Rose’s request resulted in Olive appearing with silver polish and the house’s rather sad collection of silver—a dinged and dented tea service and two candelabras that had seen finer days, indeed.
“Yes!” Sarah rejoiced.
“I shall help you, Sarah,” Blythe offered. She had not left Sarah’s side for more than fifteen minutes during the long morning.
SARAH HEARD THE BRASS knocker fall upon the house’s front door; however, the caller did not wait to be let in. The door opened, and little feet pattered down the foyer toward the great room with a young voice babbling, “Gramma Rose! Gramma Rose! I here!”
Matthew ran into the room and flew into Rose’s arms.
“Oh, Matthew! Have you come to see me?”
“Yis, Gramma. I here.”
Joy followed on Matthew’s heels, carrying Jacob swaddled in thick blankets. “Hello, Mama.”
“So lovely of you to come visit. Do you have time for tea?”
“Oh, yes, please, Mama.”
Rose bent down to Matthew. “Shall we take your coat and hat off?” Rose helped Matthew shed his coat, mittens, hat, and scarf.
“Goodness, Matthew O’Dell! Have you grown since I saw you last?”
He nodded and jumped up and down. “I big now.”
Rose excused herself. “I shall go start the water for our tea. Sarah and Blythe, would you like a cup?”
“Yes, please,” Sarah and her shadow answered.
At Sarah’s voice, Matthew raced over to her—but hesitated when he saw her leg swathed in bandages. His finger slipped into his mouth.
“Owie?”
“Yes, Matty. I hurt my leg. Will you give me a gentle hug?”
He came near and offered her quite a credible one—credible in that he never took his eyes off her bandage. But, as soon as he had completed his task, he ran off to the kitchen, no doubt hoping Marit would have cookies.
Joy sat down across from Sarah, cradling Jacob on her knees. “How are you feeling today, Sarah?”
“Poorly, Miss Joy, poorly, indeed. I am in sore need of a special medicine and, alas! We have none at Palmer House.”
“What? A special medicine? Can we not get it for you?”
Sarah snorted a giggle. “I should specify that the medicine is known as baby cuddling. And, if a certain infant were to rest in my lap—why, I am convinced that I would improve directly.”
Blythe laughed out loud. Joy, too, chuckled and handed Jacob to Sarah. “You are quite awful, Sarah, giving me pause like that.”
“Well, I know what I need,” Sarah replied. “I shall benefit, indeed, with the application of this soothing balm.”
“He is not a soothing balm in the middle of the night, I can promise you. Little screaming banshee!”
Sarah laughed and smoothed Jacob’s forelock. “Well, I shall use up every bit of soothing balm while you are here, and then you may take him away home, where he can scream to his heart’s content.”
“Incorrigible brat! You are as bad as Matty, who thinks Jacob should not take naps.”
Rose returned with a tray. “Shall we have our tea now?”
“Oh, yes, please. I have something to say, and I should like Sarah to hear. Blythe, you, too, of course.”
When they had settled their cups and saucers on their knees, and Matty had gone outside with Will and Charley, Joy began.
“Yesterday, a young couple, the Simmons, came to the Denver Pinkerton office. They live on their own land fifteen miles outside Denver. Five days ago, their little boy, Jim, who is Matty’s age, disappeared from their home. The couple, Bill and Nora, believe their former housekeeper has taken him.”
Rose, Sarah, and Blythe listened in dismay. “Oh, no,” Rose breathed.
Joy nodded. “Edmund said that the Pinkertons would take their case. Right away, though, he called me and asked if he might bring the Simmons to our home for lunch. He suggested that we had an opportunity to minister to this aching couple. I agreed. Over lunch and afterward, Mr. O’Dell and I told them about my son—our son—Edmund. We shared with them our hope for finding Edmund, even after his absence of eight long years, and we talked to them about the Savior and the blessed comfort we have in Jesus.
“Our visit with Mr. and Mrs. Simmons was timely and holy. They were willing, so we led them to pray to receive Jesus as their Lord and Savior, and we prayed with them about their little Jimmy. One of the things I shared with them was Papa’s saying, that in God, the lost are found, that he, the Lord, has his eyes and his hand upon our lost children, that they are not lost to him, and how all of our good friends pray daily for Edmund’s safe return.”
Joy had to pause to wipe her eyes and clear her throat. “After Bill and Nora left for home, I felt the Lord’s presence upon me. His hand remained so heavy upon me that, later that evening, I could not sleep. I stayed up, praying, asking what he wished to speak to me. I kept hearing Papa’s voice, saying again and again, in God, the lost are found. I implored the Lord to tell me what he wished me to do, but I could discern nothing.
“I fell asleep on the sofa in our living room and slept the whole night there. When Jacob awakened me early in the morning, I sat there, nursing him . . . and then it all came clear.”
The hairs on Sarah’s arm prickled. “What came clear?”
“Just this: a ministry to families whose children have gone missing. A means of sharing the hope and comfort of Jesus, and an association of like-minded parents to spread word regarding missing children. I would call it, Lost Are Found.”
“An ambitious undertaking,” Rose breathed. “How would you begin?”
“Through the Pinkerton Agency. Reaching out to other parents whose children are missing and beginning a correspondence with them. Praying for them and their children. Sharing Jesus with them. Particularly in the larger cities, encouraging them to meet with other families in similar circumstances. I do not know where we might go from there; however, it would be a start.”
“How can we help?” Rose asked.
“Thank you, Mama. I knew I could count on you! I wish to gather our friends here some evening soon to present this idea to them, and to pray for the Lord’s leading.”
“Breona and Pastor Isaac? Mei-Xing and Minister Liáng?”
Sarah added, “Tabitha and Mason? Billy and Marit?”
“Yes. Everyone living nearby who stood with us when Edmund was taken and stands with us now.”
“Shall we approach them this Sunday?” Rose asked.
“Yes, Mama.”
Sarah nodded. “I hope I can be included?”
“And I?” Blythe asked.
“Certainly. Corrine and Albert, also, and any of the girls living here who wish to attend.”
THURSDAY, SARAH HAD endured enough leisure and again demanded work. “If I am to be an immobile fixture in the great room for the remainder of the week, I really must have something worthwhile to do; I cannot abide sitting idle.”
In response, Olive had Blythe bring Sarah the house’s laundered linens to fold—tea towels, dish cloths, napkins, aprons, sheets, pillow slips, even cleaning rags.
“Thank you; this is a perfect task for me,” Sarah declared. When she had finished folding the items Blythe gave her, she declared she wished to fold Marit’s family laundry, too.
“Dear Marit! You cook and manage our kitchen all while keeping your own little cottage tidy and looking after Billy, Will, and Charley’s washing—not to mention Toby’s diapers. Bring me your clean laundry, and I shall fold it.”
“I shall help you, Sarah,” Blythe declared.
“No, darling; I am greedy for the work, and these are all mine. You keep with Olive and come read with me later.”
Sarah went after the baskets of clean linens with zeal and was halfway through the first basket when the knocker fell upon the front door. Rose got up to answer the door and returned soon after.
“You have a visitor, Sarah.” Behind Rose’s back, Sarah saw Lola’s short, curly hair.
“Hello!” Lola bounced into the great room, her arms filled with a paper-wrapped bundle, and plopped down on the arm of Sarah’s overstuffed chair.
“I figured the flowers I brought on Monday must be fading, so I brought fresh ones.”
Sarah sniffed. “Mmm. I can smell them. Carnations?”
Lola peeled back the paper to display the riot of colors—deep pink, soft pink, crimson, white, and purple carnations—nestled in a bed of ferns and baby’s breath.
“Oh, they are beautiful!”
Lola grinned. “Not as beautiful as you are, Sarah—and I did say I would try to make up for our disastrous evening.”
Sarah flinched and glanced over to see if Rose had reacted to Lola’s statement, but Rose had returned to her desk and busied herself with her work. Her expression was unreadable.
Lola did not notice Sarah’s hesitation. “Shall we get these in water for you?”
“Um, yes, but I am fairly stuck here, not allowed to put any weight on my injured leg at all.”
Lola shrugged. “I know the way to the kitchen from last time.” She picked up the flowers and moved toward the dining room.
“Oh, um, you may encounter Marit, our cook.” Sarah looked again at Rose. She was writing in a ledger.
Lola was halfway through the dining room. “I believe I met her before.”
When she returned, the carnations, ferns, and baby’s breath were arranged in a large vase. Lola set them on the coffee table to Sarah’s side. Then she sat again on the arm of Sarah’s chair. She picked up Sarah’s hand and entwined her fingers with Sarah’s.
“Are you still in pain, dear?”
“Only occasionally, such as when I need to shift my weight a little. Turning over at night is an ordeal.”
“You must not be taking as much pain medication. The last time I was here, you were quite off your nut.” Lola’s giggle was naughty and ended on another cough.
“I-I do not remember much about your visit.”
“I wager you do not! But our conversation was entertaining, I can assure you.” Lola’s fingers stroked Sarah’s. “I am sorry. I should not tease you. Now, what can I do to help you pass the time?”
Sarah, growing more uncomfortable, withdrew her hand. “I was folding laundry when you came in.”
“Oh, dear—how pedestrian. And while you are recovering? Surely you can just rest and enjoy some idle leisure?”
“Idle leisure? Ugh. I begged for the work, to be frank. I rather detest being unproductive.”
“My! I had no idea you were so industrious. Compared to you, I am certain to be labeled positively indolent. Well, if you must work, I should help.”
“Only if you wish to, Lola.”
“I wish,” Lola leaned closer, “to be near you, Sarah. If I must fold napkins to enjoy your company, then I shall fold an ocean of them—or, at the least, a basket of them.”
Sarah blushed, secretly a tiny bit pleased at Lola’s compliment.
When they had finished the laundry, the clock struck two o’clock.
“It has been just oodles of fun, but I must go now, Sarah. The Pythia has a performance this evening. We are playing for an engagement party—cocktails and hors d’oeuvres at a private residence. Such parties are The Pythia’s bread and butter, but as the hosts tend to open the bar to the band, I declare I spend the bulk of my time urging Meg to keep Dannie from enjoying herself too much—no small feat since I am generally half sloshed myself.”
Lola’s voice carried, and Sarah could not imagine that Rose had not heard. Her concern was interrupted as Lola turned aside to cough into her hankie.
“Are you all right, Lola?”
“Yes. I often have a tickle in my throat, but it is nothing of matter. I do smoke, and I imagine it cannot be helpful.”
“No, I would imagine not.”
Lola just laughed. “I really must be on my way.”
“Well, thank you for coming to see me, Lola. And thank you for the flowers. They are quite lovely.”
Lola dropped a kiss on Sarah’s head and whispered, “You are twice as lovely, Sarah.”
Speaking at her normal level, she said, “I shall see myself out.”
“Goodbye, Lola.”
Rose came out from behind her desk. “It was kind of you to come, Lola.”
Lola waved to Sarah, then tipped her head toward Rose. “But of course. Christians do not possess a monopoly on kindness, you know.”
It was a small but acerbic barb, deftly inserted, and after Lola left, Sarah halfway expected Rose to approach her. She did not.
Instead Rose climbed the long staircase to her room. Closing and locking her door, she knelt at her bed. “O Lord, my God, how my spirit is troubled for my daughter Sarah! I sense darkness crouching in wait for her; I feel the enemy of our souls stalking her, sifting her, seeking to ensnare her.
“Lord Jesus, I plead your precious blood over Sarah’s heart: Deliver her from evil, I am begging you, my God.”
BY SATURDAY, ALL THE Palmer House girls were taking glad advantage of Sarah’s willing hands. She folded clean clothes, stitched falling hems, mended burst seams, reattached errant buttons, and turned Mr. Wheatley’s frayed shirt collars. She took Blythe under her wing and showed her how to embroider her initials on her handkerchiefs. The girls, in turn, fetched Sarah tea and, hourly, helped her out of her chair, handed her the crutches, and kept close by as she limped about the house.
Dr. Croft arrived late that afternoon to remove Sarah’s stitches and assess the condition of her knee. Rose saw him into the great room.
“Good day, Miss Ellinger. How are you feeling?”
Sarah did not answer him—not that he, apparently, expected her to: He had turned his back to her, opened his bag, and was laying out his instruments. While he was facing away, she scowled at him—then rearranged her countenance when Rose looked askance in her direction.
Never making eye contact with Sarah, the doctor examined her knee. “The wounds appear clean and healthy, Miss Ellinger.” He nodded at Rose. “You have had excellent care.”
A few sharp snips of his scissors and tugs on the thread and the stitches were out. Then he carefully palpated her knee on both sides.
“Not surprising to me, your knee presents with continued distension. You may find that your leg swells intermittently as you begin to use it or if you stand upon it too long. However, the swelling should be manageable if you do not overuse the joint. I am going to bend your leg now. Please tell me how it feels.”
Quite gently, he took hold of her ankle, put one hand under her knee to support it, and moved her foot toward her, causing the knee to bend. “Does that hurt?”
Sarah ground her teeth. “Some.”
He sniffed. “More than some, I should say. What about this?”
He manipulated her knee several ways. Sarah felt no sharp pain, only the continual ache, but stronger, as he moved her knee.
“I believe you have escaped a tearing damage to your knee, Miss Ellinger, but you did strain it badly. This type of injury—and a lingering tendonitis—may pain you for some time to come. The trick is to avoid inflaming the tendons anew—by recognizing and minding your limits.
“Continue with the crutches another week, but you may begin to put a little weight on your leg. As I indicated, you will learn your limits by the swelling and pain your activities produce. I caution you to mind those limits, to rest, elevate, and ice your leg as needed, to walk short but frequent distances, and to avoid stairs and prolonged standing.”
“What of my position at the shop?”
“How do you come and go from your work, Miss Ellinger?”
“I take the trolley.”
“And you walk several blocks to and from the trolley?”
“Y-yes.”
“I see. Well, unless you can be delivered to and from the shop’s door and can wait on customers from a chair behind the counter with your leg elevated as needed, I cannot release you to w
ork for another week. I shall come again next Saturday.” He began packing his bag.
Sarah flounced against the back of her chair, folded her arms, and glared at his back, aggravated and frustrated.
Dr. Croft should not have been able to witness her sulk—how could he, facing away as he was? Regardless, while he tidied his bag and latched it, he murmured, “As I am not the cause of your indisposition, Miss Ellinger, I should think you aware that it really does no good to fault me for it.”
Sarah huffed. “I am casting no blame on you, Dr. Croft.”
Never looking at her, he replied, “Are you not?”
Finished, he bowed to Rose—and ignored Sarah. “Good day, ladies.”
Sarah snarled under her breath at his retreating figure—until she realized Rose was observing her, brows arched.
Rose coughed. “Pardon me,” she murmured. She slipped her hand over her mouth as she walked away, but left Sarah wondering . . .
What? Was Miss Rose . . . laughing?
Chapter 12
Sarah counted herself blessed when the O’Dells arrived Sunday morning to drive her to church. She had missed the previous Sunday’s service, as had Rose and Olive, and she was hungry for this morning’s worship and teaching.
O’Dell helped her into the Bergdoll’s back seat and placed her crutches on the floor. She sat against the far door with her leg lying across the seat. Joy then handed baby Jacob to Sarah. They had deemed Matty too likely to climb upon or inadvertently kick Sarah’s injured knee, so O’Dell lifted the boy into the front seat for Joy to hold upon her lap. Matty, however, was unhappy with the arrangement and pouted all the way to church.
“Want Sar’!” he complained.
When they arrived at Calvary Temple, O’Dell helped Sarah from the car. Then, while he held Matty’s hand and walked close to Sarah’s elbow, he saw her and his family to seats in the far back where Sarah (keeping two empty spots on the bench between her and Joy) could unobtrusively and safely rest her leg upon the pew.
Sarah closed her eyes during the singing and listened to the swell of voices lifting praises to God. O Lord! How I love the worship of your people. She shuddered, thinking of where she had been and what she had witnessed at Lola’s “musicale” only eight evenings gone by.
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