Tabitha Read Free

long that Rose
began to gather up the tea things, including Tabitha’s cup of very cold tea.
    At last Tabitha whispered, “Do you
think . . . do you think my testimony might help another girl
not to make the mistakes I made?”
    Tabitha turned toward Rose and tears glistened in her eyes.
“I can scarcely bear to consider what my own willful nature—and my unbridled
temper—cost me.”
    “My darling girl, I am much less concerned over the choices
and mistakes you made years ago than I am with how our Lord Jesus saved you out
of all of them . It is human nature that we rarely care about our great God
of grace until we, personally, see that we have a need for him, no? Jesus came
to seek and save those who are lost—and I care a great deal about the lost who
might see themselves in your story. I believe your testimony will cause the
hearts of many women like yourself to turn to him.”
    Rose hesitated. “It will not be easy, Tabitha, remembering
and talking of the life you lived before Jesus rescued you.”
    Tabitha stared at her hands. “I would only need to tell you?
You would write it out?”
    “We would do it all together, dear. Every part.” Rose
hesitated. “We have nine weeks. I do not know but that it may be the work of
more than nine weeks, but we can be well begun in that time.”
    Tabitha swallowed again and nodded. “I . . .
suppose I am willing to at least try.”
    Rose took her hands. “Then let us give this to our Lord and trust
him for the outcome. Nine weeks will give us a good start—and let us start
today, now, while our determination is fresh.”
    They cleared away the tea things and Rose selected paper and
pen.
    “Where should I begin?” Tabitha asked.
    “Perhaps we should start at the place where you made your
first wrong choice?”
    Tabitha hmmed. “Yes. I know exactly when that was.”
    “Very well. Take a moment to compose your thoughts and then
begin.”
    Tabitha shifted and looked around the room as though she
wanted to flee the memories in her head. “I . . . well, I should
say that my name is Tabitha Kathrine Hale.”
    “I did not know your middle name.” Rose smiled. “It is
beautiful and suits you.”
    “Thank you, Miss Rose.” Tabitha rested her chin upon her
folded hands.
    “I probably should begin, then, when I was
fourteen . . .”
    ~~**~~

Part
1:
A Bad Beginning
    The
eye that mocks a father
and despises a mother’s instructions
will be plucked out by ravens of the valley
and eaten by vultures.
(Proverbs 30:17, NLT)

Chapter
1
Arizona Territory,
1895
    I sighed and wondered again what was keeping Cray from his
dinner. Sweat and dirt ran down the back of my neck and I swiped at it.
    I was angry, of course. I was almost always angry lately.
Bile and discontent had taken up residence in my belly. They lived and thrived
there, seething and churning, until they climbed up my throat and erupted in
heated words.
    “Here I been a-cookin’ an’ bakin’ over this hot fire and he
ain’t got th’ decency t’ come eat?” I grumbled. I was incensed at Cray’s
thoughtlessness. “He can’t leave off a-workin’ when day is done?”
    Down in my gut the anger swirled. I wanted to say more, much
more, but I wanted to say it to Cray’s face. I held one hand over my eyes and
squinted west into the scorching light, scanning the path that wended down the
hillside not far away. I saw no sign of Cray and his mule.
    The late afternoon dragged on toward sunset, and the sun
still burned, hanging like a bloated, shimmering orb in a blindingly blue sky.
The day’s heat was beyond anything I had endured in my short fourteen years.
Even the scorching skies of west Texas, under which I had spent my childhood,
had been nowhere near as merciless as the searing desert of southern Arizona.
    During the day the air inside of our small tent grew so hot
that it sucked the moisture from my lungs: If I inhaled, fiery billows seared
my chest. So I spent the long hours outside, hunkered