Tabitha (18 page)

She smiled at her father, seated across from her next to
Carpenter. Her father dozed, his chin bobbing gently on his chest.

Without Carpenter saying anything, Tabitha’s nursing senses
had already observed and concluded that he was unwell. She gently squeezed her
mother’s hand.

“We are s’ very proud of you, Tabitha,” her mother murmured.
The sentiment seemed the only thing that she could say, but Tabitha understood:
Her parents were overwhelmed—dazed by their journey from Texas by train, by
their luxurious apartment in Carpenter’s home, by being whisked to Boulder and
back in Carpenter’s automobile.

By meeting their daughter, back from the grave.

I doubt they have ridden in a motorcar before now
,
Tabitha realized.
They must be so discomfited, so out of their element.
She raised her mother’s rough hand to her lips and kissed it.

“I am so glad you are here, Mama.”

Across the car in the dimming light, Carpenter’s eyes
watched her.

“Thank you,” Tabitha mouthed.

Carpenter walked Tabitha up the porch steps to the door of
Palmer House. “I shall bring your parents to you tomorrow afternoon,” he
assured her. “Your father will be more rested then, and Breona will have
prepared a room for them.”

As Tabitha reached for the venerable old door to the house,
she spied something new: a shiny metal sign nailed to the house, just to the
side of the door. Her fingers traced the graven words,
Lost Are Found
.

“What is this?” she asked Carpenter.

“Mr. Wheatley’s work, at Joy’s request. A reminder to us all
that God knows where Edmund is. A reminder to us all that we are to pray and
not give up hope.”

Tabitha stared at the sign with new understanding. Then she
placed her hand on it and prayed aloud. “O Lord, we do not forget. We have
asked you to bring Edmund home. Your eyes are upon the whole earth, and you see
him, even right now. Father, we trust you to bring him back to us, for in you,
the lost are found.”

“Amen,” came Carpenter’s heartfelt response. When Tabitha
opened her eyes, his palm was upon the sign, next to hers.

Tabitha’s return to Palmer House was all that she had wished
for. Her friends greeted her at the front door and gathered around her in the
great room to welcome her home. Though she was meeting several girls for the
first time, the spirit of the old house had not changed: It was still home to
her, and she delighted in the unfamiliar as well as familiar faces.

“Will! What a great big boy you are now.” Tabitha knelt next
to Marit and Billy’s tow-headed child.

“I’m gonna be six, Aunt Tabitha,” he announced with pride.

“I can hardly believe it, sweetheart.” She hugged him but,
as boys that age generally do, he wriggled free from her embrace and raced away
giggling.

“And little Charley? Charley, is this you?” The toddler,
suddenly shy, buried his face in Marit’s neck. Everyone laughed and Marit tried
to coax him to say hello, but he was having nothing to do with Tabitha.

“He is going on three, now,” Marit apologized to Tabitha, “and
is very villfull and full of mischief. Ven he makes up his mind, ve cannot
change it.”

To underscore Marit’s explanation, Charley peeked out at
Tabitha. “No!” he hollered.

“Don’t worry; he will warm up to you,” Billy promised.

“No!” Charley pronounced a second time.

Everyone laughed, which only mortified the little boy. He
buried his face in Marit’s bosom and burst into tears.

When the bustle of Tabitha’s homecoming subsided a little,
Sarah and Corrine took hold of her arms and pulled her up the stairs. The two
young women who worked for Joy in her fine home furnishings store had shared
the room next to Tabitha’s since Palmer House opened.

“You lucky thing, you,” Corrine grinned.

“Me? What do you mean?” They reached the second floor
landing, but the two young women guided Tabitha to the staircase leading up to
the third floor.

“You, dear girl, no longer share a room on the second floor
with one of us peons! Miss Rose has given you a room on the top floor,” Sarah
informed her. “She felt that if you are required to work long shifts at the
hospital, you needed a ‘quieter environment in which to take your rest.’ I
believe those were her exact words.”

Corrine glanced at Sarah and they burst into giggles.

“Why, whatever could Miss Rose mean by that?” Sarah giggled
again.

“A ‘quieter environment’? Yes, whatever
could
she
mean?” Tabitha snorted—and the three of them giggled together.

Sarah stopped before one of the three turret rooms of which
Palmer House boasted. Corrine threw open the door. “Welcome home. You have a
room all to yourself, Tabitha!”

Tabitha gaped. “Really? I have never had such space
before—or such a lovely room!” She entered and turned in a circle, relishing
the simple but warm furnishings.

“It was Joy,” Sarah said, clapping her hands. “She chose
these things from the shop especially for you, and we all pitched in to
decorate the room for you.”

“We agreed—we wanted your room to be special,” Corrine
added, “to celebrate your great accomplishment. To welcome you home.”

“Do you like the new wallpaper?” Sarah asked.

“What about the curtains?” Corrine added.

Tabitha could not speak. Her heart was too full.

Then the three of them were hugging, and Tabitha’s heart
overflowed.
Thank you, Lord, for bringing me home again. How I love you!

The next morning Tabitha helped Breona make up the parlor
for her parents. Because of her father’s ill health, going up and down a
staircase was out of the question. The parlor was the only room on the ground
floor, other than Mr. Wheatley’s two little chambers (the former butler’s
pantry and quarters) that could accommodate them. Breona and Tabitha slid the
small settee against a wall and set up the two bedsteads Billy had brought down
from the attic.

“I am sorry the parlor will be unavailable while my parents
are here,” Tabitha said to Rose.

“Do not be sorry, Tabitha. Their visit is an answer to our
prayers,” Rose replied.

Not long after lunch, Carpenter and Banks arrived with their
precious cargo. Carpenter helped Tabitha’s father navigate the front steps and
Banks brought in their single suitcase.

As Carpenter and Banks were leaving, Carpenter stole Tabitha
aside for a private word. “I will be away on business for a fortnight, Tabs,
and shall return on the second Friday from now. May I call on you and take you
for a drive the following day?”

“Yes. I would like that.” They smiled, easy with each other.
Tabitha added, “I believe my parents will be leaving that Wednesday. They have
shown me their return tickets and seem quite set on it.”

“I believe it would be difficult for them to adjust here,”
he answered. His voice was silky soft, and Tabitha’s heartbeat quickened a
little

She nodded and looked down. “I have not properly thanked you
for bringing them all this way to be reunited with me.”

Carpenter grew more serious and asked, “Perhaps we can speak
of that when I return?”

Tabitha’s heart thumped harder. “Of course.”

“Until then,” he whispered.

After showing her parents their room, Tabitha settled them
in the kitchen with Breona, Marit, Billy, and Mr. Wheatley. Her mother was
talking the women’s legs off, while Mr. Wheatley was talking her father’s arm
off.

Tabitha sighed and smiled. It made her happy to see her
parents looking so content and comfortable with her friends, but she also had a
concern: Sooner or later, the origins and purpose of Palmer House would come
out—and so would Tabitha’s reason for living in the house.

It will not be an easy conversation to have with them,
Lord. I pray that you will help me when I tell them of my past and help me to
glorify Jesus—I pray that they will see him in me when it is all said and done.

The days flew by, however, and neither of Tabitha’s parents
asked her to explain why she was living at Palmer House, nor did they even turn
an inquiring eye upon her. Each morning Tabitha took her mother on a short
walk. Her father, unable to join them, spent the time they were out playing
checkers with Mr. Wheatley—to that gentleman’s everlasting delight.

Tabitha and her mother would walk arm-in-arm to the little
park a few blocks away and wander along the pine trees lining the paths that
wound through it. After their third walk to the park, Tabitha came to the
realization that her mother would not be bringing up the difficult topic.

They usually sat down on a bench near the middle of the park
to just enjoy their surroundings. They spoke of many things, mostly about
Tabitha’s childhood home and the nearby farms and people she remembered, but
each time their exchange veered toward Palmer House, Tabitha noticed how her
mother steered the conversation in another direction.

Only once did Tabitha glimpse something, a hint of
understanding in her mother.

“When you left with thet Cray Bishoff, I knewed it would
lead t’ sorrows fer ya, Daughter. I’m ever s’ glad thet you have come to this
place in yer life, glad thet you are happy now.”

“I-I wasn’t always happy, Mama,” Tabitha said softly. She
was ready to admit to the truth—but her mother forestalled her.

“Them days is all in th’ past, Tabitha. All in th’ past.
Thet’s where they should stay put.” Her mother stood abruptly and glanced at
the cloudless sky. “Gonna be a hot one agin t’day. Shall we hev anuther go
’round th’ park while it’s still cool?”

She offered her hand to Tabitha and they, mother and
daughter, arms about each other, walked on.

Tabitha’s mother muttered, “A’course a hot one here ain’t
got nuthin’ on Texas, do it?”

Tabitha laughed, her mother chuckled, and Tabitha understood
that the topic she had feared was closed, not to be broached again.

Almost two weeks later, Billy drove Tabitha and her parents
to Union Station. As much as they had relished every moment spent with Tabitha,
relief showed on their faces. Tabitha knew they were anxious to return to their
farm.

“Do you have your tickets?” Tabitha asked for the third
time.

“Yeah, girl. An’ th’ wonderful lunch Marit done give us.”
Her mother, tears starting in her eyes, placed a rough hand on Tabitha’s cheek.
“Ya have a good life here, Daughter. We be so glad fer ya.”

Tabitha hugged her parents close to her.
“Daddy . . . Mama, I love you so much. I-I want you to know that
Jesus loves you even more than I love you.”

Her father, usually quiet and unspoken, cleared his throat.
“We are a-seein’ the difference in ya, child.” He turned away from her, self-conscious
of his moist eyes. He sniffed and wiped them with his hand before turning back.
“Miss Rose prayed with us last night t’ become Christians—real Christians.”

Tabitha’s mother nodded, affirming her husband’s declaration
of faith. “Th’ day ya left us was th’ worst day of our lives, Daughter. We
thought th’ day we got yer letter was th’ best. But now thet we have seen
ya . . . now thet we know ya hev a good
life . . . well, now we kin—”

Her mother broke off on a sob and Tabitha’s heart filled in
the blanks:
Now we can die in peace
.

Tears dripping freely down her face, Tabitha waved at the
departing train until it wound down the tracks and out of sight.

~~**~~

In the days following her return to Denver, Tabitha could not
pin down her emotions—yes, she was relieved and overjoyed to be finished with
her grueling education . . . but she was also sad and bereft
because those days were gone forever. She was not accustomed to having so much
time for herself and suffered a restless itching because she would not start
work at the hospital until the end of June.

As he had intimated he would, Carpenter called on her
Saturday, midmorning. “Could we take a drive, Tabs?” Carpenter asked. He tucked
her hand into the crook of his arm and they descended the front steps of Palmer
House together. Carpenter led her down the walkway and out to the street where
Banks had the car waiting.

“Where are we going?”

“It is a surprise,” Carpenter grinned.

For a change, Tabitha felt free—as light as a feather. For
no particular reason, she laughed aloud.

“You are happy,” Mason remarked. He grinned again. “I like
seeing you happy, Tabs.”

Twenty minutes later they pulled onto the edge of a grassy
field and Carpenter’s surprise became apparent. Tabitha stared out the window
at the short line of aeroplanes ahead of them.

“Wh-what are we doing here?” Tabitha stuttered.

“Do not worry. I am not planning to take you up today. But I
wanted you to meet my friend and see the plane I am thinking of buying.”

“Very well.” Relieved, Tabitha blew out a great breath and
then asked, “Will I be able to go close to one of the aeroplanes? Perhaps touch
it?”

“Certainly. If you like, we can let you sit in one of them.
Is that something you would enjoy?”

She swallowed. “Perhaps. I do not know.”

This time he chuckled. “You will never have to do anything
that makes you uncomfortable when you are with me, Tabs. I do not believe in
forcing others to do what amuses me. Let us just have some fun together, shall
we?”

She nodded, further relieved, and felt herself growing a
little excited. “All right. Yes!”

A tall, gangly man waved at them from down the field.
“That’s Cliff. He was my instructor. Now he is quite a good friend. He owns the
biplane I hope to purchase.”

“Why is he selling his aeroplane?” Tabitha asked. “Is there
something wrong with it?”

“No, not a bit of it. We have been using this aeroplane to
give lessons. But, the thing is, he is leaving for England shortly and is in a
rush to sell it before he goes.”

“Oh? Why is he in such a hurry?”

“Ah, well, he is volunteering to train British pilots.”

“England does not have flying instructors?”

Carpenter shook his head. “You know the Brits are expecting
war to break out in Europe any moment, Tabs. As a Canadian, Cliff feels honor-bound
to help the Empire. The British wish to have many trained pilots who can fly
reconnaissance for the military. It is a brilliant idea, of course. From an
aeroplane a pilot can see for miles in all directions.”

“I see,” Tabitha answered him, but her heart was troubled at
the mention of a coming war.

Banks parked the car a short distance from the line of
planes and Carpenter helped Tabitha to step out. “Do watch where you step, my
dear. We pilots lease this field from a farmer but his steers also graze here.”
He snorted. “And they—and what they leave behind—can be quite the impediment
when trying to land.”

“I grew up on a farm,” Tabitha laughed, “so thank you for
the warning!”

They drew near Carpenter’s pilot friend and Carpenter
introduced Tabitha. “Miss Hale, may I present Mr. Clifford St. Alban? Cliff,
this is Miss Hale.”

Tabitha shook hands with St. Alban while studying his
strange attire—warm trousers, a padded, belted coat, and a wool scarf. She was
particularly caught by the soft leather hat that completely enclosed his head
and the odd eyewear dangling from around his neck.

St. Alban saw her eyes lingering on his getup. “Up in the
air the temperatures are much cooler than here on the ground, sometimes quite
cold. We bundle up before we fly. Of course, wind is a factor, too. My helmet
covers my head and protects my ears—and the strap keeps the helmet from blowing
away.”

“The goggles keep our eyes from watering,” Carpenter
interjected. “The goggles fit our faces quite snugly so the wind cannot blow inside
them or rip them from our faces when we are far up in the air.”

Tabitha’s eyes grew larger as she understood that Carpenter
had been “far up in the air” many times. She glanced up and shuddered. Both men
laughed at her shiver.

“Come see the planes, Tabs,” Carpenter urged her. They
walked toward the four aeroplanes parked alongside the field and Carpenter
strode up to the third in the row.

“This aeroplane was made by Mr. Glenn Curtiss. It is a
tractor model. Look—it has two seats, side-by-side. When I was learning, Cliff
sat next to me while I operated the controls. This is how we train new pilots.”

Tabitha did look, more interested than she had thought she
would be. Gingerly, she touched the “skin” of one of the wings.

“Why, it is only a light canvas of some kind,” she
exclaimed, “and seems entirely too-too flimsy! And what are these sticks and
wires between the wings?”

“Those are called ‘struts,’ Miss Hale.” Carpenter’s
instructor pointed to the two wings, one above the other. “The struts are
actually quite effective at maintaining and strengthening the structural
integrity of the aeroplane’s framework. The struts keep the airflow from
bending or twisting the two sets of wings out of shape, thus breaking them.”

Tabitha ran her hand over the many parts of the plane to get
a sense of their weight and stability. “But it all seems so fragile.”

Except the propeller. It seemed solid enough—as did the
motor mounted just behind the propeller.

“Yes, the planes are lightweight but they are not
necessarily fragile,” was Carpenter’s reply. He looked at Tabitha. “Would you
care to sit in it?”

She looked up at the two open-air seats not far behind the
engine. Her insides felt a little jiggly. “How would I get up there?”

“A step stool, m’lady,” Carpenter answered.

Minutes later, Tabitha was sitting on one of the seats, a
steering wheel of sorts in front of her at chin level. She adjusted her skirts,
hoping no other woman had been nearby to see how scandalously she’d shown ankle
and calf while climbing up the steps and stepping over some of the taut wires
to reach the seat. Carpenter surprised her by climbing onto the seat next to
her.

“What are you doing?” Tabitha’s throat dried as she spoke.

“I thought I would start the engine and taxi up and down the
field a few times.”

“You-you won’t try to go into the air?”

“Indeed not! No, I promised you. I would never lure you into
sitting in the plane for the purpose of taking you flying against your will. I
will not take you up until I have your permission.”

And that, Mr. Carpenter,
I promise you will never have,
Tabitha vowed in silence.

Carpenter handed Tabitha a scarf. “Please tie this about
your head so that your hair is not mussed up by the breeze.”

Tabitha spread the scarf over her head, crossed it under her
chin, and tied it at the back of her neck while Cliff and several other men
pushed the plane backward and turned it so it was facing down the field. Two of
them grabbed hold of the propeller on the nose of the machine and swung it
over.

Carpenter made some adjustments with a hand throttle. The
motor coughed, turned over, and caught. As if her insides were not giddy enough
already, the roar of the engine—bolted only a short distance from her face—sent
her stomach into spasms.

Then they were rolling along the grassy field, bumping over
rocks and stuttering over dips and holes. The engine grumbled louder still
until Tabitha felt that they were rocketing over the ground. She stared out her
side of the machine and watched the pasture fly by . . . and she
was seized by a wild, inexplicable desire.

All Mason would have to do is lift the nose of this plane
for us to go up . . . up into the air
, she realized.

He glanced at her and grinned—his expression shining with
joy.

She grinned back and, acting on her unaccountable impulse,
lifted her hand, pointing it upwards.

“Are you sure?” he shouted.

He was mad with glee, and Tabitha, still amazed, was, too.

“Yes!”

She glanced down again, mesmerized as the grass below the
nose of the plane fell away. They were only feet from the earth, but she could
feel the plane lifting. They glided smoothly into the air—and then they were
higher than she had ever been in her life, perhaps one hundred feet from the
ground!

In reduced size, the world below her was perfect, and all sounds
but the drone of the engine and the air roaring past her disappeared. She
stared about her, craning her head to see . . .
everything
!

It is magnificent
, she marveled. And she was not
afraid. She was at peace.

A wisp of cloud wrapped itself about the struts and
Carpenter began a slow turn to the right. As he turned the wheel, the plane
heeled over slightly and Tabitha’s view of the world below them was even
clearer. The pasture came closer and the ground rose to meet them. And then
they were racing along, level with the grass. The wheels settled and bumped and
they were no longer in the air.

Tabitha was almost saddened when the plane slowed and
Carpenter turned it back toward his friends.

Tabitha could not stop enthusing as Banks drove them back toward
Palmer House. “It was the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced,” she
admitted.

“And all we did was go up, make a turn and come back down,”
Carpenter grinned. “I thought that was quite enough for your first time. Of
course, as aeroplanes improve, we will be able to stay up much longer and go
much higher.”

They sighed at the same time—and laughed that they had
sighed simultaneously.

“I must admit that you surprised me, Tabs,” he said in a
softer voice.

“Oh, but I surprised myself more, I assure you. I was so
afraid—that is, until we were racing across the field and it felt that we
almost
were
flying,” she replied. “And then I could not let the moment
go. If we did not go up, I felt that something in me would have been so
grieved.”

His hand found hers. “I understand. I do.”

They rode in comfortable silence until they reached Palmer
House. As he helped her out, he said softly, “Will you take a turn with me
through the yard, Tabitha?”

She placed her arm in his and they wandered among the trees
and then along the side of the house where they admired the wealth of roses Mr.
Wheatley had trained upon trellises.

Carpenter stopped under a particularly lovely arch where
golden-pink climbing roses drooped from the stems and perfumed the air. The
rose branches formed a dome above them, surrounding them with a crown of buds
and blossoms.

Carpenter faced her with an earnest, determined look in his
eyes.

“I love and admire you, Tabitha. I have admired you since
that moment in the hospital when I saw you first—when you pointed your finger
at me and demanded that I give Shan-Rose to you.”

They both laughed, but softly. “I was a bit overwrought, I
admit,” Tabitha confessed.

“Let me see. I believe your first words to me were, ‘That is
not
your baby!’”

“Well, she was not,” Tabitha sniffed. “There you sat, a
complete stranger, a Chinese babe stuffed inside your overcoat, her little head
poking out of it, her eyes big as saucers. Admit it, Mr. Carpenter! It was
not
proper, and she was
not
your child.”

“Ah, but you do not give me due credit, my sweet one,”
Carpenter murmured, pulling her a little closer. “After all, it was snowing and
the air was freezing when I found Shan-Rose, and she had no blanket to cover
her little body. So I put her inside my coat to save her. I saved her and I
saved Mrs. Thoresen.”

“Oh, Mason! How foolish of me to bring up such silly social
mores when you did—you
did
save Shan-Rose and Miss Rose!”

She turned her face up to him. “You saved us from heartbreak
upon heartbreak. I can never thank you enough.”

Something flickered across his face and his eyes softened.
“Then will you thank me now, Tabitha? Will you make my happiness complete? Will
you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Oh, Mason . . .” Tabitha stared into his
eyes, sinking into them, getting lost in the love she saw there, forgetting the
arguments she had rehearsed so many times.

“You know I love you, Tabs, do you not?” he insisted.

“Yes.” Her reply was less than a breath. Her heart pounded
in her throat.

“And do you not love me, my darling? Say you do!”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes.”

“And, oh, Tabs! Do you not dream of making a home with me? A
family? What beautiful children we will have, Tabitha! Beautiful, emerald-eyed,
flaming-haired daughters and sons. Please say ‘yes’! Will you marry me?”

A great whooshing rushed through Tabitha’s veins and into
her ears; the words “a family” clanged alarms in her head—and sent her heart
skidding toward a precipice.

“I—No. Oh, no. Please, let me go.” Tabitha pushed on Carpenter’s
arms, pushed until he released her and she stumbled backward, her emotions
crashing around her.

“What is it? Did I say something wrong?” Carpenter reached
to support her, to keep her from falling. Alarm of his own tinged his
questions. “What is it?”

“Oh, no. I-I should have said something sooner. I should not
have let this go on, I should have—” Tabitha held her hand over her eyes.
“I . . . Mason . . . Mr.
Carpenter . . .”

“What is it, Tabs?” Concern etched his face.