The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (17 page)

“Man-oh-man, O’Dell! Look here! Somebody sprang that guy and
his bodyguard from jail.” Rourke jumped up and shoved the paper into O’Dell’s
lap.

O’Dell’s feet thumped to the floor. He spread the paper on
the table and stared at the story that began on the front-page below the fold
and continued on page 4. He read the report—already a week old—three times and
then leapt to his feet and began throwing his things into a well-traveled
satchel. Ice had settled in his chest.

“Call Parsons right away for me,” he barked around the stub
of cigar clenched in his teeth. “Tell him I’m on my way. I’ll check in with him
before going on to Denver.”

He finished stuffing his things into the satchel and snapped
it closed. “Have him call McParland or whoever McParland has running the Denver office now. Tell them that Joy Michaels and all those with her need protection. I
want men watching her and her friends around the clock.”

He grabbed the case, snatched up his bowler, and slammed the
door behind him. It had already been a week. Were his friends in Denver safe? Was
she
safe? His heart was thundering in his chest.

By the time he arrived in Chicago, Parsons could assure him
that the house in Denver where Joy Michaels lived was under continual
surveillance. “So is the store she and her husband lease,” Parsons added.
“Thing is, no one has sighted Morgan or the Chinaman, Su-Chong Chen, anywhere.
Common thinking is that they are clean away.”

O’Dell slid a cigar out of his pocket and into his mouth. He
rolled it around for several minutes before, deep in thought, he replied. “The
question is, where would they go? Morgan must still have resources on the
outside or how did he pull this off?”

Parsons frowned. “We know Morgan is an assumed name, as was Franklin. Over the past ten years he has lived in many cities, in each place under a new
name—each one a complete invention.”

“You’re right about that,” O’Dell replied. “Morgan is an
enigma. No one knows who he really is and where he originally came from. I’d
give my eye teeth for that information. I’d bet you a box of cigars that he has
left a trail of crimes from coast to coast—if we knew where to look.

“And Morgan is not to be underestimated. He is brilliant;
his ability to slip on a new identity is one of his strengths. My concern is
his narcissistic pride.”

“His pride?”

“Yes. I saw something in him that night in the plaza—a
genuine disbelief that quickly turned to rage. He could not believe his
brilliant plans had been uncovered, and he was enraged that they had been
scotched. With his talents, he could quietly find a fresh start somewhere.”

“Except?”

“Except his pride has been wounded, his confidence shaken.
For this reason, I would not put it past him to seek revenge. That is why I
asked you to order guards on Joy Michaels.” He took his cigar out of his mouth
and tapped the unlit end on the table for emphasis.

He leaned forward. “Who would he know with enough money and
influence to bust him out of that jail? It has to be someone with a
great
deal
of money and someone who knows who he truly is.”

“You have an idea,” It wasn’t a question. Parsons knew
O’Dell and how his mind worked.

“I do. That night, in the plaza, something else happened.
One of the girls who lived at the lodge, a little China doll by the name of
Mei-Xing, confronted Morgan and his bodyguard, Su-Chong. She likely saved Rose
Thoresen’s life.”

He related the scene to Parsons who listened intently.

“I remember from your report. Very interesting. So?”

“So first off, Mei-Xing Li isn’t a poor, uneducated emigrant
girl who answered an employment advertisement. She is educated, cultured, and
obviously from money. We know she was abducted and taken to Corinth against her
will, but she has always been closemouthed about it. She has never offered any
details and refuses to talk about her family.

“Secondly, and this is the more curious part, she
knows
Morgan’s bodyguard. From what I know of him, Su-Chong Chen is a ruthless
killer. I’m pretty sure he poisoned one of the witnesses against Joy Thoresen
in her Omaha arson trial and strangled the other.”

O’Dell sat back. “This is why it is imperative that a guard
be maintained over Miss Li and Mrs. Michaels. If Morgan or Su-Chong seeks
retribution, it will be against them.”

Parsons nodded. “Agreed. For the time being.”

O’Dell looked at the ceiling and wished he could light the
moistened cigar he was again rolling around in his mouth. “Thirdly, how does
Mei-Xing know this Su-Chong? And not as a mere acquaintance, but know him well
enough that seeing her undid him.

“Her words alone caused him to release Mrs. Thoresen.
Mei-Xing and this man, Su-Chong Chen, have some sort of history, even though
she is little more than a girl.”

“And?”

“Morgan’s only known associate—
still living
associate—is
this Chinaman. That’s why I’m wondering just how Mei-Xing knows Morgan’s assassin.
Why the secrecy on her part? Are they from the same city? And if so, is Morgan
also from the same area originally?”

“You want to find out?”

“Yes.”

“Where would you start?”

“When Mei-Xing first arrived at the lodge in Corinth, she had been beaten and was badly injured. While she was healing, she let slip to
one of the other women at the lodge that she was from around Seattle. We have
her name, Mei-Xing Li; we have the Chinaman’s name, Su-Chong Chen; and we have
a place.”

“You want to go to Seattle.”

O’Dell nodded. “I want to leave tomorrow. I have two names
and a city. If their families can be found, we might find Morgan, too. The
real
Morgan.”

“Will you interview Miss Li before you go?”

A shadow passed over O’Dell’s face. “No.”

Parson wondered about O’Dell’s reaction but only demanded,
“I want regular reports.”

O’Dell jumped to his feet and flipped his derby on to his
head.

“I’ll be in touch.

—

If anyone at Palmer House doubted Flinty’s contribution to
the household, those doubts were erased within days. The little bow-legged man
crawled over every inch of the house, the carriage house, and the caretaker’s
cottage, made copious notes, and sat with Rose for hours advising her.

He scrutinized the plumbers who came to revamp the
recalcitrant toilet system. He questioned them until they sent pleading looks
in Rose’s direction. After they left, he revisited each toilet, making
adjustments until the flushing water flowed as easily as a garden spigot.

“Yessir!” he finally admitted. “I’m thinkin’ we won’t be
needin’ no fancy plumbers fer a spell!” With that pronouncement, he seemed to
deflate and took to a deep arm chair in the great room. For two days he was
barely able to drag himself from the chair to the table for meals and then to
bed.

“I am so glad he has come to us,” Rose told Grant and Joy,
“But we must insist that he regulate his energy just as we’ve advised Mr.
Wheatley. It breaks my heart to see how he has exhausted himself for us.”

But after a few days rest Flinty was up supervising the
final details of converting the carriage house to a little cottage for Billy
and Marit. He gleefully reported that they would be able to move into it in a
week’s time. Grant and Joy would see their quarters ready a month after.

Flinty’s arrival brought a light-heartedness that had been
lacking for weeks, perhaps months. Meals were now filled with laughter and
good-natured teasing as Mr. Wheatley and Flinty vied for checkers partners
among the girls. And the girls hung about in the great room in the evenings
hugely entertained by the competition of tall tales between the two old men.

Rose took a deep breath of gratitude and reminded herself
daily of the many adversities and adversaries now overcome.
We have so much
for which to thank you, O Lord, our God! But I do not presume that life ahead
is all flowers without thorns. We press on in your strength, Father, and trust
you for the future as well as for today.

~~**~~

Good morning, my Lord! This morning I read Isaiah 59:19 in
your Word:

When
the enemy shall come in like a flood,
the Spirit of the
Lord
shall lift up a standard against him.

O Father God! Many floods have washed over us and many
voices have lifted against us, yet you have defeated them all. We are weary,
Lord, but we are rejoicing in you!

I ask that you bring us now into a time of peace, that we
should rest and recover, Lord. How I thank you for the souls you have entrusted
to us and the faith they now have in you.

—

 “Mei-Xing must have spent the night with Mrs. Palmer,” Nancy remarked Saturday morning as they sat down to their breakfast.

“Oh? She did not come home last evening?” Rose responded,
distracted by her shopping list and the day’s tasks. Thanksgiving was but five
days away, and the house would be filled with friends and family for the long
weekend.

“No,” Flora answered as she buttered a biscuit.

Rose nodded. “Likely Mrs. Palmer’s dinner ran late or
something unexpected came up. Martha would not have kept her overnight
otherwise.”

The normal morning chaos ensued as Joy, Grant, Sarah,
Corrine, and Billy prepared to leave for the shop and as Breona set the day’s
chores for the rest of the household.

“Gretl, please be havin’ Flora an’ Maria cook w’ ye t’day.
Girls, will ye be makin’ breakfas’ t’morra by yer ownsel’?”

“Not to worry, Miss Breona,” Gretl answered pleasantly.
“They are ready for it, I’m thinking!” She smiled at Flora and Maria who were
nervous at the prospect of cooking a whole meal for the house on their own.
“Let’s plan the menu so you can think about it during the day,” Gretl
suggested.

“Nancy, will ye be helpin’ with th’ ironin’ this morn?”

“Yes, miss.” Nancy did not watch the school teacher’s
children on Saturdays.

Breona always asked rather than ordered. The girls sometimes
wondered amongst themselves what would happen if they ever replied, “No, Miss
Breona, I would rather not!” Each one agreed that
she
would not be the
first one to ever try
that
.

The shop’s staff had departed and Rose and Breona were
nearly ready to leave for the market when the front doorbell chimed. “I will
get it,” Rose called cheerfully.

She looked through the peephole and saw the visor of Benton,
Martha Palmer’s chauffeur. Puzzled, and with a strange foreboding, she unlocked
and swung the door wide.

“Good morning, Mrs. Thoresen,” he greeted her politely.
“Will Miss Li be ready soon?”

A cold hand snaked about Rose shoulders and she felt its
fingers travel down her spine to her legs. For a moment she could not answer.

“She . . . she did not stay the night with Mrs.
Palmer?” Rose was becoming light-headed.

“Why, no, Mrs. Thoresen.” The man looked confused. “I
delivered her here just before nine o’clock last evening.”

“But, but she, she didn’t . . .” Rose’s legs
gave out and she sat—hard—on the floor.

“Mrs. Thoresen!” The chauffeur knelt beside her and took her
hand. “Someone! I require assistance immediately!”

He turned back to Rose and insisted, “But I watched her
until she went up the porch steps! I didn’t leave until I saw her on the porch!
And the guard was there! I saw him! He does not leave until midnight!”

But the day guard, finishing his morning rounds, discovered
the night guard in the shrubs on the side of the house, beaten and in serious
condition.

Joy and Grant returned home just after the police arrived.
The officers asked many questions, and Benton, Rose, Grant, Joy, and the others
answered them all. As the morning dragged on, the face of the officer asking
most of the questions grew grimmer.

“Dean Morgan and Su-Chong Chen are still at large and, as far
as we can tell, they are the only enemies Miss Li has. We assumed that they
fled town after their escape. It is possible, though, that they have been
hiding within the city.”

Breona, as broken as Joy had ever seen her, could not be
consoled. Her eyes were red and swollen from weeping. Joy and Rose exchanged a
long look. Mei-Xing had already suffered so much . . .

—

Mei-Xing has been missing three days, and the police have
found no trace of my little daughter in the Lord! They assume that Morgan and
Su-Chong Chen have taken her. Could they be wrong, Lord? Are they looking in
the wrong places?

O God, my heart is breaking, but you know where she is.
She must be so frightened! Please comfort her. Please comfort us!

Lord, only the other evening I asked you for a period of
respite. Now I realize that even as I asked this, Mei-Xing was already gone.
But you had also given me Isaiah 59:19—I just did not understand why!

O Lord, I am now holding to that promise with all my
strength. Holy Spirit, raise up a standard bearer! Send him to us, Lord!

When
the enemy shall come in like a flood,
the Spirit of the
Lord
shall lift up a standard against him.

—

As he had told Parsons, O’Dell had no intention of stopping
in Denver to interview Mei-Xing Li. He was determined to sever all ties with
Rose Thoresen and Joy Michaels. As far as he was concerned, he had seen the
last of them. Then fate—or someone higher?—had stepped in and reshuffled the
cards.

Just as O’Dell was switching trains in Denver, a Pinkerton
agent waylaid him and handed him a note. Parsons had heard about Mei-Xing’s
disappearance. Knowing O’Dell’s train was nearing Denver, Parsons had called
the Denver office with instructions for an agent to meet O’Dell’s train and
make sure he received the news.

Rubbing his eyes in worry and weariness, O’Dell hailed a
cab. “
Yer a fool, O’Dell
,” he cursed himself. “
A bloody fool.
”

Rose heard the bell of the front door but continued to stare
at her open Bible on the table in front of her. The cup of tea near Rose’s hand
was as cold as her heart.

What a blow had been struck them! The entire house seemed
frozen, unable to move. Joy and Grant and their staff went to the shop today,
but their hearts were grieving. Breona, usually the liveliest soul in the
house, moved about mechanically, a stricken look etched upon her face.

Preparations for a Thanksgiving dinner were neglected. No
one could bear to think of a festive dinner with Mei-Xing missing.

Mr. Wheatley crept into the dining room. “Missus, you have a
visitor,” he whispered.

Rose did not acknowledge him. She was lost in thought when
another set of footsteps entered the dining room.

“Mrs. Thoresen?”

Rose stirred and finally turned. His bowler in his hand,
cigar peeping from his breast pocket, Edmund O’Dell smiled gently at her. Rose
could not help it. She launched herself from her chair and into his familiar
arms, bursting into tears.

She cried herself out and felt better for it, but could
scarcely let go of O’Dell. Eventually he steered her to a sofa and sat beside
her, holding her hand while she gave him the details he needed.

Later, O’Dell sat at the dining table surrounded by
familiar—and yes,
loved
, blast it all!—faces. He could not deny the
affection he held for Rose, Breona, Mr. Wheatley, Flinty, Marit, and little
Will. His heart was happy to see them, even though he had set his will to
harden himself toward them.

While Breona and Marit plied him with coffee and cake, baby
Will, nearly a year old now, perched on his knee. O’Dell mocked himself.
Is
this the great O’Dell, dandling a baby on his knee?
he scoffed inwardly.
Who
would have dreamed such a thing?

Will stared soberly at him and then clambered up O’Dell’s
chest and planted a wet kiss on his lips. Something in O’Dell’s heart, long
hidden and denied, shuddered and
moved
, and he was undone. He scrambled
madly to stuff it back in its place, but could not.

He knew that he would stay on in Denver. He would see Grant
and Joy together and would face his pain like a man. He would stay because he
must
search for Mei-Xing rather than go on to Seattle.

Those he loved needed him.

~~**~~