You may wonder why the men behind these acts have chosen Corinth to “break in” these young women. We are less than two hours by train from the heart of the city. While Denver has many houses of ill repute, to kidnap, rape, and break the will of a young woman—especially very young ones—is a much more serious crime. It is done here, away from the city and where, I am ashamed to say, bribes induce some town officials to wink at these despicable acts.
A very “elite” type of customer, one whose appetites include the perverse and sadistic, arrives on the train in the evening and returns home before morning. As the railway through Corinth is a main line to destinations farther east, the interchange between Denver and Corinth is regular. Those who come to Corinth for “sport” are not obvious to the casual observer.
The young women who have escaped to us are beset with shame, fear, and self-loathing. They have nowhere to go and no way to support themselves. Joy, God has bestowed organizational skills upon you we have such need of. More than that, your broken heart will understand and pity their condition.
All that they were has been taken from them, Joy. Only Jesus can heal and set them free. I shared Isaiah 61 with one of the young women who stayed briefly with us—it seemed so fitting!
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me;
because the Lord hath anointed me
to preach good tidings unto the meek;
he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives, and
the opening of the prison to them that are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all that mourn;
To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion,
to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning,
the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
that they might be called trees of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord,
that he might be glorified.
Is this not the same passage that our Savior quoted? And did he not say, “Today I have fulfilled this prophesy?” What greater ministry can there be than to bring Jesus to every wounded girl and woman and to proclaim them free?
We need you, Joy. Come to us, for the work is great.
Your loving cousin,
Uli
Edmund O’Dell greeted several acquaintances as he entered the Chicago office of Pinkerton Detective Agency.
“O’Dell? Get in here!” The rough-spoken words were bellowed from an office down the hall.
“Hey, Boss.” O’Dell tossed his trademark bowler hat onto a hook on the coat rack inside Parson’s office.
“Took you long enough to get back.”
“Had a lot to look into.”
“And?”
“Strangest missing persons case I’ve encountered.” O’Dell plucked a cigar from his breast pocket and quickly returned it when Parson glared at him.
“Missing persons and kidnap are your specialty, your bread and butter. What’s so strange?”
O’Dell shrugged. “Working it from the other end, that’s what. And not much to go on. So what’s the news here on our ‘train kidnapping’ cases?”
“News? Every time we think we have a solid lead, it turns up dust. They must have every official in Denver on their payroll. They keep moving their letter drops but have some means to forward stray letters to the next drop before we can intercept them. What did you turn up in Boston?”
“Same thing as in New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. Interviewed a few women who answered the ad, received and answered questionnaires, but did not receive further correspondence. As we surmised, in every case we interviewed, the woman had family members who would have made official inquiries if she went missing.”
“Any other families in Boston with missing women?”
“Found one, but just a drunk father. I think his ‘concern’ was mostly that his missing daughter wasn’t around to support him anymore. She probably lied on the questionnaire to get away.”
“You get enough information to trace her to Denver?”
“I think so. Plan to head that way.” O’Dell was already bored and ready to head west.
“And your ‘strangest’ case?”
“Yeah. Well, that’s a whole other ball of wax, isn’t it?”
“Any leads at all?”
“I have a few ideas.”
Parson snorted. “Your ideas usually pay off like most detectives’ solid leads.” He spoke with reluctant admiration.
O’Dell shrugged modestly. “Well, I have some things to attend to up north. Be back in a few weeks. Then I’ll look into my, er, ideas and follow up on the leads with our office in Denver.”
Shelby Franklin looked about him in satisfaction. His offices and apartment were impeccable and located in the best areas of Denver. He had quickly identified several of the right acquaintances—those who would soon acknowledge him as their new best friend. His uncanny capacity to analyze and gain access to both the social and business workings of a city was his greatest strength—on par with his ability to seize the reins of power before his quarry even perceived the threat.
Denver would be different, though. Here he would establish himself and make his new identity permanent. No more temporary schemes to pluck low-hanging fruit and run. No, he had accumulated the small fortune he needed in that manner, but would now settle here, partly because he liked the area, partly because he had already left a trail to the east of Denver, and finally because to the west lay the land of his origins. And he did not wish to revisit there.
He had grown to adulthood in California but had relocated to the east coast to begin what he fondly viewed as his metamorphosis. From one identity to another he had changed and grown until he was as comfortable in whatever new persona he chose for himself as the one he had been born in.
No, that was not quite right. He had never been comfortable in the role to which he had been born.
He didn’t linger on those memories, for that is all they were. He had transcended what the fates had assigned him—he had superseded a sentence of poverty and mediocrity by the sheer power of his superior mind and will.
Using his fortune and his intellect, he had, in only a few weeks, laid the foundation for his empire. His financial advisement was solid and, this time, would be completely above-board. This time, he would make money both for himself and his clients. On the side he would also invest himself where he knew money was most abundant—the vices of men—but didn’t many wealthy men do so?
Franklin smiled to himself. He knew how to spot weaknesses and exploit them for his purposes. In fact, he hadn’t been able to resist taking control of that insurance company in Omaha, Liberty Indemnity. After the trial of that Michaels woman ended, public opinion had turned against and nearly destroyed the company.
So, even as he manipulated the circumstances behind its financial troubles, he had moved in to buy the controlling interest. Under his present name, of course! And at quite a discounted price. The company would remain headquartered in Omaha, but he would rebuild it from here in Denver . . . a virgin market that would respond well to his touch.
Yes, his new identity would be his last. He had saved it for this phase of his life. The man whose name he would bear had left a sterling reputation in England some seven years before and had traveled to America to establish himself here. He had left no family in England and had died without notice. Franklin had arranged that, of course. He had kept the man’s effects and done regular business in his name over the past five years—letter writing, banking, investing—so that all Franklin need do is step into his new identity. He had done so with his move to Denver.
He signaled Su-Chong who opened the door for him and silently took up position close behind him.
This was the persona he would wear from here forward.
~~**~~
Chapter 11
Joy did not know how long she remained seated with Uli’s letter before her. As she came to herself, the tears running down her face became sobs, and she wept, wept as she had not even been able to when Grant died. She wept for herself but, strangely, she wept also for the women Uli described, those women whose pain seemed so real and near to her.
She reread the passage in Isaiah again, fixing her eyes on verse three:
. . . to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning . . .
Wasn’t this her? Wasn’t her life ashes and mourning? Could Jesus give her beauty and joy again? As she sobbed a rough but gentle hand rested on her back.
“Oh Papa!”
Jan sat beside her and gathered her to himself as he had when she was a child. “Dear daughter.” He held her tightly and gently stroked her back.
Eventually Joy’s sobs eased and she sat up, wiping her face on her papa’s handkerchief.
“I’m sorry, Papa.”
“Nei, child,” he smiled. “What ist reading?”
Joy hesitated and then offered him Uli’s letter. Joy watched the play of emotions on her papa’s face as he carefully read and then re-read Uli’s long message. She saw the stern tightening of his jaw. Finally he handed the letter back to Joy.
“We mus’ pray for Uli an’ David, Joy. Pray da’ Lord help dem overcome dis evil.” He looked at her intently. “Pray you know for God’s vill in dis.”
“God’s will in this? How is this possibly God’s will? This, this is horrible. And what could I possibly do to help them?”
“Daughter, you not know how da Savior taught his friends to pray?” Jan quoted,
Our Fat’er which ar’ in heaven,
Hallowed be dy name.
Dy kingdom come,
Dy will be done in earth,
as ist in heaven.
“He say, ‘you pray dat Gott’s vill be done here, as ist done in heaven,’ Joy. Gott’s vill not done here on da earth most time. Ve who carry Gott’s Kingdom inside us, ve pray and ve bring Gott’s Kingdom to dis earth.”
“Dis ver’ evil t’ing in Uli and David’s town, ve mus’ pray and mus’ bring heaven’s vill as Gott leads us. Mus’ pray too, ist Gott’s vill for you?”
Joy frowned. “We must pray and find out if this is God’s will for me?”
“Ja, daughter, ist so.” Jan patted her hand. “Time of mourning mus’ end, dear one. You mus’ ask da Lord for . . . direct . . . for his vill for you.”
“But Papa . . .” Joy so wanted to resist his words.
“Joy.” Jan looked at her steadily and Joy felt 10 years old again. “Time for life mus’ be coming again. You ask. Mama and I ask. Gott vill tell.”
He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. “Ven Gott tell, den ve do.”
Joy sat at the table resisting her papa’s exhortation to pray, but . . . both he and mama were such examples of living beyond grief and living for the Lord despite pain and difficulty. Even with crippled knees that continually ached and throbbed, Jan gathered the young men of the community around him and taught them from the Bible, praying with them and helping them to grow up in the Lord and into their responsibilities as husbands and fathers.
She looked at Uli’s letter laying there and resented it, resented Uli, and resented the pull on her damaged heart. Sighing, she took it up again and re-read,
to comfort all that mourn;
To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion,
to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning,
the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
that they might be called trees of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord,
that he might be glorified.
“That he might be glorified.” She weighed again what her papa had said. You pray that God’s will be done here, as it is done in heaven, Joy. God’s will is not done here on the earth most of the time. We who carry God’s Kingdom inside of us, we pray and we bring God’s Kingdom to this earth.
Joy went into her room and opened several drawers, until she found the Bible of her childhood. Turning to Isaiah 61, she read the passage for herself.
“To comfort all that mourn . . .” she pondered. “That would certainly include me.” Resigned, Joy dropped the book on her bed and knelt down. “I might as well get this over with, because Papa will ask me if I have prayed.”
“Lord,” she began, “I feel like I don’t have any life left in me, but my papa says you will give me direction . . . for whatever might be left.” She sighed again, straining at the bleakness in her soul. “I guess I am asking you . . . do you have any comfort for me like this passage says? Any ‘oil of joy’? Because if I am honest, I feel that I am crushed under a ‘spirit of heaviness.’ Lord, what can I do? How can I begin again? What would you have me do?”
She thought on Jan’s words again. This very evil thing in Uli and David’s town, we must pray and must bring heaven’s will as God leads us. Must pray too, is it God’s will for you?
Joy wanted to refuse his counsel, but at last she bowed her head again. “Father God, I am asking you to lead and guide me. Let me know—and let Papa know—that it is not your will for me to go to Colorado and help Uli and David. Amen.”
She frowned a little. “Well, perhaps that is not quite right. I’m sorry. Let me begin again. Lord, I am asking you to lead and guide me. Let me know your will for me. If you truly want me to do something, and if you let me know, then I will do it.”
Satisfied that she had obeyed her papa’s request, she pulled the Bible toward her and opened it again to Isaiah. As she flipped through, looking for chapter 61, the book fell open to chapter 54. She paused and began to read.
Sing, O barren one, thou that didst not bear;
break forth into singing, and cry aloud,
thou that didst not travail with child:
for more are the children of the desolate
than the children of the married wife,
saith the Lord.
Joy’s breath caught in her chest. “I am the barren one!” she whispered. “This is me!” Her eyes raced ahead on the page.
Enlarge the place of thy tent,
and let them stretch forth the curtains of thine habitations:
spare not, lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes;
For thou shalt break forth on the right hand and on the left;
and thy seed shall inherit the Gentiles,
and make the desolate cities to be inhabited.
“Thy seed? Shall inherit?” She laughed harshly. Until she read the next verses.
Fear not; for thou shalt not be ashamed:
neither be thou confounded;
for thou shalt not be put to shame:
for thou shalt forget the shame of thy youth,
and shalt not remember the reproach
of thy widowhood any more.
She relived the shame of the past year . . . enduring the loss of her husband, having to work so hard against prejudice and ill-will to keep their business intact, the pressure and threats and then . . . the way her own community had believed her guilty of arson and had forced her to sell her properties. “I know a little about shame,” Joy muttered darkly.
For thy Maker is thine husband;
the Lord of hosts is his name;
and thy Redeemer the Holy One of Israel;
The God of the whole earth shall he be called.
For the Lord hath called thee
as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit,
and a wife of youth, when thou wast refused,
saith thy God.
For the Lord hath called thee . . . as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit, and a wife of youth. Yes, she was a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit.
For a small moment have I forsaken thee;
but with great mercies will I gather thee.
In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment;
<
br /> but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee,
saith the Lord thy Redeemer.
Mercy. I will have mercy on thee . . . Joy bowed her head and prayed once more. “Lord, I come to you with all the shame and grief I feel. I give them to you. I come to you and lay them at your feet asking you, do you . . . will you have mercy on me? Will you gather me to yourself?” She read again:
Enlarge the place of thy tent,
and let them stretch forth the curtains of thine habitations:
spare not, lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes;
For thou shalt break forth on the right hand and on the left;
and thy seed shall inherit the Gentiles,
and make the desolate cities to be inhabited.
Her eyes returned to the top of the chapter.
For more are the children of the desolate
than the children of the married wife,
saith the Lord.
She carefully marked the passage and sat thinking on it. “More are the children of the desolate . . .” she muttered. “The desolate.”
Evening shadows were falling when Joy finished praying and closed her Bible. “If Corinth is as Uli says, then it is a desolate place, if I’ve ever heard of one. Perhaps . . . it is a good place to begin again.”
She and God had wrestled with more than one thing as day gave way to night. Joy touched the gold band on her left hand and gently pulled it off. Tears fell anew as she kissed it and then tucked it into the back of a tiny drawer in her jewelry box.
“You believe the Lord has directed you to go, Joy?” Rose spoke calmly. She and Jan waited for her response.
“Yes, Mama. I am surprised, but I do believe it.”
“Den ve say ‘amen’ to his vill for you, daughter,” Jan replied and Rose nodded in agreement. Jan’s eyes glinted with love and approval.
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 8
