Forgetting Tabitha: An Orphan Train Rider

by Julie Dewey

  A black man stopped his sweeping at the grocery store and tipped his cap to me when we passed.

  “Did I know him, Edmund?”

  “I don’t recall, but you were kind to everyone in your path, so it was likely you crossed him before.”

  “Hmm, nothing looks familiar. It’s very distressing.”

  “I can only imagine, here you are putting your faith and trust in me and you don’t even recall me.”

  “Yes, that is true, but your family has shown me nothing but kindness in taking me in and caring for me. Who else could I trust if not you? But please, won’t you tell me about my own family?”

  “I really think that should wait. I don’t want to set you back at all, remember you were put through quite a traumatic experience.”

  “Did what happened to me also happen to them? Did I have siblings, are they hurt, did they die?”

  My questions came out in waves, panic set in when I tried piecing together the puzzle of my life.

  “You did not have siblings; it was actually just you and your mother. But that’s all I will say for now. Please, can we just walk and enjoy the fresh air?” He had no idea what he was going to tell her about her mother, or the fact she came to Binghamton an orphan, but one thing was certain, he would never reveal that she was a prostitute. She had the chance at a fresh start, how many people were given that opportunity? He would help her find things she enjoyed and together they would conquer the days and weeks ahead.

  The sun was bright and I admired the window boxes full of flowers at each store along the village shops.

  “Did I spend much time in these shops?” The stores held no memory and I suddenly wondered about my personal taste in clothing and hair trends, wondering if the shop owners would have records of my purchases.

  “I wouldn’t know because we spent our time reading, walking, and helping those in need.”

  “That sounds sort of boring doesn’t it? Seriously, is that all I did? What fun did I have?”

  “If you permit me to give you a kiss, your imagination might give you some ideas.”

  “Okay, then, that sounds like a decent idea.”

  Edmund leaned in to kiss me; his lips were slightly parted, and very soft. They searched mine for a flicker of remembrance. I kissed him back, recalling the motions and flickering tongue now and then against his. We leaned against a tree and continued for a moment before he stopped.

  “Why did you stop? I was rather enjoying that.”

  “I want to take things slow, Gert, trust me please?”

  “Kissing me was your idea.” I said feeling giddy from the kissing.

  She was right, it was my idea, but I was taken aback my how much more I wanted to do and given her circumstance it was simply not going to happen.

  “It feels perhaps too good for me, I fear I won’t be able to stop myself, I miss you so much.”

  Instead, I grabbed Edmund’s hand and we continued our stroll through town. Several passersby took notice of us and stopped to say hello.

  I may as well have been new to town, nothing and no one came back to me, and my amnesia was full blown. I feared I would never remember anything at all, but if that were the case and I were to live out my days here in Binghamton it wouldn’t be so bad. Edmund was devilishly handsome and kind; he showed me great care and took pride in his appearance. I got the feeling he was a well-respected member of society.

  “Edmund, can we do some volunteering? Maybe if I jumped right back into my old ways I will remember something.”

  “Absolutely we can. Let me call on the church and see what they are in need of this week. Perhaps we can stock their pantry shelves or put groceries together for families in need. I will look into it, but for now, let’s get back home, I fear you may need some rest after today’s jaunt.”

  He was right, all the sights and sounds, not to mention exercise, had me tuckered out. I ate dinner at Sarah’s table, Edmund to my right and Samuel at the head of the table. It was a meal of mashed potatoes, green beans, and roasted beef with gravy. I perused Sarah’s bookshelves before finding a book I thought might look good and headed to bed for the night. It was amazing I still knew how to read.

  I slept like a baby and woke refreshed and ready for a new day, a new beginning.

  Edmund came for me at ten in the morning and together we went to the basement in our church which stored food for those in need, we lent a hand stocking shelves, and although everyone walked on egg shells around me, I knew it was because of my trauma and lack of memory so I didn’t think it unusual. Other volunteers asked after my health and I assured them with Edmund’s help I was feeling much better.

  On our walk home, Edmund asked me if I enjoyed myself today.

  The answer was yes, I did, being out and amongst people filled me with renewed joy.

  “What else do you think you’d like to do?”

  “Well, I have a crazy thought and I am not sure why, but I would like to create potions.”

  “What in the world?”

  “Well, I don’t know if they are called potions exactly, but I thoroughly enjoy the feel and smell of the lotions your mother and Edna have brought for me to use. I don’t know why, but I keep thinking about them. Does that sound ridiculous?”

  “Not at all, but we could check the local stores and buy you some if you prefer?”

  “No, I feel like I want to partake in the process of making them. Rose water for the bath, creams and lotions with varying scents, perhaps even night creams and lip balms.”

  “It sounds like you have been giving this some thought. Are you telling me when you smell rose water you can conjure a rose? Or when you think of an orange you can conjure both the smell and color? If so that’s progress!”

  “What else am I supposed to do while lying in bed for hours on end staring at butterflies?”

  “Ha, so you like the butterfly shadow box?”

  “I do, I favor the bright blue moth, she is lovely don’t you agree?”

  “Yes she is magnificent. But let me see, sometime in between staring at butterflies and getting well you came up with the grand notion that you should make scents for women? However did that occur to you?”

  “Well, your mother has been so kind to me. When she bathed me I often was so afraid and in such great pain, if not for the scent she used to distract me from my state I fear I would have fallen apart on more than one occasion.”

  “That makes perfect sense actually. Let’s speak to Sarah when we get home and ask her about using her kitchen for some experiments.”

  “Yes, it sounds rather fun! Maybe she’ll even have some recipes we can begin with.”

  “What’s this we stuff?” Edmund asked amused before leading Gert into the house they now shared.

  “Sarah?” I called out to the woman of the house.

  “Yes, dear, what is it? Is everything all right?” Sarah came bustling into the kitchen, her large frame taking up most of the doorway.

  “It is, I had an idea and I wondered if we might use your kitchen?”

  “Of course, dinner isn’t for several hours, go ahead.”

  Edmund and I had stopped at a florist shop on the walk home and I purchased a dozen red roses for my first experiment. I had a vague memory of doing this before, but pushed it aside for now, the more I tried recalling it the more upset I became. So instead I followed the florist’s directions for making rose water. I plucked the petals from the stems, rinsing them thoroughly before layering them in Sarah’s stock pot; next I covered them with distilled water and let them simmer. I stirred the pot so it didn’t boil and watched until all the color disappeared from the petals. Oil skimmed the surface of my mixture and I turned the oven off, I strained my mix and squeezed the petals for any remaining oils and moisture. After allowing it to settle for an hour I dabbed it on my hands, but the smell was too much like artichokes. I wondered out loud, “Huh, what did I do wrong?”

  Sarah wandered in to her kitchen to see how I was coming and agreed
the water I created did not smell like roses but had a musty vegetable scent attached to it. She suggested I try fresh roses and allowed me to pick a bunch from her garden out back. I scrubbed the pan and started my recipe again, this time the end result was more promising but still not quite what I was after.

  Before I knew it, Sarah needed her kitchen space to prepare dinner and I sat befuddled by my approach, something needed changing. “Ha, I know!” I exclaimed to no one in particular. “I have to pick the roses first thing in the morning before the dew has completely evaporated, that’s when they are freshest.” Everyone was staring at me. “Wait, how did I know that?”

  “Maybe you have made rose water before? With your mom, perhaps?” Sarah asked.

  I searched my memory for images of a mother figure picking roses, but nothing came to mind.

  “No matter, I am sure that is what I must do, is that okay with you Sarah? May I pick a small bunch tomorrow morning?”

  “Certainly, no need to ask, I have hundreds of roses out there, plenty to spare!”

  “Thank you Sarah.” I exclaimed and ran to hug her.

  I started my recipe card index with:

  Rose Water for bathing

  Rose petals plucked first thing in the morning

  Removal of stems and leaves

  Rinse free of dirt and bugs

  Fill bottom of stockpot with petals two inches deep,

  Cover petals with distilled water

  Simmer until petals are pale in color and glossy oil rises to the top.

  Strain and squeeze petals.

  Pour into glass jars and refrigerate.

  It was my first recipe! My mind raced as I had allowed myself to get ahead, I didn’t have glass jars yet and needed them immediately.

  “Edmund after dinner will you walk me into town, I need to go to the apothecary or florists for glass bottles.”

  Edmund and Sarah exchanged a quick smile, amused I have no doubt by my sudden interest in creating scents.

  My mind began racing, there was no end to what I could create. Why if I could create bath water I could create facial toners and astringents by diluting the water or adding witch hazel. I could make rose petal soap and maybe even a lotion or cream. How did this idea begin? I wondered at the very idea of rose water but my mind remained blank, it was a mystery to me.

  Edmund and I found a dozen glass bottles at the apothecary’s and he gave them to us free of charge. He only asked I bring him a sample of my rose water for his wife. I did and she loved it! Sarah and Edna admired the subtlety of the scent as well and remarked how lovely it would be in a hand cream or as a perfume.

  I spent the next several weeks experimenting and creating recipes in Sarah’s kitchen. By the month’s end I had made rose water as well as rose milk for the bath, the two were differentiated by their textures. I made rose hand lotion and rose dust body powder. I also made a facial astringent that toned my facial skin making it feel and look smooth.

  Rose Hand Lotion:

  5 oz. rose water

  3.5 oz. glycerin

  1 droplet of red or yellow food coloring

  Add drops of rose water gradually to glycerin

  Mix color slowly

  Whisk together until smooth

  Bottle the solution and cap tightly.

  Rose Dust Powder

  4 fresh roses

  1 cup cornstarch

  3 tbsp. baking soda

  3 dried roses

  Layer petals and cornstarch in cardboards box, cover loosely and leave for twenty four hours

  Sift petals from cornstarch and add baking soda

  Grind dried rose petals and add to mixture

  Blend with wooden spoon and pour powder into jar.

  For deeper scent add another batch of fresh roses.

  I experimented with rubbing alcohol and witch hazel to fine-tune a facial toner and found one part alcohol or witch hazel to ten parts rose water worked best. I now had a dining table full of concoctions and had received high praise from the ladies. I had yet to contrive a perfect recipe for lip balm or rouge but if Sarah would allow it I would continue with my experimentation.

  I always left her kitchen spotless and smelling fresh, I worked from early morning until midday before turning the kitchen back to its rightful owner. I had no idea what lay in store for me with these products but I loved making them.

  Edna and Sarah got a kick out of it as well, suggesting I make a chocolate souffle hand cream, or a vanilla lip balm, we talked endlessly about the possible combinations and began talking about healing balms as well. Eucalyptus for children with croup, or lavender tinctures for those needing calming and soothing would sell well. “How about a peppermint cream for my hands?” Edna asked, she had arthritis and was always seeking stimulating products to smooth across her knuckles.

  Imagine my delight when customers came to Sarah’s house and rang the bell asking about the products I was making, they wanted to know if they could purchase them. It was all so exciting. The ladies and I sat together, pouring over ideas for packaging and a name for the product line.Edmund had been doodling for hours at the kitchen table, watching us make a fuss and giggle like children. Before long he dropped a sketching before me, Heaven Scents by Gert

  His sketch had a scalloped edge, and the lettering was airy, it was perfect.

  “Heaven Scents! I love it, Edmund.” I pulled him in for a hug and the ladies snickered beside us watching our love bloom before them.

  Chapter 23 Edmund

  “Sarah, she has so many products and everyone loves them!” I exclaimed. I admit I worried about her subconscious recalling the rose water, her favorite scent from her days as a prostitute.

  “It’s wonderful indeed.” Sarah stated as she slathered her forearms with a new ginger scented lotion Gert created.

  I had never seen this creative, fun loving side of Gert. The doctors said she would keep her intelligence and personality, but she never had reason to be excited and creative until now. Before her trauma, Gert was rebellious and resolute. She was always thinking of her survival, staying one step ahead of the game, money being her main cause of angst. I recounted how she would greet me in her room smoking provocatively on her bed, sheets barely covering her naked skin, enticing me, daring me rather, to approach her. Gert never let anyone in, no one was allowed too close to her heart, building friendships was not in the cards; she lived to get through the day and little else. She put a wall around herself; it was her greatest defense. The new Gert was adorable, charming, endearing, and engaging. She asked very few questions anymore, which made me think she was settling into her life, accepting it for what it was. She felt secure among our family and now had a passion to keep herself busy. Her energy was boundless and her idle chit-chat was amusing if not exhausting.

  I wished to find a way Gert could sell her lotions to the public. She was feeling a tad underfoot and had admitted to me that she didn’t want to wear out her welcome in my home.

  I was on my way to meet the Judge to discuss her case when I passed a vacant home with store front on the main street of town. It used to belong to the bakery but they moved when they outgrew the small space. I peered in the windows, noting a refrigerated case; remembering the bakers used it for pastries and cakes. The property had a large bay window, counter space, and a doorway to the back that housed a kitchen. I assumed the rooms were all upstairs. It couldn’t have been more than five hundred square feet when all was said and done but I imagined Gert’s sign above the doorway, Heaven Scents, by Gert and her running a little shop while living upstairs.

  I would inquire as to the rental price or purchase price but now I was at the judge’s office and it was time to discuss her case.

  He ushered me in to his room, asking immediately after Gert’s health.

  “She is quite well, sir, she is keeping very busy making bath products and women’s lotions and make up. Everyone loves it and it keeps her mind off asking further questions about her past.” I reported, happy
that I didn’t have to lie so much or conjure up stories about her past anymore.

  “Good, very good, I am glad to hear that. We still have zero leads on the man who beat her. It’s mind boggling really, the sheriff would normally be all over this, but because the beating was on a wench he seems to be letting it go.”

  “The perpetrator has to be someone in this town, who knew what she did, what her comings and goings were. He was watching her schedule for sure.”

  “I agree. What do you say we go to the tavern and have some lunch, huh?” I caught on to his line of thinking and agreed maybe we needed to take this matter into our own hand.

  The lunch crowd at the tavern was decent, the sheriff’s deputy sat alone as usual. I never liked that man, he was unfriendly and there was something not right about him. Just because he rubbed me the wrong way though didn’t make him a suspect. Josiah sat eating a sandwich and drinking a beer, as did several shop owners. Mingled in were ladies lunching with their book groups or volunteer organizations.

  “I am going to ask the ladies some questions, why don’t you speak with Josiah and the deputy,” the judge said.

  I walked to Josiah, shook his hand and told him we had no suspects. He shimmied a little closer to me and whispered in my ear. The deputy had blood on the hem of his pants, it was fresh, and droplets were forming on the floor as well. It was unusual indeed. I thanked Josiah for his keen observation and sat across from the deputy.

  “Sir, any leads on Gert’s case?” I removed my top hat and placed it on the table when I sat across from the deputy.

  He had finished his meal but sat staring at me, daring me to probe further.

  “No, we’ll let you know when we find something out, boy. Don’t you have school or someplace else to be today?”

  “No, sir, I finished my studies early today, and am lunching with the judge. Please do let us know, she was a friend of mine and I would like to see justice served.”

  “She was a friend of yours huh? I find that funny.” The deputy’s body language changed and he suddenly stiffened.

  “Why so?”