The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (10 page)

Joy kept one eye on the young man painting the signage on
the windows and door while she arranged the items in the window display. Today
those signs would announce their business to all of Denver.

Already the steady stream of foot traffic along the walkway
paused and looked with interest at the gold and black curlicues emerging from
the boy’s brushes. Potential customers studied both the items in the window and
the slender woman with the heavy chignon the color of ripe wheat organizing the
display. Joy was arranging a dining hutch and table with eye-catching table
settings in a manner she hoped would tempt them to step into the shop.

Grant, Billy, Sarah, Corrine, and Joy had worked tirelessly
to redecorate the shop. The men had torn down walls and built arches and
shelves, had scraped wallpaper and sanded and polished wood floors. Joy and the
girls had come behind them to clean, paint, re-paper walls, and hang tasteful
draperies. Instead of a fussy, feminine-only dress shop, the store’s decor was
now simple, elegant, and welcoming to both feminine and masculine
sensibilities.

They discussed at length the need for a telephone. Joy had
not grown up with one and felt it an unnecessary expense. Grant suggested that
customers were more likely to expect one on the cusp of 1910. He also pointed
out that Rose could call them from Palmer House if an emergency arose. Joy
reluctantly gave her assent.

As they came close to finishing the repairs and decorating,
Joy and Grant sent Billy to Omaha to empty Joy’s warehouse. At three-quarters
full, it still contained enough furniture, linens, fine house wares, and dishes
to stock the Denver store.

Joy glanced again at the boy and smiled in satisfaction at
what she saw emerging from his brushes:
Michaels’ Fine Furnishings.
The
lettering was a shimmering gold edged in glossy black. She stepped out of the
window display and scratched Blackie behind the ears. “Looks wonderful, doesn’t
it, Little Blackie?”

How long had it been now since
Michaels’ Tools, Hardware,
and Farm Implements
had burned down and all of their dreams with it? The
Lord had given them a new dream now. Still, it did her heart good to see
their
name,
Michaels
, on the door and along the bottom of one tall window.
Soon it would be seen along the bottom of the opposing tall window, too.

Her heart was full of late. For a moment she drifted into
thoughts of the love and intimacy she and Grant were reviving. At first they
had been so careful, even scared. She knew Grant had been terrified that he
would, in some unknowing manner, spoil the relationship they were forming.

Yes, in many ways it was a new relationship. Without his
memories, they were beginning all over. And yet, the sweetness of their love
was the same to Joy as it had been when it was first born, when she was only 19
years old.

—

We attended Calvary Temple again this morning. Thank you,
Lord! I have been so nourished and strengthened by the worship and the pastor’s
messages. This morning he spoke on eternal life using John 6:67-69:

Then
said Jesus unto the twelve,
Will ye also go away?
Then Simon Peter answered him,
Lord, to whom shall we go?
Thou hast the words of eternal life.
And we believe and are sure
that thou art that Christ,
the Son of the living God.

How your words thrilled me, Lord Jesus! I felt the Holy
Spirit begin to move among the people and saw hope and belief begin to bloom on
many faces! Then the pastor turned to John 10:27-29 and read

My
sheep hear my voice,
and I know them, and they follow me:
And I give unto them eternal life;
and they shall never perish,
neither shall any man
pluck them out of my hand.
My Father, which gave them me,
is greater than all;
and no man is able to pluck them
out of my Father's hand.

Pastor explained that when Jesus redeems us, buys us out
of sin, nothing and no one can ever steal us away from him. We are safe! We are
free!

He called those who wished to surrender to Jesus to the
altar to pray. Thank you, Lord! Gretl and Maria, nervous and scared, walked
together to the altar and gave their lives to you. I could tell the Spirit was
moving on our other girls—it may take a little longer, Lord, but I am greatly
encouraged.

Oh yes. Tomorrow is an eventful day. Palmer House will be
receiving a telephone. Mei-Xing accepted the position with Mrs. Palmer, and the
dear lady insists on being able to call Mei-Xing when she is needed. I have
never had a telephone so close at hand. Jan and I certainly never had one in
our little prairie home.

—

Customers flocked to the store’s opening, and the six staff
members spent the day on their feet greeting shoppers and serving their new
clientele. Sarah, Corrine, and Billy took turns at the shiny new cash register.
Throughout the day, the store resounded with the jingling of the bell hanging
from the front door, the muted conversations of their customers, and the
chiming of the register.

Joy was most in demand, as Sarah, Corrine, Billy, and Grant
regularly requested her advice and deferred to her suggestions or direction. At
closing time, the exhausted but elated staff gathered to recap the day’s events
and issues.

“We have had a good day, Joy,” Grant smiled as he completed
the bank deposit. “But I must say I never realized there was so much to know
about laundering linens before today—or that I should even be versed on this
subject!”

They all laughed. Grant was right. Customers not only
perused their stock but asked myriads of questions—many that did not pertain to
the sale of fine household furnishings but rather their care. In fact, their
clientele assumed the shop’s staff should possess expertise on all aspects of
household management!

Sarah grinned. “I was lectured today on the difference
between pine and heart pine!”

Corrine laughed and agreed. “I can converse at length on
art, history, and literature with the most knowledgeable individuals—but do I
know anything of the care of fine china? No, I do not!”

“If you think that is bad, my background is in tools and
hardware!” Billy interjected. “What do I know about cut glass versus leaded
crystal?”

“Working here will certainly be a learning experience,” Joy
assured them, “but all of you did well today. Just remember, whenever your
customer has a question you cannot answer, you are free to call on me to assist,
just as you did today. If you listen carefully to my answers to their
questions, you will soon be able to field those situations yourself. The most
important thing is to remain gracious and helpful at all times. Even if we
cannot provide an answer, a genuinely solicitous response will suffice.”

“And how did you fare today, my dear?” Joy asked Grant. He
had been mostly silent as they chattered and shared the day’s experiences.

He took a moment to answer. “I confess that I am out of my
element at present, but if the others can learn, so can I.”

He looked searchingly at Joy before continuing. “I also had
an interesting moment today. I was guiding a customer to the register when I
had a . . . memory, I guess. Suddenly I felt that I done so
before, but somewhere else. In this other place I remembered a large room, much
larger than this store, with aisles and aisles of bins and shelves and a large
stove of some sort in the center of the room.”

He grinned. “I think it had to be our store in Omaha. Does my description sound right? Do you think it was?”

“It does sound like our store! Oh, Grant, how wonderful!”

—

I woke this morning with a heart filled with song. Our
church sings so many wonderful songs of praise each service, not just two or
three as some churches do.

Their joyous worship takes me back to those many years
ago when I first arrived in RiverBend. The singing in our old church stirred my
soul and the presence of the Lord gripped my very being, just as I am feeling him
again.

The chorus of this song came to me as I awoke this
morning. It is a new one for me, but my feet want to dance as I sing it!

It
is joy unspeakable and full of glory,
Full of glory, full of glory;
It is joy unspeakable and full of glory,
Oh, the half has never yet been told.

And how my heart overflowed when we sang My Jesus, I Love
Thee. O, yes! I love thee, Lord!

I
love Thee because Thou hast first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree;
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

In
mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.

—

Three weeks after the shop’s opening, the staff had settled
into a routine. Sarah and Corrine were feeling more confident of themselves,
and Billy was learning to distinguish between silk and satin, china and bisque.
More importantly, Joy and Grant were growing more assured of the store’s success.
They were even discussing how to restock since merchandise was moving nicely.

Grant sent an unspoken question at Joy who responded
immediately and firmly, “You are never going
anywhere
without me again,
Grant Michaels. Never.” The set of her jaw told Grant more than her words did.

“I only wanted to see your reaction,” he teased. They shared
a chuckle but it did not last. It touched too near the heart.

Joy could not help herself when her eyes filled. “I cannot
lose you again, Grant.” He did not answer right away, but gently took her hand
and pressed it to his lips and held it there for a long moment.

When he did speak, his voice was rough. “We
can
do
all things through Christ, Joy. When hard times come . . . we
can bear what comes.” He searched her face. “God’s grace is sufficient for
today—not tomorrow, but
today
, my lovely Joy. Would it not be wrong to
look ahead and decide today that his grace for tomorrow will not be able to
carry us?”

Joy nodded but said nothing. She laid her head on Grant’s
shoulder and they held each other.

—

One night Cal commented that Esther’s house seemed a great
investment opportunity. “You excel as a madam, Esther,” he complimented her.
“The house’s ambiance and your girls are first-rate. Why with a little cash
infusion, my dear, you could move to a larger house I know of and hire a few
more girls. I would be happy to loan you the money.”

Esther was a little unsettled by his offer, but promised to
bring it up to the other girls. “We all own this place,” she explained almost
apologetically.

Cal just smiled and nodded, but Esther thought she saw
something flicker in his eyes, something that disturbed her.

When she did tell the girls, their sullen looks said plainly
that they weren’t pleased. “This is our house, Esther, all of us. We’re doing
fine just like this. And we don’t need a man to help us.”

Ava added, “You are getting too chummy with Cal, Esther. We
don’t do that, remember?”

Esther flushed a little. “I will tell him we don’t need the
loan,” she answered, secretly relieved. She didn’t want to give control of her
business to anyone, even if just a little, even if it was just a loan. Even
from Cal.

~~**~~

Dean Morgan, AKA Shelby Franklin, sat gingerly on the jail
cell’s single bunk. He was impeccably dressed and shaved, his hair oiled,
combed, and recently trimmed. He took a fastidious pride in his appearance—even
in
this
place—and he was not without his resources, both people and
money.

Yes, he still had money, discreetly tucked away but
accessible, and people to do his bidding. For the right price.

Denver was rife with those who wielded political power and
judicial influence—and who were serious about lining their pockets with easy
cash. In the five months Morgan had been in this
hole
awaiting trial, he
had made several beneficial connections, connections that supplied food, drink,
clothing, and other necessities to his liking. All for a price, but a price he
was willing to pay.

Morgan sat upright, careful not to lean against the dank
bricks of the jail wall, and he delicately pinched the crease of his trousers.
All the while he kept his face impassive—calm, even—but inside his mind
churned, and his considerable intellect chewed away on his present problem.

They
intended to hang him, his attorneys told him, but
he did not intend to oblige
them
.

“They,” firstly, was the State of Colorado. However, his
lawyers, the best money could afford, were delaying a trial as long as
possible. They were as busy as bees in Nebraska, stirring up rivalries and
competition between the bureaucracies of the two states.

Yes, apparently Nebraska would like to hang him also. Oh,
how his popularity had grown! His attorneys were spreading enough cash around
in Lincoln and Omaha to ensure that every corrupt politician and bureaucrat in
those fair cities would protest Colorado’s right to try—
and hang
—him
first.

He hadn’t anticipated
quite
the backlash from Omaha.
He was rather amazed at the intensity of their sentiment, actually.

Apparently the people of that town truly disliked how he had
framed Joy Michaels for arson, arranged for her property to be auctioned out
from under her, and had left a certain insurance company in dire straits. And
somehow the deaths of Percher and Robertson had been mixed into their
complaints.

Posh! They would be hard pressed to lay those deaths at his
door. Su-Chong, on the other hand . . .

Unfortunately, a number of other states east of Nebraska (thanks to the work of those
infernal
Pinkertons!) had entered the fray,
each sure he had committed atrocities in their fair states and all most anxious
to extradite him and host their own highly publicized necktie party—using
his
neck. This, of course, was unacceptable.

The problem at hand was that his over-compensated attorneys
could not delay the inevitable forever. Even as he considered, discarded, or
filed away ideas, options, and possibilities, other thoughts and questions
intruded. Three individuals figured prominently in those
infernally
intrusive
questions.

How had that woman—that interfering
Michaels woman
—ended
up in the very place he had decided to stake his future? How had she managed to
ferret out his dealings in Corinth? Had she somehow tracked him there?
Impossible! And how had she met and become acquainted with that blasted
Pinkerton man?
O’Dell
.

Morgan’s stare was directed no farther than the opposite
wall, but the coldness of his look would have chilled the blood of many a
strong man, had it been aimed their way. He continued to sift facts and examine
potential plans, but the disquieting questions intruded once more.

He had left no trail in Omaha. Certainly nothing to link
Shelby Franklin with Dean Morgan. How had they teased out and connected so many
distinct and discrete threads, ultimately finding their way to him? And the
edgy gambit she had played before the throng in the plaza?

Nicely done,
he was forced to admit with a sneer.

The final scene in the small Corinth plaza played out before
him: Joy Thoresen—
Joy Michaels
—with the polish of a veteran orator,
demolishing his carefully crafted identity, exposing his business dealings, and
in such a manner as to turn the Corinth peons against him.

He would have defeated her regardless—
and made her
disappear forever that night
—except for the phalanx of armed federal and
Pinkerton officers that had,
at that very moment
, rushed from out of the
darkness. All avenues of escape were blocked until, led by his bodyguard,
Su-Chong, a way of egress seemed certain.

And then the appearance of a tiny Asian girl—
his Little Plum Blossom
!—flummoxed Su-Chong and incited his disloyalty. Toward
him
!

It was out-and-out treachery. And he never allowed treachery
to go unanswered.

Morgan sniffed nonchalantly and looked critically at his
immaculate hands, his long fingers, and their well-shaped and buffed nails. But
within, the slow rage he kept tamped down by sheer will was building.

Joy Thoresen Michaels.

Edmund O’Dell.

Su-Chong Chen.

Su-Chong Chen.
No doubt languishing in a cell not far
from here.
May he rot there
, Morgan raged silently.
No; not good
enough.
Those three had figured prominently in his undoing. For that they
would figure prominently in his future plans.

He had paid his lawyers to represent Su-Chong also. He could
not afford the possibility of his bodyguard telling tales—hence, Morgan made
sure one of
his
attorneys was always present when the prosecutors were
questioning him.

His lead attorney, Kent Jergins, reported that Su-Chong
remained uncommunicative and sullen during official interviews. In fact,
according to Jergins, Morgan’s bodyguard had said not one word while being
interrogated. Not then, not during Jergins’ initial meeting with him, nor after
the questioning. Su-Chong had withdrawn into himself and would speak to no one.

Morgan was no fool—he knew the Chinaman’s thoughts and
feelings ran deep, dangerously so, perhaps to an irrational level. More
importantly, he was the only individual alive who could speak directly to
Morgan’s activities in Omaha and Denver.

To do so would assuredly implicate himself
, Morgan
mused. The man was a heartless killer who had murdered on Morgan’s behalf
several times.
Yet if his rage against me were hot enough, he would sing
like a bird
.

And so he needed to exercise caution with his former
bodyguard. He had seen the look Su-Chong turned on him when he realized the
Little
Plum Blossom
was his long, lost love.

Morgan sneered as he relived that moment.
Not everything,
my trusted minion
, he raged.
You don’t know all. I have resources hidden
even from you.

His thoughts turned fondly toward his Denver bolt-hole. Once
he was away from this foul place he would not run. No, they would expect that
and expend all their efforts watching the roads out of Denver to find him.

But he would
not
run. He had made provision to hide
safely, for months, if need be. He would not run because what he desired was
right here. And once the manhunt tapered off . . . Well,
then
he would have his satisfaction.

Finally he selected a bound volume from a rough shelf
hanging precariously over his bed. From within he withdrew several sheets of
fine vellum stationery.

As loath as he was to reconnect with his ‘roots’, his
superior mind had sorted the options, selected the best course of action, and
stubbornly refused to identify a better one. And the clock was ticking down.

So. He would write a letter, one that was sure to elicit a
rapid response and provide him with the alliance and assistance he required.

He began formally:
My dear Madam
Chen . . .

Yes. My dear—yes,
my very dear—
Fang-Hua. The set of
Morgan’s mouth tightened. He would have to be quite careful.

My dear Madam Chen,

I pray this letter finds you well. I have news of the
utmost importance to you regarding your son . . .

—

Cal didn’t mention his offer of a loan during his next
visit, so Esther waited until they were tucked into her bed and had finished
their intimacies. The house was closed for the evening. Tom and Donovan would
lock the doors as soon as the last client left.

“Cal, I want you to know that I appreciate your offer of a
loan,” Esther murmured in his ear. “But the girls and I are attached to this
house and rather like the business we have built on our own.” She paused and
then added a little nervously, “Perhaps in a year or two we’ll feel
differently.”

Cal turned on his elbow and smiled at her. Esther suddenly
shivered. Something about his smile chilled her. “You are so beautiful, Esther,
and I love you dearly, but you don’t get it, do you,” he drawled softly,
tracing the outline of her face.

“Don’t . . . don’t get what?” Esther asked,
her mouth suddenly dry.

He gripped her face, a little too tightly. “You don’t
understand that this isn’t your business any longer, my dear.”

“You-you’re hurting me,” Esther struggled, but Cal’s
hands were massive, his grip like a vise.

He let go of her at last and got up to dress. “I’ll be here
tomorrow at three o’clock. Have the girls dressed and waiting for me in the
dining room. I will outline the new management policies then. You would do them
a favor if you prepared them ahead of time.”

“No! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!” Esther jumped out
of bed and ran to the door. “Tom! Donovan!”

Immediately boots pounded on the stairs. Esther hastily
threw on a nearby peignoir. Cal just chuckled and buttoned his shirt.

Tom and Donovan burst into Esther’s room. Esther, her voice
shaking, pointed at Cal and demanded, “Get him out of my room and out of my
house! I don’t
ever
want him admitted again!”

But neither man moved. They stood silently, waiting, looking
to Cal for direction.

“Boys, please give Miss Esther here an introductory lesson.
I don’t want her face bruised, and I don’t want her confined to bed tomorrow.
But make it a convincing lesson, will you?”

Esther stared at Cal, aghast. “You . . . I
thought you loved me,” she stammered, even as Tom and Donovan grabbed her arms.

“But, I do, Esther, I truly do! You are wonderful in so many
ways. But if you want to be my woman, you must know your place. I require
obedience and loyalty. Tom and Donovan will help you to understand. They’ve
been good employees of mine for quite some time.”

Cal tipped his hat to Esther. “Now boys, she’s already had
one go ’round tonight, so don’t wear her out.”

The two guards pushed Esther down on the bed and, stifling
her screams with a pillow, ripped away her peignoir.

—

Rose awoke in the dark, her heart racing. She told herself
it was only a troubling dream. But she had heard a woman screaming and crying
for help. More troubling than the woman’s shrieks of fear and pain was the
undeniable sense that Rose
knew her
.

On her knees beside her bed, Rose sought guidance from the
Holy Spirit in her praying. As she opened her mouth to pray, a name tumbled
from her lips: “O Lord, I ask for your protection to surround
Esther . . .”

Rose stopped, stunned.
Esther!
Yes . . .

Now more determined, Rose turned again to her prayers,
convinced that the Lord had awakened her for a purpose.

~~**~~