Jobeth easily fit in with the social elite of the town. She was a young, pretty and kind woman. The local inhabitants drank her up. Jobeth was a perfect hostess when she entertained guests. Her table was always decorated with fabulous chocolate cakes and scrumptious gingersnap cookies, muffins always dripping with sweet icing and other delicious snacks.
As the months passed, Jobeth’s teas had become quite the social event for the ladies of the small town. Shawna was instantly a popular friend among her peers. They were constantly under Jobeth’s feet begging for yummy treats.
Alan laughed happily seeing his “ladies” become such a success. Life was shining on them and Jobeth could hardly believe it as she basked in their newfound glory. The past they had lived seemed like another lifetime ago or someone else’s nightmare. At dinner every night sitting around the supper table, Jobeth would say thanks to God, holding tight to Alan and Shawna’s hands. Their lives had turned around for the better and she was so grateful.
On a bright summer day, Jobeth was again socializing with her four closest friends. These were the same four young women she had met that first winter day, sixteen months ago.
They sat around the familiar kitchen nibbling on peanut butter cookies, gossiping about the latest news in town. Jobeth, now very acquainted with the daily coming and goings of the town, joined in whole-heartedly. Her shy reservations had long ago melted away.
Mandy, the one who always knew the latest bits of information, turned to the girls with a twinkle in her eye.
“Guess what?” she asked distastefully screwing her face up. Jobeth and the others leaned in closer to hear. Jobeth was excited. She had news of her own she wanted to tell. Mrs. Black at the general store had told Jobeth that they would be getting telephones soon. The very thought of being able to talk to someone from their home to hers dumbfounded Jobeth. Modern technology excited and frightened her. What would they think of next?
She hoped Mandy did not know about the telephones. Mrs. Black had promised not to tell Jobeth’s four favorite comrades, knowing the young woman wanted to be the one to share the details with them. Like everyone else in town, Mrs. Black adored Jobeth and her little family.
Mandy sat back and wrinkled her spotted nose.
“Someone moved into that old house down on Bayer’s Road.”
“Oh, really?” Jobeth asked, delighted. Her piece of gossip had not been revealed. She knotted her brows confused. She was familiar with this road and couldn’t think of any houses along its unkempt grassy lane. It was in the poorest part of town and she was baffled as to who would want to live down there. “Oh well, the more the merrier,” she shrugged. She quickly thought of what to bring the new family. Peanut butter cookies? Or maybe sandwiches made with thick homemade bread?
She looked up at the four pairs of eyes glaring at her disapprovingly. Taken aback, she sat silent, confused at what she had done wrong.
“Yes, I heard,” Lorie snorted disgusted. Jobeth was becoming increasingly perplexed. This person who had moved onto Bayer Road was apparently someone of distaste to her friends.
“She is a whore, Jobeth. Not a person you go greeting.” Heather said, patting
Jobeth’s hand like a confused child. She could not help noticing Jobeth’s puzzlement and felt she needed to save her naive pal further discomfort.
“She lives there with a baby and no husband. The father, whoever he is, ran out on her when she was pregnant.”
Jobeth’s face turned red. The little baby boy she had delivered popped into her mind. He had been so small and so sweet. It broke her heart to remember him gasping in vain for air. She had no husband when he was viciously conceived. There was so much her friends didn’t know about her.
“Yes,” grunted Sara, pushing her blonde hair away from her face. It had been neatly wrapped in a bun, but some strands had escaped in her fury to speak her mind. Her eyes became angry little slits. “Do you blame the father? No proper girl would get herself in a marrying way.”
“Serves the trash right,” snipped Lorie as she stood up for another cup of tea. Ridged with anger, she turned when her cup was full and she sat back down with a thump.
“And do you want to know something else?” she boomed. The three other women looked wide-eyed in anticipation. Jobeth sat back, her face a crimson red. The others assumed that the conversation was embarrassing her.
Sara and Heather almost felt they too should blush. Only a proper girl would turn the cardinal color Jobeth had.
“I even heard that once she lived with a group of boys and she was the only girl.”
Jobeth turned pale and swallowed hard, her throat becoming increasingly dry. She took a drink of her tea, looking at her friends who had transformed into a den of lionesses. If they knew Jobeth’s past they would be appalled. But they would never know her. “I bet she doesn’t even know who the father is.
Can you imagine?” Sara gasped, looking quite horrified.
Heather put a protective hand over her once again enormous stomach. She had become pregnant right after the birth of her daughter.
“Oh that poor little baby girl! What fate awaits her? That innocent child in the care of that hussy. The shame on that baby when she starts to get older. She will end up just like her mother.” All the women nodded with certainty. Jobeth could do nothing but stare at them in disbelief.
“I think someone should get the baby away from that woman before she does it any more harm,” Lorie glared, feeling a twisting in the pit of her gut. It was not fair for this tramp to have a child when she so wanted one herself. It was starting to become apparent that she might be barren. Larry and she had been trying to have a child for two years without success. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. She wiped it away, covertly, not wanting her audience to see just how upset she was. Larry’s sister made comments all the time about Lorie’s inability to produce children. She said it was because Lorie had waited too long to snag herself a husband. Lorie would retaliate, telling her sister-in-law that she was not yet twenty-two and that woman had children much later than that in their lives.
“Yes, but their first?” Cecilia would answer cruelly.
Lorie squeezed her lips tightly together causing the blood to drain away, leaving them a grayish-pink color.
“You don’t really mean to take this woman’s child do you?” Jobeth interrupted. She had to speak up. The pain of losing her own son was still too fresh to keep quiet.
“Taking her baby?”
“She doesn’t deserve a baby!” cried Heather in an emotional outbreak so common for her. Jobeth was not sure if it was the pregnancy or if she was just prone to outbursts. She had never seen Heather when she was not with child.
“That baby deserves better than that trollop. Someone like Lorie and Larry!” Heather continued. They all knew how much Lorie wanted a child. Jobeth had been a confidante a few times to Lorie’s monthly disappointments. Lorie felt that since Jobeth was not yet pregnant herself after a year of marriage, she would understand her pain the most.
Jobeth noticed a glimmer of hope in Lorie’s eyes. She wanted the woman’s baby for herself.
“That woman Tamara doesn’t deserve a baby. She should belong to Lorie.” Sara said, repeating what Heather said. She felt proud of herself. She had discovered the perfect solution for the baby and her friend.
“Tamara?” Jobeth whispered, knocking her cup and spilling her tea all over the table. Lorie jumped to the rescue grabbing a rag from the counter. Jobeth took it from her, embarrassed, and began to wipe up her mess. She could feel the eyes of her friends drilling into her back.
“Jobeth, is something wrong?” Lorie asked. “I know the subject is horrible, but dear,” Lorie said tenderly, “such things do happen in the world. You must not be so sensitive.”
“Nothing is wrong,” Jobeth lied, mopping up the tea before it stained the lace tablecloth. She concentrated on the work at hand, not wanting them to
see her deceit.
Tamara was here? T
his could not be happening. Not now when things were going so well.
The women left some time later and Jobeth was glad to see them go. They eventually stopped talking about Tamara and had moved onto more pleasant conversation, like who was getting married and who was having babies. Jobeth told her news about the telephones and tried to act excited, but the accounts of Tamara plagued her mind. She had to know if this woman was the same Tamara she knew.
Jobeth dreaded what she already knew was the answer. The Tamara she had known had lived with a group of boys. The same boys she herself had lived with.
She sat down to finish a quilt she had been working on for Heather’s new baby. Her mind kept wandering, causing her to make mistakes. She put her work down and grabbed a shawl, throwing it carelessly over her shoulders. Staring at the door, she wondered what she was doing. If the woman was Tamara, her comfortable life would be over. Did she want to risk it all, this life she and Alan had created for themselves? And for what? A girl who had never been very nice to her.
“She is family,” Jobeth said out loud, ashamed of herself. Even though
Tamara had fought hard to make Jobeth feel unwelcome, in the end they had come to some kind of truce. Jobeth looked around her spotless home. It smelled of happiness and comfort. A rag doll sat sideways on a cushioned chair waiting for its owner to return home to play. Jobeth’s quilting lay slumped in her basket.
Alan’s pants were hidden beneath waiting to be mended. This was her home with Alan and Shawna. She signed, opened the door and walked out.
Plenty of thoughts ran through her mind as she walked down the overgrown path. Once she even turned to go back, but changed her mind continuing on.
She had to know if the girl was Tamara. Jobeth kept remembering the day she had fainted while washing clothes with the wild, black-haired beauty. Tamara had been frantic with fear. She had cared for Jobeth when Jobeth felt no one cared. If this woman was Tamara, she couldn’t turn her back on her. Jonah had not turned on Jobeth when he found out the ugly truth about her. Neither had
Alan. She was stronger for their love and devotion. How could she even think of not doing the same for Tamara?
Jobeth continued down the path to the only house on the road. It was a rundown shack. The type of place they might have stayed in, in the old days.
A chill ran up her spine. She was suddenly afraid of ending up in one of these shacks once again.
She took a deep breath, shaking off the creeping sensations and knocked on the gray wooden door. Inside, shuffling could be heard as Jobeth held her breath, afraid to move.
The door swung open fiercely, exposing a pale, dreadfully gaunt woman with blazing black hair. Jobeth gasped at how awful the woman looked, dressed in a ragged red dress that showed off too much of her thin breasts. Dark angry eyes glared fire, in expectation of a fight. Her nostrils flared. It could only be
Tamara.
“Hello,” Jobeth said weakly, swallowing back her surprise. Even though she had expected the creature in front of her to be Tamara, she was not prepared for what she saw. Skin just concealed her bones. Dark circles smudged the bottom of her hollowed eyes.
What has happened to you? Jobeth thought, feeling guilty. She was the picture of health. Life had been good in the past year and it showed on her, just as it showed how hard it had been on Tamara.
Jobeth had gained weight and turned into a slender woman instead of the scrawny girl she had once been. Tamara was ghastly white where as Jobeth’s complexion was tanned and healthy from hours spent in her garden. Her hair was bright and shiny in the latest style, piled high off her neck. Although her clothes were modest, they were stylish, clean and new. It seemed her misgiving about the group of people they had parted ways with so long ago had come true.
The concerns she had were answered in the skeletal woman before her. They had not done so well.
“Have you come to make shit?” Tamara steamed in her familiar voice. Some things did not change. Tamara was still as feisty as ever. “Well take your Miss Priss ass outta here. I ain’t gonna listen to your ‘save the soul’ crap.” For such a frail looking creature, Tamara was still full of vinegar.
“Tamara, don’t you recognize me?” Jobeth asked, knowing very well she looked different. “It’s me, Jobeth.”
Tamara took a closer look. She did not recognize the sanctimonious individual before her.
“I was with Alan and Jo . . .” She stopped and took a deep breath, not knowing why she suddenly felt as though she had run all the way there. “And
Jonah . . . Remember, I was with a little girl name Shawna?”
It all seemed so long ago. Jonah’s beautiful face saturated Jobeth’s mind, as it often did. She quickly brushed the thought aside. There would be time later to think of him. As Jonah would say, “The living need you, Jobeth.”
“Jobeth?” Tamara whispered, a sparkle of light flickered in her dark eyes for a moment and just as quickly died out. “What do yah want?” she answered coolly.
For a moment Tamara had felt hope and then, examining Jobeth’s appearance, had dismissed it. This was not the same person she had encountered years ago.
“Can I please come in? It’s cold out here,” Jobeth lied. She was not cold but she could see Tamara shiver and could tell she had nothing beneath her thin garment. Her dark nipples stood erect through her dress, causing Jobeth to avert her eyes from the sight.
Tamara moved out of the way for Jobeth to enter, not once taking notice of her embarrassment.
The inside of the shack was drafty, damp and filthy. There was no furniture to be seen, only a crumpled mound of clothing in the middle of the dirty floor.
In the corner stood a solitary cradle, Jobeth could not help eyeing.
“How long have you lived here?” Jobeth asked, forcing herself to look around the rest of the room. Tamara crossed her arms over her breasts. She began to walk around Jobeth, circling her like a vulture. Resentment was plainly written on her face.
“Just came,” she snipped.
Jobeth could not help but feel pity for the bony mortal before her. Never had she saw someone so pathetic and so in need.
“Looks like yah headed in the right way,” Tamara conveyed in her twangy voice. It had been a long time since Jobeth had heard such ragged speech. She had prided herself on correcting Alan and Shawna’s broken dialect. “When did you leave Alan and Jonah?” Tamara presumed, giving Jobeth a critical look.
There was no way Jobeth had stayed with them. She looked too much like a “society” woman. Somehow Jobeth had picked herself up and got back to the life she had obviously lived before, dumping Alan and Jonah the first chance she had.
“I didn’t leave them,” Jobeth said, feeling the air go suddenly thick and stale. She could not breathe and worried about the infant she assumed was in the cradle.
“Yah mean you still with them?” Tamara sounded surprised.
“Well--” Jobeth stalled, dreading telling Tamara about Jonah. She had always been tender toward him.
“I knew it, they--” Tamara stifled a laugh with the back of her catlike hand.
“Alan and Jonah dumped you.”
“Shawna and I are still with Alan,” Jobeth swallowed, trying to rid her throat of the familiar ball that formed every time she thought of her dead friend.
“What about Jonah?” Tamara shrieked, looking like a caged animal ready to attack. “You didn’t leave him alone did you?”
“Of course not!” Jobeth countered back, appalled. “Do you think I would do that to him?”
A sad, pitiful wail broke the increasing tension mounting between the two women.
Tamara and Jobeth both turned at the same time toward the bassinet where the cries originated.
“Way to go, you woke the kid.” Tamara stormed toward the cradle and roughly picked up the infant inside. She was dressed in a ratty, gray sleeper that had a damp spot growing near her bottom. Jobeth’s heart skipped a beat. The baby had black c
urly hair plastered to her small wet head.
“My baby,” she whispered, remembering her tiny son with the same black curly hair. Her chest hurt and she didn’t know why. All she did know is that she had to see the child.
“Can I hold her?” she asked Tamara. The child seemed pitiful in her mother’s skeletal arms.
Resting the squirming infant into the crook of her arm, Tamara could not help noticing Jobeth’s look of longing. She was confused. Why was Jobeth here?
What did she want?
“Why are you acting like this, Tamara?” Jobeth asked coolly, her eyes not leaving the wailing newborn. Small fists belted the air, with a fury equal to the child’s mothers.
“I haven’t seen or heard from you in two years. We shouldn’t be fighting,”
Jobeth said, focusing hungrily on the baby.
Tamara slowly approached Jobeth, the babe still crying in her arms. Jobeth feared Tamara would drop the child, she was so frail looking.
“Why on God’s big old earth would I ever be happy to see the likes of you?”
Tamara threw back her head and laughed. With quick sudden movements, she popped out a pale breast and began to nurse the baby. The infant sucked forcefully from the flat, pallid bosom, scrunching her face up and turning red. The offered breast did not look like it could nourish the child and from the looks of anguish on the newborn’s face, it wasn’t far from the truth.
“I didn’t even like you. You just here to look good in front of your friends?
Helping the whore to save her soul, are yah now, Jobeth?” Tamara cooed, ignoring the child.
“Stop it!” Jobeth collapsed to the dirty floor causing dust to fly up around her and gently tumble down onto her clean skirt. She did not know why she dropped to the ground so theatrically. She just did and she looked to Tamara beseechingly. No tears fell from her eyes, but she could see water droplets forming in Tamara’s dark orbs.
“Please, Tamara, I am here to help. Don’t be a fool and let your pride get in the way. We are family. The only family either of us have. We must stick together and not fight.”
Something in Tamara’s tough shell cracked. She had been alone and ridiculed for so long. Now here was Jobeth, a woman of respect, on the ground begging for Tamara’s friendship. Calling her kin. A sob escaped her chapped lips. She bent down defeated beside Jobeth onto the dirty floor. Someone wanted her, wanted to love her. She hugged the baby close to her exposed chest and began to cry. She was so alone. Jobeth wrapped loving arms around the scrawny shoulders shaking with emotion. She held Tamara tightly, comforting her.
“Don’t worry any more, Tamara,” Jobeth said, stroking the black mass of curly hair. It felt surprisingly soft. “You are home now. You are home.”
Chapter 14 —