—
(Journal Entry, September 12, 1909)
We attended Calvary Temple again this morning. Thank you, Lord! I have been so nourished and strengthened by the worship and the pastor’s messages. This morning he spoke on eternal life using John 6:67-69:
Then said Jesus unto the twelve,
Will ye also go away?
Then Simon Peter answered him,
Lord, to whom shall we go?
Thou hast the words of eternal life.
And we believe and are sure
that thou art that Christ,
the Son of the living God.
How your words thrilled me, Lord Jesus! I felt the Holy Spirit begin to move among the people and saw hope and belief begin to bloom on many faces! Then the pastor turned to John 10:27-29 and read
My sheep hear my voice,
and I know them, and they follow me:
And I give unto them eternal life;
and they shall never perish,
neither shall any man
pluck them out of my hand.
My Father, which gave them me,
is greater than all;
and no man is able to pluck them
out of my Father's hand.
Pastor explained that when Jesus redeems us, buys us out of sin, nothing and no one can ever steal us away from him. We are safe! We are free!
He called those who wished to surrender to Jesus to the altar to pray. Thank you, Lord! Gretl and Maria, nervous and scared, walked together to the altar and gave their lives to you. I could tell the Spirit was moving on our other girls—it may take a little longer, Lord, but I am greatly encouraged.
Oh yes. Tomorrow is an eventful day. Palmer House will be receiving a telephone. Mei-Xing accepted the position with Mrs. Palmer, and the dear lady insists on being able to call Mei-Xing when she is needed. I have never had a telephone so close at hand. Jan and I certainly never had one in our little prairie home.
—
Customers flocked to the store’s opening, and the six staff members spent the day on their feet greeting shoppers and serving their new clientele. Sarah, Corrine, and Billy took turns at the shiny new cash register. Throughout the day, the store resounded with the jingling of the bell hanging from the front door, the muted conversations of their customers, and the chiming of the register.
Joy was most in demand, as Sarah, Corrine, Billy, and Grant regularly requested her advice and deferred to her suggestions or direction. At closing time, the exhausted but elated staff gathered to recap the day’s events and issues.
“We have had a good day, Joy,” Grant smiled as he completed the bank deposit. “But I must say I never realized there was so much to know about laundering linens before today—or that I should even be versed on this subject!”
They all laughed. Grant was right. Customers not only perused their stock but asked myriads of questions—many that did not pertain to the sale of fine household furnishings but rather their care. In fact, their clientele assumed the shop’s staff should possess expertise on all aspects of household management!
Sarah grinned. “I was lectured today on the difference between pine and heart pine!”
Corrine laughed and agreed. “I can converse at length on art, history, and literature with the most knowledgeable individuals—but do I know anything of the care of fine china? No, I do not!”
“If you think that is bad, my background is in tools and hardware!” Billy interjected. “What do I know about cut glass versus leaded crystal?”
“Working here will certainly be a learning experience,” Joy assured them, “but all of you did well today. Just remember, whenever your customer has a question you cannot answer, you are free to call on me to assist, just as you did today. If you listen carefully to my answers to their questions, you will soon be able to field those situations yourself. The most important thing is to remain gracious and helpful at all times. Even if we cannot provide an answer, a genuinely solicitous response will suffice.”
“And how did you fare today, my dear?” Joy asked Grant. He had been mostly silent as they chattered and shared the day’s experiences.
He took a moment to answer. “I confess that I am out of my element at present, but if the others can learn, so can I.”
He looked searchingly at Joy before continuing. “I also had an interesting moment today. I was guiding a customer to the register when I had a . . . memory, I guess. Suddenly I felt that I done so before, but somewhere else. In this other place I remembered a large room, much larger than this store, with aisles and aisles of bins and shelves and a large stove of some sort in the center of the room.”
He grinned. “I think it had to be our store in Omaha. Does my description sound right? Do you think it was?”
“It does sound like our store! Oh, Grant, how wonderful!”
—
(Journal Entry, October 4, 1909)
I woke this morning with a heart filled with song. Our church sings so many wonderful songs of praise each service, not just two or three as some churches do.
Their joyous worship takes me back to those many years ago when I first arrived in RiverBend. The singing in our old church stirred my soul and the presence of the Lord gripped my very being, just as I am feeling him again.
The chorus of this song came to me as I awoke this morning. It is a new one for me, but my feet want to dance as I sing it!
It is joy unspeakable and full of glory,
Full of glory, full of glory;
It is joy unspeakable and full of glory,
Oh, the half has never yet been told.
And how my heart overflowed when we sang My Jesus, I Love Thee. O, yes! I love thee, Lord!
I love Thee because Thou hast first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree;
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
In mansions of glory and endless delight,
I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright;
I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow,
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.
—
Three weeks after the shop’s opening, the staff had settled into a routine. Sarah and Corrine were feeling more confident of themselves, and Billy was learning to distinguish between silk and satin, china and bisque. More importantly, Joy and Grant were growing more assured of the store’s success. They were even discussing how to restock since merchandise was moving nicely.
Grant sent an unspoken question at Joy who responded immediately and firmly, “You are never going anywhere without me again, Grant Michaels. Never.” The set of her jaw told Grant more than her words did.
“I only wanted to see your reaction,” he teased. They shared a chuckle but it did not last. It touched too near the heart.
Joy could not help herself when her eyes filled. “I cannot lose you again, Grant.” He did not answer right away, but gently took her hand and pressed it to his lips and held it there for a long moment.
When he did speak, his voice was rough. “We can do all things through Christ, Joy. When hard times come . . . we can bear what comes.” He searched her face. “God’s grace is sufficient for today—not tomorrow, but today, my lovely Joy. Would it not be wrong to look ahead and decide today that his grace for tomorrow will not be able to carry us?”
Joy nodded but said nothing. She laid her head on Grant’s shoulder and they held each other.
—
One night Cal commented that Esther’s house seemed a great investment opportunity. “You excel as a madam, Esther,” he complimented her. “The house’s ambiance and your girls are first-rate. Why with a little cash infusion, my dear, you could move to a larger house I know of and hire a few more girls. I would be happy to loan you the money.”
Esther was a little unsettled by his offer, but promised to bring it up to the other girls. “We all own this place,” she explained
almost apologetically.
Cal just smiled and nodded, but Esther thought she saw something flicker in his eyes, something that disturbed her.
When she did tell the girls, their sullen looks said plainly that they weren’t pleased. “This is our house, Esther, all of us. We’re doing fine just like this. And we don’t need a man to help us.”
Ava added, “You are getting too chummy with Cal, Esther. We don’t do that, remember?”
Esther flushed a little. “I will tell him we don’t need the loan,” she answered, secretly relieved. She didn’t want to give control of her business to anyone, even if just a little, even if it was just a loan. Even from Cal.
~~**~~
Chapter 14
Dean Morgan, AKA Shelby Franklin, sat gingerly on the jail cell’s single bunk. He was impeccably dressed and shaved, his hair oiled, combed, and recently trimmed. He took a fastidious pride in his appearance—even in this place—and he was not without his resources, both people and money.
Yes, he still had money, discreetly tucked away but accessible, and people to do his bidding. For the right price.
Denver was rife with those who wielded political power and judicial influence—and who were serious about lining their pockets with easy cash. In the five months Morgan had been in this hole awaiting trial, he had made several beneficial connections, connections that supplied food, drink, clothing, and other necessities to his liking. All for a price, but a price he was willing to pay.
Morgan sat upright, careful not to lean against the dank bricks of the jail wall, and he delicately pinched the crease of his trousers. All the while he kept his face impassive—calm, even—but inside his mind churned, and his considerable intellect chewed away on his present problem.
They intended to hang him, his attorneys told him, but he did not intend to oblige them.
“They,” firstly, was the State of Colorado. However, his lawyers, the best money could afford, were delaying a trial as long as possible. They were as busy as bees in Nebraska, stirring up rivalries and competition between the bureaucracies of the two states.
Yes, apparently Nebraska would like to hang him also. Oh, how his popularity had grown! His attorneys were spreading enough cash around in Lincoln and Omaha to ensure that every corrupt politician and bureaucrat in those fair cities would protest Colorado’s right to try—and hang—him first.
He hadn’t anticipated quite the backlash from Omaha. He was rather amazed at the intensity of their sentiment, actually.
Apparently the people of that town truly disliked how he had framed Joy Michaels for arson, arranged for her property to be auctioned out from under her, and had left a certain insurance company in dire straits. And somehow the deaths of Percher and Robertson had been mixed into their complaints.
Posh! They would be hard pressed to lay those deaths at his door. Su-Chong, on the other hand . . .
Unfortunately, a number of other states east of Nebraska (thanks to the work of those infernal Pinkertons!) had entered the fray, each sure he had committed atrocities in their fair states and all most anxious to extradite him and host their own highly publicized necktie party—using his neck. This, of course, was unacceptable.
The problem at hand was that his over-compensated attorneys could not delay the inevitable forever. Even as he considered, discarded, or filed away ideas, options, and possibilities, other thoughts and questions intruded. Three individuals figured prominently in those infernally intrusive questions.
How had that woman—that interfering Michaels woman—ended up in the very place he had decided to stake his future? How had she managed to ferret out his dealings in Corinth? Had she somehow tracked him there? Impossible! And how had she met and become acquainted with that blasted Pinkerton man? O’Dell.
Morgan’s stare was directed no farther than the opposite wall, but the coldness of his look would have chilled the blood of many a strong man, had it been aimed their way. He continued to sift facts and examine potential plans, but the disquieting questions intruded once more.
He had left no trail in Omaha. Certainly nothing to link Shelby Franklin with Dean Morgan. How had they teased out and connected so many distinct and discrete threads, ultimately finding their way to him? And the edgy gambit she had played before the throng in the plaza?
Nicely done, he was forced to admit with a sneer.
The final scene in the small Corinth plaza played out before him: Joy Thoresen—Joy Michaels—with the polish of a veteran orator, demolishing his carefully crafted identity, exposing his business dealings, and in such a manner as to turn the Corinth peons against him.
He would have defeated her regardless—and made her disappear forever that night—except for the phalanx of armed federal and Pinkerton officers that had, at that very moment, rushed from out of the darkness. All avenues of escape were blocked until, led by his bodyguard, Su-Chong, a way of egress seemed certain.
And then the appearance of a tiny Asian girl—his Little Plum Blossom!—flummoxed Su-Chong and incited his disloyalty. Toward him!
It was out-and-out treachery. And he never allowed treachery to go unanswered.
Morgan sniffed nonchalantly and looked critically at his immaculate hands, his long fingers, and their well-shaped and buffed nails. But within, the slow rage he kept tamped down by sheer will was building.
Joy Thoresen Michaels.
Edmund O’Dell.
Su-Chong Chen.
Su-Chong Chen. No doubt languishing in a cell not far from here. May he rot there, Morgan raged silently. No; not good enough. Those three had figured prominently in his undoing. For that they would figure prominently in his future plans.
He had paid his lawyers to represent Su-Chong also. He could not afford the possibility of his bodyguard telling tales—hence, Morgan made sure one of his attorneys was always present when the prosecutors were questioning him.
His lead attorney, Kent Jergins, reported that Su-Chong remained uncommunicative and sullen during official interviews. In fact, according to Jergins, Morgan’s bodyguard had said not one word while being interrogated. Not then, not during Jergins’ initial meeting with him, nor after the questioning. Su-Chong had withdrawn into himself and would speak to no one.
Morgan was no fool—he knew the Chinaman’s thoughts and feelings ran deep, dangerously so, perhaps to an irrational level. More importantly, he was the only individual alive who could speak directly to Morgan’s activities in Omaha and Denver.
To do so would assuredly implicate himself, Morgan mused. The man was a heartless killer who had murdered on Morgan’s behalf several times. Yet if his rage against me were hot enough, he would sing like a bird.
And so he needed to exercise caution with his former bodyguard. He had seen the look Su-Chong turned on him when he realized the Little Plum Blossom was his long, lost love.
Morgan sneered as he relived that moment. Not everything, my trusted minion, he raged. You don’t know all. I have resources hidden even from you.
His thoughts turned fondly toward his Denver bolt-hole. Once he was away from this foul place he would not run. No, they would expect that and expend all their efforts watching the roads out of Denver to find him.
But he would not run. He had made provision to hide safely, for months, if need be. He would not run because what he desired was right here. And once the manhunt tapered off . . . Well, then he would have his satisfaction.
Finally he selected a bound volume from a rough shelf hanging precariously over his bed. From within he withdrew several sheets of fine vellum stationery.
As loath as he was to reconnect with his ‘roots’, his superior mind had sorted the options, selected the best course of action, and stubbornly refused to identify a better one. And the clock was ticking down.
So. He would write a letter, one that was sure to elicit a rapid response and provide him with the alliance and assistance he required.
He began formally: My dear Madam Chen . . .
Yes. My
dear—yes, my very dear—Fang-Hua. The set of Morgan’s mouth tightened. He would have to be quite careful.
My dear Madam Chen,
I pray this letter finds you well. I have news of the utmost importance to you regarding your son . . .
—
Cal didn’t mention his offer of a loan during his next visit, so Esther waited until they were tucked into her bed and had finished their intimacies. The house was closed for the evening. Tom and Donovan would lock the doors as soon as the last client left.
“Cal, I want you to know that I appreciate your offer of a loan,” Esther murmured in his ear. “But the girls and I are attached to this house and rather like the business we have built on our own.” She paused and then added a little nervously, “Perhaps in a year or two we’ll feel differently.”
Cal turned on his elbow and smiled at her. Esther suddenly shivered. Something about his smile chilled her. “You are so beautiful, Esther, and I love you dearly, but you don’t get it, do you,” he drawled softly, tracing the outline of her face.
“Don’t . . . don’t get what?” Esther asked, her mouth suddenly dry.
He gripped her face, a little too tightly. “You don’t understand that this isn’t your business any longer, my dear.”
“You-you’re hurting me,” Esther struggled, but Cal’s hands were massive, his grip like a vise.
He let go of her at last and got up to dress. “I’ll be here tomorrow at three o’clock. Have the girls dressed and waiting for me in the dining room. I will outline the new management policies then. You would do them a favor if you prepared them ahead of time.”
“No! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!” Esther jumped out of bed and ran to the door. “Tom! Donovan!”
Immediately boots pounded on the stairs. Esther hastily threw on a nearby peignoir. Cal just chuckled and buttoned his shirt.
Tom and Donovan burst into Esther’s room. Esther, her voice shaking, pointed at Cal and demanded, “Get him out of my room and out of my house! I don’t ever want him admitted again!”
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 10
