Tabitha (9 page)

She smiled now. “A few days later, Marshal Pounder took me
up the mountain to Corinth to meet you.”

“I remember.” Rose smiled back. “We have covered a lot of
ground since then, haven’t we, Tabitha? And God has done so much in that time.”

“So much,” Tabitha agreed.

“You were the touchiest of all our girls when we left
Corinth for Denver and opened Palmer House,” Rose reminisced. “Your heart was
scarred and hardened. We never knew from one moment to the next how you would
respond—if you would explode, or if you would bolt and leave us. But you did
not
leave, and I am so glad.”

“I could not leave,” Tabitha whispered. “I wanted to leave,
oh! so many times! But I could not. I had to stay true to the voice that told
me,
Wait! I am coming for you
.”

She sobbed once. “And then, finally,
I met him
—and
when I did, I knew it had been
Jesus
who had spoken the word ‘
Wait
’
out in the country when the preacher man pointed at me. It had been
Jesus
who told me, ‘
Wait! I am coming for you!
’ And it had been
Jesus
who said, ‘
Now! Go with them!
’”

“Can you talk about meeting Jesus, Tabitha?”

Tabitha glanced up at Rose. “It was that morning, not long
after we had moved into Palmer House. I know you remember. Things were not
going well—no, it was worse than that. I think your vision for Palmer House was
crumbling and near to falling apart. And I was the source of a lot of your
problems.”

Tabitha sighed. “Well, I was up to my old tricks, was I not?
Every chance I got, I sowed strife and discord. I ridiculed and vexed the other
girls, I rebelled against the house rules, and I found ugly ways to vent my
anger. Yes, I was still so angry, still full of hate! You might have saved me
from Cal Judd and a life of prostitution, but nothing had changed on the
inside. I was still the same wounded and lost woman.

“But that morning at breakfast, you did two things, Miss
Rose. First, you gave each of us girls an ultimatum: Make a decision to stay or
to go. If we were to stay, we had to live up to the house rules. If we decided
not to obey the rules, you said, then we were choosing to leave.

“Your ultimatum shook us, Miss Rose. As much as it would
have grieved you to have any of us leave Palmer House, we knew that you were
serious.”

“And what was the other thing that morning, Tabitha?”

“Well, you asked us not to make our decision until after
Bible study. And then you preached the most beautiful lesson. You told us about
the captive within each of us. I can still remember your exact words:
We
are, all of us, held captive by the thoughts and judgments we—and others—hold
against us. But no one can keep you a captive if you choose instead to be free
in Jesus.

“Then you told us that Jesus was calling to us!
Come to
me! Come to me all you who are weary . . . weary, worn, and
heavy-burdened. Come to me, and I will give you rest for your souls
. And
you asked us if we were ready to give our heavy burdens to Jesus.

“It was as though I were the only one in the room. Every
part of my being was just as you had described: weary, worn, and
heavy-burdened. Oh, I longed to be free! At that very moment, I surrendered
myself to Jesus—and the weight of sin and bondage lifted!

“I am so humbled, so grateful! When, in my brokenness, I
called out—even when I was filled with such darkness—Jesus heard me and
answered. And he has forgiven me! Oh, he has forgiven me for so many things! He
took those heavy burdens away and filled me with peace—the only peace I had
ever known.”

Rose clasped Tabitha’s hands. “And I am so glad, Tabitha. So
very, very glad.”

The two women were quiet for the space of several minutes
before Rose commented in a quiet voice, “Tabitha, you spoke of hate earlier,
the hate you had for the man who left you alone in the desert and who, er, sold
you to Opal.”

“Cray. Cray Bishoff,” Tabitha whispered.

“What became of the hate you had for him, Tabitha?”

Tabitha considered the question. “I am not sure.”

Rose hesitated. “Have you . . . have you
consciously . . . deliberately forgiven him?”

Tabitha frowned. “I do not know, Miss Rose. I try not to
think about him or any part of my past.”

“May I suggest, dear Tabitha, that you consider forgiving
him? I suggest this not because he deserves your forgiveness or has asked for
it, but because forgiving those who have wounded us sets us free. And I would
have you perfectly, completely free, my daughter.”

The red-haired woman nodded and bowed her head. “Lord, I
forgive Cray Bishoff. I forgive him for leaving me alone
and . . . for selling me to Opal.”

She shuddered then, and her shoulders shook. “I forgive him,
Lord, as you have forgiven me in Christ. I let go of the hate I have held
toward him. Father, please set me free in every part of my life so that I can
glorify you with every part of my being.”

“Amen,” Rose murmured.

~~**~~

In the time remaining before Tabitha left for school, Rose
and Tabitha met together one or two days a week to go over the growing
manuscript. Sometimes their sessions lasted only an hour, after which Rose
would, carefully and prayerfully, write out what Tabitha had shared.

Other days they would meet for a longer session, talking
over what Tabitha had recounted until Rose had a better grasp of the
details—and a better sense of how the Lord would have her write what Tabitha
had revealed.

It was important to them both that Tabitha’s testimony
reflect the grace that God extended to her, that it demonstrate the healing
power of the Gospel.

Two weeks before Tabitha’s scheduled departure for her next
term in Boulder, Rose closeted herself in her bedroom to work exclusively on
Tabitha’s account. She delegated her other responsibilities to Breona or
Tabitha.

Just before Tabitha was to leave, Rose offered Tabitha a
portfolio. “I have completed the draft of your testimony, Tabitha. I am certain
that it is not quite perfect yet, but it is close. Will you read it before you
leave and give me permission to write out three copies and have them bound?”

Tabitha stared at the notebook but did not lift her hand to
take it. “I do not think I need to read it, Miss Rose. I trust you. We have
discussed all the details, and I pray the final product will be all we wish it
to be.”

Rose tapped the portfolio with an absentminded finger.
“Would you allow me to show it to Joy? And perhaps Sarah? I am considering
asking Sarah to be the next to write her testimony.”

“Of course but . . . perhaps after I leave?”

“As you wish, my dear,” Rose replied. She hesitated, and
Tabitha sensed her indecision.

“What is it?” Tabitha asked.

Rose smiled. “I was just wondering about something, but
perhaps we’ll speak of it later. You have already overstretched your emotions
these many weeks by revisiting the events of your past.”

Tabitha blinked. “I know God has forgiven me and he will
sustain me. I would rather know what it is you are wondering.”

Rose took Tabitha’s hand and cradled it in both of hers. “As
a mother, I could not help but wonder about your parents, if perhaps they would
not want to know that you are alive and doing well.” She gazed into Tabitha’s
face, seeking her response.

Tabitha looked down to hide her sorrow and regret from Rose.
“I would not want my folks to know all this.” She gestured toward the notebook
and its precious but painful contents.

“You know that Mei-Xing felt the same way about her parents?
Yes, the truth hurt them for a time, but . . . but in the end,
what Jesus did for Mei-Xing made her past of no consequence to her mother and
father. Mei-Xing’s relationship with her parents was restored, and God received
the glory.”

When Tabitha did not answer, Rose asked, “Do your mother and
father know Jesus the way you have come to know him?”

Tabitha’s head jerked as though she had suddenly realized
something significant. “I had not thought of that,” she confessed. “I know my
mother tried to show me right from wrong, but we never went to church or read
the Bible. I cannot say that she was a Christian. I cannot say that she had a
real, a
living
relationship with Jesus. I-I am certain my father did
not.”

She turned her face to Rose’s. “It has been sixteen years
since I left home. I do not even know if they are still alive.”

“Would not you rather know if they are alive than continue
on without knowing?” Rose studied the young woman, concern written on her brow.
“If my daughter were missing, I would long for her every day of my life. I cannot
but think that your mother still longs to know that you are alive and safe.”

Rose paused and thought for a moment. “You were only
fourteen when you left home. Your parents cannot be too old yet? Surely they
are younger than I am?”

Tabitha nodded in agreement, so Rose added, “Perhaps, more
importantly, if they are still living, you may have the opportunity to lead
them to Christ and an eternity in heaven. However, the longer you wait to be
reconciled to them, the greater the odds will be that they have passed on.”

Tabitha’s lips parted as she frowned and thought on what
Rose said. “Do you . . . do you really think I should write to
them?”

Rose nodded. “Yes, I do. However, you should pray before you
start your letter. Let the Holy Spirit lead you as you write.”

“I will,” a sober Tabitha agreed.

By then, everyone in Palmer House knew that Rose and Tabitha
had been working on Tabitha’s testimony, although no one had heard the details.
Now that the account was close to completion and Tabitha’s departure for school
drew near, Breona and Marit had taken it upon themselves to declare a dinner
celebration.

At Palmer House, Breona commanded the housekeeping and Marit
the kitchen. Even on a good day, the house’s newer girls lived in fear and awe
of Breona and Marit and their strict—although generally cheerful—standards.

Marit (who owned to a matchmaker’s heart and wanted
everything to be “just right” for the celebration) had schemed to include
several guests—certain
gentlemen
guests—in the festivities. However,
with Marit’s baby presumed to be two weeks overdue, the Palmer House cook’s
usually sunny disposition was nowhere to be found.

So while Breona and two of the girls of Palmer House undertook
the actual work, a very pregnant and notably grumpy Marit directed the cooking
and table arrangements from the confines of a kitchen chair.

Even Marit’s husband Billy, home early from work in Joy’s
fine furnishings store, jumped to obey his wife’s rapid-fire instructions and
commands. At the same time, he kept little Will, their rambunctious three year
old, out from underfoot.

“You, Olive!” Marit snapped, “Vatch how you cut those
vegetables, ja? All the same size, if you please—as I’ve told you many times
now!” and “Vaht are you doing vit that dough, Gracie? Not like that! Must I
show you again—”

“Nay, Marit, I’ll be showin’ her,” Breona cut in. “Ye air
not t’ be on yer feet.” She wagged a wooden spoon and waved Marit back to the
chair.

Marit sank onto the hard kitchen chair with a sigh and a
grumble. She eased her swollen feet and ankles upon a stool and sighed again.
“Ven vill this little one come? Oh, this baby needs to come
soon
.”

“Aye, an’ we air
all
a-prayin’ in earnest for
that
,”
Breona muttered under her breath.

“Amen,” breathed Gracie and Olive at the same time.

“I heard that!” Marit shot back.

Breona, her back to Marit, grinned, and Olive and Gracie
bent over their work to hide their smiles.

Alone in the room she shared with another girl, Tabitha
prepared paper and pen and then bowed her head. Her heart was troubled at the
prospect of writing to her folks, but she knew it needed to be done.

O Lord
, she prayed,
I will not deny that I am
terrified of writing to my mother and father. What if they are already dead?
Then I will know that my leaving drove them into an early grave! But Miss Rose
is right—I cannot go on without knowing one way or the other, for perhaps they
are still longing to know what has become of me.

If they
are
still alive after all these years,
then I must ease their hearts, even if our renewed relationship requires that I
tell them of my past. Please help me to know what to say. Please help me to
share Jesus with them.
She paused and then added,
And please do not
allow me to hurt them again, Lord.

She remained, head bowed, until her spirit calmed and she
felt the peace of the Holy Spirit urge her forward. She picked up the pen and
scratched,

Dear Mother
and Father,

I wanted to write and let you
know how I am. I live, at present, in Denver, Colorado, with friends. However,
I will be returning to nursing school in Boulder a week from today. I hope to
complete my nursing studies a year from this spring.

More than anything, I wish to
tell you how sincerely sorry I am for running away from home. My behavior has
had many injurious consequences. I take responsibility for them all. I ask for
your forgiveness, and I hope you will pardon me for the pain I have caused you.

Please write to me at the
address below. I long to know you are both well.

Your daughter,

Tabitha
Hale

Tabitha blew on the ink to dry her
words and set about addressing an envelope with shaking hands. When the letter
was sealed, she fixed a postage stamp to it and walked it downstairs to the
outgoing mail. Then she returned to her room to dress for dinner.

Twenty-one Palmer House residents and three guests gathered
that evening around the lengthy dinner table. The dining table was actually two
well-used tables placed end-to-end to accommodate Palmer House’s large family.

Although the table linens were patched and the place
settings a mishmash of three patterns—and although the many chairs around the
table were also mismatched, some
barely
serviceable—the twenty-four souls gathered to break bread together were happy
and their conversation lively.

At a nod from Rose, Olive and Gracie (with help from Jenny
and Flora, two of the older Palmer House girls) began to serve the dinner.

Marit raised her chin, about to issue some instruction to
the girls, but Billy touched her arm.

“Let them be, dearest,” he urged. “You must care for
yourself and our baby right now. So rest. Enjoy your dinner and our guests. And
let the girls alone. Breona will help if help is needed.” Marit sat on Billy’s
left, and Billy had purposely placed little Will to his right, so that Marit
would have nothing to do during the meal except relax.

As the young women served the meal, Mr. Wheatley, the
house’s grizzled caretaker—his hair standing straight up in white tufts over
his head—told tall tales and teased the girls on either side of him. The girls,
in turn, plied him with extra portions and hung on his every word.

Joy shared her day at her shop with her mother. Sarah and
Corrine chimed in to add to Joy’s narrative. Nancy, Alice, Flora, and Jane chattered
about their workday—Nancy provided child care for a widower teacher and Alice,
Flora, and Jane worked as seamstresses in Tory Washington’s
Victoria’s House
of Fashion
.

Mei-Xing, home from her companion position with Mrs. Palmer,
tended to her daughter, Shan-Rose, who was seated between Mei-Xing and her
fiancé, Minister Yaochuan Min Liáng.

Breona found herself seated next to Isaac Carmichael,
co-pastor with Minister Liáng of Denver’s Calvary Temple. Breona alternately
blushed and glared at Marit for arranging the seating so. Pastor Carmichael, on
his part, was delighted with the seating arrangements and grinned his thanks in
Marit’s direction.

That left Tabitha seated between Pastor Carmichael and the
final guest, Mason Carpenter. Tabitha, too, glared at Marit.

“Aw, please stop shooting those killing looks at Mrs. Evans,
Tabs,” Mason urged her. Tabitha knew that he was teasing her, and she bit her
lip, so as not to smile. The truth was, Mason Carpenter—as one of the house’s
greatest supporters—dined frequently at Palmer House. Not to mention that he
called regularly to speak to Tabitha.

“Tell me about your day?” 

“Oh!” Tabitha’s exclamation slipped out before she had a
chance to squash it.

“Something eventful, then?” he queried.

Tabitha, thinking on the letter she had just written,
blushed.

Mason frowned. “I apologize, Miss Tabitha. I should not have
pried. If you would rather, perhaps we could speak of your return to school?
Have you made your plans?”

“Yes. I leave on the noon train next Thursday.” Tabitha was
relieved and mentally gave Carpenter points for his kind tact. She studied him
out of the corner of her eye.

She assumed him to be in his late thirties, making him a
little “old” to still be a bachelor—and an eligible one at that. Tabitha did
not know how much money Mason Carpenter had to his name, but he lived the life
of a gentleman at ease and was generous to many charities.

Tabitha noted that his thick hair was a little long. A brown
lock curled down on his forehead. Every once in a while he swept it away with
his left hand, the gesture totally unconscious. Then she realized he was
speaking.

“I beg your pardon?”

He smiled. “It would be interesting to know where your
thoughts wandered just now.” He cleared his throat. “But I was merely inquiring
as to whether you had arranged conveyance to the station for your journey.”

“I, um, no, not as yet. I assumed that Billy—”

“Billy said he would be grateful if I could arrange your
conveyance,” Carpenter inserted smoothly. “He will be taking care of young Will
while Mrs. Evans recovers from childbirth.” He shot a glance across the table
and quirked his brows. “God willing, she does not have to wait much longer.”

“
Mr.
Carpenter!” Tabitha chastised him for alluding
to Marit’s condition, but she had cough to disguise and stifle a giggle.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Hale.” Carpenter’s face assumed
penitent lines—all but his twinkling eyes. “So, may I offer my services to you
next Thursday?”

“Why, I-I mean, um—”

“Excellent. I would be pleased to call on you at 10:30. I am
certain that Banks will be able to load your trunks in a matter of minutes. I
should have you to the station no later than 11 a.m. Plenty of time, I should
think, to buy your ticket, enjoy a light lunch, and see you to your seat when
the train boards.”

Tabitha skewered him with an arch look. “I have not accepted
your offer, Mr. Carpenter.”