She closed her eyes against the start of a new day and let her mind wander. Since coming home to RiverBend she had at last begun to grieve for Grant. She had no business to run, no crisis to deal with, only time and a shapeless future.
She pressed her head into the pillow and imagined that Grant was beside her in the bed, just inches away. She imagined his arms reaching for her, pulling her into his warmth, his breath upon her lips and then the soft touch as their lips met . . .
Joy let her imagination roam until the tears came. Then she dashed them away and pulled back the covers. She dressed and went quickly into the kitchen to make coffee. Her mama was already there, reading her Bible and sipping that first cup of the day.
Joy hugged Rose and then stepped away to get her own coffee. She was wanted here. And loved here. That was not the problem, of course. The problem was that she couldn’t go back to being a child. And she had no idea how to go forward.
She obediently sat down and read several chapters in her papa’s Bible. Mama regularly encouraged her to seek God for answers, but it seemed to Joy that answers were in short supply.
She had been at Mama and Papa’s in RiverBend for a few weeks. The garden was at the peak of its production so she helped thin it, water it, and pick from its bounty each day. She helped Mama with the canning, with feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, and taking care of their other few animals. She kept Papa company in the late afternoons while Mama napped.
And the corn was ripening early this year. Of all the harvest activities, this had been Joy’s favorite as a child—when Papa, usually with Søren’s help, Joy running happily behind them, had picked the corn until it filled the wagon to the top of its slatted walls.
It was different now, though. Søren and his eldest son, Markus, would harvest the cornfields on the rise above Jan and Rose’s house. Papa busied himself with anything and everything he could do while sitting, which was considerable, but had for all practical purposes given the cornfields to Søren.
That morning when Søren and Markus came to bring in the first of the corn harvest, Joy went out to help them. Later the rest of the family from across the creek came to shuck the corn and to celebrate. Jan, Rose, and Joy were joined by Søren, Meg and their brood along with Karl and Kjell and their families. The many hands made quick work of the mountain of corn.
Afterwards they built a bonfire and shared a feast around it. Joy looked around the large family circle. Her nieces, nephews, and second cousins—16? 17? of them?—ran about laughing and playing. The married women sat in a group exchanging recipes and stories and occasional calls to their children while the grown men sat in a knot swapping news.
She saw herself then . . . so apart from all of them, the only single woman there, the only woman without a purpose or a place.
Abruptly she set her plate aside and walked away. Walked up the rise and into the empty corn field. She kept walking until she reached the far edge of the field and nothing stretched before her except the vast prairie and the sinking sun.
“My heart is as empty as this prairie,” she thought in aching wonder.
Behind her on the edge of the rise, her mother watched her. And prayed. With one more look toward the slender woman across their corn field, Rose slowly made her way back down the path to the house where Jan was waiting. Twenty-five years had gone so quickly. Now their Joy was a woman, and she was struggling with her own grief. What could they do for the one who had been their joy and happiness all her life but now had lost her own?
“Oh Lord, you are our great Hope and our Comfort,” Rose prayed. “I trust you.”
The following morning when Joy came out for coffee, Rose patted the chair beside her. Joy sat cautiously. Something in the seriousness of Rose’s manner made Joy sense that a sermon was coming.
Well, let it come. Joy was ready to cross swords.
“Joy, you remember how you received your name, don’t you?” Rose asked softly.
“How could I forget, Mama? ‘Joy Again Thoresen’! From the time I was old enough to know my name you told me why you gave it to me.” Joy hadn’t meant to spit the words at her mother. They sounded harsh, even to her ears. Even so, she rushed on.
“All my life I heard about the joy I brought to you and Papa, about the families you had before you married and had me, and how God gave me to you and I was the joy in your life. But it’s not a name I want any more. You may have found “joy again,” but there is no joy in my life any longer!”
She picked up Rose’s Bible and thumped it on the table. “You told me to seek God, to read the Scriptures for my answers. Well I did. I read the Book of Ruth. And I found someone I could really relate to. Ruth 1:20.”
And she said unto them,
Call me not Naomi, call me Mara:
for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.
Rose nodded but said nothing.
Joy kept on with heat. “Mara means ‘bitter.’ That’s a better name for me. Not Joy, and especially not Joy Again.”
“Joy,” Rose began, but her daughter cut her off.
“Not Joy, Mama. Mara. From now on, Mara.”
Rose looked carefully at her daughter for several moments before answering quietly but firmly, “I know you are grieving, daughter, but I want to remind you to whom you are speaking. I am your mother, and you will not disrespect me.”
Joy flushed and looked down but said nothing. The silence dragged on. Finally Joy muttered, “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“I am, too, dear one. More than you know,” Rose answered gently.
Again the silence grew.
Finally Rose spoke again. “I asked you earlier if you remembered how you received your name. I know we told you as you were growing up, but we only told you what a child needed to know. Perhaps it is time to tell you as a grown woman.”
Joy glanced up.
“I was 19 years old when I married James,” Rose stated.
“The same age I was when I married Grant.”
“Yes, that’s right. We had 13 years together and three children. Jeffrey, Glory, and Clara.” Rose paused and moistened her lips. “Joy, you may have never considered this, but you have a brother and two—no, three—sisters. In heaven.”
Joy said slowly, “I don’t think I have ever thought of it that way. I mean, I knew you were married before Papa. I knew he had a daughter . . . and I think I knew you had children but I didn’t know their names or what happened to them.” She frowned. “Mama, what happened to your husband and children?”
“Oh . . .” Rose looked away.
“You don’t have to tell me, Mama,” Joy quickly added.
“Thank you. It is still hard to speak of. But perhaps . . . perhaps it would be good for you to hear,” Rose responded thoughtfully.
“Well. It was the evening of January 6, James’ birthday. We had been to my mother’s for a little party and were going home. Not far from our house we had to cross the river. We had a nice carriage and two lovely horses. Vincent was our driver. We were all tucked into the carriage because it was bitterly cold.” Rose began to relive that night and she shivered as she recalled the frigid wind.
“We always crossed that river over an old stone bridge that arched over the water. We didn’t realize it was coated with ice until the horses began slipping. It happened so quickly.”
“One of the horses fell, and the back of the carriage began to slide toward the edge of the bridge.” Rose’s eyes were wide and she was far away. “The children were so frightened. Glory was only six and clung to James’ legs when he stood up. He . . . he . . . I think he knew what was going to happen. He opened the door and threw me out of the carriage as it slid off the bridge.” She quickly wiped her eyes and took a sip of water.
Joy’s hands were over her mouth in horror. “Oh, Mama!”
Rose’s words caught just once. “It was a long time ago. It is astonishing how it can feel like yesterday.” She wiped her eyes again.
“Vincent made it to shore a
nd found me on the rocks, half in and half out of the water. But James and the children . . . were lost.”
“Did you . . . did they find them, Mama?”
Rose knew that part of Joy’s pain was losing Grant at sea, never to see his body or kiss his lips a last time.
“No, Joy. The river froze over again that night.” She looked bleakly at her girl. “Just as with you and Grant, I never saw them again. Clara was just a baby. I listened for her crying for so long afterwards.”
Joy reached over and hugged her mother tightly to her. “Oh, Mama! I am so sorry! I never knew how awful it was. I’m so sorry.”
They clung together crying for several minutes before Rose pulled away and looked her daughter in the face.
“Joy, do you think your Papa loves your brother Søren more than he loves you?”
“What? Of course not!” Joy frowned through her tears. “Why would you ask that?”
Rose was quiet for another minute. She looked out the window and composed herself. “By the same token, do you think Papa loves the daughter he lost less than he loves you? Do you think I love Jeffrey, Clara, and Glory less than I love you?”
Joy’s mouth opened a little and then closed.
Rose continued. “We never stop loving those we lose in this life, Joy. Never. You will never stop loving Grant, I can promise you that. But in time, with God’s grace and goodness, perhaps you will have joy again.”
Her daughter stared at her dumbly, her eyes glistening.
“It is because Papa and I never stopped loving our children that your coming was so precious to us. We hadn’t expected to be blessed with such happiness again. It was perhaps a little late in life for me and quite late for Papa. You were the only child we had together, but we were so blessed to have you.”
Rose dabbed at her eyes. “I think we go through our lives taking for granted those we hold dear. Then when tragedy strikes, we learn a very hard but valuable lesson.”
“What is that, Mama?”
Rose looked at her daughter and smiled sadly. “We learn that nothing in this life is forever. We are, after all, as the Bible tells us, only passing through, on our way to our eternal home. For that reason, all happiness here is only temporary, lent to us for a season and, as such, is fragile.”
“The most important question to ask those we love is this, ‘Will I see you with the Lord on the other side?’ Because if the answer to that question is ‘yes,’ then we can somehow bear the separation. We can bear it because we know we will see them again, and when we do, it will be forever, never to be parted again.”
Rose sighed. “My precious daughter Joy. Do you believe you will see Grant again?”
Tears began to trickle down Joys cheeks once more. “Yes, Mama, I know I will. Grant loved Jesus even more than he loved me.”
“As he should, my Joy. As he should.” She took Joy’s hand. “Then let us do this. Let us thank our Father God right now for the great assurance we have. We know where Grant is. We know he is safe. And let us thank him too, that knowing we will see him again will make living without him for now bearable.”
And Rose and Joy joined hands and wept their thanks unto the Lord.
~~**~~
Chapter 10
Joy studied the envelope, a letter from her cousin Uli and her husband. They were ministers in the small community of Corinth, Colorado, a few miles outside of Denver on the flanks of the mountains. Joy had last seen them at Grant’s memorial service.
Joy thought of her cousin, forever more her big sister than cousin. She tapped the envelope against her hand a few times. The letter likely contained additional expressions of sympathy, something Joy didn’t think she could take more of. Finally she opened the envelope, unfolding and smoothing the single page on the table. Joy’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she read.
Dearest Cousin Joy,
David and I send you our love. We also send you a challenge.
We have been less than candid with our families regarding some of our work in Corinth this past year. The opportunity the Lord has placed before us is unconventional and sometimes touched with danger. For this reason, we have been cautious and reticent to speak of it. However, the task before us is so important and of such consequence, we must address it to those who will listen and will act with us.
I speak of a great evil. Corinth is at the center of an industry that preys upon the defenseless, and we are a small but vital part of God’s plan to combat this evil. Those who profit from this business operate out of Denver but use our little town to advance their despicable goals. These are powerful and unscrupulous men. We trust God and our wits to keep us hidden and protected, but we are often only a few steps away from discovery and possible disaster.
Come to us, Joy. Bring your broken heart to this battle, for we desperately need good soldiers. Your pain will pale in comparison to that of the victims of this wickedness. God will mend you, even as you work to save those who often cannot save themselves.
Your loving cousin,
Uli
Joy did not know what to think of the letter and told herself that she did not care. She reread it, puzzled over it, and tossed it unceremoniously into a drawer. But when she woke the next morning, the puzzlement niggled at her. She read the letter again.
“Mama, would you read this letter from Uli and tell me what you think?” Joy asked Rose. “It is a bit mysterious, don’t you agree?”
Rose settled into a chair and took up the letter. After several minutes she nodded. “Mysterious, indeed. And yet, I do believe your cousin is a wise woman.”
“Oh? In what way do you mean?”
Rose returned the letter to her daughter with a pat on the hand. “Well, she has gotten your attention, hasn’t she? She certainly has mine. Now you will have to ask her to explain herself if you are to know the mystery. Or am I wrong?”
Joy paused. “Hmm. I see your point.”
She stood up with resolve. “Well, I’m not going to write and ask her. If she thinks that I will uproot myself to Colorado, she will be disappointed,” and she stomped to her room.
Rose heard the dresser drawer open and close with a thump. But she muttered under her breath, “A very wise woman. Thank you, Lord.”
Dear Cousin Uli,
Received your letter. Please explain in detail.
Love to you, David, and the children,
Joy
Joy was as grumpy as the tone of her letter. As much as she would have preferred not to, Joy fretted in her mind about the curious contents of Uli’s letter. She conjured up several scenarios that might fit the enigmatic message: Combating the evils of drink? Child labor? What would a minister and his wife give themselves to that presented the level of danger Uli wrote of?
Although she would have flatly denied it, Joy anxiously looked for a letter in response to her terse missive, one that would at least solve her puzzlement. Not that it would induce her to move to the mountains of Colorado, thank you very much. Her life was here, in Nebraska. Or at least it had been.
The letter arrived sooner than Joy expected.
Dearest Joy,
You have asked for detail. I will fill this letter with as much detail and passion as my pen and my heart will permit. Please allow me to write plainly, for my heart is overflowing with grief and I know that you, a sister in mourning, will permit me to share that grief with you, as you know I would receive yours.
What I speak of is the entrapment of unsuspecting young women, some no more than children. Through a cleverly designed scheme, they are lured here to Colorado and forced into a life of unspeakable horror and bondage.
The evil men behind this scheme write sincerely worded advertisements which they place in major newspapers in the east. The advertisements seek young women for seemingly respectable positions, but actually prey on young ladies who are desperate and without opportunities.
When a woman responds to the advertisement, she receives a letter with a number of questions. The letter asks, amo
ng other things, if she has family and if she can provide recommendations—but assures her that a lack of recommendation will not necessarily disqualify her from the position. As far as we can ascertain, only women who have no family and no one to recommend them are “hired” and are sent train tickets to Denver.
As soon as an applicant arrives in Denver, she is brought to our little community. Two houses in an otherwise respectable neighborhood are operated by these unscrupulous people. The girl is taken to one of them where, instead of a respectable position, she is forced into intimacies with men who pay well to deflower an unsoiled young woman.
After she loses her appeal to these evil men, she is taken back to Denver and placed in a more common brothel for use by any who will pay. Girls who resist, who try to run away, and who will not learn to “accommodate” the demands of the customers are beaten, starved, and abused unspeakably until their spirits are broken.
Some applicants who were widowed or who had children out of marriage were also offered positions and allowed to bring their children. As you can imagine, a mother alone and without means would look on such an opportunity as manna from heaven. However, once they arrive in these “houses,” their children are taken away and their continued safety is used to blackmail the mothers into a life of prostitution and veritable slavery.
Worse than this—and I can scarcely bear to put this to paper—the children, both boys and girls, are raised until they, too, are of an age to be used by evil men. Joy! How can men whom God created in his own image descend to such evil? I cannot comprehend it, and yet the evidence is before our eyes.
Because these poor creatures are alone in the world, no one wonders when they go missing. No one comes to look for them or their children.
We have been able to rescue three of these women and, after ministering to the needs of their hearts and bodies, spirit them along a loosely constructed underground to new lives far from here and far from the men who have so misused them.
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 7
