Stolen (A Prairie Heritage, Book 5)

by Vikki Kestell

“Yes, Madam Chen,” the men muttered. Two of them jerked Morgan to his feet.

  Weeks after the harvest had been gathered in, the first freeze of autumn descended on the prairie. Then the RiverBend farming community commenced its fall slaughter for winter meat. Just as Fiona had asked Esther and Ava to stay with her and Brian for a week of canning, she now asked them to come and help put up the meat.

  The long cold season was coming, and Esther and Ava had already tasted the brutal weather of last year’s winter. They looked at the jars of fruits, vegetables, pickles, jams, and jellies lining their kitchen shelves; they imagined crocks of meat, strings of sausages, and perhaps a ham, and quickly agreed to Fiona’s offer. They would ride home with Brian and Fiona after church as they had several weeks ago to help with the canning.

  Esther hummed to herself as she scrawled a new sign for the shop’s door: Closed Until Friday. She could not understand why, but the rhythm and pulse of the community called to her. When she and Ava stayed with Fiona and Brian, Esther even found herself daydreaming about living on a farm—and laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

  Brian and Fiona’s children were grown and married with children of their own, and most farmed nearby. It was not, therefore, uncommon for the McKennie table to be filled—with or without notice—any day of the week, and especially Sunday.

  Regardless of how many mouths showed up for supper, Fiona simply had Esther and Ava set more plates while she added more potatoes, another jar of vegetables, and biscuits to the meal. The happiness around those simple meals spoke more deeply to the hunger inside Esther than anything else.

  Oh, to belong, she sighed within her heart. To belong and to be woven into the fabric of a family and a community! Would that I could ever be so rich.

  The ache she felt was tempered by the fact that she and Ava had, over the last months, been accepted here, despite their pasts. Yes, some holdouts remained, but the community in general had hearkened to Pastor Medford’s call to receive those whom Christ had forgiven.

  Søren and Meg joined them for that Sunday supper, as did a dark-haired, dark-eyed man Esther and Ava did not recognize. The man looked to be in his early twenties.

  “Miss Esther, Miss Ava, this is bein’ ourn grandson, Connor,” Fiona waved at the man who slid onto one of the bench seats at the table.

  Connor nodded at Esther and Ava but said nothing to them—or during the meal—except to shrug when Søren asked, “Will you be staying long this time, Connor?”

  Esther saw Brian and Fiona exchange a glance. Connor ate quickly, thanked his grandmother for the meal, and excused himself. Later, when she was tossing out the dishwater, Esther saw Connor walking the fields, a dog romping by his side.

  “Aye, he is our lost one,” Fiona whispered near Esther’s shoulder. “Canna find himself here nor wherever his journeys be takin’ him. Lord, please t’ be helpin’ him foind his way!”

  Esther shielded her hand against the setting sun and studied the man far out in the fields. Connor’s long strides ate up the distance and he was soon lost to view. She wondered how he had become “lost,” given how tightly knit his family seemed to be.

  She turned to Fiona, but Fiona answered without being asked. “Lost his sweetheart, he did, three years back. He canna seem t’ get shut of th’ hurt of it so as t’ move on.”

  Esther dropped her chin toward her breast. How well she understood pain and the tenacious hold it had!

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 10

  November

  The weeks following Shan-Rose’s birth were some of the happiest Palmer House had seen. Mei-Xing regained her strength quickly and her baby thrived and grew. So did Joy’s baby.

  I am the size of a house already, Joy moaned to herself as she discarded yet another blouse. Grant, grinning, watched her try on a fifth shirtwaist that she could not button.

  “I rather like the bloom in your figure,” he teased.

  “You would!” Joy laughed. “You don’t have to cart this extra weight around—especially to the trolley each day!”

  “Don’t I, though?” Grant retorted, his words dripping with sarcasm. He tapped the oxygen machine prescribed by the doctor. While lending him energy he had thought he would never have again, the machine was noisy, heavy, and restrictive to his movement.

  “But, Darling, I am so glad for your machine!” Joy turned from the mirror.

  “And I am so glad for your little burden.” He stood behind her and cradled her belly in his hands. Joy leaned her head back upon his shoulder. The baby chose that moment to kick wildly.

  “I feel him!” Grant exclaimed. “I’m sure that is a foot pounding against my hand!”

  “You should feel it from inside,” Joy groaned.

  Grant was quiet for a moment. “We should be careful, Joy, don’t you think?” Grant’s voice had softened.

  “Careful?”

  “Yes. We should be careful not to complain, my love. This baby is the greatest blessing of our lives. And this machine is giving me the strength to enjoy this blessing. I will not complain about it again. Instead, I will be thankful.”

  Joy was chastened. “You are right, Grant. I have allowed little complaints to creep in.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “O Lord, I thank you right now for the many blessings in our lives. I thank you for this baby and for my husband’s continued good health.”

  “Yes, Lord. We are grateful,” Grant prayed. “Thank you. Thank you for providing our daily bread and our daily needs.”

  Joy finished dressing and combing out her long, blonde hair. When she had braided it and pinned it to her head, Grant placed her cape across her shoulders.

  Joy faced him. “Shall I send Billy to fetch you?”

  “Give me ten minutes, if you please,” Grant answered.

  Each morning Billy lugged the heavy tank up the stairs and into the house and Grant and Joy would take breakfast with those in the house as they had before his illness. Afterwards Joy would leave for the shop and Grant would spend the morning assisting Rose.

  That morning, like so many weekday mornings, the house was bustling with movement. The girls were readying themselves to leave for their jobs as soon as breakfast was over, and those who kept Palmer House running had already been up and busy for hours.

  However, this day was of particular import: Today, Tory (short for Victoria) Washington would open her showroom, Victoria’s House of Fashion, to the women of Denver. Tory herself had, with Joy’s help, escaped from the “Corinth Gentlemen’s Club” less than two years ago.

  Friends in Denver, eager to help Joy end the trafficking of young women in Corinth, had sent Tory and her ailing friend, Helen, to Philadelphia to be cared for by two elderly, unmarried sisters, Miss Eloise and Miss Eugenia Wright. The Misses Wright, believing they saw innate talent in Tory, had apprenticed her to Monsieur Pierre LeBlanc, an established and fashion-setting designer.

  Last April Tory had returned to Denver and, with the backing of the Misses Wright and M. LeBlanc, had sought the right building for the establishment of her own high-fashion dress shop and sewing school. After securing a property, Tory had undertaken to fit up the sewing rooms, dressing rooms, and showroom.

  For the safety of Palmer House’s residents and the sake of her endeavor’s reputation, Tory and her sponsors had decided to keep the relationship between Victoria’s House of Fashion and Palmer House under wraps. To that end, Tory took up rooms near her shop and she did not often visit Palmer House.

  However, Tory understood how desperately the women of Palmer House needed marketable skills in order to make new lives. In fact, her primary goal for returning to Denver was to help the girls of Palmer House in this manner. To that end, Tory had taken on three of the young women of Palmer House to train them in design, sewing, fitting, or sales, as their talents and inclinations indicated. As her business grew, she hoped to be able to take on more workers.

  Now, with help from her Palmer House employees and a veteran seamstress brought from Phil
adelphia, all was ready: Today Victoria’s House of Fashion would open its doors to the public. Tory’s business would have competition in M. Philipsborn & Co., The Emporium Millinery Co, J. C. Bloom & Co., and a few small, select shops akin to her own. But Tory brought her fresh knowledge of Philadelphia fashion and her own exquisite taste to the fray, and was confident—and determined—to succeed.

  This morning Flora, Alice, and Marion dressed with particular care. Tory had warned them that they would, to no small degree, be scrutinized by the wealthy clientele Tory hoped to draw to her shop. Sara and Corrine had also worked with the girls, training them in manners and service in much the same way Joy had worked with them when she and Grant had opened Michaels’ Fine Furnishings. The girls were nervous: So much rode on the success of Tory’s venture, including their own livelihoods.

  Mei-Xing was also readying for her day with Mrs. Palmer. She had finished feeding Shan-Rose and was waiting in the foyer for the car Mrs. Palmer sent each day for her. With a start, she realized she had left her handbag upstairs.

  “Jenny!” Mei-Xing caught Jenny in the adjoining library looking for a new book to take to the elderly woman to whom she was a companion. “Jenny, would you mind holding Shan-Rose for just a moment? Just while I fetch my handbag from my room.”

  Jenny whirled around. “No! I mean, yes! I mind!” Jenny’s face reddened and, without further words, she brushed past Mei-Xing and ran up the stairs.

  Mei-Xing was stunned by Jenny’s response. She crossed into the great room and found Rose already settled at her desk.

  “Miss Rose, I hope I don’t impose, but would you mind holding Shan-Rose for just a moment?”

  Rose agreed. “Of course I want to hold my little granddaughter!” She took the squirming infant from Mei-Xing—and spotted Mei-Xing’s crestfallen expression.

  “Why, Mei-Xing. What is the matter?”

  “I-I’m not sure what happened,” Mei-Xing explained. “I asked Jenny if she would hold Shan-Rose for just a moment, but . . . I must have offended her. She said no and then ran away.”

  Rose looked thoughtful. “Well, my dear, I will hold Shan-Rose while you finish getting ready. The car will be here any minute.”

  Rose spent the afternoon closed in the library, praying. “Father God, many weeks ago I asked you to help me see and understand this hidden problem in our home. I asked you to give me wisdom.

  “Now I believe you have revealed it to me. I thought it was only Tabitha, but I fear it is not. Lord, I trust you. I trust you are working right now, preparing hearts for what you would have me do.”

  She stood, stretched her stiff, aching back, and brushed her skirt where she had knelt. “I will do all you ask of me, Lord. Please help me.”

  Conversation around the dinner table that evening was animated. The first day of business for Victoria’s House of Fashion had gone well: Flora, Alice, and Marion spoke with enthusiasm regarding the customers who had visited the shop and answered a myriad of questions from the other young women.

  Rose smiled and asked a few questions herself but, as dinner ended, she made an unusual request. “If you will allow me, I wish to speak to just the ladies for a bit. Privately, if you please.”

  The eyes of the girls around the table sought for some explanation from each other, but found none. They waited, calm and quiet, as Rose dismissed the men.

  “Gentlemen, if you would be excused? Mr. Wheatley, would you kindly close the doors to the dining room on your way out?”

  Even Joy did not know what Rose would speak of. As Grant left the table, he patted Joy on the shoulder. “I will wait in the kitchen,” he whispered.

  Grant, with Billy hauling the ever-present tank, exited to the kitchen. Mr. Wheatley closed the door into the great room first and then followed Grant and Billy into the kitchen.

  The door to the kitchen swung closed, and the women at the table were alone now. Wide, curious eyes focused on Rose. Her calm, grey eyes smiled back at them.

  “When the Lord called Joy to the work in Corinth . . . and when he later called me to join with her, we often confessed to each other and to the Lord how inadequate and how unprepared we were for the task to which he had called us. You must know what conventional lives we had lived until then! You must know how little we understood of the . . . horrors you endured.”

  Except for Rose’s soft-spoken words, silence reigned at the table. She took a deep breath before continuing.

  “I have, in the last few months, seen something I did not understand, something that perplexed and concerned me. It came to my attention first when Mei-Xing returned home . . . in a family way.”

  When Rose mentioned Mei-Xing, most of the women looked her way, but not all. Some averted their eyes.

  “When she came home I observed a quiet withdrawal from her in some of you. Just a few of you.” The girls’ attention returned to Rose.

  “Joy, too, is now expecting, and I have seen something of the same reactions. Some of you have grown distant to her. Please do not think I wish to chide you today. No, I do not. I only wish to understand . . . and to help.

  “You see, I did not know what to think of it at first, but I believe I grasp it now.” She looked about the table, her gaze resting on Jenny just a little longer than the rest—not long enough for anyone but her to notice. Jenny’s cheeks warmed when Rose’s inspection turned away. Rose’s words were even softer when she spoke again.

  “I did not realize, in the life you left behind, the life from which Jesus redeemed you, that some of you must have become pregnant.”

  She said nothing more but watched for the eyes that would skitter away from her assessment. Jenny. And Edith.

  Joy’s mouth formed a very small “o” as the implications of Rose’s words sank in. Mei-Xing nodded to herself. Breona, Marit, and others blinked in sad realization.

  Rose felt her throat close up and choke her; she had to clear it before she could speak on. “I cannot fathom the great injustices done to you . . . and to your child. I cannot fathom how hard it must be to see a sister in this house prepare for the happy event of a baby’s birth when yours was taken from you . . . or you, perhaps, chose to have its life ended.”

  There. It was plainly said, the horror uncovered.

  “I have lost children,” Rose whispered. “I can feel your loss.” She shifted in her chair, pleading with the Lord to help her, to help them.

  “I will never stop aching for my little ones,” Rose murmured, “a son and two daughters. I know your situation is different from mine: There was no wrong attached to me regarding their loss. Nevertheless, the Bible is clear: There is no wrong, no sin, no weakness, no loss, no devastation from which our God, through Christ, has not freely forgiven us. And when he forgives us, he will also heal our hearts.

  She looked around the table, and again, her gaze lingered just an instant longer on Jenny and Edith. Edith’s chin was quivering. “If you still carry guilt in your heart regarding this, shall we not pray right now to also surrender that guilt to our heavenly Father? Shall we not ask for his forgiveness and grace to cover it? If you still carry sorrow, shall we not ask for his healing touch?

  “About our sins he has said, As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us. You may carry guilt close to your heart today, but God has already removed our sins far, far away.

  “So shall we give our guilt to him to carry away, too? In the same manner, shall we surrender our pain to the One who suffered so much to redeem us from pain?”

  Heads nodded. Tears were falling around the table when Rose led the girls in prayer. As she prayed she quietly stood and, while continuing to pray, made her way around the table, laying a hand on each girl, and mentioning them by name.

  When she finished praying around the table she stood beside her own chair. “Some of you, by the grace of God, escaped suffering this grief. However, I imagine you saw it happen to others. I hope you will extend your compassion and love to those in our family w
ho, as they see Mei-Xing with her baby and watch Joy prepare for the birth of her child, find it difficult to be as joyful as the rest of us are.”

  Again, a few heads nodded, acknowledging the rightness of her words. The mood was sober when Rose dismissed the girls, but then she saw Jenny, her chin bravely firm, reach out and hug Mei-Xing.

  Rose also watched as Joy drew Edith into an embrace and whispered a few private words in her ear. Edith bowed her head on Joy’s shoulder and wept, much like Tabitha had wept in Rose’s arms that morning in August. Joy held Edith and stroked the girl’s brown, curly hair as she sobbed away her grief.

  Jenny’s eyes met Rose’s; she offered Rose a wobbly smile. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  Rose nodded once. Lord Jesus, I am so glad that you came to heal the brokenhearted.

  Days later Morgan was dragged into Fang-Hua’s presence.

  “I have thought on your recommendation, Reggie. I accept your offer to assist me.” She smiled, tight-lipped.

  Morgan sensed something cunning in her manner and felt his way with caution. “You will not be disappointed,” he answered. “I am certain I can bring the child to you.”

  Morgan kept his face expressionless but he was cheering for this opportunity. I will find the child, you witch, and in return you will let me go my way and leave me alone.

  He was already plotting exigencies, various means of protecting himself should she renege on their deal and try to do away with him afterwards.

  “Oh, I won’t be disappointed, Reggie, dear Reggie.”

  Morgan’s jaw clenched. For now he would endure her denigrations but his plans would ensure that all her secrets were exposed—long after he was gone. Her exposure would ensure that she could not come after him again!

  Fang-Hua stood and glided her way across the room toward him, the graceful motion of her steps resembling a hooded cobra swaying hypnotically in front of its kill.

  “I have made a few minor adjustments to your plan, Reggie, to ensure that I will not be disappointed. But you will still be in charge, still responsible for obtaining my grandson—and ending all of the—what was it that you called her? Little Plum Blossom? Yes. An apt name for a whore. You will be responsible for ending all of the Little Plum Blossom’s sorrows.”