Tapestry Of Tamar

by Reece, Colleen L.

  “So none of you actually know where she was or how she got hurt,” the doctor summarized.

  “I saw her at the Grand Opera House the night before,” Gordon confessed. He quickly added, “Forgive me Carlos. I couldn’t tell you when you were thanking God Tamar wasn’t here.”

  The doctor waved it away as irrelevant, leaned back in his chair, and considered. He looked at each in turn. Gordon shifted position in a fever of impatience.

  “One thing more. She’s called several times for the tapestry. What does she want?”

  “This.” Gordon brought out the restored tapestry and unfolded it. “A family heirloom.”

  “I’d like to give this to her before you see her,” the doctor said. “Or before she sees you, to be more exact. You may stand to one side but not where she can see you. I’m just not sure how she’d react to any of you.”

  Gordon’s knees were weak when he followed the doctor to a screened-off area. He wondered if he could remain upright. At first the doctor’s head blocked his view, but when the gruff old man leaned over, Gordon saw the still figure. Could that be Tamar, shorn until she looked like a beautiful boy, more angelic than human? God, had they come too late? The doctor’s forced cheerfulness roused him.

  “Tamar, I’ve brought you your tapestry.” He waited then repeated it. The second time a flutter of eyelashes against the pale cheeks sent blood pumping through Gordon’s heart. At least she was still alive.

  “Open your eyes, Tamar. See?” The doctor held the brightly colored treasure so that when the dark brown eyes opened they focused on it. He gently crumpled it into her hands. A tiny smile crossed Tamar’s face and the little gold motes Gordon knew so well danced in her eyes. Then she held the tapestry to her breast, sighed, and dropped back to sleep. Not until she awakened from a long, natural sleep would the doctor permit her to be disturbed and then only after the nurse had fed her broth. At last the nurse said to her, “Someone’s here to see you.”

  Tamar’s astonished eyes opened wide. Then the hidden, watching visitors saw fear cloud them. “I-I don’t—” Her lips quivered. Her body tensed.

  “Mercy sakes, child, you don’t have to see anyone but me, if you don’t want to.” The nurse smoothed her pillow, ran a hand over the cropped hair, and smiled. “Your visitors can just write a note and come another time. All right?”

  The rigid figure relaxed and nodded, and the doctor motioned the others out. “Sorry. This is typical after a blow to the head. Folks get notional. Do what Nurse said. Write her a letter but be all-fired careful what you put in it!”“May God forgive me for what I’ve done,” Carlos murmured when they gathered outside. “Even if Tamar ever can, I won’t be able to forgive myself.” Great drops of sweat beaded his face.

  Gilda Smith, the simple woman whose faith sustained her in every aspect of life, laid her hand on his arm. “Mr. O’Donnell, God has already forgiven you. So will Tamar. Time will help you put it in the past where it belongs. Now let’s do what the doctor suggested and write some cheery letters to our girl.”

  Still cuddling her tapestry, Tamar slept, roused, drank broth, and slept again. When she awoke, four white envelopes lay on a rude stand beside her. She eyed them several times, then pushed them away. She couldn’t, however, push aside the curiosity they roused in her, and the next evening when lamps had been lit to cast a dim glow, she made a decision. In the morning she would read them. The nurse had said they were from a Mr. And Mrs. Smith, a Mr. O’Donnell, a Mr. Rhys, and a Miss Rhys. Her forehead wrinkled. Why would Veronica write and how had they found her? Would Carlos order her to come home? And Gordon—what might his missive contain?

  Suddenly she felt feverish. Surely God wouldn’t allow her to be tormented further. The dread of what those innocent envelopes housed made her restless, and when the nurse came back to take her temperature, it had risen again.

  “What’s all this?” she scolded. “Why, you were doing so well we were ready to let you go in a day or two more. Tamar O’Donnell, what’s fretting you?”

  “The letters. I don’t know what they say and I’m afraid.”

  The nurse laid a cold, wet cloth on the hot face. “My old granny said that when you’re afraid of something you should march right up and face it. She insisted that if you do that, whatever it is will almost always just slink away.” She lifted the cloth, dipped it, wrung it out, and replaced it. “’Course, sometimes it helps a body if another body’s there beside her. D’you want me to open the letters and read them to you? If there’s anything worrisome, I’ll just take it out and burn it.”

  “Would you do that, please?” Tamar could scarcely believe the relief that flowed through her. Nurse wouldn’t read anything to upset her and good news would help her sleep.

  “Which one first?”

  “The one from my brother. It’s the most likely to hold dynamite.” Tamar bundled the tapestry under her chin and prepared to face her worst fears.

  twelve

  Tamar held her breath while the nurse scanned the few lines of black writing, grunted, and said, “Nothing to fear in this one.” She cleared her throat and read.

  Dear Tamar,

  I have asked God to forgive me. I hope you someday will be able to do the same. I blame myself for your being hurt. All my love,

  Carlos

  Tears of weakness and joy leaked onto the tapestry. The nurse let her cry, then handed her a clean handkerchief. “Blow your nose, child. Which letter shall I read next?”

  Tamar couldn’t help giggling. “Miss Rhys’s.” Again she waited. Again relief filled her when she heard Veronica’s short message expressing thankfulness that Tamar had been found and ending with the sincere wish she would soon be well. An added postscript informed her that Veronica and Gordon had taken a home in Oakland until they decided if they would rebuild, and she hoped Tamar would come to them when the doctor released her.

  “Sounds like a fine woman,” the nurse approved. Without being told, she opened the Smiths’ note, leaving Gordon’s for the last. George and Gilda wrote much the same thing as Veronica had, except they added that Gordon had not betrayed Joy to her brother. They also were in the process of getting reestablished, and Gilda ended by saying, “We suspect you won’t be needing it, but if you ever want to sing again, our ‘Unknown Angel’ won’t have to look further than the New Pantages Theatre for employment.”

  “You were the Unknown Angel?” the reader exclaimed. “Well, I never! A friend and I heard you sing, and here I’ve been taking care of you. Wonder if my friend will believe it?”

  “You’re the one who should be called an angel,” Tamar told her, but her gaze strayed to the last letter.

  The wise woman hesitated, then said, “So long as you faced up to the first three and none of them leaped up and bit you, seems like maybe you could trust enough to read this one yourself.” Her apron swished when she handed Gordon’s letter to Tamar. “I’ll be back once I’ve tended to my other patients.” She vanished, leaving Tamar to hold the envelope a long time before she dared remove its contents. “Beloved Tamar-Joy,” it began. She gasped, felt a rush of hot color to her face, and convulsively crushed the letter in her fingers. The next instant she smoothed the page and read on.

  Perhaps I should not address you so but much of your trouble has come because I didn’t speak sooner. I hesitated due to the short time we had known each other and had finally made up mind to tell you how I care just before Carlos arrived and told me what he had done. I shouted to him that I loved you and wanted to marry you, then we raced to the Smiths’. You had gone. You will never know how I ached, knowing you must feel I had betrayed you.

  We arrived in Oakland and found Gilda alone by the tracks that took you away. All our searching proved fruitless. Not until I glimpsed you at the opera did I know you were in San Francisco and the look in your eyes knifed me.

  Even if y
ou can never learn to love me, I thank God you came into my life. During the terrible times just past, I’ve learned to rely on Him with my whole heart. I felt myself growing old, looking for you among the dead and dying. No matter if our paths separate, you will be the woman I love, honor and cherish until the day I die.

  Gordon

  Tamar pressed her lips to the page. Was any woman so loved as she? To think she had once almost married Phillip-with-two-l’s! Humiliation for even considering it scorched her face.

  Yet even happiness could not keep her awake. Tamar fell asleep with her first love letter lying open on the richly woven tapestry. The doctor had told her the part it played in her being found. Now that her body, mind, and spirit were healing, she dimly remembered a cold child in Lafayette Square, and the feeling of sacrifice that swept through her when she gave all she had to the shivering child. To think the child and his mother later encountered the Smiths! How good God was to those who loved and served Him.

  Tamar’s letters proved to be just the incentive she needed to get well. From the moment she learned how loved and cherished she was by her brother, her friends, and Gordon, the will to live triumphed over sickness. A week later the Smiths took her to their rented dwelling place. At her insistence, they chose a route so she could see the true devastation those fateful seconds of April eighteenth had wrought.

  Rubble and ghastly broken chimneys stood above charred ruins of buildings. City Hall’s statue of Liberty still stood on its pinnacle, despite the fact the dome had been torn apart in the quake. Four square miles of destruction had once been the heart and pride of San Francisco, but by now, businesses had searched and found spots from which to resume their daily tasks. The former quiet residential Van Ness street bustled with business and professional establishments. Fillmore, that had somehow come through unharmed, boasted it would one day rival Market Street. Trolleys again clanged, and the placid Bay gleamed blue in the sunlight.

  Tamar leaned back in the carriage George had bought. “I hope Veronica and—and Gordon weren’t hurt when I came with you instead of going to their place.” The thought troubled her.

  Gilda patted her hand. “I had a little talk with them and they understand.”

  Tamar gave the soft fingers a little squeeze. “It’s just that Carlos said Lorraine would—” she hastily replaced his “have a fit” with “be upset, because of the circumstances.”

  “The Lorraines of the world have a hard time of it,” George observed from the driver’s seat.

  Tamar’s eyes opened wide. “Why, George, what an odd thing to say!”

  “Think about it,” he advised in his pleasant voice. “All their lives they must do only that which is approved by others of their ilk. Never can they be truly free. Do you know that’s why so many people in society have a difficult time accepting salvation?” He went on sadly, “It’s a terrible thing to be so prideful you can’t or won’t bow to anyone, even the Lord Jesus.”

  Gilda shifted a little on the seat. “Now, George, don’t be too critical. You know what happened the Sunday after Easter.”

  “What did happen?” Tamar asked. “I don’t seem to remember.”

  “Why, child, San Francisco went to church! Not in its usual dress, but garbed in courage and determination. Priests said mass in front of their ruined churches. Ministers preached the gospel of Christ in every square. And the children! They went to Sunday School in Golden Gate Park right next to the beautiful flower beds.” She looked wise. “’Twouldn’t surprise me but what great good will come out of this whole troubled time.”

  She cast a roguish glance toward Tamar. “I’d say it already has in some instances.” When her companion blushed, Gilda blandly added, “Look at how we found each other again and got misunderstandings straightened out.” A shadow darkened her eyes. “If I’d dreamed you weren’t on that train and that you misinterpreted Gordon and George arriving with Carlos, I’d never have left the Oakland station.” She wiped away a quick tear.

  “I just thank God that Joy-Tamar so unselfishly gave away her tapestry to that cold child or we’d be still searching for her,” George gruffly said. He guided the horses up an inclined street to a small but charming cottage that overlooked the water. “Well, ladies, we’re home.”

  “What a wonderful word.” Tamar noted the cream walls covered with creeping flowers and vines. Once inside, Gilda led her to a room with windows on two sides, a comfortable-looking bed, and sunny yellow curtains that danced a welcome.

  “Rest,” she said, and helped Tamar out of the old black gown she’d worn when working with the injured. The caring nurse had taken it and washed it, but Gilda frowned. “I hope you’ll never wear black again.”

  Tamar, clad in Gilda’s best nightgown, settled wearily into the white-sheeted bed. “I don’t have anything else. She pushed herself up straight. “Gilda, take some of the money the nurse put away for me when she found it in my gown and see if you can get me a dress, will you?” She flushed. “Gordon will come soon and I don’t want to look ugly.”

  “Keep your money for other things,” Gilda promptly said. “We received our insurance settlement and can well afford to purchase a dress for you.” She ignored Tamar’s protests, gently pushed her down against the soft pillow, and slipped out. Tamar fell asleep within minutes.

  She awakened more rested than she had been in months. Something fluttered in the breeze from the still-open window. “Oh!” Tamar rubbed her eyes and looked again.

  “Do you like it?” Gilda asked from the doorway. “I remembered how you looked in the dress you brought from your brother’s home and tried to get one just like it.”

  “It’s so lovely,” Tamar cried, her gazed fastened on the pale green voile, twin to the one lost in the confusion after the earthquake.

  “I’ll help you bathe, then why don’t you put it on? I picked out a house dress or two, as well, but the Rhyses sent word they would come this evening and you’ll want to dress up.”

  Although Tamar’s red-gold hair now curved under like a page-boy’s, the green dress did much toward restoring her self-confidence. Her Spanish-brown eyes warmed when she thought of Gordon seeing her in this dress. Her heart beat rapidly beneath the lacy bodice. Would he speak—tonight?

  “If he doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do,” she confessed to her reflection and turned from the mirror.

  Each time the door knocker sounded, Tamar’s heart leaped. Yet before Gordon and Veronica called, other visitors arrived. Carlos, a distinctly uncomfortable Lorraine, and—

  “Rosa!” Tamar stared at the senorita doll, a beloved relic of her childhood. Scorch stained the doll’s fiesta garments, but her dark eyes and hair were intact. Rosa’s owner snatched the doll from Carlos’s fingers and hugged her. “Oh, where did you find her?”

  “That silly maid didn’t save a thing of her own,” Lorraine sniffed. “But she produced this and said keeping the doll was keeping a promise.”

  “She couldn’t rescue your books,” Carlos put in.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Tamar still clutched the doll. “I’m just so glad we’re all safe.”

  Lorraine’s chin went into the air and her gray-green eyes chilled. “Oh, safe, but we lost everything.” The corners of her mouth tilted down. “Carlos says we’ll rebuild but I wonder if it’s worth it.”

  “I understand the best Nob Hill families do plan to stay and rebuild,” Gilda said guilelessly.

  Lorraine brightened and permitted herself the luxury of a smile. “In that case we probably will, too.” She went into a rambling list of what she wanted in her new home until Tamar wanted to scream. Why didn’t they go? Veronica and Gordon were due any moment. How awful for them to have to meet and endure this social-climbing woman!

  Jesus loves and died for her.

  Tamar started. The whispered reminder in her soul softened her spirit towar
d her tiresome sister-in-law. Even when the Rhyses arrived and Lorraine babbled on and on, Tamar clung to the thought; she only smiled at the older woman’s prying comments. Perhaps Carlos sensed his sister’s turmoil, however, for he told Lorraine they must go and hurried her away despite her protests.

  With her fine ability to smooth situations, Veronica asked, “Would you show me your new home?” She and the Smiths left Tamar and Gordon alone in the room.

  Tamar lifted her face to the breeze that blew through the open window, and smelled the cool scent of the Bay; she could not make herself look at Gordon, even when he took a chair and placed it next to her own. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.

  Trying to control her emotions, she glanced around the inviting room. “How could anyone help getting well in such a cozy, welcoming home?”

  “Is this the kind of home you want, someday?”

  Disappointment surged through her. He sounded so formal, so lacking in feeling, she could scarcely believe he had ever written to her of love. And his words implied only a polite interest in her future.

  “I can imagine nothing better,” she replied. “As you know, I’ve lived in several different houses—but this one is furnished with love.” A wistful note crept into her voice.

  Gordon abruptly rose. Her heart sank. Surely he wasn’t leaving! Instead he crossed to the couch, knelt beside it, and looked deep into her eyes.

  “I sent you a letter.”

  “Yes.” Her lips trembled. She clasped her fingers tightly and looked down at them.

  “Tamar, I meant every word of it. I love you more than anything except my Lord. Can you ever learn to care for me?”

  “I-I already do.”

  He leaned closer, as if doubting his ears. “Beloved, will you please say it again?”

  She raised her head. Tears of joy and weakness fell. “I love you, Gordon—more than anything next to my Lord.”

  He took her hands and his gray eyes warmed to the softness of San Francisco fog. “You will be my wife?”