Authors: Cathy Gohlke
Tags: #FICTION / Christian / Historical, #FICTION / Historical, #Historical
Joshua’s appreciative chuckle was cut off by Maureen’s playful but reproving “Hush now!” But the moment she pushed his fingers away, she reconsidered and tucked hers back into his strong grasp.
Curtis gave Olivia his coat just before they slipped through the French doors.
Members of the circle smiled knowingly at one another, took up their purposeful and animated conversation, and discreetly turned from both blushing couples.
But from the corner of her eye, Maureen sensed more than saw the nearly imperceptible shift in her sister’s shoulders. She caught the momentary strain in her forced smile, the too-bright shine and flash of hunger in eyes that followed Olivia and Curtis through the glass doors. She saw Katie Rose blink—almost wince—as the latch clicked behind them, then quietly separate herself from the group of women and creep closer to the glass doors.
Maureen squeezed Joshua’s hand, bade him stay, and followed Katie Rose. She stopped just as she realized her sister’s mission, watched her lean against the doorframe, saw her spy as Curtis ushered Olivia through the early spring garden. As she stepped closer, Maureen, too, could see Curtis swipe his handkerchief across a low wrought-iron bench and carefully settle Olivia there. Framed by a budding purple and white wisteria, he knelt, taking Olivia’s hands in his own.
It was a beautiful but private moment, one that Maureen knew neither she nor Katie Rose should share. She reached out to chide her sister to come away when she saw Katie Rose lick her lips and swallow hard. Something in her younger sister’s vulnerability, in her all-consuming fascination with the scene before her, stayed Maureen’s hand. She watched Katie Rose’s reactions to Curtis’s upturned face—a face transformed into light by his love for Olivia. She saw the hunger in Katie Rose as Curtis’s lips moved, surely asking the all-important question, and as Olivia’s hands cupped her lover’s face.
Katie Rose swiped a renegade tear, and Maureen could wait no longer. She stepped closer and wrapped her arm around her sister’s waist, drawing her to her side.
“I’m glad for them—I am,” Katie Rose stammered.
“And so am I.”
“It’s just . . . it’s just that I want that too. I want someone to . . . And it’s what Emma really wanted. But she never had the chance—and what if . . . ?”
Maureen buried her face in her sister’s hair, whispering with a kiss, “We’re safe now, sweet Katie Rose. We’re safe, we’re loved, and we’ve all our lives ahead.”
But Katie Rose shuddered, her shoulders trembled, and the tears Maureen knew her younger sister had held back began to fall, a cleansing rain. Maureen held her close, praying silently for her spirit, willing strength into her fragile frame.
At last Katie Rose heaved a sigh, coughed, and breathed more evenly. Maureen kissed her forehead, then pushed damp tendrils from reddened eyes and wiped the face she loved with her handkerchief.
Katie Rose sniffed and drew a nearly clean breath before braving a wobbly smile, replete with the determined brightness Maureen longed to see. “We do.” She sniffed again, her arms encircling Maureen at last. “We’ve all our lives ahead.”
Caught suddenly in the fragility and wonder of that truth, Maureen felt her heart and smile swell until both breached their bounds—
We do! Thank You, Jesus!
—and embraced her sister in return.
I’d planned to write a historical novel about female immigrants who were hounded in the late 1800s by traffickers lurking near Castle Garden, New York—gateway to the New World—and members of the settlement house movement who came to their aid. I’d planned to include the story of Jacob Riis, his exposé of the extreme poverty found in New York City, and his crusade for change through rousing the social conscience of his time. But while I was busy making plans to tell a story, the Lord shaped a vision to ignite a cause dear to my heart.
I discovered that my agent, Natasha Kern, shared my passion for helping women and children caught in modern-day slavery. I learned that my editor, Stephanie Broene, was fascinated by Ellis Island and the immigrants who’d poured through those doors. And I learned through crusaders and research that today, in this twenty-first century, there are far more people trapped in bondage, more people exploited and enslaved in every way, than at the height of the transatlantic slave trade.
Remembering a challenge my son once made (“Why don’t you write about a current need?”), but without a story, I went to New York and sailed on the earliest morning ferry to Ellis Island. I read everything I could beg or buy, asked innumerable questions, and left on the last ferry of the day. I spent two days at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum and three days trekking through the Lower East Side, taking multiple tours, loading my bag with books and emptying my wallet of their purchase price, in search of a story.
There were fascinating accounts at every turn, but none that bore my name, none that connected with the growing frustration in my spirit over the gross injustices I discovered—those taking place today and those recorded in the pages of history. The problem of human trafficking simply loomed too big. It was not enough to state the problem, to paint a picture of grief—there had to be an answer, at least the beginnings of an answer.
Finally I returned to my hotel room, weary but satisfied with the extent of my research. I trusted that once I’d rested up and read my bounty of materials, one of the many tales I’d heard would emerge in some new and fictionalized form in my brain. But morning after morning came, and the story didn’t. By the time my stay in New York was nearly at its end, I was on my knees to the Lord, begging that He show me what He wanted me to write.
Whatever it is, as long as it is Your story, that’s what I want and all I want.
Because I knew I’d be searching, I’d taken two books with me to the Big Apple: one that is my guide and stay—my Bible—and one that set my feet on the path to consecration of my life to the Lord many years before—Charles Sheldon’s book
In His Steps
. In between the books I write, there’s something profound and revitalizing about returning to the roots of my journey, about seeking again the place of Christ’s strength made perfect in my weakness.
It had been a number of years since I’d read
In His Steps
. It’s odd that I would have packed it in an already-full suitcase. But after days of walking the history-laden streets of New York and researching dozens of story angles to no avail, discouraged, I closed the door to my hotel room and picked up my age-old friend.
I wasn’t through the first chapter when I knew that this book embodied the only question that mattered about human exploitation or modern-day slavery or how we treat immigrants or, in fact, any other issue in life:
What would Jesus do?
It’s the only question that matters because in Him is the only place we find answers.
If we all truly do what Jesus would do, slavery will end. Jesus never exploited men or women. He never used children or child labor for ease or gain. He never bought or sold baby girls to fulfill the “bride needs” of one-child cultures favoring boys. He never bought or sold human organs or fetuses or body parts. He never lied to immigrants, never enslaved them, never threatened their families or their loved ones or their lives if they did not comply with His demands, never coerced or forced, never shamed or punished a single person into submission to His will. But in every way He set a moral compass, employed divine compassion to the brokenhearted and broken-bodied, and held to account any and all who victimized others.
Band of Sisters
is a mild story in the world of human trafficking and modern-day slavery. The realities are far more grim—at the time the story took place and certainly today. But I pray this is a voice—one voice—that evokes a platform for discussion.
If we unite, if we all raise our voices in a demand for change, we will create a clamor that can’t be resisted.
To see what other groups and individuals are doing to raise awareness and to learn how you can help create that change, please visit my website and connect to the links for sites fighting modern-day slavery and sites that are holding out a hand of hope and help. The opportunities are there. Dozens of organizations are in place. But “we, the people,” are desperately needed.
Let me know what you think and what you’re doing to help. I’d love to hear from you at
www.cathygohlke.com
.
Cathy Gohlke is the two-time Christy Award–winning author of the critically acclaimed novels
Promise Me This
,
William Henry Is a Fine Name
, and
I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires
, which also won the American Christian Fiction Writers’ Book of the Year Award and was listed by
Library Journal
as one of the Best Books of 2008.
Cathy has worked as a school librarian, drama director, and director of children’s and education ministries. When not traipsing the hills and dales of historic sites, she, her husband, and their dog, Reilly, make their home on the banks of the Laurel Run in Elkton, Maryland. Visit her website at
www.cathygohlke.com
.