The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (14 page)

How my mind has been preoccupied all day with Emily’s
tale of Bethy-Ann! I believe I understand Mrs. Palmer a little better now,
Lord. Thank you for comforting this great woman and giving her grace toward us.

And you have been dealing with me, too. I have drawn back
too long from confronting the situation in our home. I suppose it is natural to
want to avoid conflict, but the strife and division I have tolerated in the
house will bear disastrous fruit if I allow it to persist.

Your chastisement is upon me, Lord—please forgive me. I
seek you now and will not resist your guidance. I seek the power of your Holy
Spirit to do all that is before me on the morrow. You will not fail, my God:
You shall be my shield and buckler.

—

Rose opened her Bible and looked at the faces gathered
around the table, each one now dear to her. What she saw was not encouraging.
Corinne, Maria, and Gretl were fidgeting, their disinterest apparent. Nancy
was sullen and withdrawn. Tabitha and Sarah radiated defiance.

Breona had told Rose that Tabitha and Nancy had quarreled
the night before
again
, with Nancy coming out the loser. Tabitha seemed
to know instinctively whom she could bully and so would take her frustrations
and ill will out on the weaker girls more and more often—Nancy, principally.

This morning Rose sensed that those who had lived at the
lodge in Corinth were holding their collective breath. Waiting for her to do
something
.
Rose saw that Mei-Xing was quietly watchful. They must all know how tenuous the
atmosphere in the house had become and how strained the relationships among the
girls were.

Underlying everything was a growing sense of hopelessness—if
God did not intervene soon to change the atmosphere in the house, how long
could they remain together? How long before some of the girls gave up and began
to pull away? Then where would they go and what would become of them if they
left?

But it was Sarah who truly worried Rose. Since the
altercation in the shop with the Schumers, Sarah had become hard, angry, and
defiant, and her natural leadership was influencing the other girls to resent
the rules and goals of the house. Rose understood that Sarah’s future hung by a
fragile thread.

She was saddened and concerned for both Sarah and Tabitha’s
wellbeing, but they were sowing discord and strife in the house. She could not
allow their negative influence to continue, no matter the cost.

Unconsciously she rubbed her face and then, realizing what
she was doing, pulled her hand quickly away. She was weary, of that she had no
doubt. She had been up much of the night, praying and seeking God for guidance.

“I want to talk to you this morning about hope, particularly
hope after a very dark time,” Rose began gently. Tabitha rolled her eyes and
uttered a little sigh of exasperation under her breath. Rose struggled to keep
her temper in check.

“Let’s turn in our Bibles to John Chapter 8.” She waited as
everyone found the chapter in their Bible. Then she noticed that Sarah was not
moving.

“Sarah, are you going to open your Bible?” Rose asked
calmly.

Sarah stared at her for a moment. Then she shook her head.
“No. No, I’m not. This Bible reading may work for you, but it means nothing to
me.”

Rose saw the astounded looks on Joy and Breona’s faces.
Grant frowned softly and dropped his head. Rose hoped he was praying.

Mr. Wheatley, sadder than she had seen him for a very long
time, sent an imploring look in Sarah’s direction. Sarah turned her face from
him.

“Sarah, I understand what you are saying. I even understand
what you are feeling,” Rose responded gently. “What I would ask you to do is
this: Listen carefully to what I have to say this morning. If, after we have
finished, you still feel the same way, you are free to go.”

Sarah stopped short. “What do you mean, ‘free to go’?”

“We were very clear before we moved here from Corinth. Everyone who chose to come with us agreed to participate in the house activities,
including daily Bible study. If you no longer wish to participate, then you are
choosing to go elsewhere.”

Redness crept up Sarah’s neck and she snapped at Rose, “I
should have known you’d throw me out. I suppose you mean to take my job, too!”

“That is the last thing I wish,” Rose replied evenly. “I do
not wish you to leave and I know Grant and Joy value you as an employee.
However, if you choose not to participate, then you are choosing to go. We
would miss you very much, but it is your decision.”

Joy opened her mouth to say something, but at a look from
Rose, she closed it. They had agreed that all things pertaining to the girls’
spiritual wellbeing and the conduct of the house were under Rose’s guidance.
And Joy well knew that undergirding her mama’s sweet, steady spirit was a spine
of steel. Her authority was not to be challenged.

Now that Sarah had more-or-less publicly defied her, Rose
could not allow it to stand. She spoke her next words to all the girls, making
eye contact with each one. Tabitha smirked when Rose’s gaze fell upon her.

Softly she said, “And I extend the same opportunity to each
of you.”

Suddenly the room stilled as the import of her words sank
in. Tabitha looked around at the others, but Rose, her eyes still fixed on
Tabitha, added, “I have neglected to address the serious decline in morale in
our home, and I apologize for my inattention. I will remedy that now.” When Tabitha
realized Rose was speaking directly to her, she flushed angrily.

“Each of you knew the expectations before you accepted our
offer to become part of this family. Unfortunately, attitudes and behaviors as
of late have deteriorated badly. This must change, and it must change
today
.

“Please do not make a decision at this moment; however, I do
ask you to make a decision today, after our study. First, I ask you to listen
attentively to what I have to share this morning. Now, will everyone please
open their Bibles to John Chapter 8?”

For a few seconds no one moved. Rose waited, staring
pointedly at Sarah who seemed to be struggling with herself. Finally she opened
her Bible but kept her eyes downcast, her mouth hard and angry.

“Let’s begin in verse 31,” Rose instructed. She read aloud,

Then
said Jesus to those Jews
which believed on him,
If ye continue in my word,
then are ye my disciples indeed;
And ye shall know the truth,
and the truth shall make you free.

Leaning forward a little and looking earnestly around the
table, Rose said, “This house has quite a sad history. Did you know that?”

It was such an abrupt and unexpected segue, that Rose’s
listeners were taken by surprise.

“You may have heard whispers of what happened here. I,
however, know the details. I would like to share them with you, because I think
they will help us to understand what Jesus is saying in this passage.”

No one fidgeted as Rose slowly told Bethy-Ann Palmer’s
story. She told of the onset of her madness, explained Martha Palmer’s decision
to have her cared for in the house where she grew up and was most happy. She
described the treachery committed against Bethy-Ann and her heart-breaking,
lonely death.

“No one knew she had been betrayed and vilely used by a man
trusted to keep her safe,” Rose said softly. Around the table faces were sober
and some eyes were moist with unshed tears.

“Martha gave us this house to use because she sympathizes
with you, with what was done to you. Someone violated
her
child. She was
unable to hold Bethy-Ann and comfort her—but she was able to give us this house
so that, through this ministry, she could comfort
you
.

“Bethy lived her life as a captive within this house, not
because she did something wrong, but because something was wrong inside her.
Well, something is wrong inside each of us. We are all held prisoner by the
mistakes we have made, the wrongs we have done—
or have been done to us
—and
choices that we regret.

“In our minds are voices that continually remind us of what
we’ve done wrong and what that wrong makes us. Those voices rehearse to us,
day
in and day out
, every sinful act we have ever committed.”

She looked around. “Do you know what I am talking about?
Have you heard those accusing voices?” She saw several tiny nods and many grave
expressions around the table. Tabitha stared back, a speculative look on her
face.

“The Bible tells us, with certainty, that God loves us and
sent Jesus to prove that love. But those voices tell us,
No! He cannot
possibly love
me! The Bible tells us that Jesus died for our sins and that
he forgives our sins. But those voices shout,
Why,
you
can never be
forgiven—you are
too
stained,
too
fallen,
too
far gone
!

“In Isaiah, the Lord begs us, ‘Come, let us reason together;
though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow,’ but those voices
whisper,
Oh, no!
Your
sins are too scarlet for God to cleanse. After
all
you
are a scarlet woman, through and through.

“In Jeremiah, the Lord says ‘For I know the thoughts that
I
think toward you, thoughts of peace, and
not
of evil, to give you in
your latter end a
hope
,’ but those voices! Oh, how they sneer right
back!
Yes,
they whisper,
God may have said that to someone else, but
not to you! Because
you
are a whore! Once a whore, always a whore! You
will
always
be a whore. You can never be anything
but
a whore
!”

Rose’s passionate voice had risen and her breathing was
labored. “And we tell ourselves that if we
run away,
run
to where
no one knows us or knows what we have done, then we will be free—
but that is
another lie
. For wherever we go, those voices go with us. We are
trapped
inside with those voices who hate us and who are determined to see us fall.

“Along with those voices in our heads, are people who will
point their fingers and cast a judgment that is contrary to what God’s word
says he has done.” She looked right at Sarah. “Sarah, there is nowhere you can
run where you can hide from the voices and those kind of people. Nowhere.”

Sarah looked away, her eyes filling with tears.

“We are, all of us,
held captive
by the thoughts and
judgments we—and others—hold against us. But no one can keep you a captive if
you choose instead to be free in Jesus.”

Rose touched her Bible. “We read in this passage,
Then
Jesus said, ‘if you continue in my word, and if you are my disciples indeed—
his
followers
—then you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.’
It does not read ‘set you free.’ It reads,
make
you free.

“I do not wish to be crass, but I see such a spiritual
allegory in Bethy-Ann’s story. She died, alone and shut away from everyone who
could help her. She bled to death from her wounds, both physical and emotional.

“If we allow the trespasses committed against us to hold us
captive, we will bleed to death from our wounds, alone and without help. We
will have shut out the only One who can heal us, Jesus, the Savior God sent to
bleed
for us
so we might be saved.

“Yes, we are all guilty of doing wrong things, bad things,
even horrible things. Those may be the
facts
but, when covered by the
blood of Jesus, they are no longer the
truth
. The truth is, when Jesus
takes up residence in our very being, we are not that old person any longer.

“When we are born again, we truly are what the Bible
says . . .
a new creation. Old things have passed away. All
things have become new
.

“Jesus calls to us,
Come to me! Come to me all you who
are weary . . . weary, worn, and heavy-burdened. Come to me, and
I will give you rest for your souls
.

“He calls to us,
Come, lay your burden down, and I will
make you free
. And he promises,
He whom the Son sets free is free indeed
.
The bravest thing any of us can do is to cast our burden upon the Lord who bore
our sin and shame upon the cross.

“Sarah, are you ready to give your heavy burden to Jesus?”
Rose walked around the table and knelt by Sarah’s chair.

The young woman leaned her head on Rose’s shoulder and began
to sob. “Yes! Yes . . .”

Joy slid out of her chair and knelt beside it, letting her
tears spatter the cushion. She began to pray, and around her she realized,
vaguely, that others were praying. Praying and weeping as God had his way.

~~**~~

Dean Morgan drummed his manicured fingertips against his
immaculately pressed trousers. He, Su-Chong, and the others had been in this
jail now for six months. His attorneys, under his instructions, had impeded
trial proceedings as long as possible.

They had incited extradition from other states; then they
had fought the motions, using every confounding argument and delaying tactic
possible.

In the end, the State of Colorado had refused to yield its
rights to him and had pushed for a trial date. His trial was scheduled to begin
in early December. Time was running short.

He had written to Fang-Hua nearly 30 days ago.
I should
have heard from that old witch or her emissary by now
, he scowled.

He’d passed the time in his cell performing complex
calculations in his head or reading books he paid guards to bring him. The
guards could not keep up with his thirst for knowledge. He had consumed 79
volumes in the past six months: histories and classics writ in Greek and Latin,
autobiographies, German and French philosophy, scientific treatises, and modern
literature. But he recognized that he was losing his patience.

For the first time, Morgan felt the niggle of a doubt. He
did not like the sensation and sneered at his weakness.

With a rattle of keys and the clank of metal against metal,
the door to the row opened. Perhaps he would be receiving the new books he had
requested. Unmoving, expression composed, Morgan listened to a cart as it was
pushed down the row. A letter here; a newspaper for a dime there; cigarettes
for two bits—the inmates lining the pockets of the guards.

The cart rolled closer.

As he ambled by, the guard pushing the cart dropped a folded
note into Morgan’s cell. The man did not pause or turn his head. Morgan waited
until the door at the other end clanged shut and the keys jangled in the lock.

He bent over and retrieved the paper. It was small, folded
in thirds, folded again cross wise, and sealed. His heart hammered as he slid
his nail under the seal and broke it.

Tonight. One o’clock.

Morgan smiled. He placed the note in an ashtray and set it
afire, watching it burn, watching the wax seal melt, run, and sputter into
nothingness.

At last
.

—

Breona poured herself a cup of tea and savored the early
morning quiet. She was tired from the months of repairs and renovation, from
the tensions and adjustments of having so many under a single roof.

But, at last, life in Denver was beginning to assume a
pattern, a rhythm that she could count on. In twenty minutes Gretl would come
downstairs to begin breakfast preparations. Miss Rose would not be far behind
her.

While Rose sipped her coffee, she and Breona would make a
list of the day’s tasks. Half an hour after that, everyone in the house would
be up preparing for the day. But for now, in these quiet moments, Breona had
the kitchen to herself and the utter silence of the pre-dawn to savor.

An hour later the girls had finished their morning ablutions
and were getting to their morning chores. Gretl was placing tins of muffins
into the gas oven. Flora and Maria were setting the table in the dining room. Nancy
was washing up from breakfast preparations. Mei-Xing, Sarah, and Corrine,
dressed for their respective jobs, were taking care of their morning chores.

Mr. Wheatley, his hair wild and untamed, was filling the
kitchen’s wood box and laying fires in the great room to take the chill from
the house. As the girls appeared, Breona parsed out little tasks to them. Soon
everyone would gather for breakfast and Bible study.

Breona frowned. What was that? The front door slamming
noisily? Grant usually went out for the paper about this time. Breona heard
running steps slapping across the entryway, down the hallway to the kitchen.
Someone in a great hurry.

Breona jumped as Grant, breathless and agitated, tossed a
copy of the Denver Post on the kitchen table. “Morgan and his bodyguard have
escaped from jail,” he blurted, pointing to the headline.

—

Dear Lord, I am holding to your promises today. Your word
tells us, “With thine eyes thou shalt behold and see the reward of the wicked.”
Morgan and Su-Chong Chen have escaped from jail, Lord, have escaped from
justice. I am confident that it is not permanent—for even if they elude the
officers searching so diligently for them, they can never escape you, the God
of justice.

We are all a bit shaken, of course. We prayed this
morning and read where you commanded, “Let not your hearts be troubled, neither
let them be afraid.” Each of us has determined to commit this passage to memory
and to follow its injunction to not allow our hearts to be troubled or afraid.

Mei-Xing’s reaction to the news, however, was different
and a little concerning. She will not speak of this man, Su-Chong Chen. How and
from where she knows him is beyond us. But I sense that in some way he has a
deep hold on her. Lord, please help my dear daughter in the Lord.

—

Bao wiped his face and his stomach churned uneasily. He had
done as Fang-Hua demanded, but not everything had gone as she had required.

Taking care that they were never seen together, Bao had
ordered the two men with him to discreetly probe the jail guards. It had taken
more than a week until they found several jail workers amenable to making
certain “arrangements” for the right price. Once the day and time had been set,
Bao had bought a fast motor car. He had given Fang-Hua’s men money to buy two
speedy cars themselves and hire six able-bodied thugs. They had done so.

When Morgan and Su-Chong exited the jail in the dark of
night, two of the hired muscle had met Morgan and four had met Su-Chong. The
instant Su-Chong had spotted Morgan, the four thugs had been required to force
him into one of the waiting cars. Morgan drove off in the second car.

The two cars were to rendezvous with Fang-Hua’s two men at a
predetermined location. There her men would pay off the two thugs with Morgan,
give him some cash and the keys to the car he was in, and watch him drive away.

The men in the second car were under orders to subdue
Su-Chong with chloroform. Fang-Hua’s two men would pay off the four hired thugs
and drive an unconscious Su-Chong to the second location where Bao would be
waiting. There they would get into Bao’s car and abandon the second car used in
the escape.

It hadn’t worked out like that.

Morgan showed up in the first car. The second car, which
should have been right behind them, never arrived. Finally, Fang-Hua’s two men
paid off the hired thugs and, with Morgan in the back seat, drove to the second
rendezvous point where Bao waited.

They had lost Su-Chong and brought Morgan to Bao instead!
Bao had been furious—furious that they had lost Su-Chong and furious that
Morgan had seen his face.

“You may as well accept that the men you sent with Su-Chong
are dead,” Morgan said, his matter-of-fact manner grating on Bao. “But perhaps
I can be of assistance in locating him.”

Bao said nothing but glared at Morgan.

“You were going to cut me loose, which suited me fine,”
Morgan added, “but now I don’t want that. Instead I want you to take me to
Madam Chen. I will tell her how to find her son. And in return, she will do
something for me.”

“You will tell me now,” Bao stated coldly. He glanced at his
two men, and they silently removed guns from their pockets.

“No, I don’t think so,” Morgan replied, examining his nails.
“If you kill me, you will not know where Su-Chong has gone. Fang-Hua will be
quite displeased.”

Left without an alternative, Bao signaled to Fang-Hua’s men.
Bao, Morgan, and the two men climbed into Bao’s vehicle and began a five-day
drive to Seattle using a predetermined route of lesser-traveled roads and
places to safely sleep.

—

Su-Chong Chen abandoned the car a short way from Union
Station. The four thugs he left inside the car would not speak, but their
bodies would surely tell a tale: The police would believe he had hopped a
freight train out of Denver.

That had been his first plan. Ride the train out of town and
then drop off somewhere in the mountains and hole up. The police would have no
idea where to look for him. But his plan had changed.

Before he left the car, he ripped up one of the men’s shirts
and tied a thick pad of folded fabric to his outer thigh. One of the dead thugs
had been good with a knife. He could not see the cut, but knew it was deep,
running diagonally from several inches below his buttock to his hip.

Su-Chong was losing blood. He could not escape the police
and this town in his present condition. He needed to get to a place where he
could stop the bleeding and heal.

He removed various clothing items from each of the men,
shedding his prison wear and dressing quickly. He bundled his blood-stained
prison pants in one of the men’s shirts. He would dump the bundle a few blocks
away where it wouldn’t be found. He kept other items of clothing taken from the
bodies so that he could vary his look every few blocks.

Su-Chong wended his way through downtown neighborhoods,
stealthily moving from shadow to shadow. He changed clothing twice and now wore
a long coat and a dark watch cap pulled over his smooth, black hair, his
braided queue tucked inside.

To prying eyes he was but one more indistinguishable shadow
in the nighttime gloom. The dark of night would cover him for only another
hour, but he intended to be safe before the light of another day.

At last he reached a ring of buildings, primarily offices
and store fronts. The building in the center of the block, surrounded by four
others, was his objective. The windows of the buildings were dark, as they
should be.

He looked for and located a loose brick near the rear
entrance. He wrestled the brick until it came free from the wall. Within the
block’s space he found the key, as he had expected to.

Checking again to ensure that he was unobserved, he eased
into the doorway and slid the key into the lock. With a satisfying click, the
door opened. Su-Chong closed and locked the door behind him.

The man most Denverites knew only as Dean Morgan was nothing
if not forward-thinking. Morgan always devised clever contingency plans in the
unwelcome event his past should ever catch up with him. Su-Chong was aware of
many of them. However, Morgan had hidden
this
place even from him.

Since Su-Chong accompanied Morgan everywhere he went, the
mere incident of Morgan going out without him had raised a red flag. On that
particular day, Su-Chong had followed Morgan and found he had secured a set of
rooms on the top floor of this building.

On a subsequent visit, Su-Chong had observed Morgan hiding a
key behind a loosened brick. One night Su-Chong had sneaked out of his room in
Morgan’s apartment and visited Morgan’s secret rooms.

The apartment was small but well-stocked. The cupboards of
the tiny kitchen were filled with canned goods and staples. It was obvious that
Morgan had prepared the place as a bolt-hole—
a safe house he and only he
knew of
.

Except it would be Su-Chong who would use Morgan’s rooms to
hide from the law. He needed time and a safe place to heal from the skirmish
he’d fought with the men his mother had sent.

His mother
. Su-Chong frowned and pushed the thought
of her from his mind. He had more important issues before him.

He reached the top of the building and crept to the end of
the hall. He felt along the ledge above the door.
There
. A piece of the
frame had been cleverly chiseled out and then fitted back in place. As he
lifted the piece of chiseled wood from the frame, a thin ribbon attached to it
came with it. Hanging from the other end of the ribbon was a second key.

Within seconds he was inside.

~~**~~