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  “Coyotes are after the cows! Ada, get me the rifle!” screamed Patrick. I looked across the pasture as three grey cannon balls of fur and teeth nipped at one of the hysterical heifers. Kicking and bawling, the heifer ran towards the safety of the herd, but another attacking wraith cut her off. The other frightened cows stood unable to protect their sister as the three howling banshees besieged their prey.

  My thoughts quickly snapped into place. I remembered Patrick had left the Winchester propped on the porch. Reflexes from years of riding the herds on Lettie’s ranch came back quickly. Instinctively I raised and settled the rifle’s butt deep in my shoulder. “Glide the lever, breathe, aim, and squeeze the trigger.” Crack! Fur and gnashing teeth crumpled in a silent pile. “Glide the lever, breathe, aim, and squeeze the trigger.” Crack! The second nemesis tumbled, twitched, and moved no more. “Glide the lever, breathe, aim, squeeze the trigger.” Crack! The third attacker yelped and tried to run away, but his hind leg dangled uselessly. “Damn. I missed!” I knew I needed to put him down. In his present state, he would never make it in the wild. “Animals don’t need to suffer even predators like these,” I said.

  Quickly chambering another shot I took an extra second before firing to make sure I hit the mark. The tormented sounds from the animal stopped as his lifeless body came to rest at the hooves of the bawling cows.

  Silence. The noise from the rifle had left me momentarily deaf. Patrick scrambled across the yard and leapt up the steps. Stopping short he surveyed me with questioning eyes. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  The ringing in my ears was dissipating as I shook my head. “We had coyotes at Lettie’s ranch, so I sort of got good with a gun.”

  Chapter 7

  As the big chestnut gelding navigated the roughest section of our driveway, I watched as the wagon bumped over deep ruts. What is he doing taking that route? I thought. The center is so much smoother, and he’s driving directly into the worst ruts. Their ride must be really rough; that wagon is bouncing all over the place.

  The answer became evident as the wagon approached. Watching curiously, I began to hear delighted laughter coming from two little children as they careened wildly about the hay-filled wagon. Struggling against gravity and throwing handfuls of hay at each other, the children giggled and squealed with delight. “Bounce us again, daddy. Bounce us again!” emanated from two little yellow-haired children.

  “Halloo!” Frank’s voice rang across the yard as the wagon came to a stop outside the corral. He stepped around the wagon and gently assisted his very pregnant wife, Grace, to the ground. Her eyes glowed with obvious adoration as the man of her dreams held her securely until her footing was stable. Patrick was already beside her with a supporting arm ready to escort her to the porch.

  “Grace, how are you feeling these days?” Patrick asked.

  “Oh, I’m doing pretty good. Just feel like I’m ready to pop. Frank’s bouncing the wagon doesn’t help keep the baby any quieter,” Grace said.

  “Ada, I want you to meet Grace and Frank Teller,” Patrick introduced. “And these two little ruffians. This is Tillie.” Tillie squealed as he tucked her under his free arm. “And her little brother Ricky.”

  Ricky howled his disdain, “I’m Rick! And I ain’t nobody’s little brother!” We all chuckled as Ricky took a wide stance and put his fists into a fighting position.

  “OK, Pistol Pete!” Patrick swung the boy under his arm, as the giggling child succumbed to the tickles from his favorite uncle.

  This is what a normal family feels like, I thought. This is amazing!

  Grace watched while I unloaded the baskets of produce from the wagon and headed to the kitchen. “It’s been a good year for strawberries and rhubarb,” she said. “And I have a really good recipe for strawberry rhubarb cobbler if you need one.”

  I liked Grace immediately. “When is the baby due?” I asked.

  “The doctor says it won’t be much longer,” Grace grunted as she patted her swollen abdomen. “Doc Reed says the baby is breech, but he thinks it will turn before the birth. Since there isn’t anyone here who can help deliver the baby, I’ll go stay in town soon so I can be close to the doctor. I just don’t trust my darling husband’s midwifery skills. He’s good with cows, but I don’t want him ‘calving’ me!”

  I knew quite a bit about midwifery from assisting Lettie. Though most of Denver’s society women shunned Lettie in public, she had delivered many of their children. The doctors knew her skills as a midwife were far better than theirs.

  The day passed quickly as Grace and I spent the afternoon discussing gardens, children, and ranches. “Ricky! Put that stick down!” Grace hollered, as she rescued her inquisitive son from spearing himself on a tree limb.

  As I watched the scene unfold, I thought, I already feel like I belong here. These are such good people. I want to live like this for the rest of my life. Grace and I retrieved the cooled milk and eggs from the root cellar and carefully packed them for their ride home. We headed for the barn where the men were hitching Champ up to the wagon.

  “Grace,” I said, “I really enjoyed meeting you. It was so much fun to talk and share. I would be proud to call you my friend, if that’s all right?”

  Grabbing my hand, she locked her eyes with mine. “Girl, you don’t have to ask me to be your friend; we already are friends. She squeezed my hand and turned toward the barn. The afternoon had been so pleasant. I hated to see it end. With the kids in tow Grace and I walked silently toward the sound of the men talking. As we got closer, I began to listen to their conversation.

  “Frank, did you see those sport’n gals in church last week? Can you believe it? Those sinners have no right to desecrate God’s house like that,” Patrick said. “You would have thought they were respectable women the way they sat all prim and proper in the back pew. Drunks and drug addicts—that’s what they are. Not a decent bone among them, and they sat there like God would have mercy on their souls. We don’t need their kind here, and that whorehouse should burn in Hell’s fires. I hear a Madam from Denver is bringing their profession to Fort Collins. Well I, for one will not have any of it. My support goes with the decent members of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. They are already papering that house of ill repute with fliers and talking to the governor about strict laws that will end this sickness.”

  My heart practically stopped beating. The blood drained from my face and I leaned against the side of the barn trying to catch my breath. “Dear, are you all right?” I could feel Grace’s sturdy support as I gasped for breath. “You look like you just saw a ghost. Do you need to sit down?”

  Was I fooling myself? Would he ever accept me for who I am? His harsh words spoke volumes, and I knew he wouldn’t understand my history. As the lightheadedness passed I said, “No, I’m OK. I guess I am still getting used to all the fresh air here.” I smiled as I attempted to joke the seriousness away. The truth is always hard to swallow, especially if you have been living in denial. I took a deep breath and smiled convincingly. “Grace, even though I just met you, I feel I can tell you something in trust. I have many painful secrets, and I hope they won’t be the road to my ruin.”

  Grace looked confused and concerned. “Sweetie, what ever it is, I’m sure you’re strong enough to get through them.” We entered the barn, and the men stopped talking. There was a strained silence, and quickly Patrick changed the subject.

  “Frank, I’m going to drive my own wagon to church tomorrow. I have some things I need to do afterward, and I don’t want to hold you up,” Patrick said.

  “That will be fine,” Frank replied. The men tucked the children, who were cranky, into the hay. Frank clucked at the chestnut gelding, getting him into a gentle trot. Everyone waved and called out one last goodbye as the wagon lumbered onto the road. “We’ll see you tomorrow!” Frank yelled.

  Patrick and I stopped to watch the setting sun’s beautiful colors fade into the sapphire sky. Patrick stood beside me, warm and strong.
Tentatively, I took his hand. “A penny for your thoughts,” I spoke softly.

  “Just thinking how wonderful it is here with you. In the short time you have been here, you’ve brought a peace and completeness that I never thought I would have. I love you, Ada.”

  Joy and pain caught in my throat. How could this ever work? I faltered, and then whispered back softly, “I love you too, Patrick.”

  Chapter 8

  The morning sun’s first light sent the star-filled sky into full retreat. After Grace and Frank’s departure the previous day, we had retired early to enjoy other things. Probing the tender area between my legs, I discovered that Patrick’s and my energetic lovemaking had left some spots exquisitely alert. Patrick slowly stirred and slipped from the warmth of our bed’s luxurious goose down comforter. “Don’t you uncover me. That quilt is keeping me nice and warm under here,” I said.

  “The quilt was a gift from my mother,” he replied. “She always wanted the best for me, but ... ” His voice trailed off and he became strangely quiet. I watched a shadow pass over his eyes. It seemed we both had secrets we needed to protect. I couldn’t help thinking that his couldn’t be as shocking as mine.

  He kissed me on my forehead and brushed some long auburn tresses from my eyes. “Would you like me to put my hair up?” I asked.

  “Please don’t,” he begged. “Don’t tie it up. I love the way it falls around your face, and it looks so pretty lying on the pillow.” I knew it would be much easier to untangle my hair every morning than to ever face those sad eyes again.

  “If you want to, you can sleep for a little longer,” he said. “But remember today is Sunday and I have something very special planned after church.” Kissing me he headed out of the bedroom.

  “Nothing could top last night’s performance,” I called playfully after him as I watched the amber glow of happiness return to his eyes. Pulling myself away from the delicious comfort of our bed, I felt a tingle of anticipation swept through me.

  I wonder what he is up to? I thought as I got up and smoothed out the sheets and comforter. Reluctantly, I put on my insufferable corset and petticoats, vowing an oath to be rid of the claustrophobic things right after Sunday service.

  I hoped that whatever he was planning included a soft calico dress instead of corsets and petticoats. But what I really wished was that I could tell him about my dungarees. I opened the drawer where I had hidden my secret treasure. Under my clean bloomers lay my dearly loved blue dungarees.

  “I can’t keep you hidden much longer,” I whispered into their rough, sturdy fabric, “but we will have to go slowly, and our timing must be just right.” I sighed and tucked them back into their hiding place.

  It turned out that Patrick wasn’t upset about my shooting skills. He actually bragged to Grace and Frank about them. Frank even got to see the unfortunate animals’ hides drying in the barn. Maybe soon, he would see his way clear to let me wear the dungarees, at least, when we worked with the animals.

  The sun playfully peeped through the bedroom window as it rose over the eastern plain, promising another perfect Colorado day. I could hear leather creaking as Patrick loudly checked Sheba’s tack again, making it impossible to ignore that he and the big bay mare waited eagerly for me.

  I performed one last check. Yes, I thought, the bonnet is covering all of my hair. The Sunday dress is fashionable but not overstated and everything looks very proper. But wait! The reflection in the mirror suddenly astonished me. A few weeks ago, a girl with drawn eyes gawked back from my mirror in the bordello. Now a vivacious young woman with sparkling green eyes smiled back.

  I had never been so happy in my life! I smiled, then dashed out the front door. I wasn’t about to keep them waiting any longer.

  As we drove through town, we passed the post office. I signaled for Patrick to stop. “I need to mail a letter,” I explained.

  Patrick pulled Sheba to a stop in front of the post office. I slipped the letter from the protection of my handbag into the post office’s slot. Patrick watched curiously as the letter disappeared. Being a gentleman, he didn’t question me. I fought back tears thinking of the pain I must have caused everyone back in Denver.

  They probably think I went to the ranch for the weekend. They may not even have known yet that I am missing.

  I mentally reviewed the contents of my letter to my family. I hoped it would explain my situation and help them understand.

  Dear Ma, Aunt Lettie, Sarah, and Jeremiah,

  I love you all so much, but I can’t face a life of petticoats and corsets. Please, don’t look for me because my husband must never know the circumstances of my life. I know there is nothing in my past to be ashamed of, but other people are not as understanding.

  I can’t chance that he would abandon me, or worse yet, be humiliated by where I was raised. He is a fine man, and I am extremely happy. I will write if I can. Please always remember, I will love you forever.

  Ada

  After hearing Patrick and Frank’s conversation yesterday, I knew this would probably be the last communication I could ever have with them. I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with my handkerchief as I nodded for him to continue on to church.

  The Sunday congregation was joyous. Every voice could be heard as the deacon led the congregation in the Lord’s Prayer. As the first hymn of devotion began, a cacophony of men and women’s voices resounded from within the small wooden church. However, fear gripped me as I watched the prostitutes, about whom Patrick had been gossiping back at the ranch, enter the back of the church. Just as they had always done in Denver, they settled quickly in the back pew, allowing the last notes of the hymn to cover their entrance. Quickly I looked back, and was thankful not to be able to recognize any of them. A felt a sigh of relief softly escape my lips.

  ***

  Memories of my childhood church attendance resurfaced as the familiar rituals of the service continued. I recalled how, while sitting with Jeremiah and his family, I would secretly watch the ladies from the Silver Dove arrive at church. The so-called upstanding members of the church always made sure the back pews were conspicuously unoccupied for these less desirable attendees. Soiled doves were allowed in church, but had to follow more rules than the rest of the congregation. In order for their attendance to go unnoticed, they were expected to arrive late, preferably during the first hymn, sit quietly for the service, and then leave during the last hymn. This way the more respectable members of the congregation could pretend they were never there.

  The Ladies of the Evening understood their place in society, but society never understood how much the wages of sin provided for their church. When the collection plate was passed, the smatterings of coins from the fine upstanding members of the church were always hidden under stacks of silver dollars tendered by the ladies. It seemed that not much was different here.

  ***

  John Burns, pastor of the First Congregational Church of Fort Collins, knew that feelings ran high against the new bordello, which had come to his community. As a God-fearing pastor he understood his job was to preach against sin, but he also had been given a burning desire to preach God’s love and forgiveness for the sinner. John also was painfully aware that without the added collection, from the ladies of ill repute, his small congregation could never support a young preacher or his family, or the church’s ministries. As the young pastor walked to the pulpit, he closed his eyes and beseeched Jesus to give him an easier sermon, but God in his wisdom only increased the conviction to deliver His message.

  “Please open your Bibles to Luke 7:36 and follow along as I read.” Pastor Burns’ strong baritone voice briefly faltered, then gathered strength.

  36 And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him. And he went into the Pharisee's house, and sat down to meat. 37 And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, 38 And stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to w
ash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment. 39 Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner. 40 And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. 41 There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. 42 And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most? 43 Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. 44 And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. 45 Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. 46 My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. 47 Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little. 48 And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. 49 And they that sat at meat with him began to say within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also? 50 And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace."

  “This passage alludes to the delicate subject of this woman being a prostitute.” I shot a furtive glance to see how Patrick was receiving this sermon. He sat cold, unmoving, but pain and rage filled his eyes.

  “Now in those days, and even now, when men went astray, women were blamed.” Pastor John’s sermon continued, “Let us assume a young woman is abused and beaten by every man she has known in her life. She tries to make an escape from her brutal situation. Praying for a better life, she chooses a mail-order-bride husband. In his letter, he tells her he will give her a good home and take care of her. She trusts him believing she will escape her current condition. Her hope of becoming a respectable wife in a new life is within her grasp, but her dream is soon dashed. She finds that her future husband is just another of the cruel, brutal men in her life.