Tabitha (19 page)

She let her hand drop away from her face. “I must tell you
the truth, Mr. Carpenter. Should have told you sooner. I cannot have children.”
She said the words, but she could not look him in the eye.

He stuttered, stunned by her revelation. “But-but are you
certain? How . . . how can you be certain?”

Tabitha slowly shook her head.
Because, from the age of
fifteen until I was twenty-nine, I laid with hundreds of men—perhaps more—and I
never once conceived a child. Because I had an abortion. Because I killed my
own unborn child.

“You deserve so much better than me, Mr. Carpenter,” she
whispered. “I cannot give you a family. Yes, of this I am certain. Please
forgive me. I did not know you desired children so much, and it never occurred
to me . . . I am nearly thirty-three and you are, what? Five or
more years older than I am?”

“Why, we are not too old, Tabitha! We are not!” he pleaded.
“I have waited so long for you!”

“It is not our age, Mason.” Tabitha’s words sounded far away
to her own ears. “It is me. I am unable to conceive. It would not be fair to
enter into marriage with you when I cannot give you the family you desire.”

Tabitha drew on all her old arguments, the many reasons she
had painstakingly formulated and memorized to contradict the possibility of
their marrying. “Too many obstacles are against us. I have a past that, should
it ever come out, would ruin your good standing in Denver society. You deserve
a wife who can come to you . . . pure and chaste. And I cannot
give you a family.”

She drew herself up. “Besides, I-I have pledged myself to
nursing. Please forgive me. I should not have led you on.”

She turned and walked away, stumbled up the front steps into
the house. Somehow she navigated the two staircases and found her room.

Joy and Rose, standing together in the great room, noted
Tabitha’s entrance. They were both surprised when, a few minutes later, a knock
sounded on the front door. Rose answered it herself.

“Why, Mr. Carpenter! When we saw Tabitha come in, we
supposed you had gone—”

She caught sight of his
anguished expression. “Oh! What is it, my
dear boy?”

He took her hand. “Mrs. Thoresen. Please, may we talk?
Privately?”

She nodded and led him into the parlor.

Thirty minutes later the door to the parlor opened and
Carpenter walked out the front door on unsteady legs. A moment later, Rose
returned to the great room.

“What is it, Mama?” Joy went to her mother.

Tears trickled down Rose’s cheeks, but she shook her head.
“I cannot speak of it, Joy. It would violate Tabitha’s confidence.”

Rose sobbed once and Joy reached for her. “I think I
understand, Mama,” Joy whispered. “Let us pray for them.”

For two weeks Tabitha kept herself so busy that she did not
have time to think about Carpenter or dwell on her aching heart. She then began
her new position at the hospital and threw herself into her work, taking on
longer hours, extra shifts, and difficult patients.

She spent her days immersed in the demanding labor of
nursing. When she returned to Palmer House she would seek out mindless
work—scrubbing floors or bathrooms, doing laundry for the other women. By night
she would fall into bed too exhausted to think, too worn to do anything but
sleep.

And then one afternoon she returned home from her shift and
found a letter waiting for her. She knew it was from Carpenter. Hadn’t she
received enough of his letters over her years at school to know his
handwriting?

Tabitha climbed to the third floor and closed her bedroom
door behind her. The envelope trembled in her hand and, finally, tears began to
fall.

What can I do? I love him, I do! But what can I do? We
cannot marry.

And there was the rub.

Will this letter say he still wants to marry me?
she
wondered.
Will he try to change my mind? I must harden my heart against him,
against all his arguments.

Fearful of what she would find inside, Tabitha slid her
thumb under the envelope’s seal and unfolded the pages she withdrew from
within.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she read.

August 1, 1914

My dearest Tabitha,

I have spent the past weeks praying and seeking God’s
face. He has shown me places in my heart where I have been shortsighted and
presumptuous.

For years I have felt that we would be together, that I
only needed to allow you to follow your heart and first train to be a nurse.
When you finished your training, I (in my shortsightedness) believed we would
marry. I believed that you would be willing to oversee a local volunteer
nursing program or something along those lines—a place of service and ministry
that would still allow us to marry and have a family.

I gave no thought as to whether or not we
could
have a family and I, in my presumption, never broached the subject with you. I
did not wish to pressure you while you were in school—but I presumed so much!
It is I who should have spoken of these things much sooner. I am so sorry.

After you left me, I spoke to Mrs. Thoresen. She did not
give up your confidences, my darling. No, she steadfastly refused all questions
but one: She confirmed what you told me, that you cannot bear children. I do
not know why or how you know this, only that what you told me is true.

This fact breaks my heart for both of us, and I cannot
help but recall my thoughtless words and how they must have deeply wounded you.
Please forgive me for the pain I have caused.

I have asked the Lord to show me what I should do now
that we have parted. Parted? The word tears at my soul, for I do not wish to be
parted from you.

But now I understand, now I
see clearly: I understand your call to nursing and why you have bent your
entire self toward that calling. Now I acknowledge that I must respect your
decision, as grievously as it strikes my very soul.

Tabitha found that she was weeping, and the tears that fell
from her cheeks splashed over the penned words on the paper. His next words stunned
her.

My dearest, you have surely
heard the news. Austria-Hungary has declared war on Serbia, Great Britain’s
ally. Germany has sided with Austria-Hungary. Now the world expects Great
Britain—and all the countries of the British Empire—to declare war against
Germany and the Austro-Hungarians within the week. Because nations will honor
their alliances and treaties, war will shortly engulf all of Europe.

I pray America can avoid the fracas. Consensus assures us
that a conflict in Europe will be a short one. I hope and pray it is, but can
anyone say with certainty how effortless or contracted this struggle may prove
to be—or who will prevail?

Tabitha, I am writing to tell you that I have decided to
follow Cliff St. Alban to England. He assures me that the British will welcome
my help in training new pilots. Cliff has the sense that aeroplanes will change
the way wars are fought. I do not know, but perhaps I can be a help and forget
myself and my own concerns as I serve.

My darling, I want you to know that my feelings for you
are unchanged. I will return to Denver when the war is over, not so many days
or months from now. When I do, I will seek you out. Perhaps, by God’s grace, he
will make a way for us. Until then,

I am always your servant,

Mason Carpenter

Tabitha read and reread his letter, shaking her head and
whispering, “No. No!” Her tears smeared the ink in places, and she could not
bear for his words to be marred, so she folded the precious papers away and
wept into her pillow.

I must stop him
, she realized.
I must change his
mind. Going to war cannot be God’s will for him!

As exhausted as she was, Tabitha scarcely slept that night.
In the morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Tabitha telephoned Carpenter’s
home. She was breaking every rule of etiquette and custom, but she did not
care. She was determined to argue against his decision, to dissuade him from
entering the war—even if England was an island and lay hundreds of miles from
where the fighting would take place.

When a voice on the other end picked up, Tabitha recognized
it. “Banks? Is that you?”

“Ah. Yes, Miss Hale. It is good to hear your voice.”

But Tabitha could hear the sadness underpinning his
greeting. “Has he left? Is he already gone?”

Banks coughed a tiny, polite cough. “Yes, miss. Mr.
Carpenter left three nights ago.”

“But-but I only received his letter today!”

Frustration shaded his response. “Yes, miss. I was
instructed to post the letter after he departed.”

I am too late
, she realized.
He knew I would try
to stop him.

Still reeling, she managed to whisper her thanks and hang
up.

Only days later, on August 4, the newspapers trumpeted the
headlines:

Great Britain Declares War
.

~~**~~

The following months were agony for Tabitha. She spent her
days in a fog of work, much of it accomplished automatically, without conscious
thought.

In November, two weeks before Thanksgiving, Tabitha received
a second letter from Carpenter. It was postmarked from a hamlet in England
whose name she did not recognize. She tore into the envelope, hungry for
news—eager to know he was safe. The letter began formally and, as Tabitha
devoured his words, it grew more so. By the time she finished it, she was
terrified.

Sunday, October 11, 1914

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 wrote,

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?
”