Tabitha Read online

  Certain that the coins were secure in the hem of my dress—but not at all certain or secure in my own heart—I set my face toward the rising sun.

  I walked all day, walked until dark was falling on the land. I had eaten the oats tied up in the kerchief and drained the last of the water hours ago.

  I would have missed the town and wandered on, out into the desert, if not for the scents that reached out to me. The odors of smoking fires and smoldering grease drew me a little south. Kept me from losing my way.

  My feet ached. My throat and tongue were dry as dust. I was exhausted. But I had made it; I had arrived in Fullman.

  Fewer tents than I remembered stood between me and the rows of buildings at the center of Fullman.

  I waited until the night was fully dark. I trod by ragged shelters as quietly as I could manage. I avoided campfires where men sat and talked and drank with each other. I threaded my way through the canvas outskirts of Fullman until I reached the clapboard buildings.

  I stumbled up onto the planked walk in front of the store. The sign on the door read “Closed.” I glanced around in the dark, unsure of what to do next. Raucous singing, piano music, and smoky light issued from the saloon only feet away.

  I crept around the side of the store and sank to the dusty earth. I’ll just sleep here. No one will see me in the dark, I told myself. I’ll find Cray in the morning.

  I was not at all certain I wanted to find Cray, but I was frightened nearly out of my mind not to find him. A woman alone in a place like this? And I was only fourteen, after all. Scarcely a woman.

  I turned sideways and leaned my head against the rough planks.

  And slept.

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 2

  I felt the appraising stares on me before I came fully awake. Or perhaps it was the gamey stench of unwashed bodies that woke me. I jerked and pushed myself up to sitting. My muscles cried out as I did so; sometime in the night I had slumped over sideways and slept bent over for hours. Wiping a grimy hand across my face I pried my eyes open.

  At least ten men, backlit by glaring midmorning sun, circled around me. My breath caught. They might have been vultures circling their next meal, as intent as they were.

  “She ain’t dead,” one muttered.

  “I sawed ’er first. I claim ’er,” another growled.

  He nudged one of the men aside; two others pushed him back.

  “We’ll see ’bout that!” one of them snarled.

  My shawl had slipped to the ground as I slept. I fumbled for it and wrapped it about my shoulders; my hands clutched it to my bodice. With my back to the rough wood behind me, I shimmied to my feet.

  I mustered courage I did not know I possessed. “I ain’t belong t’ any of you-all,” I spat. My voice rasped with need for water—and with fear. “I-I’m a married woman. You-all jest move aside an’ let me pass.”

  Lie though it was, I would stick to the “married woman” tale—because a single woman alone in this God-forsaken land? An unmarried woman had no protection at all.

  The men were as depraved as I remembered them. They did not budge. Their eyes swept over my body; a few of them sniggered. Their intent was clear.

  As though responding to an unheard signal, hands scrabbled for me, grasped and clawed at my clothes, and I had nowhere to run. I was backed against the building. A shriek filled my mouth and spilled into the open air. I screamed and kept screaming.

  “Step aside, boys. You have no business here.”

  The sinews in my neck cracked as I craned my head to see who had spoken. A few of the men, while grumbling and complaining, started to back away, but others, their hands still grabbing at me, did not. Through their numbers I caught sight of a tall, slender woman.

  “Help me, lady! Please! Help me!”

  “You, Bill Plant! And Wendell Meyer! Take your filthy hands off this poor girl. Get away now, or I will fetch Big Jim to clear you all out.”

  The woman folded her arms and waited. Muttering dark threats, the mob started to break. I clasped my shawl tighter about myself as if it could shield me from further violation. I fixed my eyes on the woman who tipped her head on its side and considered me.

  “You are Tabitha Hale, are you not?” The woman swayed as she approached me. It seemed a well-practiced movement, that swaying of skirts and hips, both feminine and alluring. “Cray told me to expect you.”

  “Cray? Is-is he here?”

  I was so eager that I leaned toward the woman and caught the powdery scent of her cologne. I examined her face. She was not young but she was not old, either. Delicate lines etched her beautiful skin like the crazing of fine old porcelain. Her hair, a dark brown shimmering with strands of silver, was swept up and pinned upon her head. Delicate curls dangled by her ears and trailed along her neck.

  In every way, she was polished. Well-spoken. Sophisticated. Genteel. Everything I was not.

  “No, I am afraid he left yesterday,” the woman murmured, her voice soft and sympathetic, “but he asked me to . . . look after you. We agreed that I would.”

  “Oh.” I was stunned. Cray had well and truly left me! But he had, at least, made some sort of provision for me, had not left me to fend for myself?

  For the moment I forgot how Cray had abandoned me to the desert—where I might very well have died.

  “My name is Opal.” The woman smiled and looked me over. “You look done in, Tabitha. May I suggest a hot bath, a good meal, and a long sleep in that order? How does that sound?”

  “Thet . . . sounds right good.” I had to concede that I was almost as filthy as the men who had attacked me.

  An’ I prob’ly smell as bad, too, I admitted.

  “Well, shall we take care of you? We cannot leave you out here another moment. Those jackals cannot be trusted to behave, you know.”

  I nodded. I was still dazed, but I was grateful. “Thank ya fer savin’ me.”

  Opal’s smile stretched her mouth and made even more of the tiny lines appear in her face, but they were pleasant enough lines. Only her eyes did not truly smile. “I own this store. Let us go up the back way to my apartment where you shall have privacy.”

  Opal led the way up a back staircase to the second floor. It was still early; the bar next door was dark and silent. The entrance at the top of the stairs opened to a hallway. Opal turned right and stopped at the door on the end.

  “This is my private apartment. Please rest yourself here while I make arrangements for your bath and a hot meal. Drink as much of the water by my bed as you wish. You must be parched, you poor dear.”

  I gaped when Opal opened the door. The room was not large, but it was artfully arranged. The bed was spread with a gay silk coverlet, the windows with thick drapes. A dressing table and a floral-patterned screen graced one corner of the room. A pitcher and washbasin painted with roses sat on a small table near an overstuffed arm chair.

  “Sit here, Tabitha,” Opal suggested.

  I collapsed into the chair Opal indicated.

  She poured a tall glass of water from the pitcher and handed it to me. “Drink as much as you like, but start with small sips, yes?”

  I nodded and sank deeper into the chair. It was all I could do to not drain the glass of its tepid water. I sipped at the glass, placed it on the table, and leaned against the chair’s back to pace myself.

  “I need to give instructions for your bath. I will return in a few minutes.” Opal glided from the room, closing the door behind her.

  I must have dozed off in the chair. When I awoke, a hip bath sat on the carpet in front of the bed and two young women were filling the bath from steaming tea kettles. I sat up and watched them empty the water into the tub.

  “Hello,” I offered when they finished.

  One of them, a young woman with glowing auburn hair, smiled. “Hello. I’m Amber. This here’s Saffron.” Saffron’s skin and eyes were a deep glossy black. Her eyes glittered and her white, even teeth gleamed against her ebony skin as she smiled a
nd examined me, but she said nothing.

  I nodded. “I’m Tabitha. Thanks fer fetchin’ m’ bath.”

  “Sure thing,” Amber replied.

  They came with filled kettles several times more before Amber murmured, “That should be enough.” She slanted brown eyes toward me as though she wanted to say something, but Saffron touched her arm. Amber shrugged, and they left.

  As soon as the door closed, I stripped off my dirty clothes, sank under the hot water, and allowed the liquid heat to heal my aching feet and muscles. I sighed and sank lower.

  Later, my hair washed, combed, and drying, clad in a robe Opal had loaned me while someone washed my clothes, I tore into the meal one of the girls placed before me. I wolfed down the biscuit first and then attacked the chicken and mashed potatoes.

  I was still gnawing on a drumstick when Opal returned bearing another tray.

  “I am glad you have a good appetite, my dear,” she murmured. She set the tray down on the bed and poured from a flowered teapot into a delicate china cup. “Perhaps a cup of tea to finish your dinner? I’ve added extra sweetening to it to strengthen you.”

  “I’m obliged to’ ya,” I replied.

  Opal took my plate away and handed me the cup and saucer. I balanced them on my knee, thinking how pretty their pattern was.

  “Thank ya ever s’ much for all this,” I said, staring at the steaming tea. “Don’ know how I can ever repay ya.”

  “Do not concern yourself, my dear. As I said, Cray and I have an arrangement. He took care of everything.”

  I sipped on the tea. It was strong and hot and sweet and warmed my stomach, even after the bath and the meal. “Did he? But still, he left town ’thout me?” I frowned, wondering how I would find him or, at the least, reach a bigger town, one with a telegraph.

  “Yes. We can talk about such things tomorrow when you are recovered from your ordeal. I shall just brush your hair while you drink your tea.”

  Opal moved behind me and fingered my hair. “You have such beautiful hair, my dear. Such fire!”

  “Thank ya. Cray . . . Cray always said he loved m’ hair.”

  I sipped on the strong brew again. I did not recognize the flavor. It seemed . . . a bit off, but its sweetness was welcome. I sipped again.

  “Yes, I can certainly understand why.” Opal gathered my thick mane and drew a brush through it. She brushed with a soothing rhythm and soon my hair dried under her ministrations.

  I found myself yawning. “Goodness—I’m s’ sorry. ’Fraid I’m a-gettin’ right sleepy again.”

  “You have endured a terrible experience, my dear, so your fatigue is to be expected, no? Finish your tea and I will get you into bed.”

  Opal poured a little scented oil into her hands, rubbed them together, and then ran her fingers repeatedly through my hair. The scent of the oil filled the room.

  “What’s thet?” I asked as I made myself finish the tea. My hand felt weak and the teacup rattled as I placed the saucer on the little table next to my chair.

  “Just some perfumed oil. To relax you a bit more.”

  “Relax?” My tongue seemed stiff.

  “Are you finished, dear? Ready for bed?”

  I did not answer. I could not seem to string two words together.

  Opal helped me to the bed but it was all I could do to sit on its edge. She slid the robe from my shoulders and helped me to lie down.

  I lay blinking slowly under the sheet.

  What is happening?

  She had not been gone more than a minute when the door opened and closed again. I heard Opal speaking from just inside the room.

  “You may have your way with her, Mr. Ward, but remember this: I expect you to break her in gently. She should be compliant enough and I will not tolerate any marks on her. Do you understand?”

  “Sure, Opal, sure.”

  “Very well, then,” Opal opened the door and slipped from the room.

  A shadowy figure neared the bed and leaned over me.

  “Who . . .” My mouth would not form the words I wanted to say.

  Three times that night men came into the room. I knew what they were doing, but I had no voice to object, no strength to fight them.

  I could only endure.

  Rose’s pen upon her notebook quivered. Her entire body trembled with an outrage she did not know how to express in a godly manner. At the same time, she ached with a sorrow that threatened to undo her.

  Tabitha stared at something unseen and tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She was lost in her own thoughts, her own pain and did not notice Rose’s struggle. Tabitha’s hands clenched and unclenched until Rose saw how red her fingers were becoming and placed her own hands upon Tabitha’s to still them.

  “That is enough for today, dearest,” Rose murmured.

  O Lord, O Lord! Did I not hear you? Was this a horrible mistake?

  Tabitha’s eyes blinked rapidly and she returned to consciousness of the place and time. She glanced at Rose, weariness upon her brow. “I have not thought of all that for a while,” she whispered. “I-I have refused to think on those days for many years.”

  Rose swallowed. “I understand why.” She moistened her lips. “I had no real sense of what I was asking of you, Tabitha. Perhaps I was wrong to ask such a thing. Perhaps—”

  “No!” Tabitha’s temper, often lurking just under the surface, flared, and her one-word response was sharply spoken.

  She regretted her outburst immediately. “Oh! Oh, I-I am so sorry.”

  Rose moved to sit next to Tabitha. She wrapped her arms about the younger woman and Tabitha leaned into Rose’s comforting embrace.

  “Tabitha, you said ‘no’ to my suggestion that we stop. Can you tell me why?”

  Tabitha shuddered but nodded. “It is hard, dredging up the sordid details after all these years. But I am beginning to see how it could help. I want . . . I want to try.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Tabitha sat up and inhaled deeply. “Now that I have begun, I do not want to stop until I recount the very moment Jesus came to rescue me. I must tell it all so that my story ends in hope.”

  “As you wish, dear girl,” Rose responded. She took up her pen and, shaking her head, silently reread the last lines. “This . . . woman. This Opal.”

  “Yes. Opal.” Tabitha spoke the name with soft dismay. “You know me, Miss Rose. As you might imagine, even at fourteen I was a handful.”

  Tabitha twisted a napkin in her hands. “Opal may have bent me, but she did not break me. Not entirely. And not right away. However, it was not for lack of effort on her part.”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 3

  Late the following day when whatever drug Opal had given me had worn off, she came back to her room. “It is time for us to talk, Tabitha. Get out of bed and get dressed.”

  She sat in the same chair I had sat in the night before and addressed me as I, groaning, sat up in the bed.

  Well, I cursed her. I cursed Opal with words I’d often heard Cray use, words foreign to my tongue but suited the burning rage I felt toward Opal.

  Then I saw the man watching from behind her chair twitch his shoulders. He was a hulking mountain of a beast with a protruding jaw and dull, piggy eyes. His hair, cut in a ragged line around his collar, was the same dull brown as his eyes.

  He flexed his hands, clenching his fists by his side, and the muscles on his arms bulged like thick tree limbs. He was a monster. A freak of nature.

  “You will curb your tongue, Tabitha,” Opal said softly.

  It was not a request. The menace in those few words made me wonder how I had so utterly misjudged her the day before.

  I saw my clothes, washed, dried, and folded, on the end of the bed. Remembering the coins I’d stitched into the hem, I covered myself with the sheet and grabbed at the skirt.

  The four half dollars were gone.

  “Where are m’ coins? M’ money?” I demanded.

  “We will not spe
ak until you have dressed,” Opal answered.

  With one eye on the menacing figure standing behind her, I scooted behind the dressing screen and pulled on my clothes. It was not easy—my body ached from the rough treatment of the previous night. I flinched when I bent over to put on my shoes. All the while, I seethed, but my anger was a thin veneer atop the horror of the night before.

  Then I stood before Opal, defiant and smoldering, but holding my tongue in check—for the moment.

  She watched me and was amused. Her amusement only made me angrier.

  “I want m’ money,” I said through gritted teeth. “Ya ain’t got no right to it. I want t’ leave Fullman. Now.”

  She chuckled under her breath. “Yes, I am sure you do. However, as I mentioned yesterday, I have an agreement with Cray.”

  “Ya lied to me,” I hissed.

  “Not at all, I assure you,” she smirked. “Cray, in return for all the supplies he requested, traded what he had to offer. It was an equitable exchange. It was advantageous for both of us.”

  Her gaze studied me in a detached, practiced manner. “You are thin and have not come into full womanhood yet. We need to fatten you up a bit.”

  “I want m’ money,” I insisted.

  Opal sighed. “I want to speak the truth to you, Tabitha, so there will be no hard feelings between us. When Cray arrived a few days back he offered you to me in return for a grub stake so he could continue his search for gold.”

  “O-offered me? I-I don’ understand.”

  Opal smiled. “It is not the first time a man has traded a woman for supplies, my dear. What is important now is that you understand how things are and cooperate.”

  I still could not fathom Opal’s words. “Are ya sayin’ he sold me?” The events of the night before swept over me and so did panic. “But he . . . he cain’t sell me! He don’t own me!” I was sputtering, unsure of how to proceed.

  “Ah, my dear. So many things in this life are not as they seem. Whether he had the ‘right’ to sell you is inconsequential. You are here. I have already invested in you. And now you will work for me.”