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.”
~~**~~
Chapter 7
Denver, 1909
“She’s ’bout as mean as a snake, but with regular, ah, persuasion, she’s a good little money-maker. Ain’tcha, Red?” Jock rolled his chaw around in his mouth and spit into the general direction of an ornate brass spittoon. As usual, he missed his mark and failed to notice—or care—that the disgusting wet blob had landed shy of its mark and had splattered, instead, upon the expensive carpet nearby.
From under my lowered gaze I watched the large man sitting at a desk in front of us: He, too, noticed Jock’s miss. His jaw flexed and his expression stilled.
Jock gripped my arm tighter and growled. “I said, ‘ain’tcha, Red?’ You answer me, now. I don’t want Mr. Judd here t’ think you’re unmanageable.”
But I refused to answer and fixed my eyes instead upon the stain overspreading the carpet’s floral pattern; I studied a cream-colored tea rose as it turned a nasty shade of rusty red-brown.
When I did not answer, Jock pinched my arm. I flinched yet remained stubbornly mute. Jock, concerned that his sale was going south, dug his fingers into my arm until his nails broke skin.
I cursed Jock inside, but I would not give him the pleasure of answering. I was determined to sabotage Jock’s “sale.” I do not know what I thought I would do if I did ruin his sale—given Jock’s threats.
The man behind the desk smiled and tapped a finger on the desk’s blotter. “Tell you what I am going to do, Mr. . . .”
“Jacobs. Jock Jacobs at ’cher service, Mr. Judd.” Jock preened and added, “Like I said b’fore.”
Judd’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Jacobs.”
In the same way that Jock had not noticed Judd’s reaction when Jock’s stream of tobacco juice missed the spittoon, he now failed to discern the way Judd’s eyes narrowed and glittered with disdain.
“No ’fense taken, Mr. Judd,” Jock replied.
A brighter man than Jock might have perceived the decided chill in the other man’s manner, but Jock was not bright. Nor was he observant.
I, however, was nothing if not observant. I lifted my eyes to Judd’s and allowed him to see the anger smoldering there. My bruises were fading, but the beating had done nothing to shake me from the old anger. It had utterly taken hold of me.
Amused, Judd smiled at me in return. Cal Judd’s complexion was ruddy; his eyes a striking pale blue. Something flickered in those pale blue eyes. Something dangerous. I swallowed and allowed my eyes to drop.
“Tell you what I am going to do, Mr. Jacobs,” Judd said again. “I’ll take—Red, did you call her? I’ll take Red off your hands. I am certain I can provide suitable . . . persuasion if it is required.”
“Well, well. I’m right glad t’ hear it, Mr. Judd. M’ asking price is two hunnert dollars.” Jock’s hands twitched. He was already counting the bills, counting how he would spend them.
“I’ll give you one hundred.”
Jock frowned. “Well, now, m’ price is two hunnert. She’s worth ever’ dollar, and tha’s a fact.”
Judd flicked open a small knife and proceeded to trim the nails on his left hand. “Two hundred dollars, Mr. Jacobs? Why, Red here runs a little long in the tooth, don’t you think? What is she? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? Not exactly in the first blush of womanhood. Certainly too old for you to be asking prime rate.”
Jock flushed. “But she’s ’sperienced. Good little whore, she is! An’ the men love thet red hair. Ask fer her by name.”
Judd slowly stood up. From his seat behind the desk he’d given the impression of mild, gentlemanly decorum, but now he towered over Jock. His chiseled features hardened and he leaned forward—just enough for Jock to, finally, take notice.
“Ninety dollars.”
Jock’s mouth opened in dismay, the wad of chaw peeking out from between his cheek and lower jaw. “But-but-but you just offered a hunnert!”
“Yes, and every moment that goes by, the price will drop.”
“But—”
My snort of derisive laughter interrupted Jock. Despite the iron grip he had on my arm, I sneered at him.
Jock reacted as I had known he would. “Why you no-good, lazy—” He swung his fisted hand to punch my face—and found his fist caught in a larger, stronger one.
“Can’t have you damaging the merchandise, Mr. Jacobs, not—” Judd’s eye flashed. “Not if you expect a deal.”
While Jock considered the bull of a man who held his hand captive, he moved the wad in his mouth around and packed it under his bottom lip, “Hunnert dollars.”
“Eighty-five. I did warn you, Mr. Jacobs.”
Jock opened his mouth to protest again—and promptly closed it. He sputtered and then growled, “Done.” He released my arm and gave me a little shove in Judd’s direction. “Good riddance, Red. Ya bin nuthin’ but trouble t’ me.”
“Welcome to the Silver Spurs, Red.”
I looked again into Judd’s cool blue eyes and shuddered. The amusement I’d seen there scarcely hid the cruelty beneath.
Tabitha had been staring into space as she recited her tale. She came to herself and glanced toward Rose.
“You are already familiar enough with Cal Judd and the kind of monster he was. I will not say too much about my short interlude at the Silver Spurs. I will only say this: Where Opal and Jock had struggled in frustration to bend me to their will, Cal Judd looked forward to the task with relish. I was not at the Silver Spurs long before I realized that Cal had only taken me off Jock’s hands for the pleasure of breaking me.”
Tabitha shook a little and averted her eyes. “The thing is, hate and anger are what had kept me going during those years with Opal and, later, with Jock. I hated nearly everyone with an intensity that burned my soul. I was always angry, always ready to blow up at any provocation—even when I was forced to keep it tamped down.
“Well, Cal wanted to see my hate, so he toyed with me. He provoked and prodded my anger and hate purely for the enjoyment of crushing me under his thumb.
“For the first time in all those years, hate was not enough to strengthen me. For the first time, I was terrified and near to despair. The voice I had heard deep inside me had said, Wait, but I had been at the Silver Spurs only three months when I came to the end of my rope. I could not wait any longer. I knew Cal planned to kill me for sport, and I knew that no one would care when he did.”
Tabitha sighed. “I remember, quite vividly, the morning I determined to deny Cal Judd that last bit of myself. I decided to end my own life. I would not have been the first whore—or the last—to choose that way out. Especially when death seemed like the only option. Some women I knew drowned themselves in alcohol to make life bearable, but many, like me, just wanted the pain to stop for good.
“The cribs—the cramped rooms where we were confined and where we conducted our business—were on the second floor, but the Silver Spurs also had an attic and a trap door to the roof. The roof was the highest point in the house. I made up my mind that morning to climb onto the roof and jump to my death.”
Rose’s breath caught in her chest. “You have never spoken of this, Tabitha.”
“No, but I should have. Even as filled with hate and anger as I had been, I had not known real despair until I came under Cal Judd’s control. My decision that morning was the true lowest point of my life. I came to the end of myself, and it was necessary that I did.
“I cried out against all the injustices of my life, and I wept as I had not wept in years. Not for the first time, I wondered what I might have become if I had not followed Cray Bishoff into Arizona. Would I have had a husband? A home of
my own? Children?”
Tabitha bowed her head. “All those ‘might have beens,’ the possibilities that never would be? They stripped away whatever rebellion I had left. From the depths of my brokenness, I called out. I did not know to whom I was calling, but I called anyway. I begged the God of the tall, black preacher to help me.”
She was quiet for so long that Rose leaned toward her and touched her hand. “What happened, Tabitha? What happened that night?”
Tabitha roused. “That night I felt . . . heavy, weighted, without strength, as though climbing the few steps to the attic and through the trap door was too much effort. Instead, after my last customer left, I fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, for a second time, I planned to end my life that night—and found myself, again, weeping and calling out. I thought I was just . . . finally breaking to pieces, like Judd wanted.”
“And then?” Rose asked softly.
Tabitha chewed her lip before she whispered, “And then I heard that voice. In my head, I think. It might have been in my heart. I do not know. It was just there, not out loud, but I heard it anyway. So clear. So very clear.”
“That voice?” Rose stared hard at Tabitha.
“Yes, like before! It was the same simple, soft voice I heard on the road to Denver. All it said was, Wait. I am coming for you. Wait for me.”
Tabitha tipped her head over a little. “It was the same word that had dropped into my belly when we passed by the preacher in the black suit.”
She shook her head. “It was the same word, Wait. But the voice added, I am coming for you. Wait for me!”
Rose shivered. “I am coming for you? What did you think it meant?”
Tabitha shrugged and rubbed at the tension in her shoulders. A wisp of flame-tinged hair came loose from the knot at the back of her head and curled down her neck. “The voice said to wait, so I waited. I did not know what I was waiting for, but I kept waiting and looking, all that day, all that afternoon.”
Tabitha laughed, a bit embarrassed at the memory. “I thought I might have become unhinged, you know? But when I looked inside and recalled that voice, it was too true. Too pure to ignore.
“I waited into the evening. The night started as most did, but I was distracted. I kept looking and expecting, as though something were about to happen. When a customer left my room, I would pace. I found myself quite excited, as though something momentous was close at hand.
“I was between customers and pacing when I heard a commotion, the shouts of two men running through the upper hallway of the Silver Spurs, throwing open the doors to the cribs. I knew Cal Judd was in a room not far from mine. He was with a young girl they called Monique.
“I did not know what was happening, but Judd never allowed disturbances to escalate. I expected him to burst from Monique’s room any moment, shouting for his men. All his men wore guns, and I was afraid that there would be shooting. I opened my door a crack anyway and peeked through—and saw Marshal Pounder at the far end of the hall. Someone shouted his name, Pounder! and he ran from the farthest end of the hall toward me. I did not know him then, but I saw the badge on his chest. He stopped at Monique’s room and went inside.
“Two of Judd’s men thundered up the stairs and into the hall just then. Pounder stuck his shotgun out the door to Monique’s room and yelled, You men throw your guns out on the floor! Judd’s men dropped to the floor and did as Pounder told them, and Pounder stepped back into the hallway.
“Then this man wearing a bowler hat—I did not know Mr. O’Dell then—backed out of Monique’s room, dragging Monique by her wrist. He stopped in the doorway and I heard him snarl, Open this door, Judd, and you’ll catch a bullet. He and Monique started down the hallway toward Marshal Pounder and the stairs. As he passed my door—”
Tabitha broke off. She stared over Rose’s shoulder.
“What, Tabitha? What did you do?”
“Not me,” Tabitha breathed in wide-eyed wonder. “The voice! It said, Now! Go! Go with them! I threw open my door as the man in the bowler hat passed. He turned and pointed a small gun at me. I held out my hands and I begged him, Please! Please take me with you! He was angry—just worried, I think—but I begged him again, and he beckoned me to follow behind, so I did.”
Tears were trickling down Tabitha’s face now, but she smiled as though she’d said something humorous.
“What is it?” Rose demanded. She was present with Tabitha in her story, standing in the doorway, watching O’Dell and Pounder rescue fifteen-year-old “Monique” whose real name was Monika Vogel.
Rose was distressed that Tabitha had broken off her story. “Please tell me what happened next,” she breathed.
“It is just that I was barefoot and, um, not fit to be seen in public, Miss Rose. Remembering the situation just now, it struck me as amusing. You see, all I had on was a dressing gown, and not a proper, concealing wrapper either.”
“You . . . everyone could see through your gown?” Rose blushed.
“Oh, yes. Indeed they could. I suppose it is irreverent to speak of it, but I cannot help but consider the, er, sight I must have been and laugh a little about it.”
Rose arched one brow. “I suppose it could be likened to how, when God finds us, we are clothed in the ‘filthy rags’ of our sin?”
“Yes! You have hit upon it, Miss Rose!”
Tabitha shook her head and then sobered. “Mr. O’Dell and Marshal Pounder took Monique and me down the stairs into the saloon and out the front door—right out from under Cal Judd’s guards. We jumped into a waiting motorcar and raced away. Later, at the Pinkerton office, O’Dell gave me a man’s coat with which to cover myself.”
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?”
“W
ell, 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.”
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