A few days later George opened a newspaper and began to laugh. “Young lady, you have made the news.”
“I?” Tamar lifted amazed eyebrows. “What have I done?”
George chuckled until his plump body shook. “Listen to this. I suspect it’s your sister-in-law’s doing.” He began to read.
Mr. and Mrs. Carlos O’Donnell announce the betrothal of his sister, Tamar Joy O’Donnell, to Gordon Rhys, noted San Francisco attorney-at-law. Out of loyalty to a city engrossed in rebuilding, the formal wedding expected of such an eminent couple will be sacrificed. A private wedding is scheduled for sometime in October.
Mr. Rhys is busily engaged in civic affairs and by serving on several prominent committees with Mr. O’Donnell, has been instrumental in helping to bring order out of chaos. Miss O’Donnell’s lovely voice captured the hearts of San Franciscans when she sang for a limited time at the Pantages Theatre. It is doubtful whether Miss O’Donnell, or the Unknown Angel as she was called by the finest critics, will be singing in public again, due to illness after her heroic efforts in the aftermath of the earthquake and fire.
In an exclusive interview with Mrs. Carlos O’Donnell, she refused to disclose the many selfless acts of her beloved sister-in-law and merely stated, “Tamar wants no publicity or thanks for all she did, but then, true angels of mercy seldom do.”
Congratulations are in order to Gordon Rhys for winning such a charming young lady. Our city is blessed indeed to have both of these worthy citizens plus the O’Donnells and Miss Veronica Rhys as residents.
“How appalling!” Tamar’s face burned with disgust. “This is even lower than I thought Lorraine would stoop.” She took the paper from George, scanned it, and indignantly repeated, “Sacrifice a public wedding? We sound like martyrs.”
“I liked the part about the angel of mercy,” George said. “I’d sure like to hear about all those undisclosed selfless acts, Joy-Tamar.”
“So would I,” the tormented bride-to-be muttered.
“Laugh it off, child.” Gilda’s wide smile soothed her. “If that’s the only way the poor woman can be happy, let her alone.” She sighed. “If she only knew of her Father’s love, she wouldn’t have to seek fame elsewhere.”
The words sank deep into Tamar’s troubled mind. All during the spring and summer months while Gordon toiled and she regained her health, she thought about Lorraine, until one day she told Gilda. “I have to speak to her about salvation and I’d rather face a storm in the ocean.”
“Have you been putting it off?”
“Yes. I can’t much longer, especially now.” The latest edition of the papers had carried a splashy story about the recently disclosed criminal activity of Phillip-with-two-l’s. The reporter had spiced up the story of Carlin’s arrest by reminding the readers that Phillip had been left waiting at the church the previous fall by Miss Tamar O’Donnell who would soon wed Gordon Rhys. The account ended with an editorial-type comment, “It appears Miss O’Donnell knew what she was about when she failed to appear at the church.”
“Let’s have a word of prayer,” Gilda suggested. Kneeling between her friends, Tamar felt support for the unpleasant task before her. Still, her stomach fluttered as she made the short trip to Lorraine and Carlos’s temporary home. Would her sister-in-law be humbled by the newspaper story, or would she be in tears, furious? Could this be God’s way of softening the hard-caked earth of her heart so the seed of salvation could be planted and grow?
With her usual unpredictableness, Lorraine distorted history to her own choosing. “Well, Tamar, I always told you not to encourage Phillip Carlin.” Her every hair was in perfect order, but her white skin was mottled. “Why you ever let things get as far as you did, I’ll never know. All he wanted was the inheritance he thought you’d have.”
Speechless, Tamar fell into a chair.
Lorraine ranted on. “To think that your name is being bandied on the lips of the commonest persons in the city!” She shuddered delicately and sighed the sigh of the persecuted. “Of course, it never occurred to you that association with such a scoundrel would reflect on the rest of us. I’m just thankful that the Rhyses are so forgiving.” Her eyes glittered, daring Tamar to defend herself.
Suddenly Tamar stood, crossed to Lorraine, and put her arms around her. It felt like embracing a poker. Then the slim body relaxed and Tamar whispered, “Lorraine, I never had a sister. Won’t you be one? I need you so much.”
Could that be a sob? Lorraine’s arms crept about the younger woman and she brokenly said, “No one has ever told me that.” She held Tamar away from her. “Carlos is so self-sufficient and no children came.”
Enlightenment filled Tamar. It emboldened her to say, “There is One who loves you more than life itself, One who chose you as His own, created you and made you unique. Lorraine, our Heavenly Father loved you so much He sent His only Son that you could be saved and live with Him forever.”
“I know.” Lorraine bit her lip and tears gushed.
“Then why don’t you invite Him into your heart?” Tamar asked.
For a moment she thought the Holy Spirit had won. Then Lorraine stepped back. A mask slid over her face. “When God shows He really loves me and sends me the son Carlos wants so badly, I’ll accept Christ.”
“Oh, Lorraine, don’t try to bargain with God,” Tamar cried. “I know what it’s like, saying if You do this, I’ll do that. It doesn’t work. It never will! God doesn’t want us to become His children simply because we’re grateful for something He’s given us—unless it’s gratitude for Jesus.” She held her breath.
Lorraine’s voice warmed; perhaps the ice that had encased her for so long was beginning to melt. “I do want you to love me.” It was the closest to an apology for the past Tamar knew she would ever get. “I’ll think about the other.” With a return to her normal air, she straightened. “Now, let’s speak no more of—things.”
Tamar leaned forward. “Please, talk over what I said with Carlos. Ever since the earthquake, I have the feeling he has grown closer to God than at any time in his life.”
“Yes. And farther from me.” Lorraine clamped her lips shut.
A few moments later Tamar excused herself, but all the way back to the Smiths’, she pondered in her heart the unsuspected depths of the woman she once hated and feared. She bowed her had and prayed for Lorraine.
Meanwhile, Dick O’Donnell had bounced back into Tamar’s life with all the enthusiasm of a sixteen-year-old set free from drudgery. Gordon had invited the boy to live with him and Veronica until the fall wedding, but he chose to stay in the Smiths’ spare room. His snapping dark eyes and cheerful whistle filled the quiet home with life. For the first time, he leaned all the details of Tamar’s adventurous months since she slid down her bed sheet rope.
“You’re one brave sister,” he approved. Then his face darkened and he clenched his fists. “If I ever get my hands on that Carlin, he will wish he’d never heard the name O’Donnell.”
“Phillip-with-two-l’s won’t be around for some time,” George Smith told him. “Rumor has it this time he’s caught for good. Something about selling worthless stock in a rebuilding firm that only exists in his mind.”
Tamar could only feel relief. Even though months had passed since her would-be-husband turned up at the Gregories’ musicale in Oakland, she couldn’t forget the moment of desperation when he demanded her precious tapestry as the price for his silence.
She shoved the memory aside and concentrated on preparing for her marriage with Gordon. True to his word, he spent every free moment with her, courting her as he had promised. She learned the simple joy of being with him. Sometimes they sought a quiet place in Golden Gate Park just before sundown. Several times on a Saturday she tiptoed from her room, met him at the door, and they watched the sun rise over the recovering city. She never failed to feel humble that of all the eligible women in San Francisco he had chosen her.
“You sure picked a winner,” Dick heartily approved, then hesitated. The Smiths had gone to check on the progress of the New Pantages, and Dick and Tamar had the house to themselves. “Uh, you’re sure I’m not going to be in the way? After all, most newlyweds don’t want a brother hanging around.” He laughed anxiously.
“Dick, dear, Gordon would never have suggested it if he didn’t want you,” Tamar reassured.
“Good.” He dropped the subject, although relief shone in his eyes. “Hey, Gilda told me you’ve agreed to sing once more before you get married, for some kind of children’s relief fund.”
She smiled at him, loving his presence after their long time apart. Bees hummed in the flowers around them, and brightly colored birds darted and sang. Could anything be more peaceful? “Yes.” She gazed at the whitecaps playing tag on the Bay. “Pray for good weather. “It’s to be in the New Pantages Theatre but the roof isn’t on yet. Volunteers are trucking in chairs, though, and the sponsors have commandeered some of the best talent they can get on short notice.”
“Including the Unknown Angel. Are you going to masquerade as her again?” Dick hunched forward, eyes alight with interest.
Tamar’s laugh rippled out. “It isn’t necessary now that everyone knows me. I’m going to wear a new white gown and George suggested that we drape my tapestry over a screen for a background. They’ll run pictures in the papers of some of us who will perform.”
A strange shiver touched her in spite of the warm afternoon. She wondered why. Surely she didn’t fear performing. As before, she’d sing three times, ending with the triumphant hymn, “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.” The magnificent words of encouragement signified San Francisco’s struggle to survive and would remind the audience of their sole protection against storm and trouble. If only some would heed and accept that message.
Captioned “The Unknown Angel Sings Again,” the newspaper write-up created a stir in the middle of the hard task of restoration. Donald and Dora Wilson, who had cried for days after their beloved Joy left, clamored to go when Cook proudly showed them the picture. Their fluffy little mother boasted to anyone who would listen that, “I suspected all along poor Miss O’Donnell was incognito,” before wistfully adding, “And she was also the best children’s companion we ever had!”
“And she would have stayed with us a lot longer if your idiot brother Edgar had left her alone,” her husband sarcastically observed. “I just hope to heaven that lawyer she’s marrying never decides to look Edgar up.”
In Oakland, Mrs. Gregory pouted over her lost chance to sponsor the singer who had turned out to be one of the O’Donnells, but Alice just sighed. No music teacher since Miss Darnell had ever been so kind or pretty.
An unknown mother who saw and recognized the tapestry penned a tear-stained note of thanks for once having it wrapped around her cold child.
And Phillip-with-two-l’s, who had managed to escape the law and hide in an obscure corner until he could flee the city, clutched the paper with greedy fingers. A glint turned his hazel eyes to ugly slits. So. Tamar, who had caused all his trouble by leaving him humiliated at the church, still possessed the tapestry. A slow smile crossed his hardened face. If he could get that tapestry and slip away, its selling price would keep him for some time. He immediately dyed his hair, purchased a muffler to cover the lower part of his face, and hurried to buy a ticket for the concert, painfully aware of his dwindling supply of funds. The short time between the announcement and the event gave him time to fan the fire of his accusations. “She deserves what she gets,” he told himself a dozen times. “I’d never have resorted to fraud if Tamar hadn’t forced me into it.” His grip on reason faded until all he could see was the tapestry, offering hope and salvation from the misery of being wanted by the law.
Perhaps even Caruso wouldn’t have been more enthusiastically greeted than those who gave of their talents at the benefit. Act followed act. Applause rose and fell. Light and laughter and release from care combined into a joyous experience. After the seats had been filled, crowds stood in the streets. Good-natured policemen lingered among them to hear. Tamar’s wish for good weather came true and a million stars shone down on the roofless New Pantages.
“Our final performance is by Miss Tamar Joy O’Donnell,” George Smith announced. “Formerly called the Unknown Angel.” A burst of cheering interrupted any further tribute and Gilda took her place at the piano. The lights had been turned out between acts and when they came on, Tamar stood straight and lovely, gowned in white, with the scarlet and emerald and white tapestry as a backdrop. No mantilla hid her hair or face, but a red rose nestled in the lace at her throat, its twin in her red-gold hair. The haunting notes of “Greensleeves” filled the theater and spilled out the open doors into the evening. A storm of applause made her pause for a long time before Gilda began playing a rollicking gypsy song. Again she stood waiting until the audience quieted. Then putting her whole heart in the music, she sang,
“O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home!”
Carlos grasped Lorraine’s carefully manicured hand and looked at her. A look unlike any he’d seen since their marriage stole across her face, and she squeezed her husband’s hand.
Gordon Rhys felt the power of the Holy Spirit working through the woman he loved, and tears blurred the white figure standing with outstretched arms. When the audience surged to its feet on the last verse and spontaneously joined in, Gordon couldn’t sing the final words,
“Be thou our guard while troubles last
And our eternal home.”
God, help many to accept Your Son, Gordon silently prayed as the crowd raised their voices in tribute to singer and song.
At last the stage lights went out, the curtain fell before rising again with the entire cast. A minute passed. Two. People called, “Bring them out!” but when the curtain lifted, the cast milled about a fallen white figure.
“Tamar!” Gordon plowed through the babbling crowd and vaulted to the stage with Dick close behind, then Carlos.
“She’s all right, sir, but he—a man, when the lights dimmed, he pushed her aside, snatched the tapestry from behind her and shot off the stage,” someone cried.
“Stay with her. I’ll go.” Dick made a flying leap in the direction the thief had taken. He burst out the stage door and careened into the two policemen. “Quick, did anyone come out?”
“No.” They sprang to attention. “Is there trouble?”
“A thief,” Dick explained briefly and dashed back inside. Was that a darker shadow at the end of an unlit hall? He pelted toward it. Saw it move. “Stop, thief!” Dick put on speed, launched himself like a cannonball, and felled the man who struggled to no avail against the boy’s healthy young strength.
“You can let him up,” a grim voice ordered and Dick sprang off the still-kicking man. A policeman yanked the thief to his feet. Carlos came running from backstage, and the man squirmed again.
“I’ve done nothing! Let me go,” he shouted furiously.
“He stole this priceless tapestry from my sister Tamar O’Donnell,” Dick yelled and grabbed it from behind the man.
“Who are you, anyway?” The policeman demanded. He grabbed the man’s chin and raised it. “Say, you’re the guy who broke out of jail last night. Carlin. That’s it. I oughta get a promotion outa this.” He snapped handcuffs on Carlin, who still protested he had only picked up the tapestry.
“Wish I’d known sooner who he was,” Dick lamented when the policeman and his partner hustled Phillip off. “I’d have given him a few licks he wouldn’t forget!” He tossed the tousled hair out of his eyes. “Tamar’s all right, isn’t she?”
“She’s fine.” Carlos passed one hand in front of his eyes and color stole back to his ghastly face. “Let’s get this to her. He motioned toward the tapestry. “Dick—thanks.”
“ ’Sall right.” His brother grinned and flexed his muscles, but when they reached Tamar he dropped to his knees beside Gordon, who had pulled her into his arms regardless of onlookers. “Here’s your rug. Kind of crumpled but it’s not torn or anything. Carlin stole it.”
Tamar laughed until she cried. “Phillip-with-two-l’s. I didn’t think he had it in him.” She laughed again and demanded that Gordon set her on her feet. “Tell them everything is all right,” she implored after a lightning glance at the concerned crowd. “No, there’s a better way. Carlos, asked Gilda to start playing ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’” Flanked by her brothers, she made room for Gordon and Lorraine, and then Tamar led the house in song.
Finally people dispersed. So did the cast members. At last only the Smiths, O’Donnell’s, and Gordon remained.
“Tamar, I can’t stand to wait until October for us to be married,” Gordon burst out. “After this, I’ll never be happy until you are my wife. Will you marry me next week? Hood can keep things going for a time.”
Tamar looked into his eyes. Her fingers held the tapestry that had been taken from her, retrieved; given away, found; stolen, returned. The Master Weaver had allowed dark threads to wind their way into her life, but they only enhanced the brightness of what lay ahead; life with Gordon, followed by eternal life with the Weaver. She nodded and held out her hands. The tapestry covered them, spilling its warmth over their love. She glanced around the close-knit little circle. Carlos and Lorraine stood with arms around each other. A new softness showed on Lorraine’s face. George and Gilda had clasped hands. Dick’s feet were apart, his arms crossed.
Please, God, make our lives beautiful for You and one day save us all, Tamar silently prayed. She freed her hands, draped the tapestry over her shoulders serape-style, and threw her head back for a last look at the stars.
Long after the unfinished theatre lay empty, long after Tamar slept, the essence of a mighty prayer lingered over the hills of San Francisco:
Be thou our guard while troubles last
And our eternal home.
Tomorrow beckoned, with its joys and uncertainties. Tonight, the pulse of a city had been quickened by the promise of salvation.