Tabitha (12 page)

Many of the women seated around them wore Christmas finery,
jewels, and furs. Tabitha was more than a little self-conscious. “If I had
known, I would have dressed more appropriately,” she murmured.

“And yet, you are the most beautiful woman in the room,”
Carpenter replied in a quiet voice. “You are not even aware of the heads that
turned as we walked to our table.”

Tabitha blushed and touched her napkin to her mouth to hide
her discomfiture.

Carpenter grinned and motioned to the waiter. As the waiter
approached, Carpenter asked Tabitha, “I believe the chef has but one menu for
this holiday dinner. Are you ready to eat?”

Tabitha nodded. “I am famished. I worked the night shift and
fell asleep directly. I haven’t eaten a thing since dinner yesterday!”

“We are ready to begin,” he told the waiter.

Then he smiled at Tabitha. “I am glad you have a good appetite,
but I was surprised to hear from the dean’s assistant that you appear to work
nights on a fairly regular basis. Is this normal for students?”

She made a wry face. “Well, someone has to work nights.
Usually, the harder shifts are spread out rather evenly. I do not understand
why I seem to be assigned to more than my share of them.”

“Oh?” Carpenter’s eyes fastened on her. He was just noticing
the dark circles under Tabitha’s eyes.

“Well, I do not mind working the night shift, except that it
leaves me little time to study and sleep—but I
am
catching up on my
studies! However, I sometimes tend to doze during lectures—and receive a
scolding for it.”

“I see.” He did not, but wondered if he should investigate a
little on his own.

After all, I have a few days at my discretion
, he
thought.

They enjoyed a fine dinner of sweet tomato bisque, roast
goose and cranberry sauce, glazed baked ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet
potatoes glacé, and steamed asparagus with hollandaise sauce. During each
course, Carpenter related the news from Denver. His descriptions, like his
letter, were so insightful and many times humorous, that Tabitha sighed and
laughed in turn.

“I can hear dear Mr. Wheatley speaking in my head,” she
confessed, “saying just what you said in his own unique way. And Charley! How I
wish I could see Marit and Billy’s baby again while he is still little. And
Will and Shan-Rose. I miss them terribly—but I miss everyone. Most of all, I
long to see Miss Rose.”

“And they miss you, too,” Carpenter replied. A contented
smile played about his lips as he watched Tabitha’s enjoyment of the meal and
his news.

When they finished dinner, they were each served a slice of
pecan pie. “It’s too much!” Tabitha declared, nudging her plate with a
half-eaten slice away from her. “I cannot eat another bite!”

“Nor can I—” Carpenter looked down at his last bite of pie.
“—No; I just cannot leave that last bit of deliciousness.” He forked it into
his mouth and sighed. “Wonderful. Not, though, as good as Marit’s pie, but quite
wonderful.”

“But can anyone make pie better than Marit?” Tabitha
demanded.

“No one. If I did not know that I would never be forgiven, I
would lure Marit and Billy away from Palmer House. I would offer them more
money than they could possibly turn down to come work for me.”

“You are quite right, Mr. Carpenter. We would never forgive
you.” Tabitha’s eyes flashed, but she was smiling.

She glanced around the dining room once more.
What a
wonderful day this has turned out to be,
she admitted.

Her eyes softened. “Thank you, Mr. Carpenter. Thank you for
coming to see me and for this lovely Christmas dinner.”

He pulled his watch from his vest pocket and checked the
time. “Ah. We have but thirty minutes before I must have you home. A cup of
coffee? No? Very good, then. May I help you from your chair?”

“Yes, but—”

A cup of coffee
did
sound good to Tabitha just then,
but she graciously stood as Carpenter pulled out her chair. He seemed in a rush
as he guided her from the dining room into the lobby.

Instead of walking toward the hotel entrance, Carpenter
steered her through the lobby and into the hotel’s great room. Then she saw
Banks, with his hands folded in front of him, standing alongside two chairs
tucked into an alcove. On a low table in front of the two chairs she spied a
pile of Christmas gifts.

“Would you care to be seated, madam?” Carpenter murmured,
indicating one of the chairs.

“But-but, what is all this?” Tabitha gestured toward the
gifts.

“I could not come all this way without bringing gifts from
Palmer House, now could I? Please bear in mind, that the time is now 4:31, and
of our remaining twenty-nine minutes, I require fifteen to convey you to the
school and escort you to your dormitory.”

Tabitha just stared at the stack of presents before her.

“My dear, please open your bounty,” Carpenter urged. “If I
cause you a bad mark on your record, I will never forgive myself.”

Tabitha began opening her gifts—a bottle of hand lotion from
Mei-Xing, new stockings from Joy and Sarah, cookies and fruitcake from Marit
and Billy, two handkerchiefs from Breona, a book from Rose, and a new box of
stationery from Mr. Wheatley and the rest of the girls. There were notes tucked
into every gift and Tabitha sniffed as she read the note from Rose.

My dear Tabitha,

We miss you and pray for you daily. Our God shall uphold
you with his strong right hand, and we are confident that by his power you will
do great things for him.

All my love,

Rose Thoresen

“I am sorry, but you really must wait until later to enjoy their
notes,” Carpenter whispered. He flipped open the cover on his watch and frowned
at the time.

The last gift on the table was a small, square box. Tabitha
held it in her hands, surprised at its weight. Then she read the tag:
As L.
Frank Baum suggests,
“
There is no place like home.
”
Please
receive this remembrance of your home as a small token of my esteem. M.
Carpenter
.

Tabitha gnawed on her lip.
He must know that I cannot
receive anything of a personal nature—anything that would imply more than a
friendship.

Carpenter snapped his watch shut with finality. “Really,
Tabs, you are as slow as molasses, and I shall be forced to demand that Banks
break all speed limits in order to return you in proper time!”

Tabitha snorted and tore into the beautiful gold foil
wrapping paper. She uncovered a white box. She unclasped the box’s lid and,
from within a wealth of soft tissue paper, extracted a snow globe.

As the snow fell away to reveal the miniature house encapsulated
within, Tabitha gasped. “But-but it’s Palmer House!” She shook the globe and
stared, charmed, at the precise replica within—every tower, gable, and turret
exquisitely reproduced.

“Oh, it is
so
lovely!”

“Finally!” Carpenter glared at Banks in mock disdain. “She
finds something other than
your
stodgy face to call lovely!”

Banks smirked and tipped back on his heels—in quite the
un-chauffer-like fashion.

“Very good, very good,” Carpenter added, now all business.
“I am delighted that you like it. And now, we must clear all this away and pack
up your loot. Time is of the essence.”

“But how? Where? Where did you ever find Palmer House in a
snow globe?”

Carpenter was helping Banks pack Tabitha’s gifts into a
large shopping bag. “Find it? No, of course not. I made it.”

He offered his arm. “Ready?”

“You
made
this?” Tabitha stared agape at the work of
art shimmering inside the globe.

“Don’t drop it now. Banks—the door, please.” Carpenter had
but one goal on his mind at present. He steered Tabitha through the hotel doors
onto the walkway. “Yes, I made it.”

“Stop.” Tabitha slid her arm from his. “Stop a moment.”

Sighing, Carpenter halted. “Yes?”

“You made this precious, this perfect replica of Palmer
House? You did? With your own hands?”

“As I said,” he replied. His eyes, suddenly nervous, shifted
away from hers.

“Mr. Carpenter, please look at me.”

He did so. With reluctance.

“Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. It is
the most thoughtful Christmas gift you could have imagined.”

He acknowledged her thanks with a brisk nod and they walked
together to the waiting motorcar. Banks pulled away from the curb and the
motorcar roared down the road toward the school.

With Carpenter urging her to walk as quickly as she could,
Tabitha made it to the front door of her dormitory two minutes before the
stroke of five o’clock. However, just as she reached for the handle of the
imposing door, she heard the distinctive “snick” of the lock. Engaging.

Shocked, Tabitha glanced up to the door’s window and saw the
silhouette of Nurse Rasmussen, her stony face looking first from Tabitha to
Carpenter and back.

“Nurse Rasmussen, please open the door.” Tabitha’s voice
sounded calm enough to her own ears, but the joy of the day was ruined, and she
bit her cheek to curb the dismay rising within her.

“I believe the rules are quite clear, Miss Hale. They are
quite clear as to when the doors will be locked and clearer still
regarding . . .
gentlemen
callers.”

An edge crept into her voice. And something else. Something
triumphant.

“Nurse Rasmussen, is it?” Carpenter nudged Tabitha to the
side and, from a step below the door, he stood face-to-face with the older
woman behind the door’s window. “Nurse Rasmussen, I would like you to look at
my watch.” He pushed the face of his pocket watch against the window. “The time
is, precisely, 4:59 at this moment. It was 4:58 when we arrived and Miss Hale
reached for the handle. The doors, I believe, are not to be locked until five
o’clock? And,” he added dryly, “I assure you that my timepiece
is
precise.”

Nurse Rasmussen ignored him and focused on Tabitha. “You are
aware of the rules pertaining to men, Miss Hale. I will be making a report to
Dean Wellan regarding your behavior first thing in the morning.”

She sniffed and turned to go, but Carpenter’s palm pounded
on the door and he raised his voice. “Nurse Rasmussen! If you would, please be
so kind as to read this note.” He plastered the dean’s pass to the glass of the
window. “Now, since we have settled the matter as to what time Miss Hale
returned to her dormitory, be so good as to read this pass issued by Dean
Wellan himself yesterday afternoon.”

Nurse Rasmussen drew a pair of eyeglasses from her pocket
and placed them on her nose. She perused the note once and a second time. Her
mouth thinned as she read. With a great huff, she removed her glasses and
returned them to her pocket.

A moment later, the lock on the door clicked open. Tabitha
looked at Carpenter, but he was staring fixedly at the nurse on the other side
of the door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Carpenter,” Tabitha whispered. “Thank you
for the wonderful Christmas dinner—and for everything.” She took the shopping
bag with her gifts in it from his hand and, juggling the snow globe, struggled
to open the door.

Carpenter snapped out of his reverie and held the door for
her. “Merry Christmas, Miss Hale,” he replied.

But as Tabitha slipped inside and past the hard-faced
matron, she knew that Carpenter was angry—certainly angrier than she had ever
seen him.

Not that it matters
, Tabitha sighed as she climbed
the stairs to the dormitory.
If Nurse Rasmussen did not have it in for me
before, she surely does now. And Carpenter can do nothing to prevent me from
being the recipient of her ill will
.

~~**~~

Tabitha tore into the letter from home and devoured Rose’s
flowing script.

My dear Tabitha,

We at Palmer House received
your greetings from Mr. Carpenter and were delighted to hear of your lovely Christmas
dinner. He described everything in such vivid detail that each of us felt we
had, through his eyes, shared a small bit of Christmas with you.

Rose wrote further of their Christmas celebration; she paid
particular attention to Will and Shan-Rose’s fascination Christmas Eve when the
family decorated the tall pine tree—including three strings of enormously
expensive tree lights gifted by Mrs. Palmer—and gathered to sing Christmas
hymns. Then she described Christmas morning from the eyes of the two children.

What a blessed time! We did not
spoil the dear ones—although we could easily have done so. No, we kept our
focus upon Jesus and on the manger scene, placing the infant in the manger,
reading the Scriptures, and exchanging modest gifts. You have spent Christmas
at Palmer House, my dear. You know the holiness of that day. I need not say
more.

On another note, dear
Tabitha, just prior to Christmas I submitted three handwritten copies of your
testimony to a Christian stationer for whom Pastor Carmichael vouched. This
stationer, who also restores and binds books, bound the copies of your
testimony with lovely blue covers. I distributed the copies to our newest girls
first and they have already read them with a voracious appetite. One by one,
they have come in private to speak to me of what they read, and each girl has
shared that she sees herself in your story. I see a hope in them now that was
lacking before. I am so grateful that your example has sparked that hope.

Oh, thank you, Lord!
Tabitha rejoiced.
It was
worth it!
Recalling how difficult it had been to tell Rose of her past,
Tabitha was glad she and Rose had pressed through to complete her account. She
savored each line of the letter and sighed in contentment—until she read Rose’s
closing remark.

Marit asks how you and your friends enjoyed her Christmas
goodies. She sent the package ahead of time and packed it overfull with a wide
assortment of cookies, candies, and cake to ensure that you had plenty of
treats to share with all your fellow students and friends.

Tabitha frowned.
But I did not receive any packages
.
Frowning a little more, she added,
And I have no friends here.
She
snorted.
When would I have time for that?

Still confused about the box she should have received,
Tabitha folded the letter away and crossed the campus to the school’s mailroom.
She greeted the plain-looking but cheerful woman who dispensed the mail.

“Good morning, Mrs. Davis. Would you be able to help me? My
friends tell me in their latest letter that they sent a large box of holiday
baking to me some time before Christmas. However, I did not receive their
package. I was hoping you could tell me if it arrived here?”

The woman, who had met Tabitha with a smile, stilled. Her
smile stiffened and then slipped from her mouth. She cast her eyes down and
began sorting mail on the counter in a nervous manner.

Clearing her throat, Mrs. Davis managed to reply, “I-I
assure you, Miss Hale, that I do not have a package here for you.”

Tabitha cocked her head on one side and considered the woman’s
guarded expression and vague response. “Very well, but—if I may be so bold—I
asked if a package for me had
arrived
. Did a package for me arrive? Did
someone else pick it up?”

Mrs. Davis looked down, even more uncomfortable. “M-miss
Hale, I hope you can understand . . . h-how very much I n-need
this job. I have a daughter . . . I am raising alone.”

Tabitha’s mouth started to work but she closed it with a
snap. Her thoughts spun in circles.
So the package did arrive? Someone took
it? But who in the world?

And then it hit her.

“Mrs. Davis, did Nurse Rasmussen pick up that package?”

The woman flinched. “P-please, Miss Hale! She happened to be
here when it arrived and when she saw it, she insisted on taking it to you—even
when I told her it was against the rules. She-she
said
she would deliver
it to you!”

Tabitha’s face heated. “So you gave it to her. You gave her
my
package.”

Mrs. Davis twisted her hands together. “I-I protested, truly
I did, Miss Hale! B-but when I refused to give her your parcel, she insinuated
that she would complain to the college administration, tell them that I was not
performing my job well—she hinted that she could cause me to lose my position!”
Mrs. Davis licked her lips. “Surely you know how she can be?”

Oh, yes. I know how she can be
, Tabitha told herself.

The woman swallowed and sent an imploring plea toward
Tabitha. “Miss Hale, if you raise a question to the school administration about
the package, it won’t matter what happens to Nurse Rasmussen—I will still lose
my job for breaking the rules.”

Tears of defeat leaked from the woman’s eyes and ran down
her cheeks, and Tabitha grasped how terrified Mrs. Davis really was. She
comprehended the tight corner into which Nurse Rasmussen had painted Mrs.
Davis.

And me, too
, was her grim verdict.
That old witch
bullied this poor woman into giving her my package. Nurse Rasmussen knows that
if I were to demand the parcel of her, she would say that, as a courtesy to
me
,
she collected it and left it for me in the dormitory—and has no idea what
became of it.

Tabitha frowned.
I can’t do a thing about this. Nurse
Rasmussen
knows that if I were to report her, no one would dare consider
that
she
had done anything amiss—but Mrs. Davis would surely
suffer the loss of her job.

Tabitha left the mail room fuming. She was positively
stomping across campus when a memory intruded. Tabitha stopped and remembered,
her jaw working.

The afternoon I awoke to the delicious aroma of baked
goodies and the empty box in the trash bin
 . . .

“Why, those were
my
treats!”

Tabitha balled her fists in fury. She itched to hit
someone—and preferably Nurse Rasmussen.

No doubt she told the other students to help
themselves—and I am certain they enjoyed every one of Marit’s candies and
cookies!

Tabitha clutched her middle, trying hard to master her
temper. But the more she envisioned the standoffish young women in her
dormitory devouring her treats, the angrier she grew.

“And without so much as a ‘by your leave’!” she grumbled. It
had been a long time since she had allowed her temper so much loose rein.

Then she sighed.
As frightened as those girls are of
Nurse Rasmussen, not one of them would dare defy her or speak out against her.

Taking a deep breath, she admitted,
Nothing can be done.
I must let this go. Lord, please help me to let it go.

After a long walk to calm herself—while she should have been
studying—Tabitha pondered the mounting evidence pointing toward Nurse
Rasmussen. It all suggested that the nurse was working against Tabitha: The regular
punishment duties—including the never-ending night shift! The avoidance and
silent treatment from the other students. And now this intentional theft.

Not to mention her locking me out of the dormitory
Christmas Day!

Another thought shook her.
I wonder what my marks look
like? No! Surely, Nurse Rasmussen has not given me undeserved poor marks?
Surely she has not influenced other staff members against me?

“I would have heard by now if any complaints had been lodged
against me,” she reminded herself. “That, at least, I do not need to be
concerned about.”

Tabitha rubbed at the aching spot between her eyes. “But
why? Why does she treat me this way? Why should she ‘have it in for me’? What
have I done to her?”

Even though she had no answer to those questions, as Tabitha
headed back to her dormitory, a settled conclusion slipped from her lips.
“Nurse Rasmussen is doing her best to discredit me and have me dismissed.”

But why?

That evening, Tabitha wrote a response to Rose’s letter. She
shared all she could about her progress in school, taking care not to give any
indication of the increasingly difficult pressure under which she labored. At
the end of the note she added a carefully crafted thank you to Marit.

Please tell Marit how I love her and thank her for her
thoughtfulness! When I smelled her goodies, I felt as though I had been
transported home for Christmas. I can assure you, all the girls in my dormitory
enjoyed them immensely.

“Yes,” she groused, angered again. “I am certain sure they
did!”

She shook her head at her outburst. “Lord, I do not wish to
be held captive by someone else’s hateful behavior. Please help me to forgive
Nurse Rasmussen and the girls of my class. O Lord, I give this hurtful
situation to you. Please send your Spirit of Peace to guard my heart and mind.”

As her classes continued, Tabitha still felt as though
something
,
something unseen, were working against her—and yet she could not decide what it
was. She shrugged.

I can only do my best. I trust you, Lord, to guide me
through this ordeal to your perfect will for my life.

The academic year resumed and marched on, and so did the
classes, study sessions, exams, practicums, and work shifts. Tabitha caught up
on her studies and did well on her exams. She would have been proud and content
with her progress—if her energy had allowed her to stop and reflect. But she
was now assigned to the night shift six days a week!

Her only sleep was what she could snatch in the evenings
between dinner and her shift start and the occasional nap between classes,
practicums, and “punishment duties.” She often forewent lunch to steal an hour
of sleep.

I do not know how long I can keep this up
, she
worried, rubbing bleary eyes. But when doubt came upon her, when she feared she
would crumble, she would recite the words from Rose’s Christmas gift, words she
knew by heart:

Our God shall uphold you with his strong right hand, and
we are confident that by his power you will do great things for him.

“You uphold me with your strong right hand, Lord! Without your
strength, I would fail,” she prayed, “but because I know you are upholding me,
I can persevere.”

A slow, beautiful spring rolled onto the hospital and school
campus. Tabitha tried to capture and enjoy a moment of it as she raced down the
paths between dormitory and classroom, cafeteria and hospital. But it was all
she could do to acknowledge the changing of the seasons as she sped across the
campus.

Two months in advance, Tabitha applied for a furlough for
the spring term break.
I have not been home since fall term began,
she
rationalized.
Surely they will approve it!

And it was important for Tabitha to go home: Breona had at
last consented to marry Pastor Carmichael.

Tabitha was hopeful of this request and began to plan her
brief visit to Denver. “I must see my friend as a bride!” she laughed, grinning
in anticipation.

Then the answer arrived. She stared in disbelief at the
short response from the dean’s office: “Your request for a furlough has been
denied.”

Why? Why, Lord?
Tabitha could not understand, but she
knew that questioning the Dean’s decision would be fruitless.

Three more times that spring she felt someone watching her,
but each time she stopped and stared around, her heart pounding, she spied no
one near her except other students or staff and campus workers.

Twice, after dark as Tabitha walked to her night shift at
the hospital, she heard footsteps behind her. She called out, asking who was
there, but no one answered. As she walked on, she no longer heard the soft pad
of steps following, but she could not shake her sense of unease.

Another instance, in the full light of day, she glared with
suspicion at a gardener, a shriveled man of indeterminate age, but he was busy
trimming a shrub. Tabitha shrugged and, with an eye on the tall campus clock
tower, ran for her next class.

~~**~~