I described our expectations to her and, I confess, Jenny’s eyes became as large as saucers. “Lor’, Miss Rose! I’ve never had no religion!” she said. Joy and I chuckled and Joy, always so practical, tol
d Jenny, “We hope you never ‘get religion,’ Jenny. We just hope you will come to know God and his Son Jesus.”
In closing, Joy has convinced Grant to see Doctor Murphy. They have an appointment this week. We trust you, Lord. In all things, we trust you.
—
O’Dell stared at himself in a mirror. He hadn’t had a proper haircut since he’d arrived in Seattle. His black hair crept over his ears and down his neck. He hadn’t shaved or bathed since Liáng returned with the words Freddie Fetch. Bogg’s. Now his face sprouted two days’ worth of thick, black whiskers.
Liáng had brought the clothing O’Dell asked for, purchased from the Sisters of Providence’s second-hand store. He also brought information, garnered from the nuns, of the notorious bar, Bogg’s.
“The sisters don’t go in the bar, but they know—and are known in—the area. It’s notorious for cutthroats, thieves, and homeless drunkards. Only the opium dens are said to be more dangerous. The sisters distribute sandwiches, coffee, and blankets to those they find on the streets and in the alleys. They often find men who have been set upon.”
“And this is the place Freddie Fetch frequents.” O’Dell thought about that. “Morgan is brilliant and fastidious; quite the contrast, I should think.”
He donned the worn trousers, shirt, pea coat, and midnight-blue watch cap. “Do I fit the part?”
“Too neat and clean,” Miss Greenbow answered. Her mouth was pinched, and O’Dell could feel the worry radiating from her.
He took off the coat, grabbed a sharp knife from the kitchen, and sawed a ragged hole around a pocket flap. With a few nicks he removed a button, popped the stitches around a shoulder, and pulled on the sleeve.
“Better?”
She nodded. “Still too clean.”
O’Dell hobbled into the back yard and dragged the coat across the steps and yard, grinding in dirt and grass stains. He was breathless when he finished. Miss Greenbow appeared at his side with a mug of coffee. She dumped it across the breast and one sleeve.
“Let that soak in a bit, then wipe some of it off.”
Bao and Liáng watched silently, concern etched on their faces.
An hour later it was dark. Liáng would drive O’Dell into town and drop him near the wharves. With a well-chewed cigar butt in his mouth, O’Dell finally looked the part. He nodded and opened the door.
“Not yet,” Miss Greenbow said softly. “We must pray.”
For once, O’Dell thought prayer was a good idea. They huddled together in the sitting room, O’Dell and Bao awkward and unsure. Liáng simply laid his hand upon O’Dell’s shoulder and prayed. When he finished, Miss Greenbow added her petition:
“Father in heaven, I am asking for your ministering angels to follow Mr. O’Dell everywhere he goes this night. We ask that they watch over him and safeguard his steps, Lord, and we ask that you lead Mr. O’Dell to the information we need to find Mei-Xing.”
She paused, her voice rough with emotion. “You are the Most High God—and with you, Lord, nothing is impossible.”
And with you, Lord, nothing is impossible. O’Dell trembled at the power those few words had over him.
With you, Lord, nothing is impossible.
—
“Well now, let’s take a listen, shall we?” Doctor Murphy smiled professionally and placed a stethoscope on Grant’s chest. He listened for a few moments then moved the instrument and listened again.
Joy watched him carefully and, although it was barely perceptible, she saw his brows twitch and draw together ever-so-briefly. He listened to Grant’s lungs as he drew deep breaths. Then he listened to Grant’s heart again.
Noncommittally, he said, “Mr. Michaels, my office is on the second floor of this building, which has two stories above us. I would like you to walk to the first floor and then run the flights to the top floor and then run back to me. Are you able to do that?”
“Yes, Doctor.” But Joy saw Grant glance away. Even as he excused himself, he would not meet Joy’s eyes. Her breath caught and she turned to the physician.
The doctor studied her in return. “Do not alarm yourself, Mrs. Michaels. It may be nothing.”
They waited for Grant. When the doctor looked at his pocket watch the second time, Joy jumped to her feet and sprinted from his office. She stared down the stairwell and saw nothing.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she ran up to the third floor. There, on the landing, his head between his legs, sat Grant. He was breathing hard. His face was white, tinged in blue.
“Oh, my darling!” Joy exclaimed. “Why did you not tell the doctor you could not do it? Why do harm to yourself?”
Grant shook his head. He still could not answer. It was minutes before his color began to return and Joy heard other steps in the stairwell. The doctor, his nurse with him, soon reached them. With their help Grant returned to the doctor’s office.
“I am sorry I asked this exercise of you, Mr. Michaels. You made out that you are fine, but you have not been forthcoming, eh?” The doctor, his face solemn, forced Grant to admit to the truth.
“Ever since the influenza, I have felt weak. I had hoped that with time and proper rest, I would recover,” he confessed. “But rather than improving, I am more winded and easily fatigued each day.”
Joy felt as though she had been punched in her stomach. She gripped Grant’s arm and held it tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.
His chin dropped to his chest. “I’m sorry. I-I did not want to worry you. Again.”
The doctor nodded, watching them. Pursing his lips he said, “I would like you to see a colleague of mine, a specialist.”
“Certainly, if you feel it necessary,” Grant replied uneasily. “What kind of specialist?”
“A cardiologist,” the doctor replied. He wrote the specialist’s information on a card and handed it to Grant.
“I will call for an appointment,” Grant said weakly, taking the card.
“No need. My nurse has already called. He will see you in 30 minutes.”
Joy’s head began to spin. This could not be happening! Lord Jesus! Please help us!
Dr. Peabody listened to Grant’s heart and lungs in the same manner the other physician had and questioned Grant about his symptoms. Finally he sat back in his chair.
“I have an idea of what is going on,” he began, “But I would like my associate to confer with me. Do you have any objections to my asking him to join us?”
A few minutes later, Dr. Peabody’s young assistant joined them. He, too, listened. And frowned. The look he exchanged with Dr. Peabody pierced Joy’s heart. After a short whispered consultation, Dr. Peabody’s associate excused himself.
“Mr. and Mrs. Michaels, I’m afraid I have some difficult news.”
That evening the household gathered in the great room to hear what Grant and Joy had to tell them. “I have been feeling more and more tired as of late,” Grant began calmly. “Today Joy and I saw several doctors.”
He looked around at the shocked expressions on the dear faces around them. How he hated to pain them further!
Joy held his arm as if afraid to let go. It was the pinched expression on her face that hurt him the most. Her mother, who already knew what he was about to say, sat calmly with her head bowed.
“The doctors say that in most cases, the effects of influenza are temporary,” Grant continued slowly. “However, in a very few cases, the virus may attack the heart. The symptoms are increasing fatigue and chest palpitations.”
He looked down. “They tell me that the left side of my heart is damaged, likely by the virus. This is why I have been so tired.”
He remained silent until Tabitha exploded, demanding what everyone else was afraid to ask. “But what does that mean?”
Grant remained silent several more minutes. Beside him, Joy’s soundless tears dropped onto their joined hands.
“There is nothing they can do to reverse the damage,” he said quietly. “It means my heart is failing.�
��
That night after they climbed into bed, Grant and Joy reached for each other. They said nothing, but held on to each other. Joy sought and found Grant’s lips, kissing them desperately. He responded with a fierceness that stunned her and enflamed them both until the intensity of their passion took them both to that place of release.
~~**~~
Chapter 41
Mei-Xing awakened abruptly. The door to the apartment had just slammed shut. Su-Chong was stumbling about the sitting room. Had he been drinking again? He had not forced himself on her for weeks—would he do so this night?
She sat up, trembling, but no longer in fear. O God, I will be afraid no longer. Whatever comes, I choose to be free . . . in you.
She listened, following his movements to the little washroom and then into the other bedroom, hearing cupboards and drawers opening and slamming, contents being tossed against the wall. What is he doing?
He is coming.
The light above her head came on and Su-Chong fumbled to fit the key into the lock. Objects clattered to the floor on his side of the door and still he struggled to unlock the door.
Mei-Xing steeled herself. If he is that drunk . . .
The door swung open. He sagged against it, breathing heavily. “Come. Here.”
Mei-Xing crept to the door, saw the large basin lying beside Su-Chong’s feet, towels, bandages, scissors, and alcohol scattered near it. Then she saw the blood. So much blood.
Su-Chong grabbed the neck of her nightdress. His hand dripped blood, splattering her face and gown. Mei-Xing shrieked and tried to pull away, but he only pulled her closer. And laughed.
He is hysterical, insane, Mei-Xing’s mind shouted.
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 27