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

Rose and Joy stood together before the sizable group of
women gathered in the fellowship hall of a Denver church. The audience was
comprised of obviously upper-class ladies. Elegant hats and spotless gloves
bedecked the women seated in the hall, and Rose rejoiced for it.

Lord, do not think me crass in this observation
, she
prayed.
But these women have the wherewithal to do much good for your
Kingdom. I thank you in advance for their generosity.

Their dear friend Emily Van der Pol finished her
introduction and nodded to Joy. Rose seated herself and waited her turn to
speak.

Joy, her thick hair bound into a heavy braided chignon,
smiled cordially and began, “Thank you for allowing us to speak before you
today. For the last two months my mother and I have been living in what was one
of the most notorious brothels in Colorado.” Her first words shocked their
audience, but she had intended to do so. Even her mother shot her a nervous
glance.

“I say it ‘was’ a notorious brothel. It no longer is. We and
others have been ministering to the women there who, through brute force, were
obliged to work in this brothel. The souls and needs of these young women, if
they are to leave their past behind, are why we are here today.”

“Before we talk about their needs, I would like to recount
how we came to be involved.” Joy, in her straightforward manner, walked the
gathered women through the last year. She began with the challenging letter she
had received from her cousin Uli describing the situation in Corinth and
begging her to come and secretly help enslaved girls to escape.

She told of the ads that scheming, deceitful men—and
women—placed in newspapers in eastern cities. Ads designed to lure unsuspecting
young women to employment opportunities in Denver.

“These women would arrive in Denver expecting to be met by
honest employers. Instead, they were taken against their will to the houses we
speak of in Corinth. There they were drugged and had their innocence forcibly
taken by debauched men. Afterwards, the young women would be beaten, starved,
and,” Joy swallowed, “raped . . . repeatedly until they
submitted to a life of prostitution.”

“I know Denver has its share of bordellos and streetwalkers.
You must know the areas of town where these activities are conducted every
night. However, the house we presently live in and its next door neighbor were
especially evil. They pandered to men who paid high prices to take the
innocence of girls—girls as young as 11 and 12. And they provided unwilling participants
to men who demanded acts of cruelty and perversion I dare not speak of.”

The women in the room sat stunned. Some were openly weeping.

“Although I will not speak of them, my mother and I have
heard these horrible acts described in detail. We have heard them from the
mouths of young women as they cry out their pain on our shoulders and sob
themselves to sleep under our praying hands. We, my mother and I, can scarcely
bear to hear that of which these wounded hearts must unburden themselves.”

Joy held up a year-old newspaper from Boston. “May I read
this advertisement to you?” she asked. Her audience stirred and some nodded.
Joy read aloud,

Help
Wanted: Young woman for light domestic work. Must be able to relocate, Denver,
Colorado. Travel paid; good wage. Children allowed with prior approval. Send
letter of inquiry to . . .

She left off reading and set the paper down. “This
advertisement sounded like an answer to prayer to a young woman in Boston
all alone in the world, a woman who only wanted a good job so that she could
make her own way in the world. I know, because I met her while she was on her
way to Denver.”

Joy recounted her train ride from RiverBend to Denver, and how she met two such girls, Breona and Marit, both traveling to new “jobs” in Denver.

“When we met, I showed them five different advertisements
from five different newspapers. Then they showed me the advertisements they had
answered. The advertisements were nearly identical.

When we arrived in Denver, hard, harsh men were waiting for
these two girls. They were waiting to take them, not to honest jobs in Denver, but to one of the two brothels in Corinth of which I have spoken. It was a narrow
escape.”

Not a sound in the room interrupted Joy. She then described
buying an old house in Corinth and renovating it, naming it ‘Corinth Mountain
Lodge.’

“We hoped that we would somehow be able to get word to the
girls in the brothels and that they would be able to escape to us, one at a
time. From there, we would pass them to others who could spirit them away.

“Breona, Marit, and I, along with two of my previous
employees from Omaha, made that lodge beautiful and inviting. We hoped to
support our efforts by attracting guests from Denver and beyond, guests who
would appreciate the beauty of the mountains around Corinth.”

Joy smiled fondly at Emily Van der Pol. “And that is how we
met our dear friend Emily. She came to spend the first week of this past
December with us and fell in love with the lodge and its views, just as we
had.” Joy paused and took a small sip of water.

“Then one night during her stay, we received our first
escapee.”

Women sat forward on their chairs, spellbound, as Joy
recounted Mei-Xing’s escape from the ‘Corinth Gentlemen’s Club.’ “Mei-Xing had
been horribly abused. She had attempted to run away the night before and had
been caught and punished.

“When she came to us she was beaten, broken, and violated in
ways I cannot name. Instead of giving up, she used her last bit of strength to,
even in her broken condition, attempt escape again.”

“Mrs. Van der Pol overheard the goings-on during the night
as we ministered to Mei-Xing’s broken body and heart. It was the following day
that Emily and I had a frank conversation about the horrible secret Corinth harbored.” Joy nodded to Emily. “And she confessed that God had placed the burden
of helping us on her heart.”

“That is how we have come to you now to speak of the great
needs we have.” Joy, feeling the power of the Holy Spirit in the room, pushed
on. “Denver is a dark stronghold of vice. We are now preparing to move from Corinth
to Denver. We are moving, first of all, because the men behind the evil in Corinth burned our beautiful Corinth Mountain Lodge to the ground.

“And we say,
so be it, Lord
. We will not be deterred.
We are moving to Denver, secondly, because the city offers opportunities for
training and work for the seven women who live with us at this time. But we do
not expect only these seven women.”

She looked around, meeting the eyes of many women in the
room. “Yes, Corinth was a particularly vile stronghold, but that evil has now
been stamped out. Those who perpetuated this evil are in jail, facing trial.
Prostitution will not be able to raise its head in Corinth again. The people of
Corinth, soundly chastised of the Lord, have pledged to never again allow
such wickedness within their town.”

A smattering of applause interrupted Joy, and she smiled.
“Yes, God has done something wondrous in Corinth. We are so grateful to him.”

She became serious again. “Denver, however, is rife with
this evil. Once we are established and stable here, we hope to reach out and
receive other women who wish to leave a life of prostitution.

“We must have a house that allows us to grow in this manner.
A house, here in Denver, in a good neighborhood but not too far from honest
work opportunities. This house must also not be so far from the area of town
where prostitution is practiced that they cannot run to us.

“You know the area I speak of—Market Street and its
surrounds. We must be near enough for those women who would flee to us for
refuge. This house is our first need.

“After we find the house and make our move here, my husband
and I will open a fine furnishings store. We own considerable inventory
already, and we will take on two of the seven women we have as employees. We
will train them and give them jobs. But that leaves five young women who will
require employment.”

Joy stopped, nearly empty of words. “We covet your prayers,
for it is not only honest work these women need. They have been damaged beyond
description. Only the saving, restoring power of God can heal such damage.”

Joy’s voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears. “Will
you not pray with us? More than anything, these young women need Jesus. It will
take time for him to heal them. My mother, Mrs. Rose Thoresen,” Joy nodded to
Rose, “will lead the house in Bible study and prayer, in counseling and
encouragement. Restoration will not be easy, and it will not be fast. Will you
pray with us? Will you help us?”

She was done. Spent. Her head bowed, Joy simply stopped.
Rose stood and walked to her side.

Addressing the women she said, “I believe you have heard all
that we have to say and all you need to make decisions today. If you are led of
the Lord to help us, please address yourselves to Mrs. Van der Pol and our dear
Grace Minton.” Rose nodded to those ladies.

“Joy and I will be available to speak with you during the
refreshment hour. Please feel free to ask us any questions you may have.” With
that, Rose turned the meeting back to Emily.

“Mrs. Thoresen, might I have a word with you?” The question
came from near Rose’s elbow. She turned, looked down, and found a thin, elderly
woman with a wizened face and a shock of white hair. She stooped heavily, bent
nearly double, over a cane.

“How do you do?” Rose extended her hand. The elderly woman
trembled as she leaned her left side more heavily on her cane so that she could
reach Rose’s outstretched grasp. Her skin was soft but dry and fragile, like
raw spun silk.

“Mrs. Chester Palmer. Please call me Martha. P’rhaps we
could set in that corner for a moment?”

Rose felt it important to remain available to all of the
women still gathered in the hall, but she graciously nodded. A few moments
later Mrs. Palmer sank into an armchair with an appreciative sigh. Even seated,
she remained bent over and had to turn her head and look up to meet Rose’s
eyes. Rose wondered how badly it discomforted the woman to be bowed so.

“I won’t take much of your time, Mrs. Thoresen, but I felt
so impressed by the Spirit to speak to you . . . and I didn’t
want to let the moment pass by.”

“Of course,” Rose agreed. She waited attentively.

“The thing of it is,” Mrs. Palmer began slowly, “I b’lieve I
have your house.”

Rose’s eyebrows rose sharply.

“I must warn you,” Mrs. Palmer continued, “the house is in
poor shape. Once it was a beautiful place, but it’s been empty and has not been
maintained for nigh on ten years.”

She turned her head down and fidgeted with a hanky up her
sleeve. “It’s large, though. Very large. Has a sizable spot of prop’ty with
servant quarters and a carriage house in the back.”

She turned her head and looked up at Rose again. “I want to
give it to you.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open.

“That house has quite a story, I assure you,” Mrs. Palmer
continued in her thin voice, “and half of Denver would be happy to regale you
with its history. But today is not the time. It was only important for me to
follow the Spirit’s prompting and tell you I will give you this house. D’ye
have paper and pencil?”

Rose snapped to attention. “Yes—that is, no—but I will find
some immediately.” She spied Joy across the room holding a tea cup and saucer,
conversing with a knot of ladies. “Please excuse me. I will be back straight
away.”

A few moments later Rose returned with paper and pencil and
wrote the address Mrs. Palmer dictated to her. “Take a look, if you will,” the
old woman told her, “and if it seems suitable from the outside, I’ll have my
great-nephew give you a key to get inside.”

Mrs. Palmer struggled to get out of the chair. “Will you
give me your arm, Mrs. Thoresen?”

“Gladly,” Rose answered. She helped the elderly woman to her
feet and held her arm until she was steady.

“That’s fine, then,” Mrs. Palmer assured her. “My servant is
just there by the door. He will help me to my motor car.”

When Grant arrived to escort them back to the hotel, Rose
could hardly contain herself. She read the address aloud to Joy and Grant, but
neither could place its location.

“Surely Emily will know,” Joy suggested. They called to
their friend, who joined them near the door.

“Why, this is Chester and Martha Palmer’s old house,” Emily
realized in wonder.

“Yes; Mrs. Palmer has said she will give it to us! I still
cannot believe it,” Rose replied.

Emily nodded thoughtfully. “I confess I am surprised, but
Martha is a great woman of God. She would do what the Lord directed her to do,
no matter what it cost her.” She looked pensive. “I do not refer to money when
I say ‘cost.’”

She added directions to the address. “The house is west of
the river and south of Colfax, a respectable distance from Larimer and Market.
It is in deplorable condition. Really, if Martha did not have the connections
and influence she has, her neighbors would have prevailed on the city to do
something about it.”

She saw them out. “Sometime I will tell you of this house
and its history. I do not wish to do so now. Instead, please go and see it. The
Lord himself will speak to you about its suitability.”

The corner lot was wide and deep, and the house was set far
back from the street. Pines and junipers, thorny climbing roses and pyracantha
were once shaped and well cared for; now their thick and tangled boughs and
branches clogged the yard.

However, neither the untrimmed trees and shrubs smothering
the grounds nor the vines thick upon the walls could conceal the size of the
house. It was massive, an aging Victorian splendor, rising three stories and
more into the crisp evening air.