Tabitha (7 page)

The man was speaking and gesturing. We could not hear him
yet—but the crowd was attentive. More people were coming. They drew near and
then pressed in closer as he spoke.

I so wanted to stop to listen to what the man was saying. I
even asked Jock if we could pull aside for a few minutes to hear the man. Jock,
however, cursed under his breath and kept the horses moving.

The dusty trace our wagon followed ran directly behind the
man in the black suit. No one in the crowd paid us any mind as we trundled by,
but I began to hear the man’s words.

“The Bible say God
so loved
that he give his one an’
only Son. God so loved! YAY-ess! I say it again, God
so
loved
!”

He broke for a second to wipe his face with a handkerchief.
“Well, sir,
what
did God love? The Bible say he loved the world.
The
world
, folks! YAY-ess! The whole, wide world!
The world
—it mean’
peoples.
The world
—it mean’
all
peoples. All peoples mean’
ever’
kind o’ people!” he thundered.

The crowd was riveted—and I was, too. The preacher’s voice
was deep and melodic, rhythmic and enthralling. After each sentence he paused,
just a bit. Each pause made me want to beg him,
Please do not stop!
And
he did not.

He shouted,

“God give his Son fo’ the rich, and God give his Son fo’ the
poor.

“God give his Son fo’ the high, and God give his Son fo’ the
low.

“God give his Son fo’ the black man, and God give his Son
fo’ the white.

“God give his Son fo’
all
men—we’s all equal in his
sight!

“Yea, an’ I say!

“God give his Son fo’ the drunks. God give his Son fo’ the
thieves.

“God give his Son fo’ you, and God give his Son fo’ me.”

Jock swore and urged the horses to go faster. We were almost
beyond the scene now.

Every part of my being, though, was captivated by that giant
of a man preaching to the crush of eager people. As our wagon passed him by, my
head and hips swiveled to keep him in view. I twisted as far as the chain
around my ankle would allow me to. I could not take my eyes off him as his
voice boomed over the heads of the throng facing him.

And then the preacher slowly turned. That black man in the
black suit rotated away from the crowd and toward us. And as he was still
turning he pointed. He kept turning until he was facing away from the crowd and
his finger was pointing at
me
. And that man shouted,

“God give his Son fo’ the prostitute, God give his Son fo’
the whore!

“God give his Son fo’ the vilest of women—don’ you run from
God no more!” And he pointed at me.
At me
.

The sudden change and intensity in Tabitha’s tale stunned Rose.
Her mouth hung agape, her pen stilled.

“Miss Rose, his finger did not merely wag in my direction.
No, he lifted his finger toward heaven and when he brought it down, it was
extended directly at me.”

Tabitha pointed at Rose and repeated, “God give his Son fo’
the
vilest
of women—don’ you run from God no more!

“I did not know what he meant, Miss Rose. I heard the words
and they resounded within me. No, resounded is not the right word. When he
pointed his finger straight toward me, his words landed like a thunderclap upon
my soul! I knew what he said was important, that he had spoken something
momentous, but I could make neither head nor tails of his words:
God give
his Son fo’ the vilest woman—don’ you run from God no more
.”

Tabitha shook herself. “Even after we were out of earshot,
Jock was still turning the air blue with curses. While he railed against the
roadside preacher, I shut him out, closed myself up inside, and repeated the
preacher’s words,

“God gave his Son for the rich, and God gave his Son for the
poor. God gave his Son for the high, and God gave his Son for the low. God gave
his Son for the drunks. God gave his Son for the thieves. God gave his Son for
you. God gave his Son for me.

“I pondered those words within myself until I had them
memorized, but I kept wondering,
If what the preacher says is true, if God
gave his Son for me, what does that mean?
You see, Miss Rose, I had no
religious training. I had never been to church. I did not know the Bible. I
could not fathom what the preacher man had shouted. I could not understand it.

“But a tiny flicker of, I suppose it was curiosity, ignited
in my heart. And I asked,
Who are you, God? Who are you, the God of whom the
preacher spoke? Are you real? Where can you be found?

“I did not expect an answer, really, so it was with some
surprise that I thought I heard—or rather I felt—a single word land in my
belly. It landed in what felt like the deepest part of me.”

Tabitha lapsed into a quiet contemplation and gave no indication
that she intended to finish her narrative.

When Rose could bear the silence no more, she touched
Tabitha’s hand. “Tabitha? Which word?”

Tabitha started and looked slightly confused. “I beg your
pardon, Miss Rose?”

Rose leaned farther across the little table and the
stone-cold tea things. “You said that you felt a single word land in your
belly. Which word, Tabitha?”

“Oh! Yes.” Tabitha swept
a wisp of hair behind her ear and her eyes lit.
“The word I heard down
deep inside of me was
wait
.”

~~**~~

When Mei-Xing brought Shan-Rose home that evening, the
toddler was whimpering and running a slight fever. Tabitha immediately became
engrossed in helping Mei-Xing care for the little girl.

“Perhaps we should put off our sessions. I would like to give
my time to Shan-Rose while she is ill,” Tabitha suggested. Breona, Mei-Xing’s
closest friend, demanded that she be allowed to help, too.

“Yes, I concur,” Rose answered. “We are making splendid
progress on your testimony. I have many notes to review and write up, but my
other responsibilities must be feeling a bit neglected. This interlude will
allow me to catch up with my household duties and, perhaps, begin to write out
some of my notes.”

In the face of Tabitha and Breona’s unified assurances,
Mei-Xing returned to her work as Mrs. Palmer’s assistant the following morning.

And as it happened, Rose and Tabitha did not resume
Tabitha’s recitation of her story for nearly two weeks.

That afternoon their Pinkerton friend, O’Dell, returned from
his travels to report on his search for Joy and Grant’s infant son, Edmund. He
spent an hour closeted in the parlor with Joy and Rose, sharing what little
news he had.

Balancing his ever-present bowler hat on his knee, he faced
the two women, bereft mother and grandmother. To Rose’s eyes, O’Dell appeared
weary and discouraged. Joy was composed as O’Dell gave his report.

“I am sorry that I do not have much new information to
convey to you, Joy,” he began. Our assumptions—such as they were—led us to
believe that Dean Morgan left Denver by motorcar, taking Edmund with him. We
also believed that Morgan had a companion, the wet nurse Fang Hua Chen hired to
care for her grandson.

“Since our initial findings, two of Fang-Hua’s
co-conspirators have provided us with the identity of the wet nurse; however,
we were unable to uncover any family connections other than her deceased
husband and infant in the Seattle area.”

“She had lost a baby?” Joy blinked as she tried to envision
the woman who, most likely, was caring for Edmund.

O’Dell nodded. “A few weeks prior to Edmund’s abduction.”

“Then
 . . .
she would be more likely to be
 . . .
kind to my baby boy?”

O’Dell and Rose both understood where Joy’s questions were
heading. Rose looked at O’Dell and nodded.

O’Dell, speaking carefully, answered Joy’s question. “Joy,
my understanding is that the woman was suffering from her losses and took the
job Fang Hua offered her so she could care for another baby. Yes, I believe she
is being kind to Edmund. I cannot believe otherwise.”

He ran a finger around the inside of his collar as if it
felt too tight. “We received a report of one sighting that seems to confirm
those assumptions. Morgan required gasoline for his motorcar. Since facilities
where he might purchase gasoline are not numerous, Pinkerton focused its
attention on a two-hundred-mile radius around Denver—in all possible
directions—and all facilities within that radius where Morgan could have
refueled.

“The difficulty in that approach is that the sale of
gasoline is a new kind of business not confined to specific locations. Gasoline
is sold at coal yards, factories, or out of an enterprising businessman’s back
door. Where to buy gasoline is frequently communicated by word of mouth—which
works for us, by the way.

“Once Morgan was out of his familiar surroundings, he would
have to look for signs advertising the sale of gasoline or ask locals where he
might purchase it. An attendant at a general store in Pueblo, Colorado, recalls
a man with a woman and infant asking for directions to purchase gasoline for
their motorcar.”

O’Dell turned his hat around on his knee. “The southeast
direction of Pueblo from Denver gave us a general direction to go on. We
refocused our radius.”

Joy leaned forward, eager to hear more.

There was no more.

O’Dell looked down. “We have been unable to find any further
witnesses who remember Morgan buying or asking about gasoline. I am sorry,
Joy.”

“But what does that mean?” Joy clutched her mother’s hand
and tried to remain calm.

Unable to remain seated, O’Dell stood to pace—but the parlor
gave him no space to do so. He rounded his chair and held on to its back. “It
does not mean that we give up, Joy.”

“Give up? Who said anything about giving up?” Joy was
strangling Rose’s hand in her effort to stay composed.

O’Dell stared at the floor. “You asked what it means that we
have found no further witnesses to Morgan’s route.”

His voice softened, “It means we have no leads to follow at
present. From Pueblo, Morgan could have gone in any direction. It is unlikely
that he turned north, of course, but he could have gone in any other
direction.”

The small room lapsed into silence for a time.

Finally Joy murmured. “I see.”

“I would like us to pray,” Rose’s suggestion was too
strongly worded to be ignored.

O’Dell again took his seat and the three of them bowed their
heads together.

“Lord, we can do nothing apart from you,” Rose prayed. “This
task, this mission to find Edmund, is beyond our abilities—but O Lord, nothing
is too difficult for
you
. We confess that we trust you, Lord, and we
commit Edmund into your care.”

After three days, everyone in the house knew that Shan-Rose
had recovered from her illness when her energy returned and she refused to stay
still. The next day the child, as was her custom, accompanied Mei-Xing to Mrs.
Palmer’s house, where the housekeeper generally watched her.

However, that same morning, Joy came down with a severe
cold. Tabitha confined her to her bed in the cottage out back of Palmer House.

“You likely caught this cold from Shan-Rose, Joy, but you
must understand that you are more susceptible to illness at this time, while
you are still grieving,” Tabitha admonished her friend. “Sarah, Corrine, and
Billy have the shop in hand, so do not worry. Only rest.”

“It is hard to rest,” Joy murmured, “when my mind refuses to
let me.”

Tabitha placed her hand on Joy’s forehead and made light,
soothing circles on it with her fingers. “I can only imagine that is so. Still,
you
are
running a fever, Joy. You must rest—and you must not expose the
remainder of the house to your illness, particularly Marit.”

Palmer House’s beloved cook was very pregnant with her
second child.

“Oh! You are right, of course.”

Joy sighed and turned on her side. Tabitha pulled the covers
up around Joy’s shoulders. She sat beside Joy, stroking her back until Joy’s
even breathing and relaxed muscles told Tabitha that her friend had slipped
into slumber.

“She is sleeping now,” Tabitha whispered as Rose peeked
through the doorway. They tiptoed from Joy’s little cottage together.

A week later when Joy returned to work, Rose and Tabitha
again convened in the great room.

Rose perused her notes. “I have managed, stealing little
bits of time here and there and staying up a little late at night, to write a
draft from my notes up to when Opal moved her ‘business’ to Silver City. But
please, continue with your story.”

Tabitha nodded. “Yes. Time is moving toward the new school
term more quickly than I imagined it could. I do want you to have all you need
to write my complete testimony.”

Rose turned to the last used page in her notebook. “Let me
see. You left off at such an important place—on the road to Denver with this
Jock Jacobs person. Just after you heard the roadside preacher.”

Tabitha smiled. “With the word ‘wait’ warming my insides,
the rest of the long journey to Denver was a little easier. When we arrived in
the city, Jock installed us in a cheap boarding house. Then he went on the
prowl for a “buyer” for me. He left me chained to the bed with strict
instructions to the landlord that ‘his wife was ill and was not to be
disturbed.’ He made sure that I did not call out for help by forcing laudanum
on me before he went out.”

Tabitha sniffed. “I do not know how many days I spent in an
utter haze, but I do not believe they were many. One morning Jock did not force
the drugged drink on me. Instead, he had me bathe, dress, and fix my hair.”

She glanced at Rose. “We got into his wagon. When we arrived
at our destination, I looked up and read the sign:
Silver Spurs Bawdy Hall
.”

~~**~~