MB01 - Unending Devotion (41 page)

She didn’t care, because she knew when she turned on the charm, she had the same sway over him.

Connell still worked for McCormick Lumber, but he’d requested that he and Tierney split the traveling among the camps. As it was, most of Connell’s business kept him in town, where he was able to work with other businessmen on a regular basis and push for the reforms that he was promoting.

“Have I told you yet today how much I love you, Mrs. McCormick?” His lips pressed against her ear again.

“Not enough. I think I could use a little reminding.” Her hand found his and intertwined through his strong capable fingers. With a smile, she tugged him toward a room that had been recently vacated by one of the girls who had found employment as a maid.

“Lily.” There was something in his tone that halted her heartbeat and chased away the playfulness of the moment.

“There’s someone waiting downstairs to see you.” His gaze met hers, and something gently cautious in the depths of his eyes lit a flicker of hope in her heart.

“Is it—?” She pressed trembling fingers against her lips, too afraid to say the name.

“Go see.” He nodded toward the wide winding stairway that led to the front hallway.

With her heart galloping at top speed like an out-of-control carriage, she lifted her silk skirt, bunched it in her hands, and raced in a very unladylike manner to the stairs.

She nearly tripped as she rushed to descend the two flights. She was blind to everything about the luxurious home that Mr. McCormick had given to them as a wedding present. Of course, she’d wept when the stern, gray-haired man had handed her and Connell the deed—not because she’d been happy to have a place of her own, finally.

Rather, she’d wept tears of joy because she’d known she could fulfill her dream of opening a home for women who needed rescuing. Connell hadn’t wanted her to feel any pressure to leave Oren, and when she’d suggested they turn their wedding present into a home of refuge, he’d willingly supported her.

And Mrs. McCormick had wanted to be a part of every facet of decorating and preparing the home for the young women. She’d poured her time and energy into doing everything she could for the young women who came.

They made a good team. During the times Connell had to travel for work, Lily found comfort in being with Oren and Mrs. McCormick, who had become the father and mother she’d never had. And through it all, she’d been learning to trust God to unfold His purposes for her life. He’d been doing so in amazing ways that she couldn’t have planned, even if she’d tried.

She couldn’t make her feet move down the steps fast enough. As she turned the last bend, she paused and peered over the railing. Mrs. McCormick was hugging a young woman, holding her against her bosom like a long-lost daughter.

Even though Lily couldn’t see the face of the girl, tears stung her eyes and her throat constricted. Could it really be her?

Behind her, Connell’s fingers brushed her arm, offering her a measure of support.

Slowly she descended the last several steps. As her slippered feet touched the polished hardwood floor of the entryway, the young girl pulled away from Mrs. McCormick. She swiped at the tears on her face with dirty fingers, leaving smudges on cheeks that were too thin.

Mrs. McCormick stepped back, giving Lily a full view of Daisy. Her hair hung in tangled, matted strands. Her satin dress—the same one Mrs. McCormick had loaned her all those months ago—was tattered and stained and barely recognizable. It hung from her emaciated body. Her skin had lost its lovely creaminess and had a yellowish tint. She covered her mouth and gave a harsh cough that bent her bony shoulders.

First shock, then sadness spiraled through Lily.
Oh, Daisy,
her heart cried.
What have you done? What has become of you?

The young woman standing before her was only a shadow of the sister she’d once known. She was like the dress, worn and lusterless beyond recognition.

But when Daisy straightened, and her big brown eyes met hers, her gaze was the same as it had always been—trusting and filled with hope.

Lily’s heart pinched with a twinge of pain and love. She wanted to rush over to Daisy, grab her into a hug, and never let her go. Instead, she held herself back. She’d pushed the girl away once with all of her mothering and loving. She didn’t want to do it again.

“Hi, Lily.” Daisy’s voice was soft and hoarse.

“It’s good to see you.” Lily smiled at her sister.

“I didn’t know if you’d be happy to see me or not.”

“I’m very happy.”

“You are?” Daisy’s eyes widened. Another coughing spasm took hold of the girl, bending her over with the force. Mrs. McCormick gently patted Daisy’s back until the coughing ceased.

Lily’s throat constricted and her eyes burned with painful tears. She wanted to rush to the girl, usher her upstairs to one of the rooms, and call the doctor.

Connell laid a hand on the small of her back, as if sensing her pain.

Once again, she forced herself not to move.

Finally, Daisy straightened. This time sadness etched the girl’s grimy face. “I’m sorry, Lily. So sorry . . .”

Lily couldn’t speak past the tightness in her throat.

“I’ve been so foolish,” Daisy whispered so low that Lily almost couldn’t hear the words. “So, so foolish . . .”

The ache in Lily’s chest expanded, and it pushed the tears that were brimming in her eyes over the edge and down her cheeks.

“I was so miserable, I didn’t think I wanted to live anymore,” Daisy said. “That’s when one of the other girls told me about your home. She said you were giving girls a fresh chance. . . . So I came, but I was too scared to knock on the door. I started walking back down the street, and that’s when I met Connell. . . .”

Daisy fixed her gaze on the floor, on the tip of her boot poking out from underneath her skirt, at the hole in the leather that exposed her bare toe. Her lips trembled and tears pooled in her eyes. “I know I don’t deserve your kindness or help, not after the way I treated you, the way I demanded so much of you and then abandoned you. But . . .”

She lifted her head then, and her eyes pleaded with Lily for a second chance, begged for her forgiveness, and beckoned her to love her again.

The pain pushed a sob out before Lily could stop it, and heartache propelled her across the distance to Daisy. She threw her arms around her sister and crushed her in an embrace that spoke of all the desperation and longing she’d buried.

To her surprise, Daisy flung her arms around her and buried her face against her chest. Sobs wracked the young girl’s sickly body. “Oh, Lily. Oh, Lily. Oh, Lily.”

Lily pressed her face against Daisy and breathed in the sourness of whiskey and cigar smoke and unnamed filth with every choked lungful. She let her tears fall upon the girl, washing her with a love that would never fail, ever. No matter how many times Daisy strayed, no matter how many times she failed, Lily knew she could do nothing less than open her arms to her precious sister.

“I love you, Daisy,” she whispered. “Nothing you do could ever make me stop loving you.”

Daisy’s arms squeezed her tighter.

Lily planted a kiss against the tangled hair. A prayer of gratefulness erupted in her heart—gratefulness for God’s bigger plans, for His higher ways, for His wisdom.

She wouldn’t always be able to see what He was doing, and maybe she wouldn’t always have Daisy in her life. But she would cherish the moments she did have, and know that even if life didn’t always make sense or go the way she wanted, God had opened wide His arms to her.

He was still in control.

And His love would never fail.

Author Note

I
n the 1870s through the early 1880s, lumbering employed more workers than any other industrial occupation in the United States. The white pine tree was considered “green gold” and netted greater profit than the gold rush of the West.

The lumber era of the north woods brought confidence and prosperity to the Midwest. It helped develop many of the cities in existence today. The era is often glamorized, and many legends, songs, and stories have developed out of the lumber camps and lumber towns. If you were to take a drive through Michigan or Wisconsin, you’d run across museum after museum (some devoted entirely to the logging industry) with excellent depictions of what life was like during the lumber era.

However, often forgotten in all of the lore is the toll that lumbering took not only on the land but also on lives. The philosophy of many lumber barons was to get all they could from the land, as fast as they could, and then to let tomorrow’s people handle tomorrow’s problems. In other words, as they moved their camps from place to place, they left behind barren land, often not even suitable for farming.

Not only did the lumbering industry devastate the land, but it also brought a plethora of moral problems—alcoholism, prostitution, and violence. In fact, the lumber era is credited with introducing white slavery (forced prostitution) into Michigan.

It is my hope in
Unending Devotion
to bring attention to some of the situations that existed during the lumber era, particularly white slavery, which, unfortunately, is still a problem within the United States (and throughout the world) today.

Harrison was a real town in central Michigan that sprang up during the lumber era. In the early 1880s it had a population of only two thousand people but had over twenty saloons.

James Carr was a real villain who took up residence in Harrison to prey on the shanty boys of the area. He built a two-story saloon and brothel on a hill overlooking the town and named it the Devil’s Ranch Stockade. Every night between fifty and two hundred fifty men visited the Stockade. So many men lost their lives there that eventually the hill outside the Stockade became known as Deadman’s Hill.

When recruitment of prostitutes for his brothel ran low, Carr resorted to procuring women by any means he was able. He kidnapped young women off the streets of Saginaw and Bay City. And he advertised in downstate newspapers for chambermaids and waitresses for his Harrison “hotel.” When unsuspecting young girls arrived in Harrison by train, Maggie, Carr’s lover and whorehouse matron, would meet the girls at the depot and whisk them off to the brothel. Those who objected were beaten into submission. Most of those girls were never heard from again.

One girl did manage to escape from the Stockade. Her name was Jennie King. She was one of the young girls who answered the newspaper ad, expecting to work in Carr’s hotel. Instead, she found herself enslaved at the Stockade. She fled but was recaptured and beaten. The brave and desperate woman escaped again, wearing only a nightgown, and this time gained help from a family in Harrison. Carr tried to get her back, but the family helped smuggle Jennie out of Harrison and to a safe place.

Unfortunately, many girls didn’t survive. Another prostitute named Frankie Osborne was beaten to death by Carr because she refused to dance for the shanty boys. While Frankie’s death went unnoticed by law enforcement, the Clare County newspapers used the event to begin exposing Carr’s evil deeds.

Through the demands for reform from the press, the citizens of Harrison and Clare County began to stand up and fight against the rampant lawlessness. When a pair of reform candidates came forward to run for sheriff and county prosecutor, Carr’s men were voted out of office. The new district attorney vowed to clean up the county and made it his number one priority to get rid of Carr.

In 1885, Carr was put on trial for the murder of Frankie Osborne. Not even his highly paid lawyers could get him out of trouble. He was pronounced guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to fifteen years in Jackson State Prison. He died at the age of thirty-seven in a trackside shack on a straw pallet, penniless and drunk.

His obituary in the Gladwin County Record read in part, “James Carr, known throughout the state, and especially in northern Michigan, as one of the most notorious and wicked of its inhabitants . . .”

He hurt countless women, like Jennie King and Frankie Osborne.

They were the inspiration for this story—they and the many women like them, who are helpless, hurting, and abused.

May we never forget them.

And may we be like the characters in
Unending Devotion.
May we rise up, stand tall, and fight against the injustices that still exist today.

Perhaps we can’t save the world (as Lily wanted to do), but neither do we need to sit back and let the evil go unchecked (as Connell first did). Maybe we won’t have the beauty of a perfect summer. But neither do we have to endure the callousness of an uncaring winter.

Instead, we can all look for our own spring—we can discover where God wants to use us.

Do you hear your whisper of spring?

Acknowledgments

I
’m always amazed at the amount of work that goes into bringing a story from the kernel of an idea into a book that finally sits on the shelf. The labor of love involves many people in a variety of capacities.

As always, I must thank my husband for his unending devotion to me as I strive to write my stories. He ceaselessly believes in me and my abilities. And he faithfully supports me in the challenging task of writing books while parenting five children.

I also want to thank my mom for being a willing listener and encourager. She’s always there to share both the joys and the sorrows of the writing journey, and I don’t know how I’d survive without her.

I’m thankful for the blessing of working with the talented team at Bethany House. I’m incredibly grateful for the hard work and dedication of each person who had a hand in bringing my book to publication.

Thanks to all my online writing friends for cheering me on in my writing journey. And special thanks to Kelli Gwyn for her insightful feedback and excitement over the story.

I’m grateful to my friends Steve and Molly Black for sharing with me their wealth of knowledge about the history of Bay City and Michigan lumbering, for loaning me their
Bay City Logbook
, and for watching the kids while I toured the Historical Museum of Bay County.