The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (2 page)

Rose Thoresen, her nephew Arnie Thoresen, and Pastor David
Kalbørg arrived at the Kalbørg parsonage shortly before dinner. Arnie insisted
that Rose step away and rest; he was concerned about how worn she was looking.

Of course he had not noticed until Breona had pulled him
aside—pulled him aside and chided him soundly—insisting he take Rose away
before she collapsed. Indeed, none of them had slept the larger part of the
night, and the day’s affairs had been difficult, both physically and
emotionally.

After the marshals had rounded up Morgan, Banner, and their
gang, Sheriff Wyndom had pointed the marshals to the “houses”—Corinth’s
fashionable and expensive bordellos. Within their walls horrible acts of
perversion and sadism were said to take place. Many of the working girls were
young, involuntary participants, kidnapped and forced into prostitution through
rape, repeated beatings, and starvation.

The marshals had entered the larger, more exclusive of the
two houses, the “Corinth Gentlemen’s Club,” with David, Arnie, Rose, Breona,
and Mei-Xing on their heels. They had accompanied the marshals as they searched
the first floor and then up the stairs to the second floor. There they
witnessed them search the bedrooms, taking two guards and the club’s madam,
Roxanne Cleary, into custody.

Miss Cleary had apparently retired only a few hours before.
Rousted from her bed, disheveled and disoriented, she was clearly unprepared
for the humiliation of her arrest. Mei-Xing had softly but clearly identified
her to Pounder, the head marshal. At Roxanne’s indignant shrieks, Mei-Xing had
cringed and retreated hastily behind the wide, sheltering back of Arnie
Thoresen.

Rose was saddened by Roxanne’s distress, but she could spare
no compassion for her at present. All her concern was for the girls of the
club, girls like 15-year-old Mei-Xing, who had been kidnapped and bound over to
a life of depravity. Roxanne would have to answer for her role in their
degradation.

With a few whispered directions from Mei-Xing, Rose
continued up the stairs to the next floor. Breona kept close to Rose, her eyes
wide at the over-blown luxury of the house and its furnishings.

The women of the club, exhausted from their night’s labor
but awakened by the noisy entrance of the marshals, were beginning to mill
about the hallways of the third floor. They were nervous and confused, until
Rose spoke to them with Mei-Xing near her side.

“My name is Rose Thoresen.” Rose spoke calmly and gently.
“I’m sorry to have awakened you so abruptly, but we have some important news
for you.” She took a deep breath and prayed for inspiration.

Just then, from down the stairs, the sounds of a scuffle
reached them. All of them could clearly hear Roxanne’s shrieking curses as her
distress gave way to rage and resistance. The women in the hallway became more
agitated, one sobbing noisily. Rose looked around as two more women—girls,
really—peeped from doorways along the hall.

Rose raised her voice a little more to be heard over the
commotion. “As I said, we have some important news for you. Good news! But why
don’t we do this? Why don’t you ladies take a moment to dress? Please join me
downstairs in the, er, parlor, as soon as you are able.”

The women stared at Rose and began to whisper among
themselves. One of them pointed at Mei-Xing.

“Yes, it is I, Mei-Xing,” the tiny Chinese girl with
almond-shaped eyes said softly. “
Little Plum Blossom
. Please dress and
come downstairs. We have something . . . wonderful to tell you.”

Rose asked the women, “Ten minutes?”

A tall brunette spoke to the other women. “Let’s go, girls.
Dress quickly so we can hear what she has to say.”

By the time the women had assembled downstairs, the marshals
had gone, taking the house guards and Roxanne Cleary with them. The marshals
were going directly from the club to the second house, a somewhat less
discriminating, less exotic, but still quite “exclusive” brothel, to arrest the
guards they found there. Arnie and David accompanied them, promising to ask the
women they found there to dress and come to the club and meet with Rose.

When Rose stood to address her audience, perhaps 15 sets of
eyes stared back at her silently, some with anxiety, some with guarded
hostility. What they saw was a slight, older woman with ash blonde hair lightly
streaked with gray. Her face held a sweetly composed mouth and two steady, gray
eyes.

As Rose looked back at them, she found it difficult, in her
mind, to call the girls
women
. They were all so young! She had to remind
herself that, while these girls were young in years, what they had endured had
to have aged them years beyond counting. The women assembled in the great room
of the house finally quieted and waited for Rose to speak.

Dear Lord, please help me. Help me to say just the right
thing to speak hope into their hearts
, Rose prayed silently.

“Ladies, in case you did not hear me introduce myself, my
name is Rose Thoresen. Some of you already know Miss Li.” Rose opened her hand
gracefully in Mei-Xing’s direction. Mei-Xing acknowledged the introduction
self-consciously but then sat up straighter and frankly met the questioning
eyes from around the room.

“I would also like you to meet our dear friend, Miss Byrne,”
Rose nodded at Breona who stood against the wall, her arms tightly crossed,
warily observing from outside the circle of chairs.

Rose continued. “My daughter, Joy Thoresen Michaels, owns
Corinth Mountain Lodge, near the train siding on the edge of town.” Several
heads nodded and eyes turned again toward Mei-Xing. Apparently they knew of the
lodge, had heard rumors concerning Mei-Xing’s escape and disappearance.

“Yes. Mei-Xing came to us when she escaped several months
ago now. We have kept her hidden in the lodge all this time.” Rose took a deep
breath. “Last night, Mr. Banner and his men burned the lodge.”

Gasps sounded around the room and fearful eyes darted toward
the doors. Rose raised her hands in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.
“We are grateful to the Lord that no one was hurt in the fire. All of us
escaped from the lodge without injury.”

The eyes in the room fixed on Rose again. “But we told you
that we had good news.” Rose tried to smile, but she couldn’t. The moment was
too charged, her news too momentous.

Through trembling lips she said, “What we would like you to
know is that, just over two hours ago, federal marshals took Mr. Banner and all
his men—Darrow, too—into custody.”

She looked around, making eye contact with each woman. “They
have also removed Miss Cleary and the guards from this house. Most important,
they have arrested Mr. Morgan, the owner of this house and its neighbor just to
our east.” She nodded in the general direction of the second brothel.

In the silence of the room, Rose drew another deep breath.
“We came here to tell you that you are—
all of you
—free.”

The eyes staring at Rose blinked, and she could see the uncertainty,
the questions, as her words sank in. The tall, dark-haired woman who had spoken
upstairs, voice shaking now, asked, “Do you mean we can leave? No one will stop
us? No one will come after us and chase us down?”

Rose nodded. She did not trust herself to speak and had to
bite her bottom lip. Around the room, the silence was only interrupted by
sniffling and then sobs as each woman opened her heart to the possibilities
before her.

By noon Rose had informally met with each of the nine women
from the club, including little Gretl Plüff, the club’s cook, while Breona and
Mei-Xing were arranging individual meetings in the afternoon with the girls of
the second house.

The questions she heard again and again were, “Are you sure
they are in jail? Are we really safe?” and, the more difficult question, “What
will we do now?”

Arnie and David Kalbørg returned to the house and stayed
close by, reassuring the women that they had witnessed the marshals take away
Morgan, Roxanne, Banner, and all his men in handcuffs, loading them on the
train to Denver.

Repeatedly Rose reassured every girl that she was safe.
Individually and in knots of two or three Rose explained that each of them was
free to go home, if she had a home, or free to go wherever she liked. They
would help them travel to where they decided to go.

She saw the indecision and fear writ plainly on each face.
Could
they go home? Was there a place for them back home after . . .
this?

Of course, some of them admitted they had no homes to return
to. That was when Rose began to talk about the lodge and the vision that had
inspired Joy to buy it, a vision of helping young women—in the same situation
they found themselves—to learn honest skills to support themselves.

“But you said the lodge burnt down last night,” a plump girl
of about 16 years reminded Rose.

“Yes,” Rose responded, still dazed by the certainty of her
words. “Banner and his men burned it. It is gone, but we were already making
plans to buy a house in Denver and begin our work in earnest. Denver, being a
large city, has more opportunities for good employment.” A few more of the
young women gathered near as Rose explained.

It was nearly four-thirty in the afternoon, and Rose’s voice
was failing her. That was when Breona had insisted Arnie take Rose away to eat and
rest.

Mei-Xing and Breona looked at each other then. Breona
squared her shoulders and called to the women still milling in the great room.
“Aye, so ’tis bein’ up t’ us now t’ be makin’ some plans for th’ evenin’, I’m
thinkin’.”

The women looked to her, clearly accustomed to being told
what to do. Curbing her natural tendency to take charge, Breona put forward a
few suggestions about dinner and sleeping arrangements for herself and
Mei-Xing. Soon the girls were offering suggestions and, by consensus, making
some simple decisions.

“Well, I am going bake pies.” Gretl announced abruptly and
overly loud. “
Lots
of pies!” she added defiantly.

All eyes turned to her and she blushed. “Miss Cleary never
let us eat pie,” she explained, breathing hard. “Nor cakes nor tarts nor
cookies! I had to make every sort of tempting treat for the
club members
,”
she sneered those words, “but
we
were never allowed to eat them
ourselves!”

Suddenly all the girls were clamoring for desserts, excited
at the prospect of exercising their freedom.

Breona grinned, her black eyes snapping in delight. “Miss
Gretl, I be fancyin’ a fat slice o’ cherry pie, me sel’!”

She put her hands on her hips. “Let us be bakin’ pies!”

~~**~~

Dear Lord, as I arose this morning I felt led to
chronicle this new endeavor upon which we have embarked. I confess though, that
as this new day begins, I also need to pour out my heart to you.

We have been so pressed in the past 48 hours. It was not
until this morning I realized what I had lost in the fire: The only likenesses
of Jan I possessed and the few photographs I owned of Joy as a baby and as she
grew up. All of them burned in the lodge with everything else. Oh, Lord! Grief,
heavy as a great rock, struck my heart at this realization.

So I pick up pen and ink and pour my sorrow onto this
page. Father, please help me to bear the loss. I recall with gratitude that
Søren and Meg still have a few photographs of Jan and one in particular of
Søren and Joy together when she was a toddler. Thank you, Lord, for reminding
me. I will ask them to have reproductions made for me, no matter how costly.

I must also acknowledge a great truth, if only to you. I
acknowledge that had I been given a choice between keeping my precious
mementoes or gaining the freedom of these even more valuable treasures—I speak
of these young women, Lord!—I
must
have chosen these women.

For on those whom you have poured your Son’s lifeblood,
you have also placed the most value. Can any earthly treasures be worth more?
No, Lord, they cannot.

So I commit today, Lord, to honor these young women with
the care I would have given my precious photographs. Strengthen me to care with
all my heart, I pray, Lord God!

—

Edmund O’Dell had spent an uncomfortable night in a run-down
Corinth hostel. It was the only place in town to board, now that the lodge
was gone. The mattress had been lumpy, the pillow thin and threadbare, the
bedbugs plenty. He rubbed his neck where the muscles were knotted still.

As much as he’d wanted to leave by yesterday’s afternoon
train, his plans had been thwarted. First, Groman, his superior at the moment,
had insisted that he remain in Corinth the entire day.

“We may need your direction in this case, and I don’t want
to have to track you down. Besides, Gretl Plüff, having been in Corinth the longest, is our best lead to other kidnapped girls who may have been here. If
they were moved elsewhere, I want you to find them.”

But Gretl Plüff had put him off, quite firmly, telling him
that she was “otherwise engaged” for the day “so’s I can hear all what Miss
Rose has to say and be cooking good hot meals for the girls,” she’d said,
adding, “I’m plannin’ to go with her and Miss Joy soon as they buys a house
down mountain in Denver City. You and I can talk tomorrow.”

She had shut the door in his face, and with the sound of the
latch his plan to leave later in the day was soundly scotched!

Mrs. Thoresen and her daughter have the knack of
engendering that kind of loyalty
, O’Dell reflected with a snarl and tried
again to un-kink his neck.
Just look what it did to me!

He frowned and pounded on the front door of the house. He’d
dallied about until he felt he could call on the girl the next day. It was now
half-past seven in the morning, and he was determined to be on the morning
train.

He was mildly nonplussed when Breona opened the door for
him. “Good morn, Mr. O’Dell, sir!” She was in good spirits and pleased to see
him.

“Fancy meeting you here, Miss Byrne,” he grinned, glad in
spite of his sour mood to see her looking rosy and well. “I’ve come to
interview Gretl Plüff. Is she about?”

Breona answered with a sardonic snort. “’Tis still abed
these girls air, Mr. O’Dell, sir. ’Twas loik t’ herdin’ cats las’ eve’n t’ be
getting’ ’em t’ bed! Why, they’s days ’n’ nights be so mixed, come bedtime,
you’d hev thought th’ cock be a-crowin’! Could hardly catch a wink, what with
th’ goin’s on mos’ th’ night!”

She leaned toward him conspiratorially. “Miss Rose is sayin’
we’ll be gettin’ th’m up a wee bit earlier each day an’ t’ bed a wee bit
earlier each night, s’ as t’ put th’m right again!”

O’Dell frowned. “When do you think Miss Plüff will be up?”

Breona shrugged. “Sure an’ Miss Rose is jist arrived. Would
ye come t’ th’ kitchen an’ be havin’ a cup? An’ a great slice o’ pie, too, if’n
ye hev an appetite!”

O’Dell didn’t want to go to the kitchen to “be havin’ a cup”
or a slice of pie! It meant seeing some of the people he had purposed to be
quickly shut of. He shuffled his feet in indecision but found himself being
pulled into the house and down a long hall to where he presumed the kitchen
would be found.

He sighed and drew out his watch along the way. He would
miss his train—again.

Sure enough, Rose and Mei-Xing were seated at a kitchen
table talking quietly, their hands wrapped about cups of coffee.

“Mr. O’Dell!” Rose’s happy greeting pricked him. He had
hoped to slip away without goodbyes. Her pleasure at seeing him only made him
feel even more of a cad.

“Good morning, Mrs. Thoresen, Miss Li,” he replied stiffly.
Breona had already placed a filled cup at the table for him, so he reluctantly
seated himself.

“We were just talking over the wonder of the past two days,”
Rose explained. “Who would have thought that in one night, so much could have
changed? Not just the arrest of Darrow and his men, but the return of my
son-in-law, Grant Michaels!”

Why, she is positively gushing
, O’Dell observed with
a sneer. Then she reached across the table and clasped his hand earnestly.

“We have
you
to thank for Grant’s return, Mr.
O’Dell.” Her eyes were brimming with tears. “He told us how hard you have been
looking for most of the past year, trying to find where he belonged. We are
more grateful than we can possibly express.”

O’Dell looked away in embarrassment and caught Mei-Xing
watching him. Her wide, almond-shaped eyes were soft and compassionate.

She knows
, O’Dell thought, and swore under his
breath.
Of course she does. They probably all do
.

He sat back abruptly and assumed a more formal tone. “I
would like to see Gretl Plüff as soon as possible. Would you kindly rouse her?”

“I, well yes, I suppose I can,” Rose replied softly. She
withdrew her hand. “Let me see what I can do. Mei-Xing, would you please help
me? We should try to rouse all the girls. It will be a difficult transition,
but we should begin today.”

O’Dell finished his interview with Gretl and scanned the
single name she had recognized. She knew of only one of the missing women he
had tracked to Colorado.

It is better than none
, he admitted. She had, in addition,
been able to suggest a house in Denver where she may have been taken.

“Darrow and his men always talk big an’ loud,” she
explained. “We girls listen good an’ try t’ warn each other when something bad
is afoot.”

“Are you certain you don’t want to go home? Your aunt and
uncle have been looking for you for nearly two years.” He had been surprised
when she had flatly turned down his offer of a train ticket.

Gretl, a plump, soft girl, pleasant but perhaps not overly
bright, looked away for a long moment. “No sir, don’t b’lieve I do. See, bein’
a whore changes you. I’m not like how they ’member me.”

She gave O’Dell a penetrating look. “I’ll write ’em a nice
letter, sir, but I b’lieve I’ll stay with Miss Rose and Miss Joy. They
understand how it is. And I’m a good cook, y’ see. Miss Rose tells me that
after a bit I can get a good job somewheres an’ take care of m’self. That’s
probably better.”

O’Dell saw the reality of Gretl’s choice in her honest eyes.
She was, perhaps, brighter than he gave her credit for.

At last O’Dell had completed his tasks in Corinth. “All
right. Head down to Denver,” Groman ordered. “Take two of my men. I trust ’em.
I know they aren’t part of Beau Bickle’s corrupt bunch. We don’t want to take
any chances that they would find out you’re coming.”

“What about the law?” O’Dell asked.

“You can find Marshal Pounder at this address.” Groman
scribbled on a scrap of paper. “I ’spect he’ll go along with you or send a few
of his men. Hates these whorehouses and what they do to young women, he does.”

He pointed his finger at O’Dell. “You find that girl, O’Dell
and wrap up these disappearances, and I’m guessing you can write your own
ticket. Maybe McParland will even set you up to run the Denver office. God
knows he needs someone honest to clean out that den o’ thieves.

Not a chance
, O’Dell thought wryly, but he nodded and
kept that thought to himself.

He had an hour to kill before the afternoon train, and found
himself back where he’d been yesterday morning. He stared for several moments
at the now-cold ashes of the lodge. Then he turned and sauntered down the
winding trail to the overlook.

So much had happened in the past 48 hours, so much gone
forever. But the mountains, unchanging, full of inviolate splendor, beckoned to
him. He stood with his hands deep in his pockets and stared. He would miss this
daily feast of beauty.

He didn’t know how long he’d stood there in solitude but
eventually the sound of someone shuffling down the trail toward him broke
through. He turned and raised his hand in greeting to Flinty. The old man,
grizzled and worn looking, nodded back.

“Saw ya walk down this a-way. Knowed ya got a ticket on th’
next train. Jest wanted t’ wish ya well.”

O’Dell held out his hand and they shook. The experiences
they shared in Corinth would bind them for life.

“Guess yer gittin’ shut o’ this place, heh?” Flinty asked,
probing gently.

“Well, the job here is finished, but I have leads to follow
down in Denver.” O’Dell did not rise to the bait.

“Uh-huh.” He paused. “Kinder a miracle, what, Joy’s husband
a-comin’ back from th’ dead an’ all.”

“Yeah. Kinda that.”

They did not speak further but stood together in
companionable silence, allowing the purple and white majesty to speak all they
needed to hear until the distant whistle of the coming train roused them.

That evening O’Dell, the two Pinkerton agents Groman had
assigned to him, Marshal Pounder, and two of his men planned their raid on the
Silver
Spurs Bawdy Hall
. “We are looking for a young woman by the name of Monika
Vogel. I’ve been told she may be known as Monique. She is five feet, two
inches, light blonde hair, 15 years old.”

“Fifteen?” Pounder swore under his breath.

“She was barely 14 when they snatched her. She and her
brother emigrated from Germany to New York a year and a half ago. She answered
an employment advertisement to work here in Denver and instead ended up in Corinth—you know where. She was there for a short while before we believe they brought her
down mountain.”

He glanced at Pounder. “When her brother did not hear from
her after she left for Denver, he asked us to find her.”

O’Dell pushed his hat back on his head, put his hands on his
hips, and looked at each man in the room. “I want two men inside playing the
role of customers, two men out front with the motor car, and Pounder with me.”
He hesitated. “Any questions?”

“I ’spect Cal Judd, the
Spurs
’ owner, will not take
kindly to our honorable intentions,” one of Pounder’s marshals drawled. The man
was holding up a wall with his backside, arms folded across his chest.

“I don’t intend to start a war,” O’Dell replied, “and we
aren’t going in to close the place down—seeing as how Denver has more crooked
elected officials and cops on the take than a stray dog has fleas. It’s
unfortunate, but the present political climate will not support shutting him
down.

“But this is kidnapping. So Pounder and I will locate the
girl and take her out. Anybody gets in our way, and we’ll deal with them.”

He nodded to the two men who would be posing as customers
inside the saloon. “Watch our backs. Be discreet, but pay attention. Keep your
side arms out of sight unless you need them. Don’t drink too much.”

Pounder hefted a double-barreled shot gun. “And me?”

“You? Oh, I want you right out in front, Marshal. Out in
plain sight with your badge on your chest and that hog leg of yours at the
ready. I’ll be right behind you with my little beauty.” O’Dell tucked his
revolver into his pocket.

O’Dell and Pounder shoved past the two thugs at the front
door. O’Dell could see the guards were itching to take them on, but the
marshal’s star and shotgun gave them pause.

The hall was hot and smoke-filled, the crowd boisterous.
O’Dell headed directly for the stairway that led to the cribs on the second
floor. A burly guard put a hand on O’Dell’s chest and quickly removed it when
the marshal leveled his shotgun.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Pounder growled. “You just stay
out of our way, right?”

The burly guard nodded, but his eyes slanted around the
crowded hall, looking for help.

O’Dell and the marshal hit the top of the stairs. A hall
opened up in both directions.

“Go left. I’ll go right. Start at the end and work your way
back.”

Pounder jogged down the hall until he hit the end. He threw
open the door of a room and strode inside. “Monika Vogel!” he yelled. The girl
inside was not her. He withdrew and threw open the next door.

O’Dell was doing the same at his end of the hall. On his
fifth room, he called out the girl’s name and saw a terrified dish-water blonde
raise her head. The man in the bed with her scowled at O’Dell.

“You.” O’Dell pointed his gun at the man. “Get up. Over
there.”

Slowly the man complied, his face suffused with rage. “I
don’t know who you are, but you are making a big mistake.”

O’Dell looked at him now. He was a bull of a man, ruddy,
with a hard, chiseled face, obviously a man accustomed getting what he wanted.