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January 1909
THE LODGE HAD NO FURTHER guests booked after New Year’s, and the household at the lodge eased into a more relaxed routine. Joy focused her energies on preparing advertising for the spring when they could expect more guests. She turned much of the day-to-day running of the house over to Breona’s capable hands.
The second week of the month she received mail from Arnie—much looked-for mail. The envelope he sent was thick, crammed with copies of reports she had requested. More importantly was his letter telling her he had done as she requested. Cushioned between pages so as not to bend or fold it, was the document—at least the initial one—she had asked for, dated for January 15. She looked at the calendar and began to count ninety days ahead.
One morning after breakfast as the group finished devotions, Billy asked, “Miss Joy, may I say a word before we get to work?”
“Certainly, Billy. What is it?” Joy thought and hoped she knew what it might be. Breona pinched her leg under the table.
“Well, I, that is, Marit and me, we, um,” Billy’s face flamed red as everyone began to grin before he could get the words out.
“Yes?” Joy offered.
“Gonna get married,” he choked out.
Marit was red-faced, too, but Joy, Breona, Mei-Xing, and Mr. Wheatley began to laugh and clap in happy delight.
“When you goin’ to do it?” practical Mr. Wheatley asked.
“We need to speak to Pastor Kalbørg about that,” Billy replied, grinning now himself. He held Marit’s hand and she smiled into his eyes. “And we have to figure out where to live.”
Joy was taken aback. Where to live? Well, of course. They could not live at the lodge . . .
“Would you . . . I mean, do you intend to stay working here?”
They both nodded, but Billy answered. “Yes’m, if you will keep us on. We just need a place of our own. Hopin’ we can find something nearby.”
Joy’s thoughts were whirling. She loved the idea of them getting married, but hated the thought of their happy household breaking up.
Could she add on to the lodge? Give them a little apartment? The lot on which the lodge sat was more than large enough.
“And one more thing,” Billy added shyly.
“Yes?”
He looked at Marit. She smiled and ducked her head. “We have a name for the baby. Our baby.”
He grinned. “It is William. William Bartholomew Evans. Junior.”
—
DEAN MORGAN STEEPLED his fingers together and eyed Darrow with placid contempt.
Darrow fidgeted and did not meet Morgan’s gaze. Something about the man unnerved him—as did the silent, ever-watching Asian sitting by the door behind Darrow. Ever since Judge Brown had vanished and this man had stepped into Brown’s shoes—effortlessly, it seemed—Darrow had felt off-balance and edgy. And he sure did not like having his back to Morgan’s stone-faced bodyguard.
“So, I understand that a very valuable commodity, one that I particularly prize, is missing and has not as yet been recovered?”
Darrow weighed his words before he answered. “Miss Cleary had already decided that the girl was to be sent down here to Bailey’s. She had tried to escape, and so we disciplined her, but Miss Cleary said she—the girl—lacked . . . I think Miss Cleary called it ‘the necessary enthusiasm’ to be one of the club’s special girls.” He licked his lips.
Morgan tsked. “Yet I comprehended her to be a great favorite at the club. Why, even here in Denver in an inferior house such as Bailey’s I would expect her to be quite a little star. Surely we could have been more . . . persuasive? But perhaps I should be speaking to Miss Cleary about this rather than you.”
His gaze hardened. “In any event, we really cannot have our girls traipsing about, now can we? But perhaps a more apropos question is, should we be damaging such a rare and potentially valuable flower?” Morgan picked up a sheet of stationery and read aloud from it. “Miss Cleary writes, ‘regrettably, the young lady’s looks were ruined.’ Her nose, I believe, was broken? Is this so, Mr. Darrow?”
Darrow shivered. No one knew when Judge Brown had left Corinth, and no one had heard from him since. The rumors only added to Darrow’s unease. “Yessir, regrettably, Mr. Morgan, sir. I am sorry to report that, ah, one of my men was, er, that is, may have been a bit too enthusiastic in his discipline. And we weren’t, ah, expectin’ her to bolt, er, that is, to run again, what in her condition afterwards, and all.”
“I see.”
The two ominous words hung in the air until sweat began to run down Darrow’s neck and back.
Finally, Morgan spoke. “I believe, Mr. Darrow, that you have been an . . . exemplary employee and that your loyalty is not in question.”
Darrow felt a wave of reprieve? relief? wash over him.
“However . . .” Here Morgan paused again and Darrow’s gut clenched. “I have determined that a firmer and more tasteful management of this type issue is required. To this end, I have secured the services of Mr. Giles Banner. Mr. Banner, would you be so good as to join us, please?”
Darrow was momentarily confused. More tasteful management? Services? Then he saw a man step from the doorway to the left of Morgan’s desk. He was slender and half a head shorter than Darrow. His eyes and hair were as black as the Chinaman’s and his hair was slicked back from his face.
“Mr. Morgan?” The man nodded in deference to Morgan and then turned to look Darrow over. Darrow felt the disdain of the man’s appraisal.
“Ah yes. Mr. Banner, this is . . . Darrow. As of today Mr. Banner will be assuming management of security in Corinth. I have given him my assurance that he will receive your utmost cooperation.”
Darrow’s eyes narrowed and shot from Banner to Morgan and back. He had been demoted? Under this guy? As he tossed those words around in his mind he glanced again at Morgan. And froze.
“As I said, I have given him my assurance that he will receive your full cooperation. I can expect him to receive that, can I not, Darrow?”
The thinly veiled threat hovered between them, and Darrow’s survival instinct kicked in. Choking on the words he nodded at Morgan and then Banner. “Yessir, Mr. Morgan, Mr. Banner.”
“Good man. I will be asking Mr. Banner for regular progress reports. They will, at my request, include the state of morale among his men.”
Darrow heard the slight emphasis on the words “his men.” Then the Chinaman was opening the door and Darrow found himself standing outside. Cursing under his breath, he strode away toward the station, mulling over the sudden alteration in his fortunes.
Morgan motioned Banner to the front of his desk. “Mr. Banner, Corinth is a very profitable segment of my businesses. However, the situation has become a little disquieting as of late. It would be tedious and troubling if I deemed it necessary to relocate my special club. I trust you can set things right?”
“I can, Mr. Morgan.” It was a statement without boasting or hyperbole.
“I expect you can, Mr. Banner. Please find my recalcitrant ‘Little Plum Blossom’ and return her to Miss Cleary. I desire a success with her, not a failure. Even with a broken nose, this will reestablish a proper tone in Corinth, do you not agree?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Banner’s words were devoid of emotion.
“Oh. And if certain citizens have been concealing or in any manner aiding the little flower, I would like them to be suitably corrected.”
“Yes, sir. You can rely on me.”
—
SOON AFTER THE EVENING train arrived in Corinth that evening, Flinty pounded on the back door. Breona let him in and, at his request, fetched Joy and O’Dell.
“Miss Joy, I come t’ tell yer som’pin.” His weathered face crinkled in concern. “New feller in town, name o’ Banner. Darrow’s thugs’r all kow-towin’ t’ ’im, and Darrow’s a-lookin’ like he et a lemon.” His glance around the kitchen was knowing. “Th’ big boss sent a new gun, thet’s what.”
O’Dell and Joy exchanged troubled frowns.
—
JUST BEFORE SUNRISE the next morning, Billy knocked on Joy’s door. “Miss Joy,” he hissed.
“Yes? What is it?”
“We got more company.”
Joy wiped the sleep from her face and dressed. When she entered the kitchen, two women were huddled together just inside the back door. Billy and Mr. Wheatley stood outside their room, watching with caution. They had wisely not lit any lamps in the kitchen, so it was difficult for Joy to make out their visitors’ faces.
One of the figures, a girl with a deep coffee-and-cream complexion and tangled mass of dark hair shadowing her face, addressed Joy. “Please forgive me for waking you, miss. Would you be the lady who assisted Mei-Xing?”
The girl was scared, Joy could tell, even if she could not see her face, and yet she was well-spoken and held herself with a stately grace.
The other woman was excruciatingly thin, her brown hair lank and lifeless. She clutched her middle, as if she were in pain.
Joy chose her words with care. “I believe that if certain people knew we had assisted the girl who ran away from Miss Cleary’s, it might lead to difficulties for us.”
“Upon my soul, miss, I am no friend of theirs.” She swallowed hard, her fear palpable. “We are in mortal trouble, miss, and must get off this mountain soon or . . .” she shuddered.
“Does this have something to do with the new boss in town? The man called Banner?”
The brown-haired girl whimpered, and Joy peered more closely at her. Something certainly was not right with the girl.
The dark-haired one nodded. “He is evil itself, miss—I-I beg your pardon.” Her eyes teared, and she pleaded with Joy, “Will you help us? I beg of you! He will kill Helen if he discovers us.”
Joy was a little amazed. This young woman possessed the manner and diction of a well-bred gentlewoman.
At the name ‘Helen,’ Mr. Wheatley straightened. “Your name Helen?” he asked the brown-haired girl.
She looked as though she had not heard him but nodded. And Joy remembered that Mr. Wheatley’s sweetheart had been named Helen.
“What is your name?” Joy asked the dark-haired one.
“Tory, Miss Thoresen. Mei-Xing was a dear friend. We just want to come away from this place . . . as she did.”
Joy nodded. “She spoke well of you, Tory. She said you took care of her when they assaulted her.”
“Yes, miss. I did.” She laughed without mirth. “We are obliged to perform that service for another girl at some point. Then they return the favor when it is our turn.”
Her laughter died. “It is different with Helen. It may be hard to see just now, but she was a great beauty only five weeks ago—she speaks French and Italian and even knows philosophy! But she has grown sickly . . . and has been unable to work.
“I overheard Banner tonight tell Roxanne he intends to make an example of her because . . . because he said he ‘needs to set a proper tone’ and she is not long for this world anyway.” She glanced at Helen, saddened at what she saw.
Joy stared in horror at Tory. “He means to kill her?”
“In front of the other girls, you see. As a demonstration. That is why we had to leave right away. Please. You have to help us, miss. We are begging you!”
Joy nodded again. “Wait here.” She went up the stairs and into the little alcove they had fixed for Mei-Xing. The girl was awake and anxious. No doubt, she had heard Billy’s knock and his message.
“All is well, Mei-Xing. However, some friends are waiting for you downstairs.”
They descended the stairs into the kitchen. As soon as Mei-Xing and Tory saw each other they embraced. Tory held out an arm to Helen who joined them as they held each other.
At that moment, O’Dell entered the kitchen from the great room. “What’s the commotion?” He closed his mouth when he saw Tory and Helen.
Joy asked Billy to fetch Domingo and Gustavo from their watchman duties in the lodge’s stable. He stole out the back door. She looked up at the high kitchen window. It was near sunrise, barely dark outdoors. What if Darrow’s “watchers” had seen the girls come to their back door?
“Dear Lord, please hide us,” she whispered.
They waited without speaking until the two night watchmen followed Billy into the kitchen. Domingo and Gustavo were bundled against the cold and spent a few moments pulling off their mufflers, hats, and gloves.
“Did Darrow’s men see these girls come here?” Joy asked them straight out.
Domingo rubbed his arms and hands but smiled. “No, señora. Those hombres left early. They have been cheating on their lookout duties, leaving an hour before dawn most mornings.” He shifted a curious glance toward the girls.
Joy thought hard. “What about the girls’ tracks?”
O’Dell motioned to Billy and Mr. Wheatley. “Dress warm. We have work to do.”
Domingo and Gustavo began to put their coats back on. “We will also help.”
Joy told herself to breathe and began to relax a little. She addressed Mei-Xing and her two friends. “All right. Please sit down. We will wait a little to put some lights on, but Mei-Xing, would you please start some coffee?”
The girl busied herself with the water and coffee grinder. In the three weeks since Christmas, Mei-Xing’s health had improved, and she was now able to get up and down the stairs without too much difficulty. She was also, of her own initiative, taking on more work about the kitchen and in the attic apartment, the only areas of the lodge where she was allowed.
Joy trudged back upstairs to wake Breona. It would be an early day for both of them, but they would let Marit sleep a little longer—since baby Will was in the habit of waking her in the night.
Where would they put these new girls? How would they get them out of Corinth? She did not have the room to add more girls and hide them forever. What if Darrow or this new man Banner discovered them here?
Joy shuddered and then stopped halfway to the attic apartment to chastise herself. This is, after all, precisely why you brought me to Corinth, Lord. For Tory. For Helen. For Mei-Xing. You would not have put these girls in our path if we were not ready and able to help them.
Stiffening her spine and her attitude, Joy finished her climb to the attic and aroused Breona.
—
LATER THAT DAY, JOY and O’Dell found a corner in the parlor to talk. O’Dell had been walking about town as usual with his feelers out for news. The bartenders in his usual haunts always had news and bits of gossip to share.
Flinty, too, had reported back on what he had seen and heard. He had seen a sullen Darrow and three mounted men riding the trails around Corinth that led off the mountain.
O’Dell had heard from a loquacious bartender that “Miss Cleary’s place had a lot o’ excitement goin’ on.” The bartender had overheard that “the new boss, Banner, slapped Miss Cleary’s face” and “she’s gonner hev a shiner, fer sure.”
Joy envisioned Roxanne Cleary with a swollen, bruised face. She was perplexed to find that, rather than exulting in the woman’s pain, she felt sorry for her. She reminded herself to pray for the woman.
Breona and Joy discussed where to put Helen and Tory. “’Tis seemin’ plain t’ me, miss. Ye and me mus’ be movin’ into two o’ the guest rooms. Put t’ two new girls in our’n beds. They’ll be safest up top, I’m thinkin’, an’ will be havin’ a bit o’ breathin’ room there.”
Joy agreed. Breona and Joy, with help from Billy, moved their simple things into the guest rooms closest to the back stairs. Joy asked the girls to remain in the attic apartment for their own safety.
Joy was also worried about Helen because she truly was quite ill. Breona put her to bed in her room and tried to coax a little soup into her. Tory hovered nearby, concern etched on her face.
Joy wandered downstairs and found O’Dell. “Mr. O’Dell, can you help us get those girls off the mountain?”
Joy could not bear the thought of Banner and his men forcing their way into the lodge and finding them. She pondered the cavalier manner with which Banner had said he would dispose of Helen—and she shivered. Darrow was bad enough: Was it possible this man was worse?
O’Dell touched her arm and Joy jumped. She had gone off into her thoughts again.
“Miss Thoresen, if I can find a means, I will get them safely away.” He was looking at her “that way” again.
Joy cast her gaze aside and nodded her thanks.
~~**~~
