A resigned look came to Dora’s face and she said, “Miss Joy was going to tell us a story.”
“Story,” Donald repeated and climbed into Tamar’s lap.
Hair back in the severe style she had adopted when she went into service, Tamar welcomed Donald and made room for Dora. She didn’t quite dare tell a Bible story; instead, she held the children spellbound with a tale of an imaginary elf who lived beneath a rock and got into all kinds of predicaments. She didn’t give the fourth member of the little party so much as a look until both children drowsed.
“Perhaps you had better go,” she quietly told the man. In an odd way he reminded her of Phillip-with-two-l’s, although Edgar’s short stature and resemblance to his sister was nothing like the other man.
“I’ll take Donald.” He bent low, and she jerked her head back to avoid contact with his mocking face.
“I c’n walk.” Donald solved her problem by sliding off her lap and weaving toward his bed, forcing Edgar away from Tamar.
“Please go.” She gracefully rose with Dora.
Storm clouds gathered in his petulant face. “May I remind you this is my sister’s home?”
The same natural dignity that had quelled the junior law partner once more came to her aid. “I am in charge of this nursery, sir. I am asking you to leave. Now.”
A sneer curled his lips. “I can have you replaced.”
“Until you do, I am still in charge here. Out!” To her utter amazement, he marched to the doorway. An ugly look and an unintelligible mutter remained in her memory long after he vanished.
The week between Christmas and New Year’s became a nightmare. If she had not given her word to care for the twins, she would have left the Wilsons’ house. The strain of dodging Edgar made her lose weight and her eyes grew haunted. The staff rallied and helped her as much as they could, but they could do little when Edgar insisted on visiting the nursery. He dogged her steps when she took the children out, paying her fulsome compliments. When he demanded her presence at dinner, she coldly told him she ate with the children. He insisted that he was the master of the house in his sister and brother-in-law’s absence and commanded her to dine with him. Tamar ignored his edicts.
But she couldn’t ignore his actions on New Year’s Eve. Emboldened by too much liqueur, he lurched up the stairs, beat on Tamar’s locked door, and shouted for her to let him in.
The children must not suffer from their uncle’s anger at her, Tamar realized. She stuffed her hair under her veil, wrapped herself in a dark dressing gown, and opened the door so suddenly it caught him off guard. He tumbled into a heap.
“What is the meaning of this?” She kept her voice low.
“Want a little kiss goo’night.” He grinned up at her foolishly. She shrank away as he got to his feet and reached for her.
She must get him away from the children’s room. Step by step she backed down the hall. Once she reached the staircase, a quick slide down the banister rail would take her to freedom. By the time he could get downstairs, she’d have reached the safety of the servants’ quarters.
“Joy, pretty, pretty Joy,” he singsonged, hands outstretched like a sleepwalker.
God, help me. She quickened her steps, reached the spot where the hall and staircase intersected, and hopped onto the banister rail. With a cry of triumph, Edgar staggered toward her—and missed. His waving arms met the empty air behind her.
Down, down, she slid. Her pursuer weaved after her down the stairs. She thudded to a halt and flew across the hall. An awful cry behind her brought her to a stop. Thump, thump, thump. Edgar had successfully navigated two-thirds of the stairs, but his momentum proved too much for his condition. Balance gone, he slipped and fell, and landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom.
seven
Horror-stricken, Tamar couldn’t move. The sound of racing feet brought her to her senses. “Miss Joy, what is it?” the butler cried. The anxious cook, housekeeper, and other staff members joined them, some still struggling into dressing gowns.
“He—he pounded at my door. I didn’t want him to wake the twins.” Tamar found only sympathy and concern for her in the watching eyes. Even in the middle of tragedy, a rush of gladness roughened her voice; not since her parents had died had she felt so loved. “I ran from him, slid down the banister rail, and he followed down the stairs. . . .” Her voice trailed off when the butler brushed past her and knelt beside the fallen figure.
“He isn’t badly hurt, just has a bump on his head. See, he’s already coming around, the drunken lout.”
A little murmur of assent rippled though the staff.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Joy, but you won’t want to be here when he rouses.” The cook firmly led Tamar past the huddled man. “Like as not, Mr. Edgar won’t even remember what happened. Lock yourself in with the children and forget all this. We’ll see he’s cared for, though he doesn’t deserve it.”
Tamar obediently climbed the long staircase, but forgetting proved impossible. “I can’t stay, you know.”
“I s’pose not. You won’t be the first to leave because of that—that—” Words failed the irate cook. “You will be the first to resent his attentions.” She waited until Tamar reached her room. Brow furrowed, she reluctantly said, “If you feel you must go, it will be well to get away come morning.” She sniffed in her most eloquent way. “He won’t be up and around until at least noon.”
“What about Dora and Donald?” Tamar said dully.
“Do you have any money? I don’t mean to pry, but you must have spent a good deal for the Christmas gifts, and —”
“I’ll have enough.” She threw her arms around the good woman. “You’ve all been so kind.” She choked back tears. “You’ll never know how much I hate to go, but being in the house with that man is impossible.”
Settled back into her bed but far from sleep, Tamar reiterated what she’d told the cook. She couldn’t stay under any circumstances. The look in Edgar’s face had made clear that he considered his sister’s employees as opportunities for sport. She shivered, cold to her very soul. Would she have to face the same attitude elsewhere? If so, perhaps she had better go somewhere and simply starve when her money ran out.
Long before daylight, Tamar stood packed and ready. She had written the notes she would leave behind her. One for the twins—”Darlings, I have to go away. Always remember what a happy Christmas we had and the stories of the Baby Jesus. As you grow, learn to know Him, for He will be your best Friend.”
The second, to Mrs. Wilson. Her ingrained honesty scorned making excuses. “I regret leaving without notice, but the unwelcome attentions of your brother forces me to do so.” She signed it, “Joy Darnell,” and a tear blotted the page. How would the Wilsons react to the news? Edgar would surely lie to smooth it over. Yet Mr. Wilson must suspect the truth about his brother-in-law, or he would not have threatened to keep Edgar from coming to the house. Perhaps Mr. Wilson would speak with the staff and learn the truth.
“God, thank You that the reference from my landlady has no date,” she prayed. “I can use it and say nothing about ever working here.”
A soft tap at the door sent Tamar across the room on quiet feet. She did not want to wake Dora and Donald in the next room. “Who is it?”
“Cook says you’re to come right down. The chauffeur is to take you where you wish to go, but you’re to have breakfast first,” the housekeeper whispered when Tamar cracked opened the door.
She started to protest, then reconsidered. She gathered up her little store of belongings, a few more than when she had arrived at the Wilsons. A last glance at the twins brought a lump to her throat, but she swallowed hard and turned away. Perhaps someday God would allow her to see them again. Until then, Please, keep them in Your care, she prayed.
To her surprise, every member of the staff had crowded into the bi
g kitchen, although the hour was far earlier than the one when they usually began their day. They hovered over Tamar, urging her to eat another hot biscuit, pointing to the enormous basket of food the cook had somehow found time to prepare. She forced herself to eat for their sake.
When she finished, the kindly cook spoke. “Here’s a bit of a present and ’tis sorry we are you’re leaving.” She thrust a sealed envelope into Tamar’s hands and blinked. “A pox on Mr. Edgar for being what he is!”
Tamar managed a smile. She felt she should protest the gift, for she knew it was money they could ill afford to give. Yet a little voice warned her to be a gracious receiver. She faltered, though, when she looked around the circle of friendly faces. “You know I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.” She bit her lip. “I’ve learned to love you all.”
“You’ll let us know when you’re relocated?” the housekeeper asked.
Tamar nodded and followed the chauffeur out into gray pre-dawn gloom that softened trees and bushes into ghostly, distorted things. “Where shall I take you, miss?” he inquired.
The only safe haven she could think of was her old boarding house. She gave the address and listlessly leaned her tired head against the window. If no vacant room was available, she’d have to think of something else.
The carriage stopped and the chauffeur helped her to the street. “Not one of us will tell Ed-the Wilsons where you are,” he promised.
“Thank you.” Tamar held out her hand, and he awkwardly shook it then followed her to the door. Light from the kitchen window cast a golden glow into the gloom. “I’ll be all right. You know God will look after me.”
“That He will, miss.” The chauffeur bowed and turned away. “I’d best be getting back before the fireworks pop.”
She watched the carriage out of sight before rapping at the door.
**
A few days at the boarding house were followed by a few weeks as a children’s companion in another home. This time the master of the house caught Tamar in the back hall and pinioned her arms. She twisted her head away from his kisses, let fly with a sturdy shoe, and he was forced to explain the sudden limp he acquired. He also had to explain to his suspicious wife the sudden departure of “the best children’s companion we ever had.”
“Dearie,” her landlady told her, “why don’t you give up trying to be a companion and use that sweet voice I hear singing sometimes? You’d earn more and goodness knows, you could simply give lessons in your room, if you like.”
Tamar thought about it. Again her funds had dwindled. The generous gift from the Wilsons’ staff brought a mist of gratitude to her heart whenever she thought of it, but that too was nearly gone. She finally decided to try the landlady’s suggestion.
After more consideration, however, she made up her mind that her present lodging place lay too close to those she sought to elude. One afternoon she bid her tearful landlady farewell and left San Francisco for the growing city of Oakland, three miles across San Francisco Bay to the east. Heart pounding, she inspected a dozen places before selecting a room in a respectable place recommended by her San Francisco landlady. Her faith in God opened doors, and despite her lack of formal training, her singing talent secured her a position with a music school. Her job consisted of learning songs the pupils would be taught and demonstrating how they should be sung.
When late in January the school director summoned her to her office, Tamar obeyed with her heart thumping. Had her services proved unacceptable? She enjoyed singing and the past few days had begun to relax and feel comfortable. With a quick prayer, she tapped on the partly opened door of the director’s office.
“Come in.”
Tamar stepped inside, glanced at the ample-figured director, then at the woman who sat in a chair next to the desk. Rich furs spoke of her wealth. So did a patrician chin and long, slim hands.
“Miss Darnell, Mrs. Gregory overheard you singing when she brought Mistress Alice in for her lesson. She asked to speak to you.”
Tamar resisted the urge to remind her employer that persons speak to dogs and cats but with other adults. The Mrs. Gregories of the world probably considered servants and singing teachers lower on the social scale than household pets.
“I’ll leave you to have your little chat.” The instructor hoisted herself from her chair and motioned Tamar to sit, then heavily strode to the door and closed it behind her.
“You really have a sweet little voice, Miss Darnell.” The patronizing tone brought Tamar’s gaze back to the visitor.
“Thank you.” She kept her voice colorless and refused to be cowed by the other’s rude stare.
“I’m having a party for Alice’s eighth birthday,” Mrs. Gregory said. “Naturally, we’ll have the best families from Oakland and San Francisco.” She paused to let her importance sink in.
Tamar wanted to ask whose party it was, Mrs. Gregory’s or Alice’s, but again she forced herself to keep silent.
“Tell me, does young Alice show promise? We’ve had her to so many different schools it’s hard to know what to believe.”
Tamar felt her interest rise. While Alice’s mother did not impress her, she genuinely cared for Alice. “Mrs. Gregory, while Alice doesn’t appear to show signs of becoming a great opera singer, she has a clear, beautiful voice that can enrich her life and bring pleasure to many.”
The woman’s haughty guard lowered. “Thank you for your honesty, Miss Darnell.” She leaned forward. “Would you be willing to come to our home and stay with us for a few weeks, so Alice can have your exclusive attention? I’d so love for her to perform at the party.”
Tamar could scarcely believe her own ears. “Why—”
“I took the liberty of asking what you are paid,” Mrs. Gregory confessed. “I’ll be happy to triple the amount. Your job here will be waiting when you finish with Alice.” She raised a delicate eyebrow when Tamar didn’t jump at the chance. “I do hope you won’t need time to consider it. The party is really coming up quite soon.”
Tamar mentally tabulated her little store of money and weighed it against the danger of being recognized at the Gregories’. The danger should be small. Family or acquaintances would hardly expect to find her in Oakland. “I’ll come.”
“Thank you, Miss Darnell. I’m sure Alice will be overjoyed. She’s grown quite fond of you even in the short time you’ve been here.” Mrs. Gregory rose with a swish of taffeta, beaming. She started for the door then turned back to Tamar. “Oh, if all goes well with Alice, her father and I will be happy to give you a good recommendation should you ever tire of working for the school. I’m sure several of our friends would be glad to find someone like you and be spared the tiresome task of going from school to school.” She flowed out without waiting for a reply.
Tamar dropped back into the chair and laughed. In spite of Mrs. Gregory’s patronage, she rather liked the woman. “I’ll do my best with Alice,” she vowed.
“Good for you.” The instructor came in with an alacrity that hinted she’d been hovering just outside the door. “Keep the songs she is to sing simple, as fits her young age. Ballads, folk songs, even a hymn would be appropriate.” Her tired face took on a conspiratorial expression. “People like the Gregories pretend to like the classics but secretly prefer something they can understand.”
A little more than two weeks later, Tamar bitterly regretted ever having heard of the Gregories, even appealing Alice. Alice should have been dressing to sing at the party, but instead she lay feverish and miserable with a cold. Mrs. Gregory had refused to believe the hoarseness wouldn’t clear up in time. “Everyone has accepted,” Tamar overheard her tell her husband. “We can’t cancel.”
Now she stood across Alice’s bed from Tamar. “Miss Darnell, you’ll have to sing in her place.”
“I?” The young woman’s hand flew to her throat. “Mrs. Gregory, that is imposs
ible.”
“Of course it’s not.” With unexpected briskness, the older woman inquired, “I don’t suppose you have an evening dress?”
Tamar shook her head and hope leaped into her eyes. Reprieved!
“No matter, you’ll wear one of mine. I have a little black gown that will be marvelous with your hair; I’ve never worn it.” She shepherded her unwilling singer into her own large room, ignoring Tamar’s protests. In less than five minutes, the floating black dress settled over Tamar as if it had been created for her. Even Mrs. Gregory couldn’t hide her surprise at the difference in Tamar’s appearance. “Why, Miss Darnell, you’re striking.” She snatched the pins from Tamar’s hair so that it cascaded like bright silk down her back. “There. Wear it so.” She pushed a button, and when a maid appeared she ordered, “Flowers, from the conservatory, for her hair.”
Tamar gave up trying to argue and submitted when the maid expertly tucked a gorgeous white flower in her hair. “But what shall I sing?”
“Anything.” Mrs. Gregory waved away the obstacle and smiled. “I’ll send a maid for you when we’re ready.”
Inspiration caused the new star to say, “I’ll wait in the upper hall.” It would give a clear view of the larger hall below. If an enemy came, Tamar would vanish to her own room. Her bags were already packed for her departure the next morning.
Hidden by openwork screens and a multitude of greenery, Tamar scanned the faces below. She slipped back to Alice’s bedside and found the little girl asleep. Two tears still glistened on her cheeks; her birthday party had not turned out as she had hoped. Tenderness filled Tamar. If I had a beautiful child like this one, or like Donald and Dora, I’d appreciate them, not go off seeking my own pleasure. The thought dyed her white skin a lovely color and added sparkle to her eyes.
She had seen no one who might recognize her, and so she slipped back to her post in the upper hall and remained there until summoned to the drawing room.
Tapestry Of Tamar Page 7