The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (20 page)

Dear Lord, even with the rescue of Esther and the other
girls, I confess that I have never experienced a more difficult entrance to a
New Year. We miss Mei-Xing daily.

I miss her, O Lord. She is as much my daughter as Joy is
and, if I did not know with all my heart that you have her in your care, I
would lose my courage. Her continued absence has been hard on Breona too. She
loves Mei-Xing as a sister and is but a shadow of herself lately.

And the house feels even emptier this evening. Flinty
left to Corinth this morning to collect some of his belongings. He will return
within a few days.

The girls quietly watched him eat breakfast and then
fussed over him as he readied for the train. I might go so far as to say that
Tabitha was downright possessive of him, if only for a moment, insisting on
verifying that he had his coat, hat, gloves, scarf, and extra socks!

She still does not trust herself to others easily, but
she has no such barrier with Flinty. We all can see the love between them, even
if Tabitha cannot openly express it.

Our Mr. O’Dell has now gone on to Seattle to search for
Mei-Xing’s family. He, too, carries the weight of Mei-Xing’s disappearance
heavily. Father, you know where Mei-Xing is. We believe you are upholding her
with your strong arm. Please lead our Mr. O’Dell by your Spirit, and bring
Mei-Xing home to us, Lord!

I am reminded of the woman Jesus told his disciples about
who sought justice from a judge. She would not leave the judge in peace until
she received the just ruling she asked for. Jesus told us we should, in the
same manner, ask and continue asking you for what we need.

And so, Lord, we ask you to move on Mei-Xing’s behalf to
deliver her and bring her home. We will not stop, Lord. We will not tire, and
we will not give up. Lord, our hope is in you.

—

Flinty stepped off the train in Corinth and shuffled toward
his shop and his attached house. It wasn’t home anymore, though. Nope. After
many years of solitude, he had again found a home, a real home, filled with
laughter and vitality, purpose and love.

He chuckled as he thought of each one at Palmer House. And
that Tabitha!
Yessir!
He loved that little firecracker like a daughter.

He unlocked the shop and looked around. He had decided to
crate up his tools and bring down the few household goods he felt were needed
at the house. He would sell any tools Palmer House couldn’t use and give the
money to Miss Rose. Something told him that lady was carrying more load than
she ought.

He would only stay two nights in Corinth. Mebbe Pastor
Kalbørg or Domingo would help him haul the crates to the siding. Then he would
catch the mid-morning train.

Yep. And mebbe someone would buy his shop and little house,
too. He stood at a window and stared at where the lodge had stood, just nine
months ago.

He’d lived much of his adult life in that house. Built it
from scratch. Raised his boys there. Said goodbye to his sweetheart there. Had
moved out and away from all the memories clamorin’ at him in that empty place.

Then, all these years later, outta the blue, the house’d
come alive again, and so had he. His eyes misted a bit.
Lord, bless them folks
at Palmer House fer takin’ in an old man like me an’ lettin’ me be part o’ a
fam’ly agin
. Then he straightened himself out and set to work.

—

Mei-Xing walked the length of her prison, automatically
counting off the steps and turning to retrace them. The room was small and its
furnishings sparse: A bed, a chamber pot, a small table and chair, two
side-by-side windows, a door.

The door was solid wood, hinged from the outside. The walls
were lath and plaster over brick.
The windows were bricked in
.

She stopped pacing and found herself at the end of her bed.
She pulled it away from the wall. Studied the eleven groups of scratches, each
group containing four vertical and one diagonal line slashed through the
vertical ones. Fifty-five days . . . more or less.

What was happening outside these walls? Were they still
looking for her or had they given up? No, she would not allow herself to think
that way. But so much had happened, so much that could not be undone. She let
her mind wander back to that night . . .

Like most evenings since the guards had been posted, she had
greeted the Pinkerton man as she climbed the steps to the front door of Palmer
House. He had been standing post on the porch, within the shadows, as usual.

But when Mei-Xing opened her bag to retrieve the door key,
the man had grabbed her from behind. Pressed something wet and sickly smelling
to her face and held it there. She struggled with all her might but then
she
heard Su-Chong’s voice softly insisting that she not fight him
.

When she awoke, she was in this room.

As she slowly came to herself, she became violently sick to
her stomach. Two jars of water had been left on the table, so after emptying
her stomach into the chamber pot, Mei-Xing dampened a corner of her shawl and
wiped her mouth and face.

She drank most of the water in one of the jars. That seemed
to help settle her stomach and clear away the drug-induced cobwebs. As her mind
cleared, she walked around the faintly lit room.

She tried to open the door. Locked!

Looked under the door. Darkness!

A dim electric bulb hung from the high ceiling. Her only
light.

Went to the windows. Solid bricks!

What could she do but wait? So she waited. Waited and prayed
for peace while frantic thoughts clawed through her head.

What if he never came back
?
What if he
did
come
back
?
What would he want of her
?
Why had he taken her
?
Why
was she here
?
What if he left her in this room to starve
?

She eyed the water in the remaining jar, trembling, fighting
against imagined horrors and rising panic. As hard as she fought, her thoughts
ran wild and tumbled out of control.

She began to gasp, to choke. A buzzing in her head grew
louder. The room was closing in! It was out of air! She shuddered as her lungs
struggled to find oxygen and her eyesight dimmed. She fell to the floor,
blessedly unconscious.

—

The narrow gauge train pulled into the little town of Corinth
in the late afternoon.
Yaochuan
Min Liáng
disembarked and took stock of his surroundings. The ground was crusty with old
snow, and the waning sunlight warned that the current temperature, just above
freezing, would be dropping soon.

His first order of business was to find a place to spend the
night. No passengers boarded the train in Corinth. In fact, the siding seemed
little used of late. He looked about, wondering in which way the little town
lay.

Not far from the siding he spotted a small cabin tucked back
in the trees. He could see someone puttering near a cold forge. Liáng hoisted
his satchel and made his way to what he deduced was a smithy.

“Good afternoon,” he called.

A grizzled man with graying red hair looked up. “Afternoon,”
he called back. He looked Liáng over, clearly puzzled. “Y’ lost, mister?”

Liáng laughed. “I well may be. I want to walk into Corinth and I need a room for the night. Could you help me with either of those items?”

“Sure ’nuff. Got but one place t’ stay these days.” He
grinned. “Hope ya like yer bedbugs plenty an’ loud!” He laughed and slapped his
thigh. Liáng must have blanched, for the old man offered his hand and added,
“Name’s Flinty. Don’t mind me, now.”

“Yaochuan Min Liáng,” he replied shaking the man’s hand in
return.

“Tha’s a mouthful, fer sure!” The old gent’s humor was
infectious. Liáng grinned back.

“It is, indeed. Please call me Yao.”

“Yow, eh? Well, Yow, iff’n yer headed int’ town, ya jest go
on down that road. Coupla’ hundred feet, you’ll start seein’ a few houses, then
you’ll come right up on the place. ’Taint big an’ th’ boardin’ house is past
th’ plaza an’ turn right.”

The old man shook his head and pointed. “Iff’n y’d been here
a year back, why ya coulda stayed at th’ Corinth Mountain Lodge, right over
yonder.”

Liáng peered through the twilight but saw nothing.

“Sorry, son. Burned down las’ April. Sure were a sad night.”

“Have you lived in Corinth long?” Suddenly Liáng felt
hopeful that he may have found someone who could tell him some of the things
he’d traveled here to find out.

“Yep. Came in with th’ silver strike. Bin here ivir since.
Raised a passel o’ boys, but they growed an’ moved on. Th’ wife passed 10 years
back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Liáng said, meaning it.

“I thank ya. Say,” the gent said, perking up. “Ya hungry?
Got a nice stew, jest simmerin’ on th’ back o’ th’ stove. I rolled out some
mighty fine biscuits t’ go with! Truth b’ told, I wouldn’t mind th’ comp’ny.”

“Would I have any difficulty finding the boarding house and
getting a room after dark?” Liáng could not help but notice that the light was
fading rapidly.

“Ya look like a honest man. If’n ya don’t mind a thin
mattress, got me an extry bed over yonder.” Flinty pointed with his chin toward
a narrow cot. “No bedbugs, neither!” He laughed and asked. “Say, ya play
checkers?”

Flinty’s manner was infectious.
Liáng grinned and nodded.

“Well then! Set yerself down.”

Over dinner Flinty said, “’Twas providence ya found me here
t’day.”

“Oh?”

“Don’ live here n’more, y’know. Jest came up ta clear out
th’ place a bit.” He gestured at several boxes and crates under the smithy’s
eaves.

“Planned ta take th’ train this mornin’ ’cept Pastor an’ Mrs.
Kalbørg, why they hed me fer supper las’ night an’ mid-week church after. Done
slep’ in an’ ’cided t’ kech th’ train t’morrer. Ain’t as young as I was oncet.”

Yaochuan Min Liáng
’s almond
eyes crinkled appreciatively. “Are you a Christian man, then, Flinty?”

“Yessir. Bin lovin’ m’ Lord fer more’n 25 years now.”

“I am a Christian also, my friend,” Minister Liáng responded
warmly. “Perhaps your pastor would meet with me? I am looking for someone and
would value his help.”

“Why shore he would! Iffn ya don’t mind m’ askin’, who might
ya be lookin’ fer?”

Liáng hesitated and studied his plate for a moment. “It is a
delicate situation, but I feel I can trust you, Flinty, so I will confide in
you.”

“As you have lived here a long while,” here he paused again,
“are you familiar with any houses of, of soiled doves in Corinth?”

Flinty turned from jovial host to hard-eyed stranger in a
heartbeat. He looked Liáng over again and replied carefully. “Mister, ya said
ya was a Christian. Kin ya tell me what a house of o’ ill repute holds fer ya?”

Minister Liáng nodded. “I understand your reaction, Mr.
Flynn. I assure you, I am not looking for . . . for my own, uh,
purposes.” At that point
he
blushed and
Flinty’s eyes softened and turned curious.

“I am, however, looking for a young lady, a very young lady
whom, I was told, was taken into such a, ah, house against her will.”

He held his hands out in appeal to Flinty. “I hope you will
believe me—I would not frequent such a place. Rather, I was hoping to find this
young lady and restore her to her family. You see, I am her parents’ pastor.”

Liáng stared at the old man who was beginning to wipe his
eyes. “But, friend, I see I have moved you somehow . . .”

Flinty’s face creased in a small smile. “The Lor’ shore do
work in mysterious ways, don’ he? Like I were sayin’, I shoulda bin gone on
this mornin’s train, but guess he a-wanted you an’ me t’ meet up an’ all.”

He wiped his eyes again. “See, them houses o’ evil ’r all
shut down, they are, an’ I kin tell ya all ’bout how it happened. ’Twas surely
God what done it.”

He studied the Asian man for another moment, a possibility
slowly dawning on him. “Say, what’s th’ name o’ the young lady ya lookin’ fer?”

Liáng sighed and took a chance. “Her name is Mei-Xing Li.”

But Flinty was already nodding his head before the words
were out of his mouth. “Mister Liáng, I know Miss Mei-Xing. I know her real
well.” A rain of tears fell as he told Yaochuan Min Liáng everything he knew
about Mei-Xing.

~~**~~

As she came to, Mei-Xing had felt the floor’s iciness in her
bones. She opened her eyes, struggling to understand what she was looking at.

She was lying on the floor near the bed, staring at its
underside. A familiar strap dangled between the bed and the wall. The strap of
her reticule.

Mei-Xing pulled herself to her knees. She had to lay her
head against the bed until the dizziness and nausea subsided. Across the bed a
bit of her bag peeped at her—it had slid between the bed and wall. She grasped
at it and slowly pulled the bag to her.

Hand trembling, she loosened the drawstring.
It was there
.

Her fingers trembling, she pulled out the small book,
clasping it to her breast. It had been a gift from Rose and Joy. Much of her
time with Mrs. Palmer was spent in relative inactivity, so one day Mei-Xing had
designed and sewn a lovely cover for the book out of a scrap of blue, watered
silk. She had edged it in lace.

Her New Testament and Psalms.

She held it with desperate eagerness.
Thank you, Lord
!

Hours later she heard the key rattle in the door. It opened
and Su-Chong stood there. Neither of them spoke. Mei-Xing, sitting on the edge
of the bed, did not move except to slowly smooth her skirt, covering the
testament in its folds.

Su-Chong wordlessly retrieved a tray from behind him.
Mei-Xing could not see into the room behind him. It, too, was dimly lit. She
could not tell if it was day or night.

He placed the tray on the table and removed the two empty
jars. Then, with a pronounced limp, he backed out and relocked the door. He had
not said a word.

Mei-Xing still did not move, but when she smelled the yeasty
scent of warm bread, everything within her rumbled in response. With her eye on
the door, she slid the testament under her mattress and cautiously approached
the table.

The tray contained two jars of fresh water, a bowl of soup,
and several dinner rolls. Mei-Xing’s mouth watered. She lifted one of the rolls
to her nose and inhaled the smell of it, the warmth of it. Then she sat and
devoured the food.

After a while the light in her room went out so she lay down
on the bed, anxious and trembling. What if he came into the room while she was
sleeping? She breathed a short prayer and, in spite of her worry, slept.

She started and woke in the dark. The door was opening and
she could see him outlined in the faint light behind him. She held completely
still, pretending to sleep.

He removed the tray and then the chamber pot, locking the
door behind him. A few minutes later he returned, laid something on the chair,
and replaced the empty pot, sliding it under the bed.

Mei-Xing knew he was standing near her, watching her, so she
remained still, breathing softly. Finally he turned and left, again locking the
door behind him. She sighed in relief and eventually fell back asleep.

When Mei-Xing awoke, the light was on. A tray with oatmeal
and coffee waited for her on the table. She gulped the bitter coffee gratefully
and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

Then she saw the neat stack of clothing setting on the
chair. A towel. A wash cloth. Soap. Two simple, shapeless dresses, much too
large for her. She flushed when she found items of personal clothing. And then
shivered.

How long did he mean for her to remain in this room?

She had been taken at night. She awoke from the drugged
sleep during, presumably, the day. Much later he brought dinner. Then the light
went out and she slept. When she woke the light was on and breakfast awaited
her.

Picking up the spoon from her breakfast, Mei-Xing looked for
something to scratch on. She pulled her bed away from the wall and, where the
mattress covered the wall, she scratched two short, vertical lines.

She occasionally heard him moving about the rooms on the
other side of the door. When he brought food and water neither of them spoke.

On what was perhaps the fourth day, Su-Chong opened the door
and stood staring at her, saying nothing. He looked thinner than she remembered
him. Then Mei-Xing noticed his feverish cheeks and glazed eyes.

For the first time, he spoke. “I need your help.”

Mei-Xing licked her lips and swallowed. She was afraid to
answer.

“I need your help,” he said again. He turned and limped
away, leaving the door agape.

Quickly, Mei-Xing ran to the open door. A short hallway
opened immediately into a sitting room. She saw a sink and small gas stove on
the other side of the sitting room and three windows on the wall to the right.
The windows were bricked in just as in her room!

She assumed she would find a door on the left side of the
sitting room and her heart began to hammer—but then Su-Chong stepped out of a
room at the opposite end of the hall.

He stared at her. She stared back. In his hands he held
towels and a large basin. He walked toward her, and she retreated into her
prison.

Limping, he followed her into the room and set the things on
the table. Then he locked the door from the inside. The key hung from a chain.
He put the chain over his head and the dangling key inside his shirt. With some
difficulty, he began to remove his trousers.

Mei-Xing was terrified—until she noticed him grimacing in
pain. Cautiously, she watched as he removed a soiled bandage from his upper
thigh. Even from across the room she could see how inflamed the wound was.

“I need your help,” he said for the third time.

She slowly drew near. What she saw made her gag. The wound
should have been stitched but had not been. It gaped open, six inches or so of
it, across the muscle and around the back of the thigh, angry and festering.

She, as well as the others at Palmer House, had read and
reread the newspaper accounts of Morgan and Su-Chong’s escape and
disappearance. Accounts of four men found in a car near Union Station, four men
who had suffered violent deaths.

He must have been cut during his escape
.

Eyes glazed but intent, Su-Chong stared at her. Something of
the young man he had been, the boy she had known, glimmered for a brief moment.

Finally Mei-Xing swallowed and whispered. “I will need
needle and thread. Alcohol.”

He nodded toward the basin. Mei-Xing, trembling, reached for
it and found what she needed in it.

Mei-Xing bowed her head as she remembered. That moment had
changed things between them. She could not think on the weeks after that
without shuddering in shame.

Oh God! What have I done?

~~**~~