Rose of RiverBend Read online

  Table of Contents

  Rose of RiverBend

  A Prairie Heritage

  The Descendants of Jan and Rose Thoresen

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Books by Vikki Kestell

  A Prairie Heritage

  Girls from the Mountain

  Laynie Portland

  Nanostealth

  About the Author

  Rose of RiverBend

  A Prairie Heritage, Book 9

  by Vikki Kestell

  Available in Print and eBook Format

  Fall 1923

  After a thirteen-year absence, Rose Thoresen is returning to her beloved RiverBend. It may well be her final visit.

  Edmund O’Dell, Rose’s son-in-law, has accepted the job as head of the Chicago Pinkerton office. As he prepares to move his family from Denver to Chicago, Rose faces a difficult decision: Will she continue at Palmer House where she has led many fallen women to Christ and mentored them in their faith, or will she give up this ministry and follow her daughter and grandchildren to their new home?

  I am seventy-four years old, Lord, and I believe that the work you entrusted to me when we founded Palmer House should now pass to Sarah and Olive. By your grace, Lord God, they are ready to assume this great and wonderful responsibility. I pray you make them fruitful branches in your kingdom, always abiding in the vine, Christ Jesus.

  As for me? I will go with Joy and her family to Chicago and pour what love, strength, and time I have left into Joy, Edmund, and their children.

  Rose asks only one thing of her son-in-law. “Edmund, when we take the train east, I would like to stop in RiverBend and spend several days there. I have not seen my friends and Jan's family in many years.”

  Not since Jan left us and entered heaven.

  O’Dell readily agrees to Rose’s request, and as they prepare to leave Denver, they must say goodbye to many friends.

  As the train chugs into RiverBend’s little station, Rose knows the time she spends here will be filled with cherished memories, the sweet entwined with the bittersweet.

  Father, thank you for the precious days before me. In them all, please help me to love without measure and bring glory to your name.

  Rose of RiverBend

  ©2021 Vikki Kestell

  All Rights Reserved

  Faith-Filled Fiction™

  http://www.faith-filledfiction.com/

  http://www.vikkikestell.com/

  A Prairie Heritage

  One family . . . steeped in the love and grace of God, indomitable in their faith, tried and tested in the fires of life, passing forward a legacy to change their world. The compelling saga of family, faith, and great courage.

  Book 1: A Rose Blooms Twice

  Book 2: Wild Heart on the Prairie

  Book 3: Joy on This Mountain

  Book 4: The Captive Within

  Book 5: Stolen

  Book 6: Lost Are Found

  Book 7: All God’s Promises

  Book 8: The Heart of Joy—A Short Story

  Book 9: Rose of RiverBend

  The Descendants of

  Jan and Rose Thoresen

  As followed in the series, A Prairie Heritage

  Dedicated

  To those in the Body of Christ

  who have given their all for Jesus.

  All to thee, my Blessed Savior,

  I surrender all.

  Acknowledgements

  My ongoing thanks

  to my wonderful team,

  Cheryl Adkins and Greg McCann.

  We have been together

  since 2013, eight years now.

  Greg and Cheryl

  have dedicated themselves

  to helping me produce the very best

  Christ-centered books I can offer,

  all to the glory of Christ.

  Much love to you both.

  Cover Design

  Vikki Kestell

  Hymns

  Trust and Obey

  John H. Sammis and

  Daniel B. Towner, 1887

  Public Domain

  What a Friend We Have in Jesus

  Joseph Medlicott Scriven, 1855

  Public Domain

  I Surrender All

  Judson W. Van DeVenter and

  Winfield S. Weeden, 1896

  Public Domain

  Scripture Quotations

  Taken from

  The King James Version (KJV)

  Public Domain

  The Holy Bible,

  English Standard Version®.

  ESV® Text Edition: 2016.

  Copyright © 2001 by Crossway,

  a publishing ministry

  of Good News Publishers.

  To My Readers

  This book is a work of fiction,

  what I term Faith-Filled Fiction™.

  While the characters and events are fiction,

  they are situated within the historical record.

  To God be the glory.

  Chapter 1

  Denver, Early October 1923

  Palmer House’s dining room was overfilled that Monday evening—not that dining at Palmer House ever boasted much in the way of surplus elbow room. With seventeen in residence, the evening meal was always a sizable affair. Two long tables, set end-to-end to form a single extended table, was the customary arrangement. However, for this special occasion, Palmer House’s cook, Marit, had requested that her husband, Billy, and Sarah’s husband, Bryan Croft, fetch a third table from storage to accommodate the overflow.

  Overflow? Twenty-six individuals crowded around the usual dining configuration. In addition to the everyday household adults—Rose Thoresen, Billy and Marit, Bryan and Sarah, and ten young women—the dinner also hosted dear friends Pastor Isaac and Breona Carmichael, Minister Yaochuan Min and Mei-Xing Liáng, Mason and Tabitha Carpenter, and frail Mr. Wheatley, who now lived with the Carpenter family where they could offer him the loving care he required.

  Edmund and Joy O’Dell were the last couple at the lengthy but crowded table. Their newborn daughter, Roseanne, slumbered in the crook of Joy’s left arm, oblivious to the world around her. Joy was seated to the right of her mother, an arrangement that allowed Rose to peer down upon the four-week-old infant’s peak of dark hair and occasionally stroke her velvety cheeks.

  The adult diners were joined by Will, the older of Billy and Marit’s two boys, and Shan-Rose, Yaochuan Min and Mei-Xing Liáng’s daughter, who, at the ages of nearly fifteen and thirteen respectively, insisted they were “too mature to dine at the children’s table.”

  Children’s table? Indeed! A dozen children, ranging in age from three through eleven years, occupied the third table. Billy had, some years earlier, reduced the table’s height to accommodate the shorter stature of the “little nippers.” Billy and Bryan had set the table near the dining room’s bay window, several feet from the adult table, where the youngsters’ antics, if not too boisterous, might escape their parents’ attention.

  The young ones assigned to the children’s table grinned in
delight, surreptitiously kicked one another under the table, and wriggled with barely restrained excitement. Even though their families dined at Palmer House on a regular basis, the invitations generally alternated between the other families so that the numbers never exceeded the dining room’s capacity. Only on high holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas were their families all together and the youngsters seated at their own separate table—to their immense delight.

  The present gathering was not a holiday, however, and although the children sensed that the gathering marked a special occasion, it was likely that they did not yet comprehend how momentous an event it was.

  Bryan Croft prayed a blessing over the food, Marit’s helpers served the platters, bowls, and dishes that had been kept hot in the oven, and thirty-eight hungry diners tucked in to the feast set before them.

  Happy chatter accompanied the meal as the several families present caught up with their friends’ busy lives and shared their hearts with one another. Their conversation, often laced with humor and joyous laughter, was designed to include and draw out the young ladies of Palmer House. A few of this number were too newly arrived to feel truly welcome—yet. It generally took time and the development of trust for them to grow into a sense of “belonging” to Palmer House’s family.

  Such an occasion was never complete, however, without one of Mr. Wheatley’s tall (and quite memorable) tales. His whispery recitations left the newer young ladies goggle-eyed and the more familiar girls giggling and chortling behind their napkins. Indeed, it was Mr. Wheatley’s great pleasure to charm Palmer House’s girls and tease them into shy, dimpling smiles. Only minutes in Mr. Wheatley’s company assured the young ladies that they had nothing to fear from this kindly—and somewhat eccentric—old gent, whose sparse tufts of white hair waved like a display of miniature flags atop and around his head.

  The diners within earshot gave patient and loving attention to Mr. Wheatley’s oration. Most understood that their dear old friend, whose age was approaching ninety years, had few such opportunities ahead of him. They honored him with their thoughtful consideration.

  As the empty plates were taken away, Marit excused herself, then reappeared bearing a large three-layered chocolate cake. The diners—particularly the children—clapped their hands with enthusiasm. Marit sliced the cake, and her helpers served portions to all. When everyone had their dessert before them, a profound hush fell. Forks clinked on mismatched china plates. Appreciative sighs followed the first bite. The children smacked their chocolate-smeared lips and grinned. And the adults praised Marit’s creation from first taste to last speck.

  Over coffee and cake and as the dessert plates emptied, the adults spoke of anything but the reason for this evening’s celebration . . . until it could be put off no longer.

  Dinner conversation wound down, and a stillness crept over the adults. The quiet was pronounced enough to catch the attention of the children at the other table. They noticed the shift in the atmosphere and lapsed into watchful silence.

  Pastor Carmichael spoke into the general malaise. “Marit, we thank you, and we thank your helpers, Gracie and Liza, for a marvelous meal. What can compare to sitting down to wonderful food accompanied by the love and good fellowship of close friends?”

  He sighed. “However, I suppose we must now address this evening’s purpose, as loath as we all are to do so.”

  Most eyes were downcast, but a few solemn nods answered him.

  Carmichael swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Speaking of the love and good fellowship of close friends . . . Ed, Joy, and Miss Rose? You must surely know how sorely you will be missed. We . . . we can scarcely bear that you are leaving us and that it may be . . . years before we see all of you again.”

  Heads around the table bobbed in agreement, and all pretense that this evening could compare to any other vanished. Eyes glistened with tears. The men at the table, the effort to master their emotions too great, shifted in their seats and cleared their throats.

  The children stared at their parents as they weighed Pastor Carmichael’s words and tried to understand why emotions were running high among the adults.

  Red-haired Sally Carpenter, a forthright child of ten years, could abide the tension no longer. “Mum? Mum! Where’s Grandma Rose a-goin’?”

  Tabitha softly answered, “We have talked about this, Sally, remember? Grandma Rose is moving to Chicago with Uncle Ed and Aunt Joy. They will leave on the train tomorrow.”

  “Wot? Leave on the train? Tomorrer?” Sally’s objection, already expressed at an unacceptable volume for drawing or dining room, pitched higher and louder. “And Matthew, too? Jacob and Luke? Even baby Roseanne?”

  “Sally, lower your voice, please,” her father interjected.

  “But, Da, Mum said—”

  “Shhh, Sally.”

  Sally may have been shushed, but she was not done. She jumped to her feet and ran to Rose’s side. “Grandma Rose! Is Chicago far away? You ain’t a-goin’ far, are ya? You’ll come home soon?”

  Rose opened her arms to Sally and hugged her tight. Sally’s hold on Rose’s neck was as fierce as it was afraid, and Rose’s throat was so tight that it squeezed her words until she could scarcely get them out. “I will always love you, Sally. Please remember that, all right? Remember: Grandma Rose loves you. I always will, even while I am away.”

  “But . . . but won’t you be here no more?”

  “No, child. I am going with your Uncle Ed and Aunt Joy. We won’t be back for . . . a long time.”

  The unspoken words “if ever” hung in the room like black crepe draping hung from the windows at a funeral.

  Sally pulled back from Rose, stomped her foot, shook her head of red curls, and shouted, “No! No, Grandma Rose! I don’ want you to leave on no stupid, stupid train to stupid Chicago!”

  Mason left his seat, came around, and lifted Sally into his arms. She was a big girl now, but it did not matter.

  “It will be all right, Sally,” he whispered, holding her, comforting her as she shuddered with tears. “It will be all right.”

  But it wasn’t all right, and the children understood that now. Wailing and sobbing, they rushed to Rose’s side. “Don’t go, Grandma Rose! We love you! Please don’t go!”

  Matthew and Jacob, ages six and four, had known that their grandmother would be coming with them on this grand adventure called “moving” and had not worried or fretted on that account. Only now did they realize they would be leaving behind their many honorary aunts and uncles and all their beloved cousins. They scurried to their father and buried their faces in his arms, howling their dismay. Luke, at two years old, only needed to see and hear the room’s universal sorrow before he, too, crawled from his chair to climb up into his papa’s lap and hide his sad little face in another part of O’Dell’s suitcoat.

  The parents around the table were undone. Whatever control they had tried to exert over their emotions melted. They wept with their children, and they were joined by Mr. Wheatley and the girls of Palmer House.

  They were, all of them, saying goodbye to loved ones they might never see again. But those who lived at Palmer House sorrowed the most acutely over Rose’s imminent departure.

  Never again would they hear Rose’s gentle voice reading Scripture during morning devotions.

  Never again would they hear her explain so clearly and with such deep, personal relevance what the passages meant.

  Never again would she lead them in heartfelt prayer.

  Never again would they lean their wet cheeks on her shoulder while she loved them into God’s healing and wholeness.

  Only Sarah remained dry-eyed, for she had already shed the bulk of her tears. Tomorrow she would face the greatest challenge of her life, and she wondered, as she had for weeks, Father, how can I possibly replace Rose? Neither Olive nor I will ever fill her shoes. Oh, we need you, Lord God!

  It was the end of an era.

  Chapter 2

  Morning was far off, and the ho
use was still abed, but Rose had been awake for some time. She had, over the previous days, sorted her belongings, packed her trunk and two suitcases, and gone through the items she would carry in her valise.

  In the pre-dawn hours, unable to sleep, she had done it all again.

  She reached for her worn Bible and clutched it. “Lord, please calm my heart,” she whispered, “for it is galloping about in my chest like a runaway horse.” Opening her Bible to the book of Psalms, her finger traced the words she sought.

  The heavens declare the glory of God;

  and the firmament sheweth his handywork.

  Day unto day uttereth speech,

  and night unto night sheweth knowledge.

  There is no speech nor language,

  where their voice is not heard.

  “The heavens and the earth declare your glory, Lord, and all of creation hears them! I am part of your creation, and I know you hear me, too, even when I fumble my words and my heart cannot find an outlet for its anxious thoughts.” Her finger slid down the page to the last line in the psalm.

  Let the words of my mouth,

  and the meditation of my heart,

  be acceptable in thy sight,

  O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.

  She sighed and the knots in her stomach loosened. Untangled. “You, Lord, are my strength and my redeemer. I will not fear what is ahead. May all my thoughts and words this day be acceptable in your sight. Amen.”

  She picked up a smaller book, one with a padded blue cover. She opened it to a clean page and took up her pen.

  Journal Entry, October 9, 1923

  GOOD MORNING, DEAR Lord. Today I will depart this house where I have lived these many years, and I will leave the young women whom I love so dearly. I must entrust them to you, my God, believing that you will care for them—

  A soft tap sounded on Rose’s door. She set her journal aside and padded to the door. When she opened it, she found Olive on the other side, her face damp with fresh tears.

  Olive had been a sad, bedraggled slip of a girl when she arrived at Palmer House. She was thin from too little to eat and nearly unresponsive from having been beaten down in every part of her being. Pastor Carmichael and a small evangelism team from his church had found the orphaned child on the streets of Denver’s notorious red-light district. She had survived half a year by selling herself daily for a few coins, but it was obvious to those who saw her that she would not last another month “out there.” It was Pastor Carmichael who had brought the gawky and withdrawn girl to Palmer House and given her into Rose’s care.