“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 wi
ndow. “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.
~~**~~
Chapter 11
January 1912
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 c
lutched 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.
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