Tabitha

by Vikki Kestell

  Dear Miss Hale,

  I received a message from Banks that you had called after I left for England. I am sorry if my abrupt departure caused you concern. I wish you to know that I am in good health.

  Cliff and I are posted at Catterick Airfield in Yorkshire, northeastern England, and are training young men to fly reconnaissance over France and Belgium. You should have no anxieties for Cliff or for me. The British Army’s Royal Flying Corps recruits pilots only to age thirty and, thus, considers both of us too old to fly actual missions. Most of the men we train are but boys in their early twenties.

  At present, the RFC has about eighty-four aircraft, and we lose a few aeroplanes—and precious men—every mission. We do our best to prepare these young men to undertake their dangerous assignments. They fly their aeroplanes across the channel into Belgium and France where the Germans are invading. The pilots seek out the enemy’s positions and scout their troop movements for the British Expeditionary Force fighting there. Gathering the desired information is one thing; communicating it to the front where it is needed is quite another, and is proving problematic.

  The British have a saying: “Necessity is the mother of invention.” I cannot help but believe that this war and its harsh necessities must breed better and more reliable aircraft, more effective means of communications, and other new inventions, for on the ground (I am distressed to report), the conduct of the war has begun badly.

  The BEF, under the command of Sir John French, suffered a great rout almost immediately. One arm of the German invasion into France through Belgium, at a place called Mons, defeated the BEF in early August. The Germans advanced and pushed the Brits back to the outskirts of Paris itself.

  Then, last month, the BEF joined the French to hold the German horde at the Marne River. While their combined forces kept the Germans from encroaching farther, the price for their success was terrible indeed. We have heard reports that the French suffered a quarter million casualties. We have also heard that German losses were roughly the same. More than half a million men wounded or lost in mere days? It confounds the mind and ravages the heart.

  The BEF suffered “only” eleven thousand wounded and nearly two thousand deaths. British losses were fewer only because their overall troop sizes were so much smaller than those of the French Army’s. Still, the deaths of two thousand young Englishmen in a single battle? Young men who will never return to their parents or sweethearts? Such a loss is devastating. Cliff and I pray daily for the souls of the men we train.

  Universally, the military and civilian populations of the Allied Forces expected a quick victory over the Germans. Cliff and I watched English men march off to war with a careless, merry attitude. They, their families, and the commanders of the military believed they would make quick work of the invaders and kick the Huns back to Germany where they belong.

  It appears now that they were wrong. Following the Battle of Marne, the Allied Forces dug a line of trenches opposite the trenches of the German army. We hear reports that the Germans occupy higher ground than that of the French and British, making it impossible for the Allied forces to advance. In point of fact, neither side has won any ground in weeks, but the losses in human life continue to mount.

  Miss Hale, I must apologize for sharing such horrors with you. I will leave off my observations now.

  I hope this letter finds you well, content in your chosen work, and growing in the grace of God. Please extend my greetings to Mrs. Thoresen, Mrs. Michaels, all the souls under the roof of Palmer House, and those whose friendship we share. I send my fondest regard to each of them, and to you. I confess that I think of you often, but I will not presume to reopen that painful chapter.

  Miss Hale, I pray that you consider me your most faithful friend. I have given Banks instructions: Should you need for anything, he will assist you. He has my authorization to aid you in any matter should you call upon him. I have already given him instructions regarding your parents—they shall never want, Miss Hale. I assure you of this.

  In return, I covet your prayers. We are daily sending these earnest young men to their deaths. Please pray for me that I will fearlessly testify to the hope of Christ wherever I am and whenever I can.

  Most sincerely,

  Mason Carpenter

  Carpenter’s ability to describe his surroundings and experiences in vivid language had brought the dreadfulness of war home to her—and it did not escape her notice that he said nothing of his return to the States.

  How long will this war last? He said only a few weeks or months! Will he stay with the British until it is finished?

  Her thoughts took another wrenching corner. October 11! His letter took an entire month to reach me? So much will have changed by now . . . over there.

  And why would he give Banks instructions concerning me? Concerning my parents?

  Given that she had refused his offer of marriage, his ongoing care for her and provision for her parents was unwarranted and not entirely proper.

  Why would he give such instructions—unless he fears he will not return?

  It was at that moment that Tabitha gave way and admitted to the extent of her love for him.

  How I love him, Lord! How can I live my life without him?

  O dear God of all grace! Please be near my beloved! Oh, I know I have no right to say he is mine, but he is yours, Lord, and I pray you keep him safe in your arms!

  Unsure of what to do, Tabitha sought Rose for advice. She poured out her confusion and shared with her the last lines of Carpenter’s letter.

  “Miss Rose, I know it would not be proper to reply to his letters. To write him would, perhaps, give him a false hope regarding our future, but . . .” Her words trickled to an end.

  Rose considered Tabitha with compassion. “Do you love Mr. Carpenter, Tabitha?”

  Tabitha bowed her head. “Oh, I do! I do, but you know that I cannot give him children, Miss Rose. And he told me how dearly he wanted a family.”

  Rose’s smile was tender. “Tell me, dearest, how would you describe and what would you call our little group here, those of us who live under the sheltering roof of Palmer House?”

  “I-I do not understand.”

  “Would you deem us mere friends? Only fellow Christians? Companions and sojourners upon this earth?”

  Tabitha slowly shook her head. “You are also my family—in Christ and so much more in my heart.”

  “Yes, and you, Tabitha, are my daughter. You see, dear girl, while every child needs a father and mother, not every son or daughter comes from our womb.”

  Tabitha stared at Rose, opening and closing her mouth as the alternative Rose implied came clear to her. “But-but I do not know . . . would he consider such a thing? Oh, I just do not know!”

  “And yet I know two things with certainty.” Rose lifted two fingers, “First, I know that Mason Carpenter loves you and wishes to marry you, Tabitha. He told me so himself. And second, I know that our great God is able to make a way where, in our own small sight, we do not see a way.”

  Rose patted Tabitha’s hand. “Mr. Carpenter has now written you twice. He has taken pains to secure your parents’ future and has made provision for you should you need anything . . . or should something happen to him. Has he not demonstrated his commitment to you? Write him back, Tabitha. Do not withhold the hope he longs for. Allow God to make a way for you.”

  Tabitha took a deep breath and settled. Galvanized with new courage, she whispered, “Thank you, Miss Rose.” She raced up the stairs to reply to Carpenter’s correspondence.

  November 14, 1914

  Dear Mr. Carpenter,

  I received your letter only yesterday. The war must be having an effect upon mail services for it to have taken so long to reach me. I have passed on all your greetings to everyone at Palmer House, but the most joyfully received greetings were those you sent to me.

  Tabitha rambled on for paragraphs, including every tidbit of news she could imagine would cheer him. In closing she wrot
e,

  I return your fondest regard, Mr. Carpenter. Your thoughtful care for my parents and for me only increases my regard for you. While you are away, I will pray that God grants you a harvest of souls for eternity. I will also, while you are engaged in such important work, pray daily for your continued safety—waiting with an expectant heart for the day you are restored to us.

  With my warmest wishes,

  Tabitha

  Until she could look him full in the face and they could come to an agreement about their future, Tabitha did not want to pen the many words of love and desire bubbling within her. So she carefully phrased her letter, knowing full well that he would read her change of heart both between the lines and in her signature—simply Tabitha, rather than the more formal Tabitha Hale.

  However, as she addressed the envelope, one unhappy truth was becoming clear to her: The war that both sides of the conflict had believed would end in decisive victory after mere weeks would be neither quick nor decisive.

  No, the ugliness of this war would not end simply or soon.

  At Palmer House, Rose encouraged everyone to pray about the war more than they talked about it. But at the hospital, nearly all the gossip and news regarded the war. Tabitha tried not to listen, but her heart would not allow her to disregard the conversations.

  Before long, she could converse as well as anyone on the foibles of the ruling houses of Europe and the treaty system that had dragged most of the world into what was, essentially, a territorial dispute between the Austro-Hungarians and the Serbs.

  The orderlies and doctors watched the progress of Kaiser Wilhelm’s campaigns and discussed at length the fearsome weaponry being unleashed upon the battlefields. They commented on the propaganda wars and watched for news of every new battle.

  Tabitha soaked it all in.

  “I don’t understand how the Kaiser can wage war against Britain,” one doctor complained. “It is his own mother’s home country! His grandmother was queen of England, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Bah! He is a German through and through. He cares only to increase Germany’s might and to best the British at sea. Those Germans are obsessed with power.”

  “Well, if Queen Victoria were still alive and on the throne today, I doubt Germany and Britain would be at odds.”

  Tabitha absorbed the informally obtained information and read the newspaper accounts for herself until she could follow the progress of the war as well as any man. She joined the rest of Palmer House in praying for Carpenter and Cliff St. Alban, but her own prayers were more heartfelt and specific: O Lord, whatever happens, I pray that you will allow Mason to hear from my own lips that I am his, that I trust you for our future together.

  ~~~

  Another Christmas season arrived with all the baking, bustle, fun, and blessing the holy days brought with them.

  Lord, I am so glad to be home this Christmas, Tabitha rejoiced on Christmas Eve. If Mason were here, I would not be able to contain all the joy in my heart.

  Snow was falling all around the real Palmer House, blanketing the world in a hush of glory. Alone in her room on the third floor, Tabitha lifted the little snow globe containing the miniature of Palmer House and shook it. The white flakes floated down around the tiny house Carpenter had fashioned with his own hands.

  “Wherever Mason is this night, Lord, I pray he is worshipping you and remembering your birth as we are.”

  She set the globe on her bureau, kissed the tips of her fingers, and touched them to the globe. “Perhaps next Christmas, Father God!”

  Then she joined the others downstairs to sing Christmas hymns.

  The next letter from Carpenter arrived immediately after the New Year, but Tabitha counted it the best of all Christmas gifts she had received.

  My Dearest Tabitha,

  I hope you will receive this letter by Christmas Day, but the mail is slower and less reliable than ever before. Whether on time or late, I wish you not a Merry Christmas, but a Happy Christmas, as I hear the English offer their greetings.

  In my prayers, I ask our Lord to daily direct my heart to his will. We who call ourselves Christians no longer belong to ourselves: We belong to him. We no longer decide our own fates; rather, we trust in God to lead us in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

  I read your letter with increasing joy and hope. If I were with you right now, I would take your hand, gaze into your eyes and, with my heart in my throat, ask, “Is it true? Has God spoken to your heart regarding our love?”

  My desire is to serve him all of my days, long or short. When I next see you, I will ask again that you be my partner in this lifelong service. Please hear me, dearest Tabitha: If it is God’s will that we not have a family, so be it. I will be content in his will.

  He went on to share news of the war, but Tabitha could scarcely take it in. The words of his letter echoed in her heart: When I next see you, I will ask again that you be my partner in this lifelong service. Please hear me, dearest Tabitha: If it is God’s will that we not have a family, so be it. I will be content in his will.

  “Yes!” she breathed. “Yes, I will be your partner, Mason.”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 18

  January 1915

  With the Christmas season ending, another joyous event lay before those at Palmer House: The wedding of Joy and Edmund O’Dell would take place on the first Sunday of January.

  “We desire only a simple, sacred ceremony before our Lord,” Joy told them, “conducted by Pastor Carmichael in the great room of Palmer House and witnessed by those we love best.”

  While everyone who knew and loved Joy and O’Dell rejoiced for them, their marriage also signaled great changes for Palmer House: Following the wedding, Joy would leave the little cottage she had shared with Grant at the back of Palmer House’s grounds. The newly married couple would begin their married life in their own home.

  “It will be an adjustment for all of us, but I fear I shall miss her the most,” Rose admitted at breakfast the morning before their wedding. “I lean upon Joy to help me manage Palmer House; her strength and wisdom fill up what I am often lacking.”

  Aside, Rose confided to Tabitha, “I confess that, with Mei-Xing happily married and in her own home and Joy soon to do the same, I feel a great sense of loss. I am so grateful that Breona consented to continue as our housekeeper after her marriage. But that, too, cannot last forever. Someday God will need to raise up others to fill their places.”

  Tabitha nodded and, again, looked closely at Rose, noting the years creeping up on her. Rose was every bit as vital and vibrant as she had always been, but she tired more easily and had taken to retiring to bed early each evening.

  “I am here with you, Miss Rose. You may count on me,” she whispered.

  Rose squeezed her hand. “That means more than you know, dear Tabitha.”

  Joy and O’Dell were to be married Sunday afternoon after church services. Early Saturday, the girls of Palmer House, led by Breona and aided by Billy and Mr. Wheatley, cleared away the Christmas greenery and threw themselves into a thorough cleaning of the first floor. The busy workgroup removed drapes, trudged through the January snow, shook the drapes, and hung them on the frigid clotheslines to air. They dusted walls and ceilings and scrubbed mantels and hearths.

  Billy and Mr. Wheatley rolled and removed carpets, taking them out-of-doors for a thorough beating. Once the carpets were out of the way, the women swept and cleaned the floors, waxing the hardwood planks and rubbing them until their arms ached and the wood glowed.

  They cleaned the gaslight fixtures and wiped their globes; they washed every window until the glass gleamed and met with Breona’s approval. They polished furniture and rehung the drapes. Finally, they festooned the windows, walls, and doorways with the costly greens and hothouse flowers Martha Palmer had insisted upon ordering and sending to them.

  Tabitha and Sarah stood back with the others, admiring their combined efforts and breathing in the lily-perfumed air. �
�It will be so beautiful for them,” Sarah smiled.

  “Aye. That it will.” It was all Breona could muster. With the corner of her apron, she dabbed at her eyes.

  Later the same day, under a bright winter sun, Joy and O’Dell, accompanied by Rose, Billy and Marit, Tabitha, Sarah, Corrine, and Mr. Wheatley, rode in two motorcars to Riverside Cemetery. Pastor Isaac and Breona Carmichael, with Yaochuan, Mei-Xing, and Shan-Rose Liáng, met them there.

  Together, Joy and O’Dell placed a garland of flowers upon the simple grave of Grant Michaels. Joy wept unabashedly. When she placed her hand upon Grant’s headstone, O’Dell, with his hand covering Joy’s, whispered, “Grant, my dearest friend, you already know that I am doing my best to fulfill my promises to you. Joy and I will stand before God tomorrow and make our solemn vows of marriage, but we do not forget you . . . and we do not forget Edmund. When we find your sweet boy, I will fulfill my pledge to you to raise him as my own.”

  Joy and O’Dell bowed their heads to pray silently.

  In his own silent prayers, O’Dell added, And, Lord, please bless our friend Mason Carpenter. Where we have exhausted our own means, he has poured from his wealth into our search for Edmund. Lord, our friend is not far from where the war rages. We ask you to keep him safe and bring him home to us.

  The adjustment was, as Rose had suggested, difficult for those left at Palmer House. Joy and O’Dell departed on their honeymoon trip and were gone for three weeks. When they returned, radiant and rested, Joy again took up the reins at Michaels’ Fine Household Furnishings and O’Dell his management of the Denver Pinkerton Office. The newlyweds set up housekeeping in a tiny house O’Dell rented for them.

  Joy and O’Dell made a habit of meeting the Palmer House residents for church on Sundays and having dinner at Palmer House afterward, but Rose keenly felt the increased burden of Joy’s absence from the day-to-day running of the house. More than that, Rose missed the daily presence of her daughter.