The Captive Within (A Prairie Heritage, Book 4) (11 page)

Lord, I have shared my dream with Joy, Grant, Breona,
Mei-Xing, Billy, and Marit. Since then we have been praying daily for Esther,
Ava, Molly, and Jess, and we will continue until you bring an answer.

You know where they are, Lord. You have your eye on them,
and you know the trouble they are in. Whatever evil is happening, we call on
you, Lord, knowing that you hear us and will answer. We call on you to bring
these women out of darkness and into your light. Set them free, Lord, we ask in
Jesus’ Name.

—

Word was getting around, and
Michaels’ Fine Household
Furnishings
was receiving more customers. After the shop had been open six
weeks, sales reached an acceptable level and remained fairly constant. However,
Joy wondered if another kind of word was getting around, too. More than once
she had witnessed furtive whispers and covert glances directed toward Sarah or
Corrine. A few days later her concerns were confirmed.

“I should like to be shown your selection of lace
tablecloths,” the matronly woman stated loudly to no one in particular. She
looked about the shop haughtily and waited for assistance to come to her. Her
husband, an aging man with an air of bored compliance, lifted glasses to his
eyes and studied a wall painting hanging near them.

Sarah stepped to the woman’s side. “Of course. Right this
way, madam.” She smiled and gestured toward the rods hung with neatly folded
table linens. At that moment the man turned toward her and Sarah gasped. She
quickly turned away, her hand to her mouth to cover her shock.

It was too late. He had recognized her—and she him—although
his response was different than hers. A slight, cruel smile tugged at the
corner of his mouth. Standing behind his wife, the wink he threw Sarah went
unseen by that woman.

Sarah composed herself and, ignoring the man, continued
toward the table linens. As Sarah pointed out the various styles and sizes, the
woman scrutinized her, and her mouth turned down in derision.

“Tell me, young lady. Are you one of those women come down
from that little town up the mountain? One of those women living in Martha
Palmer’s house?” The question was loud, clearly spoken for others than just
Sarah to hear.

Sarah stood stock-still, unsure of how to answer. Corrine,
who had been ringing up a purchase, froze. Joy, who had also overheard the
question, tried to excuse herself from her present customer. She was surely not
the only one in the shop to overhear the woman’s strident voice! Joy’s customer
turned toward Sarah and the matron, her eyebrow raised.

Finally, Sarah squared her shoulders. “Yes, Mrs. Schumer, I
am
‘one of those women.’ Now,” she turned stiffly toward the display of table
cloths, “what size cloth would interest you today?”

Mrs. Schumer’s nose lifted slightly. “Well! I simply did not
believe it when I heard it. Employing women of ill repute in what is advertised
as a respectable establishment! I wish to see the owner immediately.”

Sarah set her lips together and Joy, as she hurried to her
aid, could see the stain crawling across Sarah’s modest neckline even as white
patches appeared on her high cheekbones. Joy composed herself as she reached
the matron’s side.

“I am Joy Michaels, the owner of this establishment. May I
be of assistance, Mrs.—?”

“Mrs. Schumer,” Sarah provided, her tone cold.

“Mrs. Schumer, is it? How may I help you today?”

The woman eyed Sarah warily. “I do not believe I introduced
myself.” She frowned. “I
know
I did not introduce myself.” She turned to
Joy. “How did this . . . this
woman
know my name?”

Joy was perplexed. “I, well, I’m sure I don’t—”

“I know
your
name, Mrs. Schumer,” Sarah replied, her
face now entirely white with scarcely repressed rage, “because I know your
husband,
Mr.
Schumer.”

“Well! I am sure you are mistaken,” Mrs. Schumer
expostulated. “I know all of my husband’s acquaintances.” The matron raised her
finger and wagged it at Sarah. “—and you may well claim to know
him
, but
I am certain he does not know
you
!” She ended on a loud note of icy
triumph.

Sarah was not cowed. Ignoring Joy’s gentle hand pressing on
her arm, she retorted, “Oh, I do assure you, Mrs. Schumer, that I am
well
known
by Mr. Schumer. Of course, I refer to the
Biblical
manner of knowing.
After all, I am one of
those
women. Oh, yes. He “knows” me all right.
Not
that I ever had a choice in the matter!
”

She shouted her last sentence. In the stunned silence that
followed, Darryl Schumer bent a look of such loathing and rage on Sarah that
Joy feared for the girl’s safety.

“Sarah!” Joy grasped Sarah’s arm firmly. “Sarah, you will
excuse yourself.
Now
.”

Sarah stared back at the man with equal hatred, her
breathing rapid, her chest heaving. Joy gripped Sarah’s arm until it hurt and
the girl turned, dazed, toward her.

“Sarah. Go to the office. Immediately. Stay there,” Joy
commanded.

Sarah whirled and stalked away, her face a mask of fury and
humiliation. Joy looked about the store. The eyes of her staff and the
customers throughout the store were wide and shocked.

Dear Lord, what do I do?
Joy implored. All eyes but
Grant’s were on her. His head was bowed, and Joy knew he was praying.

Joy gathered herself and, turning back to the Schumers, Joy
found them staring at each other. Mrs. Schumer’s pudgy mouth was open, her eyes
wide with shock and disbelief.

Mr. Schumer, the folds of his face set in icy lines, smiled
sardonically at his wife. “You are such a fool, Beatrice, a self-righteous
busybody and a fool. You always have been.” His cutting words were meant only
for his wife, but Joy could not help but hear them also.

He bowed slightly to Joy and spoke graciously, a little
louder for the audience of customers, “I apologize for this unseemly
exhibition, Mrs. Michaels. We have caused you great discomfort today. I assure
you it shall not happen again.” His eyes belied his words, however, for the
look he sent Joy chilled her to the bones.

“Come, Beatrice.” Mr. Schumer did not take his wife’s arm
but turned toward the door and, when he reached it, opened it for his wife.

Mrs. Schumer turned a devastated face to Joy, shame and pain
competing for dominance. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. She looked away and
tried to raise her head as she shuffled toward her husband.

He placed a hand on her elbow to usher her out, but she
shuddered, shook it off, and stepped away from him. Outside the shop she
straightened her spine, tipped her chin up, and started down the street. Alone.

Mr. Schumer, smiling at Joy again, placed his hat on his
head and turned the opposite direction from his wife.

Joy scanned the store. Customers were beginning to whisper.
Her staff waited, perhaps for some signal from Joy, she did not know. Suddenly
she knew that if she did not address this
head on
, the store—and perhaps
the futures of the women at Palmer House, were finished.

She cleared her throat and, in a clear, gentle tone, spoke.
“I would like a word with you, our esteemed customers—a moment of your time, if
you please. Would you kindly gather around?”

The staff held their breath. The customers looked at each
other. Out of the corner of her eye, Joy saw Grant moving toward her. A few
women, likely more curious than anything, followed slowly behind him. Soon most
of the customers were clustered near Joy. One couple pretended to examine tea services
while hovering within earshot.

“Thank you. First, I apologize for the scene you just
witnessed. This is not conduct we espouse at
Michaels’
. And I wish to
address, forthrightly, the accusations you heard.”

Curious eyes bade her to continue. “We have recently
relocated from a small mountain community near Denver. During our stay there it
came to our attention that young women were being held against their will and
forced to live in a manner I will not speak of, but which caused them great
distress and degradation.” Joy cleared her throat again, the words sticking
there, but somehow coming out coherently.

“Those young women, set at liberty by the actions of U.S. marshals, are now attempting to right their lives and make themselves productive and
useful in society. These ladies are gracious and genteel. More than that, they
are forgiven by God and only wish to live as he would have them live. Yes, some
of them are on our staff.”

One or two sets of eyes glanced around the store as if
hoping to identify who else on the staff had been “one of those women.” Joy
coughed softly and the eyes returned to her.

“I hope that in your Christian compassion you will applaud
and encourage these young women as they attempt to live as God desires. I thank
you for your patronage of
Michaels’
. The success of this business means
honorable employment for these ladies.”

That was all Joy had—she was empty now—but it had been more
than she’d realized was in her. She sighed in relief when Grant placed his hand
on her shoulder and spoke.

“In appreciation for your gracious understanding and your
patronage of
Michaels’
, we will, for the next hour only, offer all of
you a ten percent discount on any purchase. Please feel free to make your
selections now.”

With that he escorted Joy to their office. He looked back
and saw the knot of customers rapidly disperse. Billy and Corrine, at Grant’s
nod, scurried to assist.

Sarah was not in the office.

Joy sank into a chair and found she was trembling. “I cannot
believe this has happened,” she whispered.

Grant shrugged. “Perhaps it was better to get things into
the open, so to speak. If we are going to succeed as a business, we cannot hide
that we are also employing girls from the mountain. If Denver’s Christian
community does not rally to support us, we are finished anyway, no?”

He sat next to Joy. “I do not, however, for a moment,
believe we are done before we begin. Rather, this story will be told and
retold, passed from one set of lips to another and another. Yes, there will be
those who will judge what they know nothing of, but perhaps Mrs. Schumer’s
experience will caution them. After all . . .” He let his words
trail off.

Joy chuckled ruefully. “You mean,
after all
, Mrs.
Schumer never in her lifetime believed her husband unfaithful, let alone to
frequent brothels?” She sighed. “She received such a shock . . .
such a humiliation. I felt almost as badly for her as I did for Sarah.”

“She was judging Sarah and doing so without any of the
facts.” Grant’s mouth was firmly set. “When we
who call ourselves Christians
do this, I believe God is honor-bound to set us in our place. Proverbs
tells us
pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall
.”

He shook his head. “Was it pride on her part? I cannot be
the judge of that. I only know that God will not allow those of us who
name
the name of Jesus
to continue in sinful pride. He will correct us,
publicly, if needed.”

“I’ve been wondering how you can remember Scripture when you
have forgotten everything else,” Joy remarked, so grateful for her husband’s
wisdom.

“It is a puzzle, I admit. I didn’t forget
how
to do
things, or things I’ve read or learned. I only forgot my life and the people in
my life—perhaps 10 or 15 years’ worth. I do have some vague recollections of my
childhood and family, but no names.”

Joy was thoughtful. “You said something just
now . . .” Her mind was back on Sarah and how their business
might be affected by the public scene with the Schumers.

“Hm? What was that?”

“You called them
girls from the mountain
. I rather
like that.”

“Certainly less degrading than ‘former prostitutes’.” Grant
smiled his endearing half-smile.

“Perhaps that is how we should refer to them from now on. Of
course, when the Lord gives us women from Denver, the phrase will no longer
apply.”

“Denver is surrounded by mountains. I don’t see a problem
with it. It could be our own little code for the young ladies of Palmer House.”

Joy nodded. “I like that. Speaking of the house, I am
concerned about Sarah. I wonder if she went there or is walking about on her
own. I know she was hurt and angered beyond measure.”

“Go. Go home and see if she is there,” Grant urged her. “I
will close up when it is time.”

“Thank you, my love.” Joy dropped a kiss on the top of his
head.

—

Bao Shin Xang bowed low before his uncle’s wife, Fang-Hua.
The woman, usually as sharp as an adder’s tooth—and just as venomous—was
visibly distracted. Her complexion was more sallow than usual, her
expression . . . stunned.

“I have come, Auntie, as you requested,” Bao spoke quietly
from his subservient position. He had received a scrawled missive, two words
only, delivered by an agitated Chen household servant.

Come now,
the unsealed message had read.

Fang-Hua did not immediately respond to Bao’s greeting. She
continued to stare across the room, but at what, Bao could not perceive. As the
silence drew on, he slowly unbent and assumed a deferential posture, his hands
folded together in front of himself, chin tucked to his chest.

Bao kept his face impassive and smooth, devoid of emotion.
He regretted with all his heart the devil’s bargain he had entered into with
his aunt.
If my bargain was with the Devil,
he thought darkly,
surely
he is incarnate in this woman.

Fang-Hua’s gaze finally turned on him, although Bao did not
believe she actually saw him. Her expression seemed vacant and her eyes roamed
as if looking for something. Finally, she fixed on an opened letter lying on
the priceless lacquered table near her chair.