Mei-Xing was only 14 at the time. The scion of the Cheng family was 10 years older, but they had grown up together and were deeply attached. They would have gladly married and had shared happy plans to do so—until Mei-Xing accidentally discovered the truth. The truth about her “Uncle” Wei and the truth about his son, the man she loved then. And loved still.
Not that it mattered now. After she had rejected him he had left her in anger and pain, left his family, and even left Seattle. He had been gone for more than a year and in all that time no one had heard from him.
But what if her father had known the truth? No, if she had told him, it would have broken his heart. And would he have even believed her? He was an honorable man who despised opium, gambling, and the other, unspeakable, trades Uncle Wei and his family controlled.
Oh, and she had been warned. First they had warned her to keep what she had learned to herself and simply marry the man she loved. Then after she had refused him and after her beloved had left the city she was warned of what might happen to her or to her family if she spoke up.
Blossoms floated to the ground around her. She sighed again. Oh, what if? What if she had never discovered the Chen family’s secrets? What if she had married and been happily ignorant all of her life? She shook her head. Her father had taught her too well. To know the truth and to live with honor was better than ignorance. So why hadn’t she confided in him? Why hadn’t she told her father the truth? Because she also knew the truth about herself: She was weak and afraid.
Uncle Wei Lin’s wife, Auntie Fang-Hua, hated her—hated her with a malevolent passion. Mei-Xing shivered as she recalled the poisonous looks Fang-Hua gave her whenever they were in the same room and the equally venomous barbs directed her way in loudly whispered conversations with others.
Father wanted her to marry someone else and perhaps move away, but no appropriate man dared seek her hand. No, Fang-Hua Chen had made sure of that.
Now both her family and his blamed her for the division and discomfort between the families. She was an object of shame and friction. Her parents fought about her; her cousins shook their heads and whispered; she had come between her father and Uncle Wei, so the Chen family despised her. She could not show her face anywhere without bringing more shame to her father and mother.
Wei Lin Chen’s nephew, Bao, was her only remaining friend. He understood the powerful family dynamics and the strain she was under. He had commiserated with her and had tried to speak to his aunt, but to no avail. Mei-Xing felt certain he did not know about his family’s “other” businesses. He was too kind and understanding.
Recently he had come to her with a bold idea. Mei-Xing read the instructions again.
This is a good family with no children of their own. They understand the circumstances and will let you take their name. You will be as a daughter in their home, and you will have a new life with them. By this, you will free your family of shame and free yourself as well. It is the best answer, little Mei. I cannot bear to see your sadness any longer. I wish you to be happy again.
Bao had provided her with a train ticket and would put her on the train unseen. Perhaps it was the best way. Mei-Xing looked about her father’s garden a last time. It would be dark soon. She would retire to bed early . . . as she often did lately. No one would miss her until the next day. She had already written a note of apology and good bye and left it where her mother would find it.
Bao returned from the train station late in the evening. He went directly to the Chen home and found his aunt waiting for him. Fang-Hua Chen’s name may have meant “fragrant flower” but she was anything but a delicate flower—she was hard and vindictive and possibly the most powerful woman in the city.
“She is gone?” Her voice was brittle and cold.
“Yes, Auntie.” Bao bowed low before her.
“And you have made all the arrangements?”
“Yes, Auntie. Her maid . . . Ling-Ling . . . will destroy the note Mei-Xing has left and replace it with the one you dictated. It tells her family where to look, and I have prepared the scene convincingly. They will believe she threw herself onto the rocks to spare them further shame. The tide will have come and gone twice by then.”
Fang-Hua nodded in approval. “This place she is going. Near this town . . . Denver? They will take care of her as I wish?”
Bao suppressed a shudder. “Yes, Auntie. All has been arranged as you directed.”
Fang-Hua smiled coldly. “Good. Then she will have the life she deserves.” The woman turned to a lacquered tea table and picked up a delicate cup. She sipped in satisfaction. “You have done well, Bao. I will see that Wei Chen promotes you.”
Bao shivered. “He will not know of this?”
“No. It is between us and the maid Ling-Ling you are so fixated on.” She looked at him speculatively. “You are determined to marry beneath yourself, but I will give my approval and give you a good wedding gift, Bao. And you will, in the future, be useful to me again. Are we agreed?”
He bowed more deeply this time. “I am your servant, Auntie.”
Two weeks later, a knock sounded on Joy’s office door.
“Come in.” Joy had assumed it was one of her staff and was startled when Robertson walked in.
“You! You will leave immediately, Mr. Robertson,” Joy said through gritted teeth. Blackie was instantly on his feet growling low in his throat, ready to attack.
He held up a placating hand. “A moment of your time, Mrs. Michaels? I deeply regret how we parted at our last meeting.”
“I do not regret it, sir. I have nothing more to say to you except you are not welcome in my establishment.”
He smiled, and when she saw that dangerous undercurrent flit across his face, she quailed a little. Without waiting for permission he seated himself in front of her desk again. “Mrs. Michaels, have you examined the offer I left you when I was here last?”
“I have not and will not. You will leave, Mr. Robertson, immediately.” Joy quivered in anger.
“My dear Mrs. Michaels. I believe you underestimate the, ah, resolve of my business partners. Let me help you understand our proposition and how it will . . . benefit you.”
The veiled threats were scarcely covered by Robertson’s ingratiating manner.
“Get out,” Joy hissed.
“Now, now. Are you certain? By way of expressing our esteem for your business acumen, I would like to be the first to congratulate you on how you have recovered from your husband’s untimely . . . demise, and how you have successfully steered your business back into profitability.”
“I said get out!” Joy stood, nearly shouting.
Then Robertson stood, towering over the desk, leaning close to intimidate her. His face changed. It was like watching a dog turn from pet to a predator.
Blackie launched himself at Robertson’s leg but the man deftly kicked the old dog aside. Joy heard Blackie yelp and then whimper.
Robertson, his smiling lips pulled back from his teeth, snarled, “Mrs. Michaels, my associates and I are quite determined. You can accept this as fact, cooperate with us, and continue to run a successful business or . . . unfortunate events will unfold.”
“You think threatening me will work. It will not. I am quite capable of handling my own business affairs.” She lunged toward the door. As she did, Robertson sprang to block her, clamping an iron grip on her arm.
“I guarantee that if you do not accept our terms, you will regret it, Mrs. Michaels.”
Joy gasped and grabbed for the door handle, clawing to escape his grasp. As she wrenched on the knob, he abruptly released her. She threw open the door and shouted in panic, “Billy! Billy!”
All heads on the shop floor turned toward her frantic call. Billy, after a moment’s confusion, thundered toward her office. When Joy turned around, however, Robertson was standing near her, hat in one hand, the other extended for a handshake—as collected and proper as could be.
In full view of all he took cordial leave. “Than
k you, Mrs. Michaels. You have been most helpful. I appreciate it.” Billy stopped, confused again.
Joy watched, incredulous, as Robertson calmly walked toward the store’s entrance doors. She knelt, gathering Blackie into arms. He was already on his feet. As she checked him for injury he flinched just a little.
Grateful as she was that Blackie seemed to be unharmed, Joy’s anger burned against Robertson and those behind him.
Robertson sipped a small glass of fine Kentucky bourbon with his employer, Shelby Franklin. The fire that hit the back of his throat was exquisite and gratifying—almost as gratifying as the work he did for Franklin.
Shelby Franklin was brilliant, Robertson gave him that. He was also utterly ruthless and a formidable strategist. Franklin moved in the highest social circles and with effortless elegance and grace. The man operated on a level that many men hardly dreamed of. On his worst day, Franklin managed with ease what most men would struggle to wrap their intellects around.
And Franklin was a superior man in every way—he had exceptional taste in clothes, food, drink, art . . . and women. Robertson smiled to himself as he recalled an especially nice “gift” Franklin had recently arranged for him. He was generous when it came to rewards. All of these facts made the prospect of someday taking Franklin down and assuming his position even more intriguing.
Robertson figured he would learn all he could from the master before making his move. In the meantime, he enjoyed the work, the challenges, and the many benefits of being one of a very small group Franklin employed. One of those men, a Chinaman named Su-Chong, sat at attention in a straight-backed chair near the door. As Franklin’s personal bodyguard, Robertson would need to deal decisively with him when the time came.
Franklin held his crystal tumbler up toward the fireplace so that the flames danced through the facets of the glass. “You met with the woman again?”
“Yes sir.” Robertson acted the role of loyal minion perfectly. “She is quite unyielding.”
“Has she spoken of our ‘offer’ to anyone?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. She is angry and willful. The challenge piques her pride, I’m afraid.” He chuckled and Franklin smiled back. “She believes she will not be swayed but .perhaps with more persuasion?” Robertson’s sadistic streak quite enjoyed when more persuasion was called for.
His employer stared through his drink at the flames for several more minutes. For some reason this particular woman’s recalcitrant behavior rankled, and he would not tolerate it.
“Burn her out.”
Robertson was startled but managed to keep his face unchanged. He had expected to move up the pressure on the woman a little at a time—and had assumed that Franklin wanted her business intact. This was an interesting turn of events. He would have to uncover the reason behind Franklin’s play. Covertly, of course.
“Certainly sir. Timeframe?”
“Let’s give her a week or more to begin to feel safe again. Say, early next month? No later than mid month.”
Robertson could hardly contain his curiosity but had long ago learned to school his face. He nodded and tossed back the remainder of his drink. He knew the pleasantries were merely a framework for Franklin to conduct business, and he had just issued an order.
“Yes sir. I’ll take care of it.”
“Good man.” Franklin stood to usher him to the door. “Oh, and Robertson, both properties.”
“Yes sir.” He nodded to Franklin. Su-Chong opened the door for him and closed it after he passed through.
~~**~~
Chapter 6
Nine days later, Joy fed Blackie and then closed up the store as usual and caught a horsecar whose route would take her near Arnie and Anna’s home. She closed her eyes to enjoy the open-air trolley. The balmy May evening was filled with pleasant scents. The measured clopping of horse’s hooves, the engines of occasional motor cars, murmured conversations, and the light breeze relaxed her and helped her to let go of the day’s problems.
In the past weeks Joy had worked hard to mend fences with Arnie and his family. She gave the boys little gifts, brought flowers to Anna, and let them all know how dear they were to her, how she appreciated having family in town. She had determined to re-cultivate a sweet tongue and manner. Life had become, in some ways, pleasant and normal again.
Anna outdid herself that evening. The dinner and the company were a pleasure. Afterwards, Joy, Petter, and Willem competed at dominoes for an hour while Arnie read his paper and Anna a book.
At last Arnie put down his paper and stretched. “Ready to go, Cousin?” Arnie always drove her home.
Petter and Willem begged for another 30 minutes, but Joy knew that Arnie would spend an hour taking her home and driving back, making for an already late night for him. “Yes, I’m ready,” she replied.
The spring evening was still pleasant as Arnie drove their carriage toward Joy’s part of town. As they drew near, a water wagon, pulled by four straining horses careened past them. Joy looked ahead and saw an eerie glow down the street. Her breathing quickened.
“Arnie!”
“Be calm, Joy. It can’t be yours. I’m sure.”
Arnie lashed his team until they were galloping down the dimly lit avenue. They finally turned onto Joy’s street. And stared aghast at the sight that met them.
The block was congested with hand-pump water wagons, two steam fire engines, and a large group of firefighters from the Omaha Fire Department. Flames jumped and shimmied inside both of Joy’s properties. Joy could see the fire dancing inside the second floor of her store. Inside her home.
Blackie!
With a booming noise the windows of her upstairs apartment blew outward, showering glass on the firemen below who hunkered down to protect their faces. As the rain of glass ended, firemen aimed water hoses into the windows and at both roofs, but Joy knew that their efforts were hopeless. It was about saving the properties around hers now.
Arnie and Joy, well away from the inferno, watched helplessly. Even from a distance they could feel the heat of the fire. Then flames shot through the roofs into the inky sky. A minute later, the firemen gave a shout. Keeping their hoses trained on nearby buildings, they pulled back. And in an eruption of sparks and flames, Joy’s engulfed buildings collapsed in on themselves.
Joy stared at the steaming rubble that had been her and Grant’s home and dream.
“My plan is the dream I can’t live without. So I’m wondering if your plan is the dream you cannot live without.”
Joy choked on the memory. Grant was gone. Now their dream was gone also.
Dear Blackie. Gone.
What did she have left? What would she do with her life?
Billy and Mr. Taub, wielding garden rakes, were poking through the still-warm debris. All Joy could do was watch numbly. Nothing remained of either building, the store or the adjacent property where they had planned their fine household emporium. It was gone. All of it.
Arnie and Anna gripped her arms tightly, and Joy thought dimly, They must think I’ll fall down . . . Anna sniffled and drew her hanky over her eyes.
Joy caught sight of Mr. Wheatley across the street. Usually so proper, he was sitting on the sidewalk, his feet in the street as autos packed with gawking passengers slowly motored by. The sidewalks were filling quickly with folks from the neighborhood, fellow business owners, and shoppers. Mr. Wheatley held his scraggly gray head in his gnarled hand and stared at his feet.
“What will they do now?” Joy wondered aloud.
Arnie answered, his face a mask of stone, “Who, Joy?”
“Why, Mr. Wheatley and Mr. Taub and . . . Billy. What will they do? They won’t have work!” Joy was suddenly brokenhearted for them, for the years they had shared that were now over.
Arnie shook his shaggy head.
“I . . . why, I will rebuild. I must rebuild,” Joy whispered. “I surely must . . . for them, for Grant.” She touched her wedding ring, assuring herself that something, something must remain
of what they had, what they were.
Arnie growled. “Who did this, Joy? Do you have any idea?”
“Did this? What do you mean?”
“Joy, this is no ordinary fire. Look at it. Too perfect, too complete. Only your buildings—and both of them.” His mouth twisted in anger. “It was set, Joy. Mark my words: set. Someone burned you out.”
Joy’s hand flew to her mouth. What had Robertson said?
“But we have insurance! I paid the premiums!”
Arnie tossed a copy of her policy on to his desk in frustration. “Your policy’s arson clause is very restrictive, Joy. Once arson has been established, you must be cleared of all wrongdoing before the policy pays. And even then, the arson clause entitles you only to the value of the buildings and a small percentage of the value of the contents.”
Joy gaped. “But all the inventory! It will take me years to restock.”
“That, I’m afraid, is the best scenario you can hope for. The insurer is insisting that they must have proof positive you did not set the fire yourself. They are conducting an investigation right now.”
He scowled. “Until you are cleared, Liberty Indemnity won’t pay anything—not a penny. And they are asking some very disturbing questions.”
“But what kind of questions?”
“Questions like, wasn’t Mrs. Michaels in over her head since her husband died? Was the business in trouble? What kind of financial difficulties was she experiencing?”
Joy shot out of her seat. “That’s outrageous. We owned everything, free and clear. We were banking a profit every month—I know! I did the books!”
Arnie sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. “Don’t take this wrong, Joy, but the fact that you did the books means that you are the only one who could testify to the condition of the business. The books themselves are gone, too.”
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 4
