Tabitha Read online

  Table of Contents

  Tabitha, Girls from the Mountain, Book 1

  Prologue

  Part 1: A Bad Beginning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part 2: Hope in the Middle

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part 3: A Good Amen

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Postscript

  The Books of A Prairie Heritage

  Stealthy Steps, Nanostealth, Book 1

  About the Author

  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.

  Tabitha,

  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

  Why the Series Title,

  “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

  Prologue

  But where sin abounded,

  grace did much more abound.

  (Romans 5:20b, KJV)

  July 1911

  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 Ap
ril 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.