Joy sighed. “I needed that. Did you have enough, Breona?”
Breona’s dark eyes looked brighter. “Twas bein’ th’ most I’ve eaten since leavin’ Boston, Miss Joy. I thank ye kindly.”
Marit nodded, “Ja, Miss Joy. I denk you, too.” She looked embarrassed. “I brought some food, but ate the last yester eve. I hadn’t eaten yet today. I have a little money . . . ”
“Nei, child,” Joy replied quickly and then laughed because Marit had the knack of bringing out Joy’s roots. Or at least her father’s mannerisms. She smiled, thinking fondly of her papa. “That won’t be necessary.”
Then she sobered. “Breona, I think we need to talk.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned forward. The car had many ears that could be listening.
An hour later, Marit and Breona, both now sitting across from Joy, were grasping each other’s hands. Breona had finally gone quiet and still, but Marit was shaking.
“Marit,” Joy whispered. The girl’s haunted eyes turned to her. “You are in a family way, aren’t you?”
Fresh tears streamed down her face. “O Miss Joy, vat am I to do? I can’t go back home—they don’t know, and my far—my fat’er—will not understand.” She began to sob and Breona pulled the younger girl’s face into her shoulder, gently stroking her hair.
As she calmed, Joy asked her a few more questions. “Marit, what about the father of your baby? Does he know? Will he not do right by you?”
Breona waited with Joy for a response, but Marit only looked down in shame and said nothing.
“I’m sorry, dear one. I shouldn’t pry.”
Marit shook her head. “I . . . I can tell you. It’s just that . . .” She gulped and said softly, “The man . . . who did this is already married.”
Breona’s eyes were as wide as saucers and, indeed, Joy was taken aback. To err with a sweetheart was serious enough, but to dally with a man who was married! Then Joy recalled the exact words Marit had used.
“Marit, you said, the man who did this.” Joy paused, wondering how to say it delicately. “Did this man . . . force you?”
Marit began trembling again and Breona’s arm tightened around her. “There, there, miss,” she crooned softly.
Joy persisted gently. “He did. He forced you, is that it?” Joy thought she would burst with anger.
Marit nodded weakly.
“And you didn’t think you could tell your mama and papa?”
Marit sobbed. “Mor died two vinters past. Far is terrible angry most times. I can’t . . . he doesn’t see me or hear me . . . I know he vould not haf believed me . . . he respects . . . that man so much . . . and ve are beholden to him . . .” She wiped her face and shuddered. “I vorked in the dairy, you see, that man’s dairy. Ve sorely needed the money and he vould always send me off by myself for some reason . . . and then he vould be there . . .”
She sobbed. “I couldn’t get shut of him! I couldn’t!”
“Aye, lass. Shush. I’m knowin’ of what yer sayin’.” Breona’s eyes, already older than they should be, turned to Joy. “I was workin’ fer a fam’ly of quality. Th’ elder son vexed me life in th’ same manner. Tha’s why I answered th’ post in th’ paper. T’ be getting’ shut of his advances. And now air ye tellin’ us th’t we’ve left th’ fryin’ pan fer th’ fire?”
Breona’s face crumpled. “What air we t’ be doin’, Miss Joy? Th’ folks as sent me fare will be waitin’ for me. Th’ letter said plain that I had t’ pay the fare back if I dinna stay.”
Yes, Joy pondered. That would be one of the ways they used to snare their victims. If a girl was penniless and without friends, how could she pay back the fare? Where would she go, once she had arrived, if she did not go with those waiting for her?
This was indeed the dilemma, and Joy thought hard for several minutes. Could she arrange for them to leave the train before Denver? If so, where? And where would they go from there? Could she send them to Omaha, asking Arnie and Anna to take them in and help them? Should she take them to Omaha herself? But Uli and David were expecting her, needed her.
Uli and David. They would know what to do. They had friends, part of the underground they belonged to, to whom she could entrust Breona and Marit.
So how would they escape the “employers” who would be waiting for these girls? Her face warmed in anger and impotence. She clenched her teeth as her indignation built. Then Joy felt something else rising in her chest again, that holy, calm determination and unyielding firmness so like her papa. Joy’s anger gave way to cool resolve. For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God, she reminded herself.
“This is what we shall do.”
Both girls looked up expectantly.
Joy and Marit returned to their seats, gathered their things, and moved them to where Breona sat. The three of them kept their heads close together over the next several hours as Joy gave them instructions and fleshed out her plan. In a serious tone she issued three rules: Breona and Marit were never to go anywhere on the train without each other; when they all disembarked the train, Breona and Marit were to keep hold of each other and stay close in Joy’s wake; if anyone attempted to grab either of them, they were to both scream loudly and not let go of each other.
At the next major stop, they stepped off the train and Joy searched for a novelty shop. At the end of a frustrating hour, she found what she was looking for, purchased it, and tucked it safely into her pocket where she could easily reach it. After buying a few additional food items, they returned to the train with more than an hour to spare before departure. The girls had dutifully stuck to her like glue but were looking worn, as was Joy.
They passed a small storefront restaurant near the depot and caught whiffs of savory cooking. Joy’s grumbling stomach could take no more. She turned into the café and the girls obediently followed her. They sat at a small table while Joy perused the menu.
“What do you ladies like to eat?” she inquired. Breona and Marit both shook their heads.
“Miss, I’m havin’ all of ten cents,” Breona confessed. “I mus’ be savin’ it fer a real need. I’ve been hungered afore.” Marit nodded in agreement, but Joy saw the whiteness of her face.
“Look,” Joy explained frankly. “I have some money. Let us have a hot meal, shall we? We need to keep our strength up and our wits about us.”
She ordered soup first followed by roasted chicken, seasoned boiled potatoes, and peas. They tore into the food with a will, but Joy saw Breona tuck her dinner roll and several crackers into her pocket.
Their departure was delayed for a further hour so that when the train pulled out, it was dusk. By unspoken agreement they began to settle in for the night. Joy could scarcely believe she had left RiverBend only that morning and had not known these young women before then. The sense of protectiveness she felt for them was peculiar.
As she tucked her feet up along the hard seat she prayed, “Lord, by your grace, we shall make it safely to Corinth and I will help these girls into hands capable of keeping them hidden from those who seek to do them harm.”
Then sleep found her.
~~**~~
Chapter 14
The Denver station was a mix of old and new, civilized and untamed, order and chaos. Six railroads converged on Union Station; Joy, Breona, and Marit would need to leave the Union Pacific and find the Denver & Rio Grande Western, the narrow-gauge train that climbed out of Denver into the Rocky Mountains to the west of the city.
Omaha had been a hub of agriculture and transportation and a gateway to the west for decades and had grown into a large city over those many years. Denver, the jumping off point into the wilderness, had scrambled up with less aplomb, growing on the frenzy of gold and silver mining. Not all, but many, came to the city, not to settle a community, but to strip riches from her near mountains as swiftly as they could manage. They came not to bring industry, enterprise, and civilization but to find quick wealth.
Some succeeded, but more did not. Their frust
rations often fueled other “needs,” needs that vile opportunists quickly comprehended and moved to satisfy. The city itself was a contradiction—stately homes, gardens, and parks with gleaming monuments standing in stark contrast to shacks, shanties, poverty, filth, saloons, prostitution, and gambling.
Uli had written Joy that while Denver’s size was now near that of Omaha’s, Denver had the “distinction” of falling only slightly short of the crime and depravity found in San Francisco's Barbary Coast district and the red-light quarter of New Orleans’ Storyville.
Not all of Denver’s citizenry ignored the poverty and depraved state of many of Denver’s populace. Their concerns had given birth to what was being called a “social” gospel movement. Uli wrote regarding it.
We do not claim the same methods and opinions of this movement, although we certainly share similar goals and aims. We believe the Bible teaches that sin cannot be cured on a global level, only one contrite heart at a time. Some sister churches, on the other hand, while passionate to follow our Lord’s commands to feed the needy, feel that the ills of society can be remedied through government programs and by discerning between the deserving and undeserving poor.
If a Christian understands the Bible, he knows that the terrible conditions of this life are the result of sin and sinful men in the world. Sin is the root of poverty and evil and is why Jesus told us, “The poor you will have with you always.” Sadly, no program can fix the ills of society—only the message of redemption and transformation can change a man’s or woman’s heart and life.
Minister Uzzel and others like him do much good work but, to our great disappointment, seem to have forgotten that Gospel means “Good News” and that men must be saved from their sins before they can be truly saved from their circumstances. They seek to reform society without the Blood of Jesus also reforming hearts.
So we work somewhat differently than this great social gospel movement. We have determined not to fall into this imbalance but to seek every day to balance the Great Commission with the second greatest commandment, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” One without the other serves not God’s purposes.
Joy, Breona, and Marit stepped from the train. A dark-haired gentleman handed them down the steps of their car. He said nothing but touched the brim of his derby hat politely and set off quickly across the platform.
Breona and Marit, as Joy had drilled them, kept hold of each other’s hands and stayed close behind Joy. Their eyes darted around the crowded platform, and Marit gripped Breona’s hand fiercely.
“Marit,” Breona hissed. “Have a care! I mus’ be usin’ me fingers later t’day.”
First they needed to arrange for Joy’s trunk to be taken off the train and placed on the train to Corinth. Breona and Marit had their belongings with them. Joy signaled a conductor and handed him her claim check, quickly making arrangements.
Joy scanned signs in the station looking for the ticket counters and directions to D&RGW departures. She signaled Breona and Marit and they set a brisk pace. Hopefully, a casual observer would only see three young women traveling together, confident of their destination, rather than a single, vulnerable girl looking about for someone to meet her.
Near a corner of the platform, Joy spied a large man on the platform holding a sheet of paper with the word “BYRNE” written on it in large letters. Breona’s last name! He was scanning passengers as they stepped off the train. She glanced back at Breona and Marit; their eyes were studiously averted from the sign. Joy slipped her hand into her pocket, reassured by its contents.
Keeping close together, they pushed through the jostling crowds moving toward stairs leading up to the ticket offices. Across the seemingly endless station floor, Joy spotted the ticket counters.
Close behind her she heard a startled “eep!” from Marit. Praying Marit was keeping her eyes downcast, Joy looked to the balcony above them and made a show of waving cheerfully to someone. An elderly gentleman, seeing her enthusiasm, looked about himself before dubiously lifting his hand back to her.
“Look! There’s Uncle Arthur!” Joy gushed loudly. She kept the girls moving steadily toward the ticket counter. As they arrived she chanced a look back and glimpsed another man, also holding a sign. This one read, “DAHLIN.” He had a disagreeable expression on his face and kept scanning the crowded station floor.
Behind them, but never close enough to be noticed in the crowd, the man in the derby hat followed them. His manner was casual as he pushed his way through the throngs.
Joy quickly skimmed through the departure notices. “Three for Corinth on the 3:45.” She paid out the money, grasped the tickets, and demanded breathlessly, “Which way to the platform, please?”
Finding that they needed to go down the stairs again and quite some distance along the track, Joy gave each girl her ticket and reminded them firmly, “Stay close behind me. Do not, under any circumstances, let go of each other’s hands. If we are separated for any reason, stand where you are—we will find you. And if someone grabs you, scream for all you are worth.”
Knowing she would not feel safe until they were on the train under the watchful eye of a conductor, she set a brisk pace.
“Miss Joy!”
Joy turned and saw Breona and Marit several yards back. Confronting them was a hulk of a man. Joy sped back toward them and thrust herself between the girls and the stranger.
He was dressed well. His clothing was clean and of good quality, but . . . something was not right in Joy’s estimation. His collar was too tight, the shoulders of his great coat cut too small, and he was perspiring in discomfort. Even the top of his slightly balding head gleamed with perspiration. In a meaty hand he grasped the lettered sign that read DAHLIN.
Coolly, Joy asked, “May I help you?”
“Who are you?” the man demanded.
“Who am I? Sir, you accosted us, not the other way around. Who are you and what is your business with these young ladies?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Name’s Darrow. I’m here to escort Miss Dahlin to her new, ah, employer. Now who are you?”
“I am guardian to these young ladies,” Joy replied.
“Guardian? Yeah, right.” Darrow snickered and shrugged in disdain. “I am here for Miss Dahlin. I have my instructions.”
“I see. For whom do you work, Mr. Darrow? And where is his residence?” For a second time in two days, Joy blessed the Lord who gave her the height of her father’s side of the family. Even so, Darrow towered over her. She stared calmly at him while quivering inwardly.
“Lady, that’s none o’ your business. Miss Dahlin writ a letter and received a train ticket to come and work here.”
“That may be, Mr. Darrow, yet I will not release one of my charges without ensuring that the arrangement she has made with your employer is, shall we say, legitimate, and to her advantage.” Joy lingered slightly on the word “legitimate.” “I have asked for your employer’s name and place of residence. I am waiting, Mr. Darrow.”
The man pushed close to Joy’s face. She could smell him, the stink of his breath, his body odor, and his greasy hair. His clothes may have been relatively clean, but he was not.
He reached behind Joy and grasped Marit’s arm. “From the description you writ us, you are Marit Dahlin. I was sent to take you to your new employer, and time’s a-wastin’.”
Marit dropped her bag and, holding fast to Breona, who was holding fast to her, refused to be moved.
“Unhand that young lady, Mr. Darrow.” Joy again thrust herself between Marit and Darrow.
“Lady, you are puttin’ yer nose in where it is not wanted,” Darrow warned. With a rough shove of his powerful arms, he separated the two girls. Breona had held so tightly to Marit that their separation caused her to sit down hard on the station floor.
Darrow grasped Marit’s arm more tightly, and Joy could see that he was hurting her. He grabbed Marit’s bag from the floor and began to drag her away. Before he could go far, Joy pulled the device fr
om her pocket and put it to her lips. Close beside Darrow’s head she blew with all her might.
Joy was prepared for the ear-splitting whistle, but Darrow was not. He slapped one ham-sized fist to his ear and yelped in pain and surprise. Joy danced around him and, near his other ear, blew the whistle again. And again.
Darrow bellowed a curse word and swiped an arm at her, but Joy had dodged away. Marit and Breona, linked up again, were standing several yards away, staring—as were all eyes in the station. Joy quickly ran to the two girls and turned to face Darrow.
Still holding his ears and blinking in pain, Darrow took stock of the situation.
“I say,” a portly gentleman called from the crowd. “You, there! Leave these young ladies be, or we will call the officers!” Murmurs of assent rose from others watching closely.
“Can I be of some assistance, ladies?”
A voice on their right interrupted the confrontation between Darrow and Joy. While continuing to shelter Breona and Marit closely behind her, she chanced a look. A dark-haired man in a derby hat waited for her response. He looked familiar and Joy frowned, trying to place him.
“If I may be allowed to assist, I should be pleased to escort your party to your train,” he offered again. While not nearly the size of Darrow, the man’s confidence was comforting.
Joy made a quick decision. “Thank you, sir. We accept your assistance. Would you be so kind as to escort us to our platform?”
Darrow scowled at both of them and made a move toward Marit. Tiny Breona, still holding Marit’s hand, stepped out in front of her and scowled back at Darrow. Joy grinned at her spunk.
“Ladies, shall we go?” The man in the hat, keeping one eye on Darrow, gestured them in the right direction.
They made their way quickly to their departure platform. Breona and Marit scrambled up the steps of a passenger car. Joy turned to their benefactor.
“Thank you, sir. We owe you our gratitude.” She extended her hand.
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 10
