Tabitha
Authors: Vikki Kestell
Table
of Contents
Tabitha,
Girls
from the Mountain, Book 1
. 3
The Books of
A Prairie Heritage
. 197
Stealthy
Steps,
Nanostealth, Book 1
. 199
Tabitha
©2015
Vikki Kestell
All Rights Reserved
Scripture Quotations Taken From
The King James Version (KJV)
Public Domain,
and
New
Living Translation (NLT).
Scripture quotations marked NLT
are taken from the Holy Bible,
New Living Translation,
copyright 1996, 2004.
Used by permission of
Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.,
Wheaton, Illinois 60189.
All rights reserved.
Girls from the Mountain, Book
1
by
Vikki Kestell
From the author
of the groundbreaking series,
A Prairie Heritage
, comes the compelling
story of fiery-haired, fiery-tempered Tabitha Hale. Rescued from a life of
depravity, Tabitha gives her heart to God and her life to nursing.
As this tenacious, redeemed woman perseveres toward her
vocation, her temper and stubborn independence threaten to derail her
aspirations. Will Tabitha pass the trial by fire that is necessary for God to
truly use her?
And what is Tabitha to do with her feelings for Mason
Carpenter, the man who simply refuses to give up on her? Is it even possible
for God to ordain a shared future for two such different people, both with
fervent callings upon their hearts?
When the Great War erupts in Europe, Carpenter leaves for
England to train British pilots to fly reconnaissance missions over Belgium and
France. Soon after, Tabitha hears God asking her to nurse the war wounded.
However, because America has not joined in the fight, Tabitha has few options.
Will the elite British Nursing Service make a place for her? Will they accept
the services of an American volunteer?
And will Tabitha and Mason overcome the differences that
stand between them?
Revisit Palmer House—a most
extraordinary refuge for young women rescued from prostitution. Renew your
acquaintance with Rose Thoresen, Joy Michaels, and the others who live at
Palmer House. Glimpse the years between
Stolen
and
Lost Are Found
.
Tabitha
,
Girls from the
Mountain
, Book 1
“Girls from the Mountain”?
A
short excerpt from
The Captive Within.
Denver, 1909.
Joy was thoughtful. “You said something just
now . . .” You called them
girls from the mountain
. I
rather like that.”
“Certainly less degrading than ‘former prostitutes.’” Grant
smiled his endearing half-smile.
“Perhaps that is how we should refer to them from now on. Of
course, when the Lord gives us women from Denver, the phrase will no longer
apply.”
“Denver is surrounded by mountains. I don’t see a problem
with it. It could be our own little code for the young ladies of Palmer House.”
Joy nodded. “I like that.”
Girls from the Mountain
is
a follow-on series to
A Prairie Heritage
. Each book can be read as a
“standalone” volume, but having already read
A Prairie Heritage
may
increase your enjoyment.
A
Rose Blooms Twice
and
Wild
Heart on the Prairie
, Books 1 and 2 in
A Prairie Heritage
,
are FREE on Kindle and most other eReading platforms.
Faith-Filled Fiction™
http://www.faith-filledfiction.com/
http://www.vikkikestell.com/
Dedication
For the selfless nurses
of the Great War and beyond.
Acknowledgements
Many
thanks
to my esteemed teammates,
Cheryl Adkins
and
Greg McCann
,
who give selflessly of themselves
to make each new book the most effective
instrument of God’s grace possible.
I love you.
Cover
photography by
Damon Jasso
.
Cover model by
Beth-Grace
.
Cover by
DogEared Design
.
To My Readers
This
book is a work of fiction,
what I term Faith-Filled Fiction™.
While the characters and events are fiction,
they are situated within the historical record.
To
God be the glory.
“A timeless story
of redemption and hope,
Tabitha
will pull at your heartstrings and
delight you with its rich characterization and impeccable details.
Tabitha
is a book you will not soon forget.”
—
Chautona Havig
,
Author of Christian Fiction without Apology or
Pretense—Lived, Not Preached
But
where sin abounded,
grace did
much more
abound
.
(Romans 5:20b, KJV)
Rose Thoresen sighed and folded her hands upon her desk in the
great room of Palmer House. Her account books, filled with sums and figures
waiting to be worked, lay neglected before her. It was late morning but already
Rose’s bones were weary of sitting.
I never used to tire so easily, Lord.
Shaking her head, she reflected on her sixty-three years and
how quickly they had seemed to pass . . . how odd it was to gaze
into a mirror and view a stranger: a woman aging gracefully, but not the figure
of youth she expected, the young woman who still resided in her heart.
Rose rubbed her arm where, not many months before, a bullet
had torn skin and broken bone. The bone was healing, but her arm often ached.
Its ache reminded her that the man who had shot her had meant to kill her—
and
had failed
.
“I thank you again, Lord, for your many mercies,” she
whispered.
Rose leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes. She
listened. The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Too still.
Too empty.
Most of the young women of Palmer House were away for the
day, gone to their places of employment. Even Rose’s daughter Joy had departed
the house this morning, surprising them all. Joy had left the house in the
watchful company of her employees, Sara, Corrine, and Billy, to catch the
trolley into downtown Denver.
Tabitha had accompanied them.
Tabitha has been Joy’s caring shadow during these dark
weeks
, Rose acknowledged.
Unable to return to nursing school in Boulder until the
onset of the fall term, Tabitha had stayed close to Joy. She had seen to it
that Joy ate enough and had helped Joy navigate the treacherous and painful
road of mourning and loss. Not that anyone could walk that road for another.
Nevertheless, Tabitha’s steadfast presence had eased many of Joy’s burdens.
Yes, with chin lifted and mouth set in resolute lines, Joy
had marched out the front door to resume management of the fine furnishings
store she owned—the store she
and Grant
had established and poured their
hearts into together.
Grant!
Gone to Jesus now these many weeks.
And baby Edmund
. Still missing.
Mr. O’Dell
. Absent from Denver, working himself into
the ground to find and retrieve Edmund.
So many losses.
Rose turned her head and heeded the creaks and groans of the
stately old mansion they called Palmer House.
Marit and Breona, Palmer House’s cook and housekeeper, were
about the day’s business, but they moved with soft footsteps and spoke in
subdued voices—as though the noise and bustle of daily activities might violate
the holy hush that persisted in the house.
Even Mr. Wheatley puttered noiselessly about in Palmer
House’s expansive yard, his dear old face creased with the weight of grief they
all carried in one measure or another.
Rose massaged her throbbing arm, and her heart ached in
tempo with the knitting of her bones. The absence of baby Edmund’s coos and gurgles
made the empty echoes of the old house all the more difficult to
bear . . . even though more time had passed without him in their
lives than the scant three months he had been with them.
Lord, I am always grateful when Mei-Xing returns from
work in the evening with our little Shan-Rose,
Rose prayed.
Mei-Xing’s daughter, coming up on a year old now, was a
blessing they all cherished—even though her very presence underscored Edmund’s
conspicuous absence.
Father God,
Rose entreated,
I ask you to fill our
hearts and this house with happiness again, because we cannot bear this sorrow.
I pray for Mr. O’Dell who is searching so diligently, so earnestly, for our
little man. I pray you would fill him with strength and courage. In all these
things I trust you, Father God, for in you, the lost are found.
Rose huffed and glanced down at her accounts. Just as she
took up her pen, the front door of the house opened and she heard the patter of
footsteps. Seconds later she glimpsed Tabitha’s flaming hair as she crossed the
entryway.
Rose stood and went to meet her. “Tabitha! Are you home so
soon?”
The young woman, perhaps age thirty and the eldest of their
“girls from the mountain,” turned and entered the great room at Rose’s
question. The two women placed their cheeks together in warm greeting.
“What I know about fine furnishings would not fill a
teacup,” Tabitha laughed, more than a little chagrined, “and, truly, Joy does
not need me at the store. Sara, Corinne, and Billy are more than enough staff
for their customers’ needs.”
She stared at the floor. “I am so glad Joy has returned to
work. It is an important step for her. But I am afraid I find myself at rather
loose ends right now.”
“Ah.” Rose studied Tabitha, admiring the woman’s brilliant
green eyes edged with dark auburn lashes, admiring the thick, fiery locks
Tabitha pinned upon her head in such a practical manner. “How many weeks remain
before you return to school?”
“I have counted three times,” Tabitha confessed, “but it is
still nine weeks. I fear I shall go out of my mind if I do not busy myself with
some productive work in the interim.”
“Perhaps you could volunteer at the hospital?” Rose
suggested. “With the training you received during your first term at nursing
school and the practical experience you gained nursing all of us during last
winter’s influenza, surely they could find use for your capable hands?”
“Yes, I did think of that. I even spoke to Dr. Murphy and he
is willing to write a letter of recommendation.”
Tabitha broke off and frowned, and Rose wondered where her
thoughts had turned.
“What is it, dear?” she inquired.
“I find it odd that, just as I make up my mind to go down to
the hospital, I balk at doing so. It is as though . . . as
though I am supposed to be doing something else, yet what that ‘something else’
might be eludes me.”
Rose pursed her lips and breathed a silent prayer. “Tabitha,
I have something I have been praying over, but, well, perhaps we could speak of
it over a cup of tea?”
Tabitha’s brows lifted. “I should be glad to hear your
proposal.” She hurried off to make a tray for them.
Rose’s eyes followed Tabitha.
I doubt my suggestion will
make you glad in any respect, dear girl, but if my idea is from God and is for
his glory, he will speak to your heart and do the convincing
.
Rose finished the sums she had neglected and tidied up her
desk while she waited for Tabitha to return. Perhaps ten minutes later, Tabitha
entered the great room with a tray set for two.
They sat in worn but comfortable upholstered chairs, facing
each other across a low table. Rose poured the tea and handed Tabitha her cup.
Tabitha looked to Rose. “Can you tell me of your idea now?”
Rose blew on her own steaming cup. “Yes, but perhaps we
should pray first?”
Again Tabitha’s brows levered upwards, but she did not
answer. Instead she nodded her agreement. The two women placed their cups on
the table between them and joined hands.
“Father, thank you for the fellowship Tabitha and I share in
Jesus Christ. We ask that you guide our conversation. And we ask that you move
our hearts to follow yours, wherever you may lead us. Amen.”
“Amen,” Tabitha echoed. She picked up her cup. “Now I am
very
curious!”
“Yes, well . . .” Rose paused and then dove
in. “I have been praying about some of the young women at Palmer House writing
small books, personal accounts that would contain their . . .
testimonies. The accounts would not be for public consumption, but for the
benefit of newcomers to Palmer House, now and in the future.”
She glanced at Tabitha to see how she was receiving her
words.
Tabitha’s forehead puckered in puzzlement. “Testimonies? I
am not familiar with that word.”
“Hmm. What I mean to say, Tabitha, is that your
testimony—the account of what God has done in you and for you—could aid other women,
women whose past lives are similar to yours but who, perhaps, have not
experienced similar redemptive outcomes. Not as yet anyway.”
She wet her lips with a sip of tea. “I am asking you to
consider writing the story of your journey to the Savior.”
“The story of my j-journey?” Tabitha stuttered over the last
word.
“Something of a memoir, dear. So that others, other women
such as yourself, can come to know Jesus and his saving power in the same way
you have experienced it.”
“You want me to write about . . . before?”
Their eyes met.
Rose’s steady gray eyes did not blink as the two women
searched each other’s heart. Rose wanted to be honest with Tabitha.
“I believe the Lord would have you write about the choices
you made and their consequences, Tabitha. Yes, you would write about the sin
that ensnared you but—and this is much more important—you would also write
about the grace Jesus extended to you. How he sought you, found you, and
redeemed you from your choices and sin.”
Rose sipped her tea and added, “We do not wish to glorify
sin or dwell on the past. However, we, as followers of Christ, should anchor
our testimonies in what we were before he saved us so that our great God
receives the glory that is due him, and so that others can receive hope—hope for
their own lives. The Apostle Paul said it this way,
Christ Jesus came into
the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief
.”
Tabitha swallowed and the anxiety that radiated from her was
palpable. Her cup and saucer clattered together as she set them on the table.
“I-I am not sure I could do that, Miss Rose. I do not wish people to
know . . .”
She said “people,” but in her mind’s eye she fixed on one
individual in particular:
Mason Carpenter
, a man whose esteem she did
not wish crushed by a detailed account of her past with all its ugliness.
Although Tabitha had discouraged Carpenter in the most unmistakable manner, the
man continued to call upon Palmer House—ostensibly to provide support for the
house’s ministry, but also to pay informal court to her.
He has been a tremendous blessing to us
, Tabitha
admitted. His financial gifts and other services had kept Palmer House solvent
through the recent turbulent events—the attack on Rose and abduction of baby
Edmund in April and, not long after, Grant’s death.
When Carpenter had first expressed an interest in her,
Tabitha had not spared his feelings. No, she had been blunt. Severe. She had,
with dispassion, recounted the origins and purpose of Palmer House—including
her own reasons for living in the house. In fact, she had done her best to
revolt him, to shock him into retreating!
But Carpenter had not been the slightest bit dissuaded—not
from supporting the house’s ministry and certainly not from asking after her
frequently. He had taken care not to push in or make himself unwelcome to her,
but he had lately begun attending services at Calvary Temple, the same church
the family at Palmer House attended: Calvary Temple, the unconventional Denver
congregation that met for services in a former warehouse.
No, Carpenter’s unhurried, steady attentions showed no signs
of abatement, and Tabitha had no wish to wound or shame him.
Rose responded, “Your story would be available only to the
women the Lord asks us to love back into wholeness—not to the general public.
No copy would ever leave this house.”
Tabitha nodded, but her expression reflected worry.
“I understand how difficult telling your story might be,
which is why I thought, perhaps, we could do it together,” Rose added.
Tabitha wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. “Do it
together?”
“Yes. If you felt you could speak openly to me, then I would
take notes and write the first draft of the manuscript.” She paused and then
shrugged, “Who knows? Perhaps the recounting of your journey would be cathartic
and would bring God’s grace toward you into sharper focus.”
Tabitha glanced away, clearly conflicted. Rose allowed her
to think in peace as she sipped her own tea. They remained in silence for a
long while.
As she waited, Rose prayed within herself.
If this is of
you, Lord, then you will show us the way. I fear nothing in this world anymore,
with one exception: I fear not following closely after you. If it is Tabitha’s
decision not to share her testimony at this time, then you will open another
young woman’s heart to do so. I trust in you, my Lord.
Tabitha was lost in her own thoughts for so long that Rose
began to gather up the tea things, including Tabitha’s cup of very cold tea.
At last Tabitha whispered, “Do you
think . . . do you think my testimony might help another girl
not to make the mistakes I made?”
Tabitha turned toward Rose and tears glistened in her eyes.
“I can scarcely bear to consider what my own willful nature—and my unbridled
temper—cost me.”
“My darling girl, I am much less concerned over the choices
and mistakes you made years ago than I am with how our Lord Jesus saved you
out
of all of them
. It is human nature that we rarely care about our great God
of grace until we, personally, see that we have a need for him, no? Jesus came
to seek and save those who are lost—and I care a great deal about the lost who
might see themselves in your story. I believe your testimony will cause the
hearts of many women like yourself to turn to him.”
Rose hesitated. “It will not be easy, Tabitha, remembering
and talking of the life you lived before Jesus rescued you.”
Tabitha stared at her hands. “I would only need to tell you?
You would write it out?”
