Tabitha (3 page)

I trembled at the remembrance and babbled within myself,
Cray
had to have gone to Fullman, and I must go there and find him. Surely he will
take me back! He must!

For a second night I did not sleep. I passed the long
minutes and hours in anxious watchfulness. Every noise and every rustle
reminded me that, while the desert appeared empty to the human eye, many
creatures stalked, crept, and slithered across its face.

In the early morning, as the desert floor lightened, I
packed only what I absolutely needed to survive the walk to Fullman. I left the
tent and the few pots and utensils. I strained all of the water that had pooled
in the seep overnight and poured it into the coffee pot and a lone glass
bottle—the only containers left to me since Cray had strapped both casks and
our canteen over Sassy’s back and taken them with him.

Three handfuls of oats remained of our foodstuffs. I cooked
the last of them, ate part of the congealed mess, and scraped what remained
into a kerchief that I knotted and tucked into a pocket. I rolled the rest of
my clothes into a bundle and pinned my only hat securely in place. Over my hat
and around my shoulders I draped my shawl as a tent against the blistering sun.

I fingered the bottom of my skirt. I had stitched four half
dollars into its hem as insurance before I left my folks’ farm. Maybe, somehow,
the coins would help me leave Fullman and get to a place where I could send a
wire to my folks asking for help.

That morning I envisioned the thin little creek meandering
by my parent’s land, and it had never seemed so sweet, so desirable. The
sameness of each day on their farm—tending the animals and garden, doing the
cooking, laundry, and cleaning—had never held such appeal. True, it was a
boring life, but it was
a life
—not the certain death awaiting me upon
this wasteland.

I have shamed my father and mother.
Will they take
me back?
I wondered.
Will they allow me to come home?

Certain that the coins were secure in the hem of my
dress—but not at all certain or secure in my own heart—I set my face toward the
rising sun.

I walked all day, walked until dark was falling on the land.
I had eaten the oats tied up in the kerchief and drained the last of the water
hours ago.

I would have missed the town and wandered on, out into the
desert, if not for the scents that reached out to me. The odors of smoking
fires and smoldering grease drew me a little south. Kept me from losing my way.

My feet ached. My throat and tongue were dry as dust. I was
exhausted. But I had made it; I had arrived in Fullman.

Fewer tents than I remembered stood between me and the rows
of buildings at the center of Fullman.

I waited until the night was fully dark. I trod by ragged
shelters as quietly as I could manage. I avoided campfires where men sat and
talked and drank with each other. I threaded my way through the canvas
outskirts of Fullman until I reached the clapboard buildings.

I stumbled up onto the planked walk in front of the store.
The sign on the door read “Closed.” I glanced around in the dark, unsure of
what to do next. Raucous singing, piano music, and smoky light issued from the
saloon only feet away.

I crept around the side of the store and sank to the dusty
earth.
I’ll just sleep here. No one will see me in the dark,
I told
myself.
I’ll find Cray in the morning.

I was not at all certain I wanted to find Cray, but I was
frightened nearly out of my mind
not
to find him. A woman alone in a
place like this? And I was only fourteen, after all. Scarcely a woman.

I turned sideways and leaned my head against the rough
planks.

And slept.

~~**~~

I felt the appraising stares on me before I came fully
awake. Or perhaps it was the gamey stench of unwashed bodies that woke me. I
jerked and pushed myself up to sitting. My muscles cried out as I did so;
sometime in the night I had slumped over sideways and slept bent over for
hours. Wiping a grimy hand across my face I pried my eyes open.

At least ten men, backlit by glaring midmorning sun, circled
around me. My breath caught. They might have been vultures circling their next
meal, as intent as they were.

“She ain’t dead,” one muttered.

“I sawed ’er first. I claim ’er,” another growled.

He nudged one of the men aside; two others pushed him back.

“We’ll see ’bout that!” one of them snarled.

My shawl had slipped to the ground as I slept. I fumbled for
it and wrapped it about my shoulders; my hands clutched it to my bodice. With
my back to the rough wood behind me, I shimmied to my feet.

I mustered courage I did not know I possessed. “I ain’t
belong t’ any of you-all,” I spat. My voice rasped with need for water—and with
fear. “I-I’m a married woman. You-all jest move aside an’ let me pass.”

Lie though it was, I would stick to the “married woman”
tale—because a single woman alone in this God-forsaken land? An unmarried woman
had no protection at all.

The men were as depraved as I remembered them. They did not
budge. Their eyes swept over my body; a few of them sniggered. Their intent was
clear.

As though responding to an unheard signal, hands scrabbled
for me, grasped and clawed at my clothes, and I had nowhere to run. I was
backed against the building. A shriek filled my mouth and spilled into the open
air. I screamed and kept screaming.

“Step aside, boys. You have no business here.”

The sinews in my neck cracked as I craned my head to see who
had spoken. A few of the men, while grumbling and complaining, started to back
away, but others, their hands still grabbing at me, did not. Through their
numbers I caught sight of a tall, slender woman.

“Help me, lady! Please! Help me!”

“You, Bill Plant! And Wendell Meyer! Take your filthy hands
off this poor girl. Get away now, or I will fetch Big Jim to clear you all
out.”

The woman folded her arms and waited. Muttering dark
threats, the mob started to break. I clasped my shawl tighter about myself as
if it could shield me from further violation. I fixed my eyes on the woman who
tipped her head on its side and considered me.

“You are Tabitha Hale, are you not?” The woman swayed as she
approached me. It seemed a well-practiced movement, that swaying of skirts and
hips, both feminine and alluring. “Cray told me to expect you.”

“Cray? Is-is he here?”

I was so eager that I leaned toward the woman and caught the
powdery scent of her cologne. I examined her face. She was not young but she
was not old, either. Delicate lines etched her beautiful skin like the crazing
of fine old porcelain. Her hair, a dark brown shimmering with strands of
silver, was swept up and pinned upon her head. Delicate curls dangled by her
ears and trailed along her neck.

In every way, she was polished. Well-spoken. Sophisticated.
Genteel. Everything I was not.

“No, I am afraid he left yesterday,” the woman murmured, her
voice soft and sympathetic, “but he asked me to . . . look after
you. We agreed that I would.”

“Oh.” I was stunned. Cray had well and truly left me! But he
had, at least, made some sort of provision for me, had not left me to fend for
myself?

For the moment I forgot how Cray had abandoned me to the
desert—where I might very well have died.

“My name is Opal.” The woman smiled and looked me over. “You
look done in, Tabitha. May I suggest a hot bath, a good meal, and a long sleep
in that order? How does that sound?”

“Thet . . . sounds right good.” I had to
concede that I was almost as filthy as the men who had attacked me.

An’ I prob’ly smell as bad, too
, I admitted.

“Well, shall we take care of you? We cannot leave you out
here another moment. Those jackals cannot be trusted to behave, you know.”

I nodded. I was still dazed, but I was grateful. “Thank ya
fer savin’ me.”

Opal’s smile stretched her mouth and made even more of the
tiny lines appear in her face, but they were pleasant enough lines. Only her
eyes did not truly smile. “I own this store. Let us go up the back way to my
apartment where you shall have privacy.”

Opal led the way up a back staircase to the second floor. It
was still early; the bar next door was dark and silent. The entrance at the top
of the stairs opened to a hallway. Opal turned right and stopped at the door on
the end.

“This is my private apartment. Please rest yourself here
while I make arrangements for your bath and a hot meal. Drink as much of the
water by my bed as you wish. You must be parched, you poor dear.”

I gaped when Opal opened the door. The room was not large,
but it was artfully arranged. The bed was spread with a gay silk coverlet, the
windows with thick drapes. A dressing table and a floral-patterned screen
graced one corner of the room. A pitcher and washbasin painted with roses sat
on a small table near an overstuffed arm chair.

“Sit here, Tabitha,” Opal suggested.

I collapsed into the chair Opal indicated.

She poured a tall glass of water from the pitcher and handed
it to me. “Drink as much as you like, but start with small sips, yes?”

I nodded and sank deeper into the chair. It was all I could
do to not drain the glass of its tepid water. I sipped at the glass, placed it
on the table, and leaned against the chair’s back to pace myself.

“I need to give instructions for your bath. I will return in
a few minutes.” Opal glided from the room, closing the door behind her.

I must have dozed off in the chair. When I awoke, a hip bath
sat on the carpet in front of the bed and two young women were filling the bath
from steaming tea kettles. I sat up and watched them empty the water into the
tub.

“Hello,” I offered when they finished.

One of them, a young woman with glowing auburn hair, smiled.
“Hello. I’m Amber. This here’s Saffron.” Saffron’s skin and eyes were a deep
glossy black. Her eyes glittered and her white, even teeth gleamed against her
ebony skin as she smiled and examined me, but she said nothing.

I nodded. “I’m Tabitha. Thanks fer fetchin’ m’ bath.”

“Sure thing,” Amber replied.

They came with filled kettles several times more before
Amber murmured, “That should be enough.” She slanted brown eyes toward me as
though she wanted to say something, but Saffron touched her arm. Amber
shrugged, and they left.

As soon as the door closed, I stripped off my dirty clothes,
sank under the hot water, and allowed the liquid heat to heal my aching feet
and muscles. I sighed and sank lower.

Later, my hair washed, combed, and drying, clad in a robe
Opal had loaned me while someone washed my clothes, I tore into the meal one of
the girls placed before me. I wolfed down the biscuit first and then attacked
the chicken and mashed potatoes.

I was still gnawing on a drumstick when Opal returned
bearing another tray.

“I am glad you have a good appetite, my dear,” she murmured.
She set the tray down on the bed and poured from a flowered teapot into a
delicate china cup. “Perhaps a cup of tea to finish your dinner? I’ve added
extra sweetening to it to strengthen you.”

“I’m obliged to’ ya,” I replied.

Opal took my plate away and handed me the cup and saucer. I
balanced them on my knee, thinking how pretty their pattern was.

“Thank ya ever s’ much for all this,” I said, staring at the
steaming tea. “Don’ know how I can ever repay ya.”

“Do not concern yourself, my dear. As I said, Cray and I
have an arrangement. He took care of everything.”

I sipped on the tea. It was strong and hot and sweet and
warmed my stomach, even after the bath and the meal. “Did he? But still, he
left town ’thout me?” I frowned, wondering how I would find him or, at the
least, reach a bigger town, one with a telegraph.

“Yes. We can talk about such things tomorrow when you are
recovered from your ordeal. I shall just brush your hair while you drink your
tea.”

Opal moved behind me and fingered my hair. “You have such
beautiful hair, my dear. Such fire!”

“Thank ya. Cray . . . Cray always said he
loved m’ hair.”

I sipped on the strong brew again. I did not recognize the
flavor. It seemed . . . a bit off, but its sweetness was
welcome. I sipped again.

“Yes, I can certainly understand why.” Opal gathered my
thick mane and drew a brush through it. She brushed with a soothing rhythm and
soon my hair dried under her ministrations.

I found myself yawning. “Goodness—I’m s’ sorry. ’Fraid I’m a-gettin’
right sleepy again.”

“You have endured a terrible experience, my dear, so your
fatigue is to be expected, no? Finish your tea and I will get you into bed.”

Opal poured a little scented oil into her hands, rubbed them
together, and then ran her fingers repeatedly through my hair. The scent of the
oil filled the room.

“What’s thet?” I asked as I made myself finish the tea. My
hand felt weak and the teacup rattled as I placed the saucer on the little
table next to my chair.

“Just some perfumed oil. To relax you a bit more.”

“Relax?” My tongue seemed stiff.

“Are you finished, dear? Ready for bed?”

I did not answer. I could not seem to string two words
together.

Opal helped me to the bed but it was all I could do to sit
on its edge. She slid the robe from my shoulders and helped me to lie down.

I lay blinking slowly under the sheet.

What is happening?

She had not been gone more than a minute when the door
opened and closed again. I heard Opal speaking from just inside the room.

“You may have your way with her, Mr. Ward, but remember
this: I expect you to break her in gently. She should be compliant enough and I
will not tolerate any marks on her. Do you understand?”

“Sure, Opal, sure.”

“Very well, then,” Opal opened the door and slipped from the
room.

A shadowy figure neared the bed and leaned over me.

“Who . . .” My mouth would not form the words
I wanted to say.

Three times that night men came into the room. I knew what
they were doing, but I had no voice to object, no strength to fight them.

I could only endure.

Rose’s pen upon her notebook quivered. Her entire body
trembled with an outrage she did not know how to express in a godly manner. At
the same time, she ached with a sorrow that threatened to undo her.

Tabitha stared at something unseen and tears streamed down
her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She was lost in her own thoughts, her own
pain and did not notice Rose’s struggle. Tabitha’s hands clenched and
unclenched until Rose saw how red her fingers were becoming and placed her own
hands upon Tabitha’s to still them.

“That is enough for today, dearest,” Rose murmured.

O Lord, O Lord! Did I not hear you? Was this a horrible
mistake?

Tabitha’s eyes blinked rapidly and she returned to
consciousness of the place and time. She glanced at Rose, weariness upon her
brow. “I have not thought of all that for a while,” she whispered. “I-I have
refused to think on those days for many years.”

Rose swallowed. “I understand why.” She moistened her lips.
“I had no real sense of what I was asking of you, Tabitha. Perhaps I was wrong
to ask such a thing. Perhaps—”

“No!” Tabitha’s temper, often lurking just under the
surface, flared, and her one-word response was sharply spoken.

She regretted her outburst immediately. “Oh! Oh, I-I am so
sorry.”

Rose moved to sit next to Tabitha. She wrapped her arms
about the younger woman and Tabitha leaned into Rose’s comforting embrace.

“Tabitha, you said ‘no’ to my suggestion that we stop. Can
you tell me why?”

Tabitha shuddered but nodded. “It is hard, dredging up the
sordid details after all these years. But I am beginning to see how it could
help. I want . . . I want to try.”

“Are you certain?”

Tabitha sat up and inhaled deeply. “Now that I have begun, I
do not want to stop until I recount the very moment Jesus came to rescue me. I
must tell it all so that my story ends in hope.”

“As you wish, dear girl,” Rose responded. She took up her
pen and, shaking her head, silently reread the last lines.
“This . . . woman. This
Opal
.”

“Yes. Opal.” Tabitha spoke the name with soft dismay. “You
know me, Miss Rose. As you might imagine, even at fourteen I was a handful.”

Tabitha twisted a napkin in her hands. “Opal may have bent
me, but she did not break me. Not entirely. And not right away. However, it was
not for lack of effort on her part.”

~~**~~