“You will tell me where to find my grandson.”
~~**~~
The End
Sample the next book in this series,
Stolen
An Excerpt From
Stolen
Chapter 1
(Journal Entry, May 10, 1910)
O Father, Mei-Xing is safe! How I thank you! Through great struggles, Mr. O’Dell found where Su-Chong Chen had kept her a prisoner since November and brought her home to us at Palmer House. We are so grateful, Lord, for you guiding him.
I shudder when I think of Mei-Xing locked inside an airless, windowless room for six months. I grieve to think of the hardships and fear she experienced—and yet you sustained her, Lord. Thank you.
With all that has happened these past four days, I have had scarce time or energy to chronicle in my journal, so I must begin now or I shall soon be too far behind. We are still celebrating Mei-Xing’s return and making adjustments—chief of which is preparing for a new baby in the house.
Doctor Murphy has been to see Mei-Xing. Her dry, cracked lips, so painful to her, are healing, and he declares her to be in relatively good health. This is remarkable given the great ordeal she suffered.
After speaking to her and examining her, the doctor believes her baby will arrive in the fall, likely late September or early October. Mei-Xing is such a tiny thing; I would have judged her pregnancy to be near term if the doctor had not said differently!
Mei-Xing requires clothing for her pregnancy. Her only dress at present is the great, oversized thing she arrived in—stolen, she says, by Su-Chong. She tells us that he often burgled homes and stores in the night, stealing food and whatever else they needed.
Of course, her clothing and other possessions from before her disappearance are in her room here at Palmer House, but none of those clothes fit her—she must have maternity garments until the baby is born. Mrs. Palmer pressed a more-than-generous gift on us to address this need.
Because Mei-Xing was confined indoors for so many months, the doctor has advised a regimen of regular exercise: careful walking out-of-doors in the fresh air and sunshine and plenty of wholesome food. He speaks of her bodily well-being, but I must also consider her emotional well-being.
Mei-Xing declined to attend church Sunday. She is, understandably, still weak from her ordeal, but it is likely that she fears censure. Perhaps Pastor Carmichael can encourage her on that point.
Breona confides to me a related matter: Mei-Xing is often terrified. Breona stays close by her, for although Mei-Xing knows that Su-Chong is dead and can no longer harm her, she suffers from nervousness during the day and bad dreams and wakefulness at night.
Breona believes Mei-Xing worries that Su-Chong’s mother, if she were to ever have knowledge of her son’s baby, would come for him. It is of grave concern to Mei-Xing and, I confess, to me also.
Lord, please give us your wisdom.
Four days after Mei-Xing’s return, Palmer House—a most extraordinary refuge for young women rescued from prostitution—remained in a happy uproar.
I cannot stop smiling, Rose mused. Thank you forever, Lord, for bringing Mei-Xing, the daughter of my heart, safely home! She looked around the breakfast table. And thank you for our girls, who are content and growing in you, Lord.
Tabitha and Breona, once at sharp odds with each other, had their heads together, discussing household duties and plans. Sara and Mei-Xing were speaking in low voices with Corrine listening and nodding.
Jenny, who was relatively new to the house, sat between Flora and Maria, spellbound as Mr. Wheatley regaled them with yet another tall tale. Across from Mr. Wheatley, Alice and Marion—who had only arrived at Palmer House that week—scarcely touched their food as the old gent spun his tale.
Marit and Nancy shuttled between the kitchen and dining room, bringing out platters and pitchers and depositing them on the table. Marit and Billy’s young son, Will, bounced on Billy’s knee. Spying his mother and the steaming platters of food, Will shrieked his joyous readiness for the morning meal.
When all were seated, they thanked God for his bounty. Will hollered an unabashed “Amen” and the meal began. Rose glanced around the table, a bit disappointed that Joy and Grant, her daughter and son-in-law, were absent. They now took their breakfasts in their cottage behind Palmer House.
Since the day Grant had been diagnosed with a heart condition, Joy had been safeguarding Grant’s energy, sparing him from situations or tasks that overtaxed his body. Grant had reduced his work schedule at their fine furnishings store to two days a week—and for a mere two hours those days. It was the walk to and from the trolley that was most fatiguing for him.
But there was something else . . . something about Joy. Rose’s brow puckered as she tried to put her finger on it.
“I thank ye for coming to see me, Mr. O’Dell.” Martha Palmer was ensconced in a chair set upon a low dais in the corner of her parlor. The elderly woman’s frail body was bent over, nearly in half. Even seated, she leaned forward upon a cane for support.
Mrs. Palmer could not lift her head to look up; she was forced to turn her head to the side to see visitors. The inches added by the dais meant that she did not have to twist her neck quite so far.
Edmund O’Dell, Pinkerton agent, was seated in a chair to the side of the dais, placing him eye-to-eye with his hostess. He, too, used a cane these days. It rested against the arm of his overstuffed chair, near his stylish derby.
“I came as soon as I received your message.”
The old woman nodded, her shock of white hair waving a little as she did. “Quite so. Quite so. And I thank ye. Can you guess why I have asked to speak with you?”
O’Dell cast his mind over the events of the last week. They had not been far from his thoughts. “It must concern Mei-Xing.”
“Yes. The girl has come to mean a great deal to me. A great deal.”
She nodded again and her thin hands trembled upon the head of her cane. “You saved her, Mr. O’Dell,” she whispered. “You saved her and brought her home. For that you have my undying gratitude.”
O’Dell did not respond immediately and the room dropped into quiet. The ticking of the mantel clock and the intermittent drone of a fly in the parlor window were the only sounds for long moments.
He sighed. “Thank you, but I must give credit where it is due.”
O’Dell shifted in his seat. His hip was troubling him. The fact was, he was worn, physically. A few months back he’d taken a beating he hoped never to repeat in his lifetime. He had nearly died and still felt the damage deep in his body.
But inside? In his soul? That was a different story.
It is well with my soul, O’Dell rejoiced.
“I would never have found Mei-Xing if God had not intervened,” he admitted. “If he had not directed . . . so many things.”
“Oh?” Martha leaned toward him a bit. “Would you indulge an old woman and tell me about it?”
O’Dell shrugged and smiled. “It would take . . . time.”
“I have nothing else more important, Mr. O’Dell. And I love to hear what God has done.”
His smile broadened a little. “Perhaps a pot of tea to carry us through?”
“An excellent idea, Mr. O’Dell!” Mrs. Palmer rang the little bell on the side table. “Sadie will be here with it directly. Why don’t you begin?”
He did, but his thoughts wandered as he recited the events of the last six months.
So much evil—and so much more of God’s grace! O’Dell mused. Dean Morgan and Su-Chong Chen’s escape from the justice they were due. Mei-Xing taken and missing for half a year. Both events set in motion by Su-Chong’s vindictive mother, Fang-Hua.
Long nights in a Seattle hospital and longer nights recovering in a secret house on the outskirts of the city. Minister Liáng . . . telling me of the God of Grace. Bao Shin Xang, Su-Chong’s treacherous cousin—repentant and forgiven. Misdirection from Morgan’s shifty uncle, Freddy Fetch. And ministering
angels dressed in black habits and white wimples.
When O’Dell finished, his recounting had taken two hours and two pots of tea, with Mrs. Palmer only interrupting to ask clarifying questions. The room was quiet again as Mrs. Palmer mulled over what she had heard.
“Extraordinary, Mr. O’Dell. Almost unbelievable.” She thought a minute more. “So now we know who Mei-Xing’s parents are—and who is responsible for sending her to that place . . . up the mountain.”
O’Dell nodded. “I will be leaving for Chicago shortly”—he cracked a wry smile—“to prove to my boss and his superiors that I’m still alive. Then I must return to Seattle and meet with Minister Liáng. He and Bao are anxious to hear the details of Mei-Xing’s rescue.”
“Will you also meet with Mei-Xing’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Li, now that she has been found? Will you be the one bearing the news to them that she is alive?”
O’Dell rubbed his chin. “Sadly, no. It is Mei-Xing’s decision. I have stayed in Denver these last few days, hoping I could persuade her to go home or at least allow Minister Liáng to speak to her father and mother but . . .”
“But?”
“Her parents have believed their daughter to be dead for more than two years. As much as I have tried to convince Mei-Xing otherwise, she has chosen to let them continue in that belief.”
“Why ever so?” Mrs. Palmer demanded, growing agitated.
O’Dell’s laugh was sardonic. “While I was recovering in Seattle, I learned something of the politics of these two powerful clans, the Li and Chen families, Mrs. Palmer. Mei-Xing would rather let sleeping dogs lie—or, perhaps more aptly, let sleeping dragons lie—than to arouse them.”
He bent a resigned look on the old woman. “Mei-Xing has a child on the way. She will do nothing to jeopardize his safety and future—particularly where it concerns Fang-Hua Chen.”
Martha Palmer frowned and her wrinkled face folded into deeper lines. “I don’t agree with allowing sleeping dogs to lie, Mr. O’Dell, proverbial or otherwise. In my experience sleeping dogs tend to wake up and bite when least expected.”
O’Dell stared back at her with perfect understanding. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Well? What are we to do, then?”
O’Dell shifted and rose to his feet, wincing as his hip complained. He leaned the weight of the throbbing leg on his cane.
“As I mentioned, I will be leaving for Chicago soon, possibly tomorrow.” He nodded, as though confirming the departure date to himself. “When I finish there and return to Seattle, Minister Liáng and I will talk further on this. More importantly, we will pray. God will guide us.”
He reached for the derby that was perched on the arm of his chair. “I know you care for Mei-Xing. I know you care about the women of Palmer House and the important work they do. In them we share a common bond and a common concern.”
Martha Palmer nodded.
O’Dell’s eyes were serious. “I also know you have the resources to protect them, whereas I . . .”
She nodded again, once. “I take your point. I will make arrangements immediately. However, the few men the Pinkerton Agency provided last fall proved insufficient. Will you advise me?”
“Thank you,” O’Dell answered quietly. “I would be happy to recommend a reliable party, someone whose experience and character I trust. He will employ a number of men sufficient for the job.”
“That would be most welcome. Please keep in touch, Mr. O’Dell.”
Martha Palmer did not stand but she offered him her hand. As he took it, she grasped hold and would not let go until he leaned close to her.
“That girl’s well-being is of utmost importance to me, Mr. O’Dell.” Her voice caught. “If, when you return to Seattle, you hear anything concerning her safety, I would be much obliged if you would act in her interests. I promise you, I will spare no expense.”
O’Dell squeezed her hand. “Then I will count on you to watch over her and Palmer House here, and you may depend on me to act when needed.”
As O’Dell maneuvered his painful hip down Mrs. Palmer’s front steps, he thought on the other reason he needed to leave Denver soon: Cal Judd. Judd had served half of his meager one-year sentence and O’Dell was already hearing rumors of an early release from Groves, Denver’s police chief.
I must plan to be far from Denver when Judd walks out of prison, O’Dell warned himself, not for the first time. As he limped to the car Mrs. Palmer had called for him, he added, Judd has had months to plan how he will make me pay for interfering with his business—and worse, for helping Esther to escape from him.
He scowled. If my body weren’t so deucedly weak I would stay and settle with the scoundrel once and for all.
O’Dell wasn’t accustomed to running for cover—and he didn’t much like it. It smacked of cowardice and, just as Martha Palmer had said, sleeping dogs left to their own devices usually did awake and bite when least expected.
He reached into his breast pocket for a cigar, but his pocket was empty. O’Dell chuckled at the power of habit. For some reason, he hadn’t felt right about replenishing his cigar supply; the need for them had started to fall away, even if his old habits still occasionally surprised him.
O’Dell frowned as his thoughts again turned to Cal Judd. I would rather finish this business with Judd and never again worry about leading him to those living at Palmer House, he fretted.
Then his thoughts turned toward the little house on the outskirts of Seattle where Bao Shin Xang still hid from Fang-Hua Chen. O’Dell didn’t blame Bao for hiding—Fang-Hua, rich, powerful, and without conscience, was actively seeking to destroy him. Bao had once been Fang-Hua’s trusted instrument but, since his defection, he was a hunted man.
At least I need no longer worry about Dean Morgan. Bao’s sources inside Fang-Hua’s house had assured them that Morgan had fled Seattle for parts unknown. Morgan hoped to never encounter Fang-Hua Chen again.
O’Dell had his own experience with Fang-Hua to reflect on. It was she who had ordered her thugs to thrash O’Dell and leave him to die.
I should have died, O’Dell vividly recalled, I would have died, but for God himself sparing my life.
O’Dell had spent weeks in the hospital and weeks recovering in the little house Minister Liáng had rented to hide O’Dell from Fang-Hua. Now it was Bao who hid there from Fang-Hua, but he was not alone: The same nurse who had cared for O’Dell when he was released from the hospital was Bao’s companion.
Darla.
When O’Dell had left Seattle two weeks ago, Darla had asked if he would write to her. He had agreed—but he had not done so as yet. He had sent only a short and cryptic wire to Minister Liáng: Luke 15:6. O’Dell knew Liáng would understand when he looked for and read the verse,
And when he cometh home,
he calleth together his friends and neighbours,
saying unto them, Rejoice with me;
for I have found my sheep which was lost.
The newspapers were carrying the news that Su-Chong, an escapee from the Denver jail, was dead as the result of being shot during the commission of a burglary—but the papers carried nothing of Mei-Xing.
O’Dell’s influence with Chief Groves had seen to that: Mei-Xing had been removed from the apartment where Su-Chong had hidden her—and where he had bled to death—without local reporters being the wiser. Liáng would read the wire and work out that O’Dell had found Mei-Xing and that she was safe.
However, Liáng would not know the whole story until O’Dell provided him with it. He would not know that Mei-Xing was carrying Fang-Hua’s grandchild until O’Dell returned to Seattle.
O’Dell shivered. Minister Liáng, Bao, and Miss Greenbow deserved to know the details—details that could not be trusted to a letter. But first O’Dell had orders to report to the Chicago Pinkerton office. He would wire Liáng again to say his return to Seattle would be delayed.
O’Dell stepped into his hotel room, scrawled the contents of the wire to Liáng,
and began to pack his bag.
Two uniformed policemen delivered the news of Su-Chong’s death to his parents. Su-Chong’s father, Wei Lin Chen, displayed no emotion as the officers described where Su-Chong’s body had been discovered and how he had died. Fang-Hua also remained silent and implacable, but the strength left her legs and she sank to the floor.
Servants rushed to assist her; Wei Lin gave little attention to her distress.
Su-Chong had died a bad death.
He was unmarried. He had no children to prepare the funeral for him. He was worthy of no respect—and the manner of his death was a further disgrace to his family.
His body would not be brought into the Chen’s house or courtyard. No white cloth would hang over the front doorway to the Chen’s home proclaiming their loss. No gong would stand to the left of their doorway. Friends and relatives would not visit or gather to mourn.
His body would be kept at a funeral home and his parents would not publicly grieve him. The funeral would be short, small, and silent.
Fang-Hua twisted her face into a mask that betrayed no emotion, and yet the emotions roiled within. My son! My son is dead! Her pain slammed inside her chest with each thudding beat of her heart.
Later, Fang-Hua and Wei Lin read the newspaper reports of Su-Chong’s death without speaking. They read how he had been shot while stealing.
A bad death indeed.
Anger flared in Fang-Hua’s breast—anger toward the chit of a girl who had cast off Su-Chong’s affections, causing him to leave his home and family in the first place. Anger toward the man she called Reggie for taking Su-Chong into his service, making Su-Chong vulnerable to arrest. Even anger toward her son for forsaking his familial duty, for his obsession with a woman—an inconsequential girl—not worthy of him.
The newspapers made no mention of Mei-Xing Li, and Fang-Hua’s eyes narrowed. To where had the little whore disappeared? Fang-Hua’s men had searched all of Denver for months and had discovered no trace of Mei-Xing.
The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) Page 31
