The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (12 page)

My son in prison, in danger of death!

“You will go there for me,” she muttered. “You will be my
eyes and ears. You will be my hands.”

Bao frowned but did not yet speak or move.
What could she
mean
?

His aunt, not yet old but well into middle age, came to
herself. She straightened in the chair, her thin body taut with self-imposed
discipline, her eyes shuttered and cold. She lifted a manicured hand and
beckoned him closer.

“You will leave tomorrow,” she whispered. Her hand drifted
toward the letter and her eyes followed, again losing their focus. She picked
up the letter and began to read it, momentarily forgetting Bao, who grew
uncomfortable at his nearness to her.

He has seen the girl, Mei-Xing? He must not discover what
I have done . . . but if he does?

No one touched Fang-Hua without her explicit permission. No
one came close enough to touch her without an express purpose. No one stayed
near her longer than that purpose demanded. Bao willed himself not to step back
and willed himself to remain still, but he began to perspire.

Fang-Hua finished with the letter and carefully placed it
back on the table. She tapped it repeatedly with one glossy nail, lost in
thought.

I must bring him back to me so I can explain! All I have
done was for his good. For the good of the family. He will understand. He
must
understand.

She pulled herself from her thoughts and turned a fierce
look on Bao. “You will leave tomorrow,” she reiterated. “I will write your
instructions this evening and have them delivered to you. You will follow them
to the letter. Do you understand?”

If Bao had
not
understood, he would never have
admitted so, even under pain of death.

“Yes, Auntie. I will follow your instructions perfectly.” He
watched her again fall into the deep reverie.

I must not fail. Su-Chong must return to me. He must be
made to see reason, to remain with his family. My husband can never
know . . .

She nodded and gestured for him to step back. “Do not fail
me, Bao.”

Bao shivered and the unspoken threat instantly dried the
sweat trickling down his back. “I will do all you require, Auntie,” he answered
firmly. When she glanced again at the letter, Bao knew he was dismissed. He
bowed low and began backing away.

Near the door, however, he stopped. He asked aloud the
question he had been wondering for several minutes. “Where shall I be going,
Auntie?” Immediately he cursed himself.

Fang-Hua slowly turned to him and she did not speak for a
long moment. At last she answered. “You will go to the city called Denver. However, you will not speak of this. To anyone. Is that understood?”

“I am your servant, Auntie,” Bao replied, but his bowels
clenched. He nodded and left the room, his body cold and his stomach knotted.

A memory of his young friend, Mei-Xing, floated before him.
Tiny, gentle Mei-Xing, whose single error was to reject Fang-Hua’s only son.
Mei-Xing was no more than a sweet, innocent kid when
he
, Bao, put her on
a train in the night with a ticket to Denver. A ticket that would ensure her a
life in hell.

He walked quickly away from the house, but Fang-Hua’s words
ate at him, as did his own conscience.
The Devil incarnate
, he thought
once more.

And I am the Devil’s servant.

~~**~~

Palmer House was quiet and unexpectedly empty when Joy
returned. She made a quick search of the lower floor and then skipped up the
staircase to check Sarah’s room. She was not there either. Joy recalled then
that Emily Van der Pol had invited her mother and the other women to attend
lunch at Emily’s home.

Concerned about Sarah, Joy sat on the bottom step, chin in
hand, and wondering where to look next. That was when she heard the low murmur
of voices, floating through the open parlor windows. Quietly she stepped into
the parlor. She could see them through the sheer window curtains, seated on the
bench in the gazebo.

Sarah’s cheek was resting on Mr. Wheatley’s thin shoulder,
his gnarled old hand resting lightly atop her head. Sarah sniffled and wiped
her eyes with what Joy assumed was one of Mr. Wheatley’s threadbare hankies.

Joy was eavesdropping and knew in her heart it was wrong,
but she wanted so desperately to know if Sarah was all right. She inched
farther into the room, nearer the window.

“I don’t know what I shall do now,” Sarah sobbed. “I have
nowhere else to go. Mr. and Mrs. Michaels have been so good to me and I have
learned so much, but they cannot possibly have me in their store any longer! It
will ruin their business, and I know how much they are depending on the store’s
income!” She turned her face into Mr. Wheatley’s chest and wept fiercely.

Mr. Wheatley whispered something, his papery voice not carrying
to Joy.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so! How could they? You don’t know
how many people heard all the terrible things we said.” Sarah wiped her nose
and drew a ragged breath. “I . . . I behaved so badly, too. Miss
Joy must be so disappointed. What will I do now? I have no skills, I cannot sew
or cook . . .”

He said something else and Sarah was still for several
moments.

“But . . . how would . . . how
could I ever . . .” she groaned and shuddered. “Every customer
who ever comes into the store will
know
. When I wait on them, they will
be thinking, ‘That’s
her
. She’s one of
them
.’ How could I ever
bear it? And the way they will
look
at me—just like Mr. Schumer did—”

A growl from Mr. Wheatley gently interrupted her.

She replied, “I can’t believe you called him that!” and
giggled, just before another sob caught in her throat.

He spoke again for a moment.

“Oh! I do know God loves me! . . . That is
something I have come to believe with all my heart, but it doesn’t change
anything, does it? . . . They will still be looking at me as
though I were a . . . slut.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper on the word ‘slut’, but Mr.
Wheatley’s response was strong, angry even, and Joy drew back, a little
shocked.

“Now you listen to me, Miss Sarah! Don’t you ever be calling
yourself such a word again! Do you hear me?”

Sarah drew back too, astonished, and eyes wide.

Mr. Wheatley “hrmphed” and patted her on the shoulder. He
lowered his voice again, and what he said next was lost to Joy.

Sarah shook her head slowly. “I am so grateful that you
care, dear, dear Mr. Wheatley, but no, I guess I don’t believe that. Nothing
can change the facts . . . I think Miss Rose and Miss Joy are
the most wonderful people in the world, but . . . nothing can
erase what I have done,
what I am
.”

She rose shakily and got to her feet. “I’ve heard it said so
many times, it must be true.
Once a whore, always a whore
.”

—

By that evening, everyone in the house had heard what
happened in the store. Sarah merely shrugged her shoulders when Flora gingerly
brought it up, and replied, “I am what I am, Flora. If I am to support myself
other than as a whore, I may have to leave Denver and find a place where no one
knows me. At least I have a little retail experience now.”

Joy and Grant met with Sarah privately and assured her that
her job was not in jeopardy. Sarah listened coolly, thanked them, and said she
would return to work in the morning. She resisted their further attempts to
speak of the incident with the Schumers.

Rose and Joy, as they prayed together, sensed something more
than just the incident with the Schumers. It was as if a dark tide was turning
against their work, and things, often only little things, were beginning to go
wrong.

“Lord,” Rose prayed earnestly, her head near Joy’s as they
knelt together to petition heaven, “We are calling on you! We sense that the
enemy of our souls is opposing our efforts. Lift us up, Father God, and give us
strength to endure and overcome.”

The hardest part for Rose, Joy, and Mr. Wheatley was
watching Sarah erect walls to keep others out. She believed she was blocking
out the pain and shame, but they knew she was enclosing herself
within
those
walls and closing herself away from those who loved her.

Her icy façade was affecting the other girls, too. Where
before she and Corrine had chatted and giggled on the trolley to and from work,
now Sarah kept to herself, barely speaking to Corinne.

Corrine, in turn, felt rejected and became despondent. Joy
found her wiping her eyes at the store, and her work began to suffer.

And Tabitha! If that girl had been harboring any
“wait-and-see” attitude regarding the spiritual restoration Rose taught in
their daily devotions and Pastor Carmichael preached on Sundays, she scoffed
openly at it now, her verbal barbs sharper and more frequent.

—

Esther smiled graciously and played her role, but it took
all she had to hold herself together. Her dream of having her own house with
Ava, Molly, and Jess, making their own choices, and never,
ever
having
to submit to a man’s mistreatment again was over. And Cal . . .

Cal acted as though nothing had changed. He came once a week
as before and was just as attentive and gentle—as long as Esther did exactly as
he required.

Still her perverse heart craved his attentions! She found
herself trying so hard to please him, even as a voice deep within warned of the
futility of their “relationship.”

At Cal’s direction, a third guard joined Jack and Donovan
during business hours. Besides them, three other men now stood guard at the
house during the day, and another two when business hours were over. Cal
had made it clear: Esther and the girls were not to leave the house without
permission or unaccompanied.

And so we are prisoners once again
, Esther moaned
within herself. While smiling and mechanically responding to a gentleman
caller, Esther played the awful scene in her mind again.

Ava had cursed Cal when he had told them the “new rules of
management.” One blow of his powerful fist had sent her to the floor. He helped
her up and, with his own hand, bathed the blood from her mouth and nose.

“I am so sorry I had to do that, Ava. Can you forgive me?”
he soothed her. Ava stared at him, dazed, but also dumbfounded.

“I don’t ever want to hurt you, truly I don’t.” Cal insisted gently. “Please don’t cause me to lose my temper.” He held a cold cloth to
Ava’s face and then held her close to his chest as a mother would hold a
hurting child.

He looked at each of them in turn. “I will love and care for
each of you, but I expect loyalty and obedience in return,” he said in a perfectly
rational tone. “You must learn to follow my guidance, or I will have to
discipline you. I won’t enjoy it, but if I must, then I must. Am I making
myself clear?”

It made no sense. It was insane! But they were helpless to
question or resist him.

Molly and Jess had shot panicked glances at Esther, but
Esther would not meet their eyes. She nodded her acquiescence, and Molly and
Jess meekly followed suit.

“I have wanted an upscale cathouse for quite some time,” Cal continued, still cradling Ava gently. “And you have made a wonderful start here.
However, I can tell your resources are thin. Tomorrow I will take you to see a
house I recently bought just for you. It is twice this size, and we will
decorate it in the finest style.”

He turned to Esther. “My darling, you have exquisite taste.
You can look forward to several outings with me to select all the furnishings.
And please, spare no expense to beautify the house in the best style. I will
trust your judgment completely.”

He carefully extricated Ava from his embrace. “Dear Ava. You
may not be up to working tonight. Shall I have Molly fetch you some ice and
help you to bed?”

Without waiting for an answer he stood up. “Now I have
business at the
Silver Spurs
that demands my attention. Ladies, will you
please be ready Friday at two o’clock? I will come for you and we will view the
new house together and make our plans. I expect you to look as lovely and
genteel as the day you handed out your calling cards.”

He turned back, remembering something. “And that reminds me.
We must have new cards printed immediately with our new address.”

Esther came back to the present and poured another round of
drinks for the men sitting in her parlor.

No, not her parlor. It was Cal’s parlor now
.

—

 “And you cannot tell me where you are going or how long you
will be gone?” Ling-Ling’s voice was shrill, her words accusatory.

“As I said,” Bao answered patiently, “It is business for
Madam Chen. It is not to be spoken of.
By anyone
.” He emphasized his
last words, hoping his wife of little more than a year would understand the
unspoken consequences of imprudent words.

She was pregnant, nearing term, and nervous. Her pregnancy
and the anxiety she harbored seemed to have strengthened the character flaws he
had believed only minor before they married.

Bao finished his packing, wondering again what task took him
to Denver.
Denver
. The name of that city burned like gall in his gut.
Every thought of the town and what he had done to Mei-Xing pierced his soul
anew.

Bao knew that his Uncle Wei Lin Chen’s dealings in Seattle’s prostitution trade had provided Fang-Hua with connections in Denver. He
shuddered again.

Mei-Xing was not, he knew,
in
Denver, but in some
small town in the mountains not far away. He shuddered as he recalled Fang-Hua’s
vindictive—no,
diabolical
—plan for the Li’s little daughter. A plan to
sell her to a brothel where she would be suitably humbled and enslaved to a
life of unspeakable perversion.

And he had willingly gone along with Fang-Hua’s evil plan.
He had insinuated himself into Mei-Xing’s confidence, had portrayed himself as
sympathetic to her situation, and then lied to her about a new life in faraway Colorado.

He had counseled her to leave a note of goodbye that would
end her parents’ and her family’s shame before their good friends, the Chens.
He had sent her to Denver to be met, he had assured her, by a childless couple
who would receive and embrace her as a daughter.

He had done all this for promotion and prestige, and to gain
Fang-Hua’s favor, so that he could marry Mei-Xing’s maid, Ling-Ling. Thinking
of the “treasure” he had married, he laughed aloud but without mirth.

“What are you laughing about,” Ling-Ling demanded. “I am
near to giving birth, and you are leaving me! You show no consideration for me,
no respect for my position in our community or as mistress of this house!”

Her voice had ratcheted up several notes and Bao wondered if
she was on the edge of one of her now-legendary tantrums. Ling-Ling missed no
opportunity to gloat over her stature as his wife while, at the same time,
obsessing over any perceived or imaginary slight. How many times now had he
bribed their servants to stay in their employ after they had suffered the
lashing of Ling-Ling’s tongue?

“You are selfish—you care more for that old hag than you do
for your own wife!” Ling-Ling screamed.

Bao rounded on her suddenly and grasped her roughly by the
wrist. He pushed her backwards, hard, until she sat on the bed. He leaned over
her, pressing his face into hers.

“Your mouth dishonors me,” he hissed. “It dishonors me and
it dishonors my family. More than that, it endangers us and all we have.” He
released her with a jerk. “You will not speak to me in this way again, nor will
you question where I go or why.”

Ling-Ling stared at him in fear, her mouth forming a small
“o.” Bao folded his arms together and stared back. Finally he spoke, slowly,
deliberately.

“You forget from where you come, Ling-Ling, and of whom you
speak.” His words sank to a whisper. “Do not forget how Fang-Hua repaid
Mei-Xing for her insult or forget your part in it.”

Ling-Ling did not know what had become of her mistress,
Mei-Xing. She had participated in deceiving Mei-Xing’s parents—making them
believe she had taken her own life—but beyond that Ling-Ling knew only that
Mei-Xing had left with Bao, never to be heard from again. Now something akin to
terror flickered in her eyes.

Bao finished his packing and closed the case. He left the
bedroom without speaking again to his wife.

An hour later a messenger from Fang-Hua arrived with a
sealed package. Bao was surprised at its weight. As the messenger departed, he
spied two bulky figures standing in the shadows.

“Who are you? What is your business?” he demanded.

One of the men answered him in a hard voice, one that
brooked no disagreement. “We are to accompany you, Bao Shin Xang. It is all
explained.” He pointed to the package.

Bao flinched. Likely, if he failed in his mission, those two
men had additional instructions.

“A car will come in the morning and take you to the train,”
the man in the shadows said softly. “Read your instructions well and be ready
at the appointed time.” With that the two slipped away.

Bao was cold and shaking. There was no way out for him
except to succeed. He ordered hot tea and then closeted himself in his office.
With the tea steeping on his desk and the door safely locked, he slit open the
package.