Tabitha

by Vikki Kestell

  When Tabitha returned to her dormitory the other students were still in their afternoon practicums. Tabitha knelt by her bed and prayed,

  Lord, I am calling upon you. You are my Help, my Fortress, my Defense. The waves are crashing over me, and where can I go but to you? You set my feet high upon the Rock, Christ Jesus where the waves cannot reach me! Because you hold me, the waves cannot dash me to pieces. Speak to me, Lord! Show me what I am to do and I will obey.

  She knelt there until she felt a small, slight nudge, an urge to do something. Standing, she went to the nightstand beside her bed and dug in its drawer until she found the tiny volume she sought. She then found the entry she needed and trod down the stairs to the dormitory’s lobby where the telephone resided.

  She lifted the receiver and placed it to her ear. “Operator? I would like to place a trunk call to Denver. Yes. My name is Tabitha Hale. Please place the charges on my account. Thank you. I have the number.”

  She recited the number and waited until the operator told her she was connecting the call. Tabitha heard the line ringing from far away.

  “Denver office of the Pinkerton Agency. How may I help you?”

  “Hello. Yes, this is Miss Tabitha Hale calling. I am a friend of Mr. Edmund O’Dell. I need to speak with him most urgently. Yes, I will wait.”

  Monday morning at ten o’clock, Tabitha was seated in the dean’s reception area. With her were Edmund O’Dell, Marshal Jake Pounder, Mason Carpenter, and Rose Thoresen. Rose sat beside Tabitha. They held hands and prayed softly. The men with them did not sit. They shuffled on restless legs and feet. O’Dell’s fingers twirled his bowler hat, and Tabitha noted the solemn, implacable lines of the men’s faces.

  “Thank you, Lord, for godly men,” she whispered.

  According to the message Tabitha had received earlier in the morning, the witness against her was already ensconced with the deans and the board of regents. When he concluded his testimony, Tabitha would be allowed to face her accuser.

  Shortly after ten, the door to the dean’s conference room opened and Dean Gunderson herself emerged. She surveyed the group that accompanied Tabitha with raised brows and asked, “Are these folks here for you, Miss Hale?”

  “Yes, we are,” Carpenter answered. He faced the senior nurse and added, “Actually, Miss Hale will not be speaking this morning. I will be speaking for her.”

  “I see.” Dean Gunderson looked at each of them carefully, noting the determined air of the group, and her mouth curved in the ghost of a smile. “Then I wish you well. This way, please.”

  Carpenter led the way into the conference room. Tabitha and Rose followed behind and Marshal Pounder and O’Dell brought up the rear. Before anyone within the room could express surprise, Dean Gunderson announced, “Miss Hale is here and has brought character witnesses to speak on her behalf.”

  As the group took the seats pointed out to them, Tabitha noted that the arrangement of the room was the same as last time with one exception: Nurse Rasmussen perched rigidly upon a chair at the side of the room and a grizzled man slouched beside her. Tabitha recognized him immediately: He was the caretaker she had encountered weeks before, the one she feared had known her.

  If he is the witness against me, then the deans and the board already know about my past, she realized in dismay. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Lord, please help me! I pray that no shame falls upon you because of me.

  Dean Wellan responded to Dean Gunderson’s announcement. “Miss Hale, will you please introduce your guests?”

  Before Tabitha could respond, Carpenter stood and replied, “Good morning, Dean Wellan. You and I are already acquainted; however, Dean Gunderson and the board do not know me. My name is Mason Carpenter. May I also present Mrs. Rose Thoresen, Marshal Jake Pounder, and Mr. Edmund O’Dell, all of Denver, Miss Hale’s home town.”

  The dean nodded. “Very well. Miss Hale, are you prepared to respond to the charges against you?”

  Carpenter, still on his feet, answered, “Dean Wellan, Dean Gunderson, and members of the board of regents, Miss Hale will not be speaking today. I and my companions, Mr. O’Dell, Marshal Pounder, and Mrs. Thoresen, will be speaking for her.”

  “This is quite unusual, Mr. Carpenter,” Dean Wellan answered.

  “Perhaps. However, we have information as to the reliability of the witness against Miss Hale. As his testimony is the only voice speaking against her, you and the board should be apprised of this information.”

  Nurse Rasmussen sat up and called out in a shaky but strident tone, “How dare you! You have no right to speak against my brother!”

  “Indeed, we do, Nurse Rasmussen. This man,” and Carpenter pointed to the slouching figure next to her, “has disparaged the character of a fine young woman and an exemplary student of this school. If his testimony is to be given credence, then his character must also be scrutinized.”

  Dean Wellan studied Carpenter for several moments before saying, “Very good, Mr. Carpenter. You may continue.”

  Carpenter nodded. “Thank you, Dean. My companion, Mr. Pounder, is a United States marshal. Mr. O’Dell is the head of the Denver office of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Mr. O’Dell, would you please tell us what you know of the witness?”

  Carpenter sat and O’Dell stood. Tabitha thought he cut an impressive figure in his black three-piece suit. As he spoke, his voice was low but authoritative, forcing the room to quiet in order to hear him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Arnold Rasmussen lived in Denver for many years and is well known there. Last Friday and Saturday, in my capacity as a Pinkerton agent, I interviewed a total of six individuals acquainted with Mr. Rasmussen.”

  O’Dell slipped his hand into his breast pocket and removed a sheaf of papers. “I have here the sworn affidavits of those six individuals. The affidavits affirm that the interviews I recorded here are true. As all of the interviews are markedly similar in content, I will read from only one of them before submitting the six interviews to you for your examination.”

  He placed the papers on the table, selected the top one, and began to read from it. “‘I have known Arnie Rasmussen for more than ten years. He and I worked on the railroad together. Even though Arnie was married and had young ones at home, he spent every penny of his wages in the saloons and bawdy halls—’”

  “Stop! You have no right to say such vile things about my brother,” Nurse Rasmussen shouted.

  “Nurse Rasmussen!” Dean Wellan’s voice overpowered hers. “You will be seated and will not speak unless asked. Do I make myself clear?”

  Nurse Rasmussen, shaking with anger from head to toe, sputtered into silence.

  “Madam, I insist that you answer me,” Dean Wellan commanded. “Do you understand?”

  She slowly nodded. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

  “Be seated and do not interrupt again. You are already in jeopardy of losing your position for violating the school’s disciplinary policy—regardless of your so-called justifications for doing so.”

  After staring her into submission, Dean Wellan nodded to O’Dell. “You may continue, sir.”

  O’Dell scanned the document before him. “Thank you, Dean Wellan. ‘Even though Arnie was married and had young ones at home, he spent every penny of his wages in the saloons and bawdy halls. He often returned to work on Mondays hungover or still drunk and was frequently reprimanded. The railroad finally fired him. His wife took the children and moved to Cheyenne to live with her parents. Last I heard, Arnie moved back to Boulder where he came from.’”

  O’Dell extended the sheaf of interviews to the closest board member. “Most of the other interviews are similar. They describe a man who drank to excess, who neglected his family, and who could not keep a job.”

  He nodded to Pounder. “Marshal Pounder will elaborate on my findings.”

  Marshal Pounder, rougher than O’Dell but no less authoritative, rose from his chair. “I received my information from Denver’s chief of police: Arnold Rasmuss
en, age 47, has two outstanding arrest warrants in Denver for damages caused by drunk and disorderly conduct and one for failure to appear before a magistrate. I have copies of the warrants right here.”

  He removed some papers from his jacket and jerked his chin at the man. “When this proceeding is finished, I am going to arrest him and take him back to Denver.”

  Rasmussen snarled at Pounder and cursed. “You ain’t takin’ me nowhere!” He jumped to his feet and ran for the door, but Pounder and O’Dell were waiting for him. A scuffle ensued and ended with Rasmussen face down on the floor, his hands behind his back. It took Marshal Pounder only seconds to put Arnie Rasmussen in restraints. The crusty old marshal jerked his prisoner to his feet and walked him from the room.

  Nurse Rasmussen shouted after them, “Stop! No! No! You cannot do this!” She wheeled toward Tabitha and screamed, “This is all your fault, you-you whore! You and your whoring red hair! He’s obsessed with you and that hair of yours! Obsessed! Has been for years! He—”

  “Nurse Rasmussen!” Dean Wellan was also on his feet.

  “This is your fault!” the nurse screamed. “Your fault! You should never have been admitted—”

  “NURSE RASMUSSEN!”

  Muttering and breathing heavily, Nurse Rasmussen subsided into her seat.

  Several moments elapsed, during which the board of regents watched the nurse with wary and disgusted eyes. Finally the dean cleared his throat.

  “Nurse Rasmussen, your behavior has broken all rules of moral and ethical conduct. Regardless of the terms of your uncle’s endowment to this school, you are dismissed from your position. I am certain your uncle’s attorneys will not dispute my ruling.”

  Nurse Rasmussen pulled her lips into a tight, flat line but said nothing. She shot a single baleful look at Tabitha and followed her brother from the room.

  Dean Wellan motioned for Tabitha’s defense to continue.

  Carpenter addressed the Deans and the board of regents again. “I would like to have you hear from Mrs. Thoresen at this time.”

  Slowly, her legs a little shaky, Rose stood to her feet. Tabitha was grieved to note the stiffness of Rose’s muscles and the new lines upon her face. But when Rose opened her mouth, she was anything but shaky or weak. It seemed to Tabitha that she grew taller and a soft glow settled upon her.

  “I do not presume to speak for Miss Hale or to her experiences,” Rose said, her voice filled with the calm composure known well to those who loved her. “However, I can relate my own experiences with Miss Hale, and you may draw inferences from them. I live in Denver where I manage a home for women who have been rescued from slavery.”

  She leveled her steady gray eyes upon those seated at the table, seeing the shock or disbelief on their faces.

  “Yes, I do mean slavery.”

  Her chin dipped to affirm her words. “The women who live in our home were coerced into lives of . . . horrible, unspeakable servitude. Some were lured to Denver or nearby towns by offers of ‘legitimate’ employment. However, when they arrived, they were met and taken captive by unscrupulous men and, sadly, even those of their own gender. Other girls in our home committed youthful misjudgments or made, perhaps, a single wrong choice—and were, as a consequence of their error, ensnared by similar ungodly individuals.

  “At Palmer House, we rescue women. We rescue women as young as ages thirteen and fourteen from the clutches of those who beat them, starved them, and debased them until they capitulated to their captor’s demands. We rescue women who wish to escape from such a life.”

  The soft glow about Rose grew, and Tabitha shrank back, in awe.

  “We tell these women, these lost girls, of the love, mercy, and grace found in Jesus Christ. We show them from the Bible how the blood of Jesus cleanses us from all sin. All sin. We point to the Bible where it reads, ‘Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.’”

  She again peered into the eyes of the men and one woman lining the conference room table. Dean Gunderson’s eyes were moist and she would not meet Rose’s penetrating appraisal. Neither would several of the men.

  At last she said, “I wish to ask each of you a question. Are you a Christian?”

  Reluctant faces turned her way, and she forced them to acknowledge her.

  “Are you?” she repeated. She held each look until she received a nod or shrug of response.

  “If—if—you call yourself a Christian, then you must admit to the Bible passages I have quoted. No one who has been made new by the blood of Christ is what they were before. That former person is gone, and God says that he remembers their sins no more.”

  No individual in the room moved except, perhaps, to blink moist or conscience-stricken eyes.

  Rose lifted her chin just a little, but the power around her, touching them, was palpable. Tabitha found that her cheeks were wet, streaked with salty moisture, and her fears had washed away with her tears.

  “If God has forgiven and forgotten the sins of these women,” Rose whispered, “who are we to shame them?”

  Having finished her statement, Rose fumbled for the arm of her chair, and Tabitha helped steady her as she sank into her seat. The only sound for several moments was the clearing of throats and a few surreptitious sniffs.

  All eyes focused on Dean Wellan. “Thank you, Mrs. Thoresen,” he murmured. He turned to Tabitha. “Miss Hale, if you and your friends would leave us for a few minutes, we will discuss our findings. You may wait in the antechamber until we call you back.”

  One of the board’s members, a short rounded man, sputtered an objection. “But-but, Dean Wellan, we still have not heard Miss Hale’s response to the charge against her!”

  Dean Wellan and the rest of the board glared at him. “Clark Framson, I have always considered you an obtuse man, but I had no idea you were this dull-witted. I may have to recommend a vote of confidence to determine your competence to continue as a regent.”

  Growls of affirmation issued from the other board members, and the unfortunate Mr. Framson found himself in disfavor, alone in his objection.

  “The charge against Miss Hale has been levied by an unreliable witness,” Dean Wellan barked. “Has anyone other testimony against her? No? The charge is dismissed.”

  “Hear, hear,” one member muttered.

  “Please be excused, Miss Hale, until the board determines how to remedy your scholastic standing.”

  In a daze, Tabitha found Mason Carpenter escorting her from the room.

  An hour later, Tabitha was recalled to the conference room. Her friends took seats behind her and listened to the dean pronounce the board’s findings.

  “Miss Hale, I regret to inform you that, through no fault of yours, you will not be able to graduate with your class next month.”

  Tabitha nodded once in silent acceptance.

  “We will, however, allow you to take your written exams. I have no doubt that you will pass them with exceptional marks.”

  Tabitha’s countenance lightened a little. “Thank you, sir.”

  Dean Wellan lightly tapped a pen on his desk. “As a respected institution of nursing, it would be, er, understandable if we wished to sweep this unfortunate blemish to our school’s reputation under the rug as quickly as possible. We could offer you the option of returning this summer to work your incomplete rotations and, at the end of your rotations, award you your degree.

  “If that is your choice, we will make arrangements accordingly—and we will pay your expenses while you do so. Unfortunately, you would miss commencement and leave school with little fanfare.”

  He eyed Tabitha. “Personally, I feel that would be a shame.”

  “Sir?” Tabitha had already resigned herself to such a solution.

  “I say it would be a shame, particularly given all you have battled and overcome in your life.”

  There was no missing his allusion to her past life. Tabitha blushed but fought to keep her expressio
n placid.

  “When you graduate, Miss Hale, I wish you to celebrate the event with all the pomp and circumstance such an accomplishment warrants. You deserve nothing short of a full graduation ceremony and the receipt of your cap and pin with all of the public honor attached to that ceremony.”

  Tabitha looked down. “It is kind of you to say so, sir.”

  He nodded. “Yes, and that is why—and I hope you will agree—I do not wish you to select the option I have just outlined. Instead, I wish you to return to our school for the fall term.”

  Tabitha opened her mouth, and the dean held up his hand to hold off her protest.

  “Miss Hale, the board of regents and I extend our sincerest apologies to you for the ordeal you have undergone in our school. We cannot make up to you for the hardships you have patiently suffered, but we can attempt to make amends.”

  He cleared his throat. “We would like to extend an offer to you that will, we hope, soften the blow of another year’s wait until you graduate. If you accept our offer, we intend to create a new position here at the school, one of Head Proctor, and offer this position to you.”

  Tabitha blinked. “Sir?”

  “The number of students who fail or drop out during their freshman year is disturbing—particularly if, as the Red Cross suggests, many more nurses will be needed to serve worldwide by the time this fall’s incoming class graduates.

  “As Head Proctor you would be tasked with mentoring new students with the goal of preventing them from failing or becoming otherwise discouraged. Your job would be to ensure, as far as lies within your scope and abilities, that our next freshman class remains intact.”

  Tabitha’s thoughts were whirling. But how would I pay for another year? Surely the women’s society that provides my scholarship would balk at an extra year?

  Her mind stopped cold when he added, “This would be a salaried position, Miss Hale. You would be a member of the staff. You would pay no tuition or board; rather, you would be paid while completing your rotations and functioning as Head Proctor. When you graduate, you will have a year of valuable work experience to add to your nursing credentials.