Grant shook his head. “I don’t know. The one thing I do seem to recall is the old Blackie curled up near . . . a stove? Did he have a basket near the stove?”
“Yes, he did,” Joy replied, smiling softly. “You loved your Blackie so much. He was a great comfort to me after you . . . you were gone. We both missed you so.”
Grant tipped her chin toward him and kissed her. “What do we need to do next?”
“Well . . . the shop must be ready to receive the merchandise before it arrives. So we must complete—or nearly complete—the refurbishment before we send Billy to Omaha to empty the warehouse and ship the furnishings.”
“Besides taking down the fitting room walls and making the arched doorways, what other refurbishments did you have in mind?” Grant asked.
They chatted enthusiastically back and forth, exchanging ideas, until they reached the trolley stop. Joy was scribbling a list when they stepped onto the trolley for the ride home.
—
Esther was in love. She felt it in her heart, in its deep longing. The more she saw of Cal, the more she craved him. His presence made her feel safe; his thoughtfulness made her feel valued.
He was becoming more and more helpful with the house’s business, too. Their clientele had picked up quite a bit. When she mentioned that she was looking for another man to work the door with Tom, he said he knew someone who would be perfect.
The next afternoon a large, soft-spoken man appeared at her door. “I’m Jack, ma’am. Mr. Judd mentioned you might have a position open,” the man said quietly. On the strength of Cal’s recommendation, she hired him right away.
And it was a good thing she had. She introduced Jack to Tom and asked Tom to show him the ropes, but just two nights later, Tom quit without notice. Refusing to meet her eyes and mumbling that he’d found something better, he was gone.
Esther was surprised and disappointed. Tom had seemed happy with his job and she’d never had any problems with him. Cal, however, came to her aid again and sent around another man to replace Tom. Donovan started the next evening.
Against her better judgment, she began daydreaming of a future with Cal. He is so kind, so helpful, she mused. He treats me with such respect! We could be happy together . . .
~~**~~
Chapter 12
(Journal Entry, August 30, 1909)
Attendance at Calvary Temple is now a regular part of our week. What wonderful messages Pastor Carmichael brings us! I am fed, comforted, encouraged, and spurred to serve you more, dear Lord.
I have overheard Breona, Mei-Xing, and Marit talking enthusiastically about Pastor’s messages, so I know they are learning, too. The other girls will sometimes join in or ask questions. I am hopeful that soon they will hear the Savior calling them and will answer.
—
Martha Palmer arrived unexpectedly one afternoon. Hearing the knock at the front door, Mr. Wheatley peered through door’s peephole but saw only the departing back of a uniformed chauffeur. Puzzled, he cracked the door, looked around, and finally looked down to spy the slight figure of Mrs. Palmer stooped over her cane.
“Well, are you going to ask me in?” she demanded.
Mr. Wheatley backed away from the door with alacrity and waited for the bent little lady to thump her way into the entry. Breona, catching a glimpse of their surprise guest, alerted Rose and then ran to the kitchen to prepare a tea tray. She bade the rest of the girls to continue with their chores.
“Mrs. Palmer! What a delightful surprise.” Rose swept into the entryway and allowed the woman to lean on her arm until they reached a comfortable chair in the parlor.
“No, no; not yet,” Mrs. Palmer said testily. “I came to see what you have done to the place. I can sit after.”
“Really, we have scarcely begun,” Rose remonstrated gently. “It is livable, but only just.”
From her bent over position Mrs. Palmer craned her neck sideways and peered about the parlor with interest. “I’d like to see the great room, kitchen, and dining room, if you don’t mind,” she stated.
Rose walked her out of the parlor, across the entry, into the spacious great room, and then through the dining room and into the kitchen. Marit, who curtsied and reddened, was baking bread. Breona and Mei-Xing were preparing the tea tray.
Will, bouncing up and down in his high chair, went still and stared with large eyes at the frail little stranger with white hair. He sucked in his lower lip and looked to his mama.
“Very nice, very nice,” the old woman muttered and fumbled for Rose’s arm. “I’ll sit now and take a cup of tea.”
Rose helped Mrs. Palmer into a comfortable chair where she sat, bent over, hands clasped upon the silver head of her cane, but tipping her head and looking about, missing nothing. Almost immediately Mei-Xing entered the parlor with a laden tray. She set the tray on the low table near Mrs. Palmer’s chair, seated herself in front of it, and began to gracefully serve the tea.
“How do you care for your tea, Mrs. Palmer?” she inquired.
“Eh? Oh. One lump, just a scant spoonful of cream. Not milk, mind you.”
“Of course.” In short order, she placed a tiny side table within Mrs. Palmer’s reach and set her cup of tea on it.
Mrs. Palmer ignored the tea and studied Mei-Xing closely. Mei-Xing, flushing slightly under Mrs. Palmer’s scrutiny, finished serving Rose’s tea and gently inclined her head toward both of them. “Will you take cake?”
“You are a tiny thing, ain’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mei-Xing responded, unperturbed, slicing the lemon cake on the tray.
“None for me. What is your name, girl?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mei-Xing Li, ma’am.” Mei-Xing poured herself a cup of tea and cradled it on her knee.
Martha Palmer’s gnarled fingers reached for her cup. The cup quivered in her tentative grip as she sipped from it. “Are you one of the girls who came down the mountain?”
Rose winced at her bluntness, but Mei-Xing returned Mrs. Palmer’s question calmly.
“Yes, ma’am. However, I was fortunate to escape to Miss Thoresen’s lodge several months before . . . before the marshals freed the other girls.”
“You did, did you? And how’d you do that?”
Mei-Xing smiled a small smile. “I tied together all the clothes I could find to make a rope and climbed out a third-floor window. Unfortunately, the rope only went to the bottom of the second floor, so I had to drop the rest of the way.”
Mrs. Palmer’s mouth fell open and her cup rattled as she set it on the saucer. “Land sakes! You don’t say. Were you hurt?”
Rose cleared her throat in distress. She vividly recalled how damaged and broken Mei-Xing had been, and how terrified she had been to sleep for fear she would be discovered and dragged back.
Mei-Xing, however, answered simply and calmly again. “I landed in the shrubbery and suffered a few scratches. I did also sprain my ankle when I dropped, but it was preferable to what would have become of me if I had not attempted to escape again.”
“Again? Escape again? Had you tried before?” The woman craned her neck to stare at Mei-Xing.
“Yes, ma’am. The night before, but . . . they caught me.”
Mrs. Palmer’s voice dropped to a soft whisper. “They caught you! They . . . what did they do when they caught you, my dear?”
Despite her calm, Mei-Xing had begun to tremble, and her voice shook a little. “Three men took me to a room at the top of the house and . . . had their way with me for several hours.”
“They . . . they . . .” Mrs. Palmer’s sharpness abandoned her.
“Mei-Xing, perhaps a little slice of that cake?” Rose asked, anxious to turn the conversation.
Mei-Xing, though shaking, maintained her composure. “Yes, Mrs. Palmer, they violated and beat me.”
Martha Palmer was silent and unmoving for several moments. Finally, she beckoned to Mei-Xing.
“Would ye come here, Miss Li, where I may see your face better? Just
kneel down here next to me on the carpet where I can look at you.”
For a moment Mei-Xing did not move and then, sighing softly, she set her cup on the tea tray and knelt before Mrs. Palmer’s chair. The woman reached out a gnarled hand and, with great tenderness, cupped Mei-Xing’s chin and, in her peculiar manner, cocked her head to the side so she could look Mei-Xing in the eye.
For a long moment she stared at Mei-Xing before she spoke. “I am sorry, child, that these things happened to you. So very sorry. I see, however, that you have great strength within you. Tell me, is that strength from the Lord?”
Mei-Xing seemed transfixed by the old woman’s scrutiny and by the unexpected kindness that seeped like healing oil from her touch and her words. “Yes, ma’am. I have come to love the Lord Jesus and to know he loves me. I do not believe I could face life without the strength his love gives me each day.”
Martha Palmer patted Mei-Xing’s cheek gently and nodded. “I am so glad to hear this. I, too, have faced great loss in my life. I know this is hard, my dear. Be strong and grow in your faith. I will remember to pray for you diligently.”
Clearing her throat and placing her hands once again on the top of her cane, Mrs. Palmer signaled the end of the unexpectedly tender moment. “Tell me a bit more about yourself, Miss Li. Do ye have an education?”
Mei-Xing returned to her chair and composed herself. “Yes, Mrs. Palmer. I was very well educated.”
“Oh? Read and write, do you?”
“In English, French, German, and Mandarin, ma’am.”
“Eh? You don’t say.” Mrs. Palmer stared at her hands a moment. “You don’t say. Accomplishments? Music? Art?”
Mei-Xing’s smile was wan. “I sketch a little. I also play piano and violin. Or I did.”
Rose’s eyebrows went up. She’d had no idea. And what was the purpose of Mrs. Palmer’s many questions?
“Indeed! How did you come by such accomplishments, if I may ask?”
Here Mei-Xing’s manner shifted subtly although her response retained its gracious tone. “Mrs. Palmer, do you mean to ask how a whore received such a fine education?”
Mrs. Palmer stared at her. “Don’t be cheeky, miss. Besides, I was under the impression that you were not a whore, Miss Li.”
Rose choked on her tea and fumbled with her napkin, while Mei-Xing reddened, whether in embarrassment or anger, Rose could not know which.
“Well, speak up, child. Are you a whore or are you not?”
“Really! Mrs. Palmer!” Rose uttered sharply, rising from her seat.
“Hush, Mrs. Thoresen. Let the girl answer for herself.”
Mei-Xing straightened in her chair and faced Mrs. Palmer. For several moments she struggled within herself, staring at the old woman and breathing hard.
“No, Mrs. Palmer, I am not a whore,” she finally answered.
“I’m sorry, my dear. My old ears are somewhat hard of hearing. Would you mind speaking up?”
Rose, now perplexed, shot looks back and forth between the two women. She knew for a fact that Martha Palmer’s hearing was untouched by age.
Suddenly Mei-Xing smiled. It was a tiny smile, but she nodded at the same time. Quite clearly and firmly she repeated to herself, “No, Mrs. Palmer, I am not a whore. I am a child of the living God. I am a new creation in him.”
Mrs. Palmer nodded in satisfaction over her cane and then gave it one good thump on the carpeted floor. “Very good. Yes, well done.”
She struggled to stand and complained to Rose, “Mrs. Thoresen, this chair is entirely too deep!” She then gestured imperiously to Mei-Xing. “Miss Li, give this interfering old woman your arm, if you please.”
The old lady grasped Mei-Xing’s arm and managed to extricate herself from the chair. Side-by-side, the two women stood nearly eye-to-eye, Mrs. Palmer from her bent over position, Mei-Xing from her tiny height.
“You have a lovely quality about you, my dear. Your parents must have cared for you very much to have given you such an upbringing,” Mrs. Palmer said softly.
If she were looking for something to finally prick Mei-Xing’s heart, Mrs. Palmer had found it. The girl, just turned 16 years old, suddenly had tears in her eyes.
“There, there,” Mrs. Palmer whispered, again in that tender tone. “Forgive this old woman.”
She turned toward Rose to include her in what she was about to say. “I am in need of a personal companion and social secretary. As much as I fight it, I am unable to manage many things by myself these days. And I do detest getting behind.
“The woman I engage must be gracious, educated, and socially adept. I carry considerable influence in this town; nevertheless, some of my acquaintances have the tact of a cactus and the discretion of a jay bird.”
She nodded at Mei-Xing. “I needed to know how you would conduct yourself should someone as direct as I question you regarding your background. Miss Li, we can talk more on this later, but today I would like to ask if you would be interested in such a position?”
Mei-Xing shot a glance at Rose, dumbfounded. “I, that is, I . . .”
Rose stepped in. “Thank you for such an honor, Mrs. Palmer. Perhaps we can prayerfully consider your offer before Mei-Xing gives you her answer?”
“Yes, yes. Of course. I will pay $10 a week. You may live with me during the week and return here on your night off or my chauffeur, Benton, can bring you daily to my home and back. It will be your choice. The hours will, occasionally, be long, but I do not go out of an evening as much as before. Generally I am abed by eight o’clock in the evening.
“Oh, and I will require that you install a telephone in this house. I will not send Benton across town simply to deliver a message when a telephone call will suffice.”
Mei-Xing’s eyes grew large. The salary was generous—not overly so, but still . . . much more than she would ever earn clerking or sewing in a shop. And the work would be engaging and varied . . .
“By the by, I understand that some of your neighbors paid a visit,” Mrs. Palmer remarked with a raised eyebrow.
Rose nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Palmer.”
“I think you can rest easy regarding Mr. Haney and the Brewsters. Cora DeWitt, however, may provide you with additional opportunities to grow in grace.” She smiled shrewdly at Rose.
—
“She did not!” Joy expostulated. “She asked Mei-Xing if she were a whore?”
“Shhh, Joy. The whole house will hear you,” Rose cautioned her, looking around. News spread faster in Palmer House than ants on sugar!
“I just cannot envision Mrs. Palmer using such a word,” Joy returned in a quieter voice.
“It was truly amazing, though. Something happened inside Mei-Xing at that moment. She no longer sees herself in the same way and confidently said so! I tell you, you should have heard her: ‘No, Mrs. Palmer, I am not a whore. I am a child of the living God.’ It was beautiful, Joy. It was powerful.”
Somehow Mei-Xing’s encounter with Mrs. Palmer percolated through the house, with many opinions as to “what I would have told that old lady” passing among the girls. Tabitha, predictably, had choice and colorful words on the matter.
Once the novelty wore away, however, the girls seemed to ponder Mei-Xing’s response more deeply. And Rose wondered what was going on in their young minds and hearts.
~~**~~
Chapter 13
September 1909
Joy kept one eye on the young man painting the signage on the windows and door while she arranged the items in the window display. Today those signs would announce their business to all of Denver.
Already the steady stream of foot traffic along the walkway paused and looked with interest at the gold and black curlicues emerging from the boy’s brushes. Potential customers studied both the items in the window and the slender woman with the heavy chignon the color of ripe wheat organizing the display. Joy was arranging a dining hutch and table with eye-catching table settings in a manner she hoped would tempt them to step into the shop.
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Grant, Billy, Sarah, Corrine, and Joy had worked tirelessly to redecorate the shop. The men had torn down walls and built arches and shelves, had scraped wallpaper and sanded and polished wood floors. Joy and the girls had come behind them to clean, paint, re-paper walls, and hang tasteful draperies. Instead of a fussy, feminine-only dress shop, the store’s decor was now simple, elegant, and welcoming to both feminine and masculine sensibilities.
They discussed at length the need for a telephone. Joy had not grown up with one and felt it an unnecessary expense. Grant suggested that customers were more likely to expect one on the cusp of 1910. He also pointed out that Rose could call them from Palmer House if an emergency arose. Joy reluctantly gave her assent.
As they came close to finishing the repairs and decorating, Joy and Grant sent Billy to Omaha to empty Joy’s warehouse. At three-quarters full, it still contained enough furniture, linens, fine house wares, and dishes to stock the Denver store.
Joy glanced again at the boy and smiled in satisfaction at what she saw emerging from his brushes: Michaels’ Fine Furnishings. The lettering was a shimmering gold edged in glossy black. She stepped out of the window display and scratched Blackie behind the ears. “Looks wonderful, doesn’t it, Little Blackie?”
How long had it been now since Michaels’ Tools, Hardware, and Farm Implements had burned down and all of their dreams with it? The Lord had given them a new dream now. Still, it did her heart good to see their name, Michaels, on the door and along the bottom of one tall window. Soon it would be seen along the bottom of the opposing tall window, too.
Her heart was full of late. For a moment she drifted into thoughts of the love and intimacy she and Grant were reviving. At first they had been so careful, even scared. She knew Grant had been terrified that he would, in some unknowing manner, spoil the relationship they were forming.
Yes, in many ways it was a new relationship. Without his memories, they were beginning all over. And yet, the sweetness of their love was the same to Joy as it had been when it was first born, when she was only 19 years old.
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 9
