Forgetting Tabitha: An Orphan Train Rider

by Julie Dewey

  “I do.” We placed our rings on each other’s fingers.

  “Then you may kiss your bride.” Scott leaned in and kissed me with every ounce of his soul, my family and his clapping and cheering us on.

  Everyone hugged us and wished us well. Even the baby kicked and made a fuss at all the commotion.

  The day’s business however was not complete. We had the judge write up official adoption papers for Sonya and while the family was altogether he performed a simple adoption ceremony, Sonya was now under our care and part of our blessed, growing family.

  When we lay in bed that night, we thanked God in our prayers for bringing us together all those years ago under the stoop in the Five Points, then we made sweet love and kissed goodnight.

  Life went on peacefully. We were married now with one child to look after already and one soon to enter the world. I stayed at Edna’s until the baby’s arrival because it was easier for her to care for me in her home while I was on bed rest. Sonya never left my side unless it was to help Edna in the kitchen where she was becoming quite the culinary wiz, or to help Candy in the Heaven Scents shop. The name of the store was not lost on any of us. I was anxious to get settled into my farmhouse and put my touches on it, but happy to have Edna’s care in the meantime.

  The men worked tirelessly at the farm, increasing the head of cattle significantly and raising a third barn for them. We had over one hundred acres, plenty of land for the cattle to roam and grow fat for slaughter. Additionally, Scotty saddled the horses and rode them through the fields, trails, and streams to check the property and exercise the animals. Pauli was nervous around the large animals but Candy was fearless and took to Savannah, our newest mare riding her every morning before heading into town to the shop.

  Candy grew to love the Heaven Scents business and made the decision to keep it open if that was okay with all of us. We agreed Gert would want it that way and handed all rights to the property to her.

  Bart was arrested for the brutal beating of Gert and was also questioned in the murder of the animals at the Wrights farm although he denied that. He was sentenced to death by hanging.

  The judge asked Edmund to clerk for him, and he did so for a time. They had developed a nice relationship over the years, the judge becoming a mentor to him propagating his ideas of law school. But he was so forlorn after Gert’s death and confided in me that being in Binghamton was too hard for him. He intended to leave once the baby was born.

  He talked of heading west, not to pan for gold but to sell merchandise to those who were. He had devised a well thought out plan; he would purchase Levi’s jeans, pots and pans, cradles and sieves, along with bedrolls, tents, and food in bulk. He would set up shop in San Francisco and sell his product for double his cost. He would send word to Samuel when he needed more and by then he would have a store address where merchandise could be shipped. I didn’t want to see him go; it would be the first time we were truly apart. My heart broke at the thought and I worried about his lungs, but I also knew he couldn’t stay. He loved Gert, that much was obvious and whenever he walked the streets of our town or closed his eyes, her image haunted him.

  The day after Thanksgiving I had a great deal of indigestion followed by labor pains that came strong and fast. The women called the midwife who came at once, after an internal exam she said I had dilated five centimeters. The men waited anxiously for news of the baby in our parlor. I cried out in pain and was covered in a slick layer of sweat, when the time came to push; Edna held my hand giving me courage. Our daughter fought her way into the world on November twenty-eighth. Hers was an easy birth and I was grateful to have had Edna and Sarah by my side through it all, witnessing the miracle of life.

  My daughter’s tiny face peered up at ours questioningly, taking us in and smiling ever so briefly. She had a full head of black hair, like her father. I placed her to my breast and she latched on perfectly and suckled away.

  “What should we call her?” Scotty asked overwhelmed and searching my face for clues. “How about Tabitha?” he wondered out loud.

  “No, I think it’s time.” I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes dry before continuing, “It’s time for forgetting Tabitha.” I hadn’t been called by my birth name in nearly ten years; it held a special yet painful, place in my heart. It always brought my father and mother to my mind, as well as the farm in West Chester, my animals, and all the people I met in the city, even the Canters, called me Tabitha. It is who I was; Tabitha Colleen Salt.

  “I was thinking of something different.” I gazed at my newborn, into the depths of her heart and soul and wanted only one thing.

  “Well, then out with it.” Scotty waited without much patience to hear my thoughts.

  “I was thinking of Lilith Gertrude. We can call her Lilly which means new beginning.” My daughter had a whole world in front of her, and while I was sure it would not be without strife, it would be full of love from doting parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, and of course her big sister, Sonya.

  Epilogue

  Symbolic of my journey is the locket I wear daily around my neck. The confines within engendering the sorrows and joys traversed in my seventy years. I finger the grooves thoughtfully honoring the memory of the woman who gave me life, my mama. I kiss the piece of jewelry and allow the evening’s gentle breeze to bathe my skin while I rock on the porch with my great-grandson. The air has a cool dewy quality signaling a storm, so I beckon to Lilly.

  “Time to get the laundry in off the line, Lilly,” I called quietly into the kitchen careful not to unsettle the baby.

  At forty-nine, Lilly basked in the glow of all her triumphs. She was a school teacher, a mother, wife and now a grandmother. She sat at the worn kitchen table grading papers as I once had, with pen in hand and a look of determination spread wide across her face. She put down her marking tool and grabbed the sturdy basket I wove so long ago for such a purpose, hustling outside to undo the clothespins and bring in the laundry before it got drenched.

  In Lilly I fostered a love for reading, as a child she absorbed books like I did, and together we discussed our favorite characters animatedly. She joined the literary society and even authored short stories of her own. Lilly filled my shoes when I left my position as head teacher of the elementary school, and she also took over the library that I started in the early 70s, it was the first library with circulating books in our city and one of my proudest accomplishments. Lilly met a wonderful man whose daughter she taught over the years. When he became widowed they fell into a natural love. We embraced our first granddaughter and welcomed the baby they had together the following year. Baby Beatrice was a joy to behold, adding to the joie de vivre for life Lilly already had. Motherhood suited Lilly; she was not easily flustered, took things in stride and laughed loudly and often. I couldn’t have asked for more in a daughter.

  Sonya had become the first woman in our family to graduate from college. She attended the esteemed University of Binghamton and graduated magna cume laude with a degree in language arts. She not only spoke English and German but Spanish, Italian, French and had learned Chinese. She was in high demand for her ability to communicate with other cultures, everyone from government officials to merchants hired her to decipher contracts, look over shipments and help write letters to enhance their business. Her husband is a highly regarded college professor, a lovely man by the name of Frank who adoringly calls me Mom. They gave us our first grandson, Lenny who today has followed in his father’s footsteps and teaches at the University of Binghamton. Imagine her fate if she had not become my shadow all those years ago…

  Scotty and I never had more children. Not for lack of trying. Oh we had fun in the trying, but God didn’t see fit I suppose, we were busy loving the two girls we had and taking care of other business.

  Candy closed her shop when she was fifty-five years young, and she and Pauli took their savings and set out to travel the world, sending us postcards from Florida, Chicago, California, and then from overseas. The
y passed away some time during their travels in Paris, the details are unclear, but thankfully we have their bones settled in our backyard garden, close to us where they belong.

  Edna died in her late seventies, it was a peaceful passing Pap woke up one morning and found her no longer with us. She lived a blessed life and told me many times, “Mary, you are the most splendid little thing!” I remember her voice, pleasant manner, and loving embrace. Each year on my birthday she gave a special thanks to my birth parents for bringing me to her, keeping their memory alive in my heart. I was grateful that Edna loved me as if I were her own child, regardless of my past and lineage.

  Pap died two years after Edna, he had chest tightness and difficulty breathing but shrugged it off as indigestion, it was a heart attack in actuality and he passed away in the hospital, his entire family by his side.

  Sarah and Samuel passed on shortly after Edna and Pap, Sarah from a ravaging cancer and Samuel from heartache. It was a difficult time for everyone; no one wants to see their loved ones suffer.

  Edmund left the day after Lilly was born and never came back our way again. Over the years he sent gifts to the girls for Christmas and their birthdays, but otherwise his correspondence was coarse. We encouraged him to come back home, especially when Sarah was battling cancer and asking for him, but he was unable to for reasons only I could understand.

  I still think of Eddie among my greatest blessings. If I did not have him to look after on our train ride west I would have been an indentured worker, no doubt leading a far more difficult existence. He nuzzled his way into my heart where he remains. I identify with him, though few others do, orphan train riders have different ways to survive. His is to escape pain; everyone he loves has been taken from him in one facet or another. Even me, for I married Scott. Eddie’s proposal to me made me realize that he thought of me as his future wife, not his cousin. His parents abandoned him, Gert came into and out of his life, and in one of his few letters addressed only to me he professed that he loved me still and couldn’t bear to remain so close to me while I was married to another. I worry about his health, specifically his lungs and hold him in my prayers daily, believing that one day I will see him again although as time slips by the likelihood of that wanes.

  Next to raising my girls, and now caring for my great-grand-baby, teaching was my greatest joy. How wonderful that a girl from the slums could obtain a teaching certificate. I owe it all to Edna and Pap for taking me in all those years ago.

  Scotty remains my one and only true love, my soul mate if you will. We are among the lucky few who find this in their lifetime. We were destined to meet under our stoop and forge a friendship that would last as long as it has. He is my dearest confidant, most trusted companion and he never fails to make me laugh. We don’t have much in the way of material goods, but we have each other and the farm, and for us this is all that matters. Our children understand that we view things a tad differently than other town folks; we aren’t any better or worse, just different. We prioritize family above all else, and have a fierce loyalty to one another. Our resilience and love was embedded in our early years and is the reason why we survived.

  My husband is out on his old gal, Sugar, roaming our property checking the fences as he does each and every night regardless of the weather. His arthritis has flared up again making it difficult to hold tight to the reins, but Sugar is reliable and steady of foot. The dewy evenings are his favorite time to ride and he says it keeps him young. He still flexes his muscles for me to this day and he still calls me “Red”.

  We sold the cattle and sows years back, but kept a few horses for the children who love to ride just like their father. Our days working the farm are over, now it is ours simply to enjoy.

  Scotty taught me many things beginning with the definition of family, which in our case was not tied by blood but rather kinship and respect. He made me realize the importance of a work ethic, that no matter how large or small the job, you do it well and consequently will be given the respect you deserve. Scotty didn’t believe in short cuts. He showed me how to put faith and trust in another human being and after so much loss and devastation early in our lives, how to love unconditionally and how to trust. But most important, he taught me that while it’s okay to look back it’s divine to let go, look forward and breathe in the life around me. And that’s just what I do.

  About the Author

  Julie Dewey is a novelist who is inspired by history. In her dreams she lives in the 18th century but in reality she resides with her family in Central New York, America’s snow capital.

  Her daughter is a singer/songwriter and her son is a boxer. Her husband is an all around hard-working, fantastic guy with gorgeous blue eyes that had her falling her for him the moment they met 24 years ago.

  Julie is passionate about jewelry design and gemstones, she loves anything and everything creative. If she isn’t writing, she can be found decorating, knitting, decoupaging, stamping, scrapping, working with metal, shopping or napping.

  Visit Julie at http://www.juliedewey.com for a book group guide and to read an excerpt from her second novel, One Thousand Porches