The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (22 page)

~~**~~

It took several days to investigate Mei-Xing and Su-Chong’s
families. Armed with business and home addresses, O’Dell hired a driver to take
him to the posh residential area where Mr. and Mrs. Li lived.

O’Dell was always careful. He had the driver drop him
several blocks from his destination.

He walked half a mile and found the Li’s home. He studied it
then wandered the neighborhood, striking up casual conversations, occasionally
pretending he was in need of directions.

He would admire the architecture and gardens of the houses,
usually finding opportunity to insert innocent questions about long-time
neighborhood families. Of the Li home itself he saw nothing that would speak to
anything other than a law-abiding, well-to-do family.

The next day he dressed as though he were looking for manual
labor and walked to the wharves. He found the Li warehouses and asked Li
employees if they knew of available work. He casually asked how it was to work
for the Li family. Universally people spoke well of Jinhai Li: He was a fair
man to work for and did not dabble in illegal activities.

O’Dell had a driver drop him a distance from the Chen home.
From there he walked. What he observed immediately set off alarms in his head.
He proceeded cautiously.

The Li house fronted an expensive avenue in the middle of a
stylish, open neighborhood. Unlike the Li family, the Chen home was built on a
solitary road, surrounded by a tall wall, and maintained like a fortress. Iron
gates blocked the entrance.

O’Dell burrowed into wild undergrowth across the road where
he could watch the comings and goings of the Chen estate. He spent an entire
day peering through shadowed foliage, watching and waiting.

He made notes on every motor car and its license plate. He
counted guards and watched their movements. He wrote down delivery trucks and
their frequency.

Wei Lin Chen owned restaurants, import shops, and a chain of
laundries. The next day O’Dell had a cab drop him downtown. A Chen restaurant
and import shop were within walking distance. He strolled and he watched, eating
lunch and making small purchases to keep up appearances.

The following two days he changed locations and repeated his
activities. He noted the same young boys running errands from place to place
and once thought someone was watching him. Just in case, he stepped into a Chen
competitor’s import shop and bought a sack of trifles that the girls in Palmer
House would enjoy—carved fans, jade ear bobs, silk scarves, ivory hair combs.

At the end of three days O’Dell was convinced. If the Chen’s
were not deeply invested in crime and vice, he’d eat his hat. He took dinner in
a downtown restaurant intending to return to his hotel before the late
afternoon grew any darker.

As he approached a taxi stand two men passed him, one on
either side. He realized the danger too late.

—

O’Dell’s jaw felt unhinged and his pulse pounded in his head
with the frequency and volume of a jackhammer. Every part of his body ached. He
could not open his eyes. He was piled in a heap somewhere, but had no idea
where.

Through the crusted blood in his nose he smelled something
unfamiliar—incense of some kind. Without intending to, he groaned. He heard
footsteps and strong hands jerked him to his feet. O’Dell’s stomach lurched at
the sudden motion and he retched, emptying its contents on the floor.

He heard a stream of high-pitched invective and his captors
stiffened. They dragged O’Dell aside and dumped him again. Two sets of feet
scurried to clean the mess he’d made.

Then, amid hurled curses from across the room, someone
stomped on his hand. He felt the bones shatter before two sets of boots began
kicking him viciously in his ribs, his face, his hips, his back. All O’Dell
could think as he again lost consciousness was that the voice he’d heard
screaming was a woman’s, and she had not spoken in English.

Fang-Hua fingered the notebook found on the unconscious man.
He used some sort of shorthand, and that in itself disturbed her. He had been
seen too many days near too many of their businesses to be merely a white man
shopping in China town.

As she paged through the entries she noticed sets of
numbers. She studied them. What? Her own motor car’s plate number! He
had
been
spying. But for whom? And why?

She frowned and looked into his wallet. Money only. Nothing
to provide his name. Suspicious. Only the little book with its secrets. She did
not like it.

Could Reggie be right? Could Su-Chong have sent this man to
seek opportunities to strike at her? No. Even if the unthinkable were so, would
he use this
guĭlăo
–this white man? No. Would he not come
himself? She shuddered.

“Take him down to the waterfront where foolish white men
should know better than to go. Beat him more and leave him in the cold to die.
It will look like robbery.”
The police have many of those to deal with. It
will not seem uncommon
, she assured herself.

But she did not like it.

—

Minister Liáng returned to Seattle this past week. There
was nothing more he could do here in Denver, but in Seattle he could join with
our dear Mr. O’Dell and share the information we now have regarding Mei-Xing’s
family.

The story he tells us is incredible and heartbreaking.
Minister Liáng says that even now, this man, Bao, who played such a large role
in the evil done to Mei-Xing, waits for Mr. Liáng’s return, hoping to beg
Mei-Xing’s forgiveness.

Minister Liáng wanted to be able to bring Mei-Xing home.
It will be a great blow to Bao.

Father, I lift up Bao to you. Your Son forgave even those
who crucified him. As hard as it is, we must forgive Bao and show him to your
throne of grace. Lord, have mercy on this man, we ask!

Minister Liáng will not tell Mei-Xing’s parents what he
knows. Not until she is safely found. We believe you will restore her to us,
Lord, and then to her family! We hold to our trust in you.

I sent a letter to Mr. O’Dell introducing Minister Liáng
and gave Mr. Liáng Mr. O’Dell’s hotel. Minister Liáng will find Mr. O’Dell as
soon as he returns to Seattle.

We did ask Mr. O’Dell to telephone us at his earliest
convenience. The letter went out ten days ago. I confess that I grow concerned.
Mr. O’Dell should have called by this time.

—

Yaochuan Min Liáng left the hotel confused and concerned.
Yes, Mr. O’Dell was registered; however, he had not been seen for several days
and the maids reported that his room had not been used in that same time.

Standing outside under the hotel’s awning, Liáng prayed.
O
Lord, this man has perhaps become prey to the Dragon. Your people have been
praying for him, O God. I am, therefore, confessing my confidence in his deliverance!
Show me, O Most High.

You, who see everything, please show
me . . .

As he prayed, he walked, shutting out the sights and sounds
of the busy wharves. Should he visit the police? Should he make a trunk call to
Denver?

Without conscious thought, he walked away from the
waterfront and toward Chinatown. He scarcely noticed as the cries of gulls and
shouts of workers on the piers gave way to the rumble of wagons, motor cars,
and clanging trolleys.

He was surprised to see he had reached 5
^th
Street.
He stopped. He was facing a sign pointing north:
First Providence Hospital
.
He turned and soon his steps quickened.

Liáng knew the Sisters of Providence who had founded the
hospital; he was acquainted with the sister administrator. He hurried.
Lord,
have you shown me?
Liáng breathed in awed thanksgiving.

The nursing sister who escorted him had permanent creases
between her eyes. Sister Mary James had nursed Seattle’s indigent and affluent
for more than 30 years. The worry lines deepened when she showed Liáng to the
bedside of an unidentified man.

Minister Liáng gasped with dread when he looked down.

With his characteristic enthusiasm, Flinty had described the
Pinkerton man to Liáng. “Dapper, that ’un is!” he’d laughed. “Black hair,
al’ays combed back jest so an’ wears a fancy hat, one o’ them derby kind. An’ I
niver seed ’im w’out a fine cigar.”

Flinty’s pronunciation of “cigar” came out “see-gar.”
Thinking on his colorful new friend lifted the corner of Liáng’s mouth. Then he
looked closely at the man lying helpless in the bed. His face was swollen,
bloodied, and bruised beyond identification. Black hair was his only
distinguishing feature.

Even your dear friends would not recognize you, my
friend, whomever you are
, he worried.

“He was found by workers at the waterfront,” the sister
whispered. “The police brought him here four days ago. We believe he was out in
the cold all night. We found no wallet but did find a hotel key. Tucked into
the side of his shoe.”

In his shoe
? That piqued Liáng’s curiosity. “May I
see it?”

While Liáng examined the key, the sister checked the man’s
pulse and spread an ointment across his cracked lips. He moaned, and she
spooned water into his mouth.

“We held little hope he would make it through the first
day,” she added. “But we prayed, and he has surprised us all.” From the side,
her white wimple hid her face but not the compassion in her voice.

“May I see his clothes and other belongings?” Liáng hoped
for something, some sign.

She handed him a large paper sack and watched him as he took
out each article. Trousers, shirt, waistcoat, all bloodied and torn. Socks,
muddied shoes. At the bottom of the sack something rustled. He turned the sack
over and the crushed remains of a cigar fell onto the table.

Ah
!

Liáng looked at the man again. As gently as possible he took
one of the man’s hands into his own.

“Friend,” he whispered into to the man’s ear. “If you can
hear me and your name is Edmund O’Dell, will you squeeze my hand?”

He waited. And then he felt a tremor in the fingers he held
and a gentle pressure. And the man groaned.

“Again, please,” Liáng breathed into O’Dell’s ear. He took
care that his whispered words were not heard by Sister Mary James. “If you are
Edmund O’Dell, squeeze my hand.”

A few seconds later he felt the man’s finger close on his.
And hold on.

Liáng leaned near O’Dell’s ear again and spoke slowly. “Mr.
O’Dell, your friends in Denver have sent me to find you. Mrs. Thoresen. Mr. and
Mrs. Michaels. Flinty! You are safe here. I will take care of everything for you
while you recover. Do you understand me?”

This time the man uttered a garbled “yes” followed by a
groan of pain. He tried to open his eyes.

Liáng whispered again, “Do not try to move just now, Mr.
O’Dell. I will let your friends know I have found you.”

“This is him,” Liáng informed the sister. “His name is, uh,
Jones. Timothy Jones.”

Dear Lord, forgive my deceit, but I wish this man to
live, not die. “
When can he be discharged?”

“Not soon. His injuries will take time to heal. He will need
care even when he leaves.”

Minister Liáng nodded. “Thank you. Here is my card. I will
make the arrangements for when he is able to be released.”

He looked again at the hospital bed and realized the man was
still gripping his hand. “Do not worry, my friend,” Liáng spoke aloud. “I will
return soon.”

~~**~~

We received the most distressing news from Minister
Liáng. Mr. O’Dell is seriously injured in the hospital. He believes Mr. O’Dell
was either robbed or his investigation put him in the way of harm. We do not
know which.

We gathered the household immediately to pray for him.
Minister Liáng is watching over him as he recovers and will keep us informed.

Tonight I confess I longed for Jan’s strong arms to hold
and comfort me! So many trials are upon us, and I just wanted to run from them,
run into Jan’s embrace and hear him say “Nei, Rose; I have you.”

Lord, we are pressed out of measure, above strength. We
cannot trust in ourselves and so we trust in you, Lord, the God which raiseth
the dead.

—

February dragged on, miserably wet, slushy, and cold.
Spirits flagged under the distressing news and grey, overcast skies.

Heating the house became such a financial strain that Rose,
Grant, and Joy made the unpopular decision to tamp down the coal furnace until
it was barely burning. This economy plus judicious use of the many fireplaces
kept the household from freezing. But just.

Everyone gathered in the great room in the evenings where
its two fireplaces blazed continually. By shutting off the room from the
entryway and dining room, they kept in the warmth generated by the two fires.

“Missus, I wish you’d take a look at Flinty,” Mr. Wheatley
said to Rose one evening. She saw the concern underlying his request and
hurried to check on their friend.

The butler quarters near the back of the house were
relatively dry and not too cold, but Flinty was huddled in his bed under many
blankets, shivering violently. Rose laid a hand on his forehead and was alarmed
at how hot it felt.

“Will you fetch Breona, please?” she asked Mr. Wheatley.
Without a word, he left her.

Rose sat on the edge of the bed. “Dear Flinty, how are you
feeling?”

“Bin better, I reckon,” he wheezed. Then he coughed and
grimaced. Rose could hear the tightness of his chest in both his cough and his
labored breathing.

Breona hurried into the room, felt Flinty’s forehead, and
listened to his breathing. He coughed several time while she watched him,
groaning in pain each time.

Out in the hall, Breona whirled to face Rose. “Miss Rose, ye
mus’ be keepin’ Billy, Marit, an’ Will from th’ house.” Her tone conveyed fear.

Rose grasped her meaning. “Certainly. I-I will send Mr.
Wheatley to tell them immediately.”

Breona’s fierce response startled Rose. “Nay! He canna go t’
them!” Her brows drew together sharply. “If ’tis bein’
catchin’ . . .” She left her sentence unfinished.

Rose shivered. Flinty likely had only a bad cold, but if it
were
something more, Mr. Wheatley was already exposed—as were she and Breona.

Breona was right. They must ban Billy, Marit, and little
Will from the house as a precaution. Breona led the way to the kitchen where
she and Rose scrubbed their hands with hot water and strong soap.

By Friday, sniffing, sneezing, and coughing were heard
throughout the house. Maria, who shared a room with Tabitha, coughed
incessantly until her chest and throat were inflamed. Nancy and Flora, who
shared a room, took to bed with fevers.

They sent word to Nancy’s employer, the school teacher,
saying she could not come to watch the children. The young woman shivered under
the piled on blankets and fretted about the children she cared for and whether
they would become ill.

Mr. Wheatley kept the fireplaces in the sick rooms alight
until, as Breona had feared, he, too, came down with an aching fever and was
confined to his bed as was Flinty.

“’Tis th’ grippe,” Breona muttered darkly as she filled hot
water bottles. They called Doctor Murphy, who confirmed her diagnosis, calling
it a harsh “seasonal influenza.”

“Influenza is not commonly dangerous but can be concerning
in the very young and the elderly,” the doctor cautioned. “I don’t like how Mr.
Flynn is faring. We may need to move him to a hospital where he can receive
around-the-clock care.”

“No.” Tabitha, who had listened to the exchange from a few
feet away, shook her head firmly. “I will care for him. I want to do it,” she
insisted to Rose. “I
can
do it. Breona has more than enough on her
plate. And
you
cannot do it! You must be careful also.”

Rose frowned at Tabitha’s tactless reference to her
age . . . and then realized with a start that she would be
turning 63 in a few short months. She then tried to suggest that it was,
perhaps,
indelicate
for an unmarried woman to care for two men.

“It’s not as though I’m a blushing virgin!” Tabitha rejoined
tartly. Rose was the one to blush then and, finally, admit to Tabitha’s logic.
Reluctantly, she turned all care of the two old gents over to Tabitha.

Within a day Tabitha was running the sick rooms upstairs as
well as down. Rose wondered how Tabitha might treat Nancy, given their history
of quarreling, but Tabitha surprised them all. She consulted with the doctor on
the patients’ needs, drew up a schedule, and invested herself completely in the
care of “her” patients.

Rose remarked to Breona that it was the most content they
had seen Tabitha. Breona lifted her eyebrows but nodded in silent agreement.

Joy and Grant were in a quandary regarding the store. They
quickly recognized that if any of the store’s staff gave Billy the flu while he
was at work, their quarantine at home would be in vain. They ordered him to
remain at home with Marit and Will. He would have to content himself with
running errands for Palmer House and adding to the renovations within their
cottage.

—

O’Dell listened as the sister recited a long list of
injuries to him: severe concussion, perforated ear drum, broken jaw, two lost
teeth, broken nose, broken collarbone, dislocated shoulder,
recent gunshot
wound to the same shoulder
—the nun frowned at him, the two lines between
her eyes deepening, before concluding—three broken ribs, bruised kidneys,
cracked hip and pelvis, fractured right hand.

O’Dell felt broken indeed. The pain was excruciating, his
mind a tangle of confusion and uncertainty. He stared at the hospital walls.
Knew he’d never been as helpless as he was now and had been for more days and
sleepless nights than he could count.

Gradually he began to recognize the man who came every-other
day to check on him. After a week he could even remember his name:
Something
long and impossible-to pronounce followed by “Liáng
.” A Chinaman. That
puzzled him.

So did the fact that the nursing sisters addressed their
patient as
Mr. Jones
. O’Dell was too exhausted to correct them, and each
time the Chinaman visited, he repeated that he would be safer if no one knew
his real name.

Slowly, he was able to retain other things Liáng told him:
He was a minister. He knew O’Dell’s friends in Denver. The police had brought
him, O’Dell, to this hospital in Seattle because he had been beaten. He had
nearly died.

He had nearly died . . .

During the long, pain-racked hours of the night he turned
that over in his mind, looking at it, feeling the legitimacy of its claim in
his battered body.

What if he
had
died? What then?

The ward he lay in had twelve beds, eleven other men in
various stages of illness or recovery. The nights were often filled with groans
of pain and sometimes, hardest to bear, the muffled weeping of grown men.

He listened as families came and went during visiting hours.
Overheard wives murmuring to their husbands and children struggling to be on
their best behavior. No one other than Liáng came to see him, of course.

In the night he was assaulted by anxieties and,
surprisingly, regret. He regretted that he had placed his work above all else.
He regretted that he had no wife, no home, no family.

On the little table by his bed sat a lone pot of hothouse
geraniums, their spicy scent comforting him.
Our dear Mr. Jones, We are
praying for you daily! Come home to us soon. Rose Thoresen
, the card read.

Rose. Grant. Joy. Breona. Billy. Marit. Baby Will. Mei-Xing.
Mr. Wheatley. Flinty. The closest thing to family he had in this world.

He regretted that he wouldn’t be able to “come home” to
them. They were part of God’s family. He was not. He understood that. Arnie
Thoresen had explained it that last evening before the lodge burned.

God’s family. He had paid scant attention to the daily Bible
studies Rose and Joy led during his stay at Corinth Mountain Lodge. Even so,
somehow
,
whole passages and intact discussions seemed to have stuck somewhere inside
him.

Of their own volition they replayed in his head during the
long, wakeful nights. He heard them so often he likely could have preached them
himself.

Some phrases even seemed to play along with the rhythmic
throb of his aching, mending bones:

Throb. Throb-a. Throb.
Then. Jesus. Said
.

Throb. Throb-a. Throb.
Come. Unto. Me
.

Come unto me
.

Come unto me
.

—

Before many more days passed, Sarah, Corrine, and Joy had
also come down with high fevers, coughs, and congestion. Grant manned the store
alone as best he could until, mid-week, he felt the aching of a fever rack him.

With head pounding and hands pulsing in pain, he scribbled a
note that read, “Closed due to illness” and pasted it in the front window. Then
he locked up, walked up the street, and stood in the biting wind, hunched over
and shivering with ague, until the trolley came.

By the end of the week, only Tabitha, Breona, and Gretl
remained untouched by the flu. Tabitha, tireless and determined, ordered the
care of those confined to bed with the precision of a general commanding an
army.

Gretl spent her days brewing mugs of tea and honey,
simmering nourishing broths, and concocting soft puddings, all designed to
sooth aching chests and raw throats. Billy and Marit did the marketing and ran
errands, leaving supplies on the back porch.

Tabitha and Breona ran upstairs and down placing poultices
on congested chests, supplying steaming basins to which a tincture of camphor
had been added, administering aspirins and drops of vitamins, bathing fevered
bodies, and changing and washing linens and bed clothes.

Even Breona conformed to Tabitha’s schedule and dictates.
She was too exhausted to do otherwise. Besides, she had witnessed Tabitha roundly
scolding
Miss Rose
and sending her to bed! Breona would never admit it,
but she was a
tiny
bit afraid of this new, self-assured Tabitha.

—

The sisters finally allowed O’Dell to be discharged into
Liáng’s care, but not before Liáng had carefully thought through the situation.
He was determined to keep O’Dell’s identity secret.

In the Chinese community, secrecy was often difficult.
Businesses and empires were owned and operated by the family. Good marriages
and family connections meant opportunities, favors, and advancement, and so
family loyalty was stressed from birth.

The Chen family, wealthy, powerful, and controlling many
businesses, had listening ears everywhere. One never knew if neighbor,
acquaintance, friend, parishioner, or household help had loyalties to such a
family. Liáng trusted only a handful of close Christian friends upon whose
discretion he could completely rely.

When Liáng visited O’Dell, he mentioned to his housekeeper
that he was visiting an old mate from school who was ill. Liáng had gone to
Bible school in Los Angeles. If prying ears were listening, they only heard
mundane details of his acquaintance’s condition and eventual discharge. Nothing
of note or value.

Liáng had made several discreet telephone calls to the
Chicago Pinkerton office and spoken to a man named Parsons who claimed to be
O’Dell’s boss. “Whatever costs are involved, I will stand for,” Parson’s tinny
voice shouted down the line. He wired monies to Liáng and sent his address,
demanding, “I want weekly reports on his condition.”

While Liáng continued with his regular pastoral duties, his
trusted friends located and rented a small bungalow far into the outskirts of
the city. The sisters engaged a full-time nurse for him and arranged O’Dell’s
transportation. Now all was ready.

Liáng waited for O’Dell to be settled at the secret house
before he left his church office. He drove the well-worn motor car his
congregation gave him the use of for paying calls. When he arrived, the nurse
let him in.

O’Dell was sitting up in a chair, freshly shaved, but
obviously fatigued from the efforts of the day. His broken hand was slung close
to his body. A cane rested against the chair.

“My friend,” Liáng greeted him with real pleasure. “I cannot
tell you how happy I am to see you out of the hospital and out of bed.”

O’Dell grinned. And then grimaced. “Soon as my fine nurse
puts a cigar in my hand, it will be a perfect day.”

His nurse, a no-nonsense woman perhaps in her mid-thirties,
grinned back and then caught herself and frowned. “We have a great deal of work
ahead of us, Mr. Jones—walking, strengthening your muscles, rebuilding your
stamina. Smoking will inhibit your bones knitting properly and delay your
rehabilitation.”

Liáng and O’Dell exchanged a look. Even the nurse would not
know O’Dell’s real name.

“Miss Greenbow, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak
privately with my, ah, minister,” O’Dell replied, still trying out a cocky grin
on her.

She turned away smiling in spite of herself. “Shall I make
you both some lunch?”

She left the room and O’Dell looked at Liáng. “We have a lot
to talk about.” His jaw still hurt abominably if he opened his mouth too wide,
so he had gotten into the habit of talking through his teeth. “You didn’t
happen to bring some cigars with you, did you?”