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JOY AWOKE IN THE MORNING with a sense of something . . . momentous. Her two dreams were still so vividly real to her. She shuddered and put the first one from her mind but relived the second dream as she washed and dressed.
In the morning, you will still not remember what I said, but you will remember the sound of my voice. And when the idea comes to you, you will know it is mine, because you know me and know my voice.
She glanced at the folder Arnie had given her to read. Something nibbled at the back of her mind but she could not grasp it.
Down in the kitchen Breona and Marit were already sipping hot coffee. Marit was preparing breakfast for Mrs. Van der Pol and Breona was putting together a tray for Mei-Xing. Joy helped herself to coffee and soon Billy, Mr. Wheatley, Arnie, and O’Dell were crowding into the kitchen for coffee and breakfast.
Joy took breakfast to their guest herself. Emily smiled her welcome and, at her invitation, Joy brought her own coffee to the table while Emily ate her breakfast.
“My time here is nearly gone,” Emily said with a small sigh. “Randolph will return from his trip back east and I must be home when he returns.”
She leveled a keen look on Joy. “I want you to know, though, that I will be praying for you. And I have a small group of Christian friends, women who can be trusted. I want to share your work with them. If you approve, that is.”
Joy had, with Mei-Xing’s permission, brought Emily to her and introduced them. Emily had sat with Mei-Xing for a half hour. Joy was not privy to their conversation, only that Emily had the traces of tears on her face when she came downstairs.
Joy thought for a moment. “It might be prudent not to mention my name or the name of this town.” She looked at Emily. “What we are hoping to do here could be endangered.”
Emily nodded her understanding. “I appreciate the delicacy of the situation.” She thought for a moment and then asked, “Joy, if you are successful in helping additional girls, what would you do for them?”
Joy shrugged. “I would hope to lead them to Jesus.”
“And after that? You could not, for example, continue to run this lodge if many more girls found shelter here.” She smiled. “I am thinking in the longer term—how would these girls get on in life? Where would they go from here?”
“I have wondered that myself,” Joy admitted. “We have . . . friends who have helped a few to safety, but then what? I wonder where those women are and if they have found honorable employment or—” she shook her head, “have resorted to their old life because they are unprepared to live in honest society.”
“That is my point precisely, Joy,” Emily replied. “And I wish that, when you come to that juncture, you would call on me. In the meantime, I and my friends will be praying for you—for your safety and success. But also for the future. I will be asking the Lord to guide me. I know that at the right time, things will be clear. To both of us.”
Joy pondered Emily’s words that morning. After breakfast and morning devotions, she asked Billy to again accompany her to the overlook. This time she stood in the same place she had stood with the companion of her dream and gazed toward the peaks.
Joy did not for a moment believe the dream to have been an ordinary one—and she began to feel some sense of urgency. But what had he meant?
She thought again about the information Arnie had given her to read. Her analytical mind began to tick through each fact. Franklin. Liberty Indemnity. Cash infusion. Morgan. Financial advice. Personal holdings. Real estate. Corinth. Corinth investors. Corinth township. Liberty Indemnity.
“Lord, help me to hear you!” Joy prayed in frustration. She went through the facts again and, like a string of beads, they were all, in some manner, connected. Somehow! She just did not see, could not grasp their import. She thought again of the policy she and Grant had taken out with Liberty Indemnity in Omaha and how it had sorely let them down. She recalled Arnie’s frustration and her disbelief as they had reviewed the policy—
Joy stood still, her mind whirling. Liberty Indemnity was going broke. Then Franklin purchased Liberty Indemnity. Franklin is Morgan. Morgan is Corinth—no, Corinth is held by Morgan—in more ways than one. So what if . . .
What if . . . She began to pull on the thread of an idea. She teased it out and looked at it from several perspectives. Her eyes widened. It was more than audacious . . . it was crazy, foolhardy . . . it was . . .
She raced past Billy on the trail and flew up the two flights of stairs to her room. Pulling paper and pen from her little desk, she began to sketch out her thoughts. She again looked at the idea from several angles—and saw the destruction it would require. Joy put her hands to her face.
Do what I tell you and all will be well.
“Oh, Lord Jesus! Help me!”
She refused dinner when called and remained in her room until she had completed her work. It was up to Arnie now.
Joy had no place private to meet with him other than her room. The great room was too open. Mei-Xing occupied an alcove in the little parlor in the attic apartment. Her room would have to do.
“Arnie. I need to speak with you,” Joy said. Arnie saw her white face and came immediately. They cloistered themselves in her room as Joy explained.
“You have got to be joking, Joy,” Arnie’s face flamed with anger and indignation. “This is monstrous!”
“Was Franklin afraid to act in Omaha, Arnie? Will he have magically changed his character because he has changed his name? He is the monster, Arnie, but we know him now. I am no more than a bothersome gnat to him at present. However, when I annoy him enough, will he hesitate to swat me aside? No, he will not.”
She took a calming breath. “He has, however, changed one thing, and in that one thing he has made himself vulnerable. I ask you, is it unreasonable to know your enemy and prepare for what he is known for? No. Therefore, I am preparing. And this time I will be prepared. This time it will be enough.”
She stared at her cousin, holding out instructions and letters of authorization. “Will you do this for me?”
Shaking his head, he took them from her hand.
—
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Mrs. Van der Pol rose early to catch the train back to Denver. She had been with them only a week, but Joy would miss her. Arnie would accompany her down the mountain and then travel on to Omaha. Joy and Emily exchanged a heartfelt farewell before Billy drove her and her luggage the short distance to the train.
Arnie and Joy also had a quiet word before he left. The rest of the household, unaware of the details of Arnie’s exchange with Joy, nevertheless saw the strain between them.
O’Dell watched both of them but asked nothing. After Arnie left, he kept one eye on Joy.
—
JOY WORKED LIKE A FURY to catch up on the duties she had neglected the previous day. The lodge had a few paying guests coming over Christmas, which was only weeks away. While the lodge was empty, they could prepare for Christmas and the guests.
O’Dell, in his role as British tourist, wandered the town. He swapped news and stories with the bar and storekeepers, asked hunting advice from locals, and generally made himself known.
At lunchtime, Breona suggested that Mei-Xing was feeling well enough to venture downstairs. Joy agreed, so Breona helped the girl navigate the stairs. As they entered the kitchen, the household greeted the girl. Her face had the mottled green and yellow hues of fading bruises. She swayed against Breona who made haste to place her in a chair at the kitchen table.
Joy restricted her to the kitchen. “This room is the only downstairs room you may safely be in. It has no windows other than that high one. The great room, however, must be out of bounds for you. Not only has it several large windows, but this is a lodge, and people walk in without knocking.”
As she sipped a cup of broth at the kitchen table, Mei-Xing listened as Joy recounted how Breona and Marit had almost been snared by the false ‘help wanted’ advertisements. Mei-Xing paid close attention but did not comment.
Now that Mei-Xing’s face was mending, Joy could discern the great and delicate beauty beneath the bruising and swelling.
Mei-Xing did not speak unless asked something, but her eyes took in everything—eyes that dropped their gaze whenever someone looked at or spoke to her. Eyes that spoke of shame. Eyes that held little hope.
—
DURING DEVOTIONS THE following morning, Joy watched Marit with growing concern. Something was a little off—the girl was slower than usual and distracted.
“Marit, are you feeling all right?” Joy asked. Breona, usually the perceptive one, shot Marit a penetrating look.
“I . . . I think I am,” the girl confessed, “but I do feel a bit funny.”
“Funny how?” Breona demanded.
“Um . . . I am not hungry,” Marit replied. “And my belly feels . . . tight. It grows tight and then it is not.”
Joy and Breona exchanged knowing glances. It was not out of the question for Marit to have her baby soon. They had, as closely as they could, estimated the end of December or first part of January. It was now nearly mid-December.
Joy gave a careful answer. “Well, please do take it a little easy today. And let us know if anything . . . unusual happens.”
She gathered the men together in the dining room and asked for one of them to stay near Marit during the day. Billy volunteered at once. He wandered into the kitchen and offered to peel potatoes.
Wheatley and Domingo glanced toward Billy and Marit together in the kitchen and made a point to look at Joy.
“Really?” Joy was dumbfounded. “Where have I been . . .”
Mr. Wheatley chuckled, and Domingo grinned and headed home to sleep. He would return in the late evening with his cousin, Gustavo.
At lunch time Marit complained of a backache. Her usually smooth brow crinkled into a tiny frown for a few seconds and then smoothed again. Billy observed her with wide eyes, but she seemed fine the remainder of the day.
—
DEEP IN THE NIGHT JOY was awakened by a soft knocking on her door—again. “Who is it?”
“Breona, miss. It is Marit. She’s a-cryin’.”
Joy slipped into their common area. She glanced into the alcove where Mei-Xing slept. The girl was sitting up, wide awake. They all could hear the soft whimpering coming from Marit’s room.
Breona had lit a lamp in Marit’s room. By its dim light Joy saw Marit lying on her side, curled into a ball facing away from the door. Every few moments she whimpered.
“Marit?” Joy sat on the edge of the bed and touched her shoulder. Marit stirred and whimpered again. “Marit, dear. Wake up.”
The girl moaned and, with some difficulty, turned toward Joy. “Oh, Miss Joy, I—” she gasped then and pulled her knees toward her chest. “Hurts.”
The midwife had told Joy what to look for. “How often does it hurt, Marit?”
A few seconds later Marit struggled to sit up. “I am not sure. I vas dreaming it hurt and . . . then you voke me.”
“I, um, is the, bed still dry?”
Marit was offended. “Yes, miss. I do not vet the bed.”
Joy chuckled. “I know, dear one, I know. But when your labor begins in earnest, you may have water flow out between your legs.”
Marit’s eyes opened wide at this. Then she grasped her stomach and groaned.
“The midwife told us how to remake your bed. Breona, shall we strip back the bottom sheet, lay down a rubber sheet, and cover it with towels?”
Breona nodded and hustled to the linen closet. Mei-Xing hobbled to the doorway.
“May I do something? To help?”
“Yes, I think so. I know it will be hard for you to get down the stairs by yourself, but if you can do so, would you put a large kettle of water on to heat? And perhaps make some tea. It will likely be a long night.”
Joy helped Marit don socks and encouraged her to walk about their little apartment. While she did, Joy and Breona remade Marit’s bed. Breona was tense and silent. As soon as they finished, she went to check on Marit.
Joy heard a quiet knock on the apartment door. When she opened it a crack, she found Billy at the top of the stairs.
“Billy! Why are you up?”
His hair was disheveled and one suspender was twisted. “Mei-Xing’s makin’ a racket in the kitchen. Mrs. Michaels—I mean, Miss Joy—should I go for the midwife? Is she okay?”
Joy did not have the heart to tease him. “Marit is all right. She may be in labor, but it is too soon to send for the midwife.”
“Mei-Xing’s a-heatin’ the stove and boilin’ water an all. Are you sure she’s all right?”
“Is Mei-Xing all right?” This time Joy did tease him. A little. Then she smiled. “Would you like me to ask Marit if you can come in for a minute?”
He flushed. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
A few minutes later he stepped into their apartment. Marit was sitting in a chair, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle. They looked at each other and Joy saw the relief on Billy’s face.
“Are you doin’ all right?” he asked awkwardly.
Marit nodded, fidgeting a little under Joy’s scrutiny.
“Well. okay then. I ought to . . . Miss Joy, when you need the midwife, just call me. I will fetch her.” He looked at Marit again and backed out of the room.
“That one,” Breona snorted and then chuckled.
Dawn came. Joy and Breona took turns staying with Marit while the other managed the morning’s work—including the cooking that Marit usually handled so efficiently. The men seemed subdued that morning, but Joy had no time to think on them.
Mr. Wheatley and Billy managed their chores; Domingo and Gustavo ended their night shift and left for their homes; and O’Dell donned his derby and walked the perimeter of the lodge. Then he kept to his usual routine of walking about the town, carrying a shotgun he referred to as “his fowling piece” and playing tourist.
Midmorning, Breona reported that Marit’s water had broken, and Joy dispatched Billy for the midwife. Dinner was a sad affair—Joy’s stew was lack-luster and her biscuits slightly scorched.
All the while they waited . . . waited with the door to the stairway cracked an inch or two. Occasionally they heard faint crying from Marit. When this first happened, the men, with the exception of Billy, fled the house. Billy turned white but stayed, withdrawing into himself.
As Joy and Mei-Xing finished cleaning the kitchen, they heard a new sound. A mewling that rose until it was the faint but unmistakable squalling of a newborn. If possible, Billy turned whiter and stared with hope at Joy.
“Let us give them some time and then I will go check,” she said. They waited fifteen minutes by the clock and then Joy could wait no longer. She threw wide the door to the stairway and the ragged cries of a baby echoed down from the third floor. She ran up the two flights, arriving breathless at the attic apartment.
“A boy!” Breona announced with glee.
The midwife was now cleaning the babe, who protested with vigor, his hands trembling and waving above his head.
“Marit?” Joy asked.
Breona was full of pride. “See fer yersel’. A trouper, that ’un.”
Sure enough, Marit was tired but also elated and glowing. Breona held a washbasin of warm water and was about to bathe Marit’s sweat-soaked face.
“Let me,” Joy asked. She smiled at Marit and sponged her face, her chest, and arms. “Feel better?”
“Yes, miss.” She looked anxiously around Joy to where the midwife was wrapping the baby in a swaddling blanket.
Joy moved, and the woman handed the baby to Marit who, with some trepidation, received the bundle.
“Oh!” Marit gasped. “He is . . . beautiful!”
Breona and Joy grinned.
“Yes,” Joy spoke for both of them. “Yes, he is.”
~~**~~
