Ada's Secret Page 7

  “What happened?” Patrick said as he let the panic drain from his body. His eyes searched the room and found me in a darkened corner. Protectively, he took me into his arms.

  “Ada saved our lives,” Grace explained to the unnerved men. “She turned the baby and delivered him safe and sound. I don’t know what we would have done if she hadn’t been here.” As I tried to quiet her, I saw Patrick’s dark eyes smolder. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but anger was clearly in his eyes. Stepping away, he took me by the shoulder as he escorted me outside.

  Patrick was too silent. As we stopped beside the corral, he asked, “Do you have something to tell me?” He motioned to my dungarees and the obvious seat marks on Sheba’s rumpled coat.

  Alarmed and trying to explain too fast, I stumbled over my words as I tried to talk. “Patrick, being raised on a working ranch, with lazy cousins. I ... uh ... well, I learned many skills that most girls ... um ... women don’t understand. I couldn’t wear skirts and do the entire ranch work that needed done, so my aunt, well, she gave me dungarees. And we had house maids, and they always seemed to come up pregnant, so I helped with the calving and whelping ... and, well, it just comes naturally when ... ” Lightheaded, I finally took a breath and watched for his reaction.

  Slowly, he walked around me inspecting, the dungarees. Narrowing his eyes he let out a long slow whistle. “Ada, you are one unpredictable woman. I’m proud you saved Grace and the baby, but don’t you ever let anyone see you in that get-up again.”

  I stammered, “Can I wear them when I’m fixing fences and working with the cattle at home?”

  “Well, I suppose,” he spoke hesitantly.

  “It just ain’t right for a woman to wear such things, but it does explain how easily you managed my trousers on our first night.” The fuming anger cleared from his eyes.

  “I can’t abide you wearing them in town, but you can wear them when you are working on the ranch, if you feel more comfortable. Remember I said, ‘when doing ranch work.’ You must never, never let anyone else see you in those pants. OK?”

  He leaned over, and I felt his hand grab under my booted foot, hiking me up astride Sheba’s back. Patrick watched as I gathered the makeshift reins over the big horse’s neck. Slinging the rifle and shotgun over his shoulder, he checked to make sure I was secure on the big mare’s back. Patrick shook his head as we started on the trail to our home. “I sure wish I had been there. I would of loved to have seen you riding a draft horse, saddle-less, at a full gallop. That must have been some ride. I thought I knew everything about women and horses. Today you two have shown me just how silly a notion that is.”

  Chapter 13

  The summer went from one crystal clear day to the next. Afternoon rain showers cooled and moistened the pastures, and the pregnant cows grew fat. Ranch life was blissful. Each day’s chores included caring for the animals, tending the garden, cooking, and the special daily tasks. The routine created a rhythm just like a heartbeat.

  Monday was baking day; Tuesday mending and sewing; Wednesday house-cleaning; Thursday was gathering, canning, and storing food supplies; Friday was stockpiling wood and water; Saturday was laundry and bathing; and Sunday after church, was to be spent with friends or just being with Patrick.

  “Patrick,” I called one laundry day. “You did a wonderful job with the clothes line. I couldn’t have placed it any better myself. You have it catching the breeze and staying in the sunshine all afternoon. The meadow makes everything smell wonderful. How did you know how to position it so perfectly?”

  “My mother insisted, that my father put her clothes line over the meadow. The only other area available was over the sheep pasture, and the odor from that didn’t exactly make for pleasant-smelling laundry.” He chuckled as he held his nose with one of my cloth pins.

  “Speaking of my mother, this came for you,” Patrick said. With a devilish gleam in his eye, he pushed an envelope deep into my apron pocket, making sure he hesitated briefly, but noticeably across my most sensuous areas. Playfully I cuffed his head. “Hey, what did I do to deserve that?” He ducked mischievously under the safety of a sheet drying in the warm sunshine.

  I pulled the letter from my pocket and inspected neat and legible script on the envelope. Inside were three sheets of paper. On the first was my name, Ada Burgess, printed in calligraphy. Until now, I hadn’t realized that my name had changed. “Ada Burgess, I like the sound of that,” I said.

  “That’s right, when we go back into town next time, we’ll need to stop at the recorder’s office and get your legal name changed,” Patrick called as he headed to the barn. I slowly began reading the letter.

  Dear Daughter Ada,

  Welcome to our family. Patrick has told me so much about you that I feel we already have met. In case he hasn’t told you already, he is head over heels in love with you. Patrick is a good man, but he doesn’t always say what he is feeling. I guess he gets that from his father. His father doesn’t talk very much and when he does, it is best to listen. I am so sorry they couldn’t see eye to eye, and I have come to realize that young men and their fathers must have a certain amount of angst between them.

  Much like having two roosters in the hen house produces issues, two men in a household can’t last long either. I had hoped Patrick wouldn’t leave until he was older, but he’ll need to tell you that story in his own good time.

  Anyway, I am so pleased to finally have a daughter in the family. God decided that Patrick was all the blessing of children I needed, and he was our only child. I have waited for you for twenty years, and can’t tell you how happy I am that you have finally arrived!

  We are many miles apart, but I really want to get to know you better. Please write me and tell me all about the ranch. My darling son usually fills a letter with facts. Don't get me wrong facts are good, but I am counting on you to fill in details. Please tell me all about the sights, sounds, and smells of Fort Collins.

  Welcome to the family. I am so glad to have another female voice among these men. Please write soon.

  Love,

  Mother Burgess

  Hanging up the last piece of laundry, I quickly went into the house and answered her letter.

  Dear Mother Burgess,

  Thank you for accepting me so wholeheartedly into your family. Mail-order-bride stories can be dubious and don’t always end well. Before coming here my situation was difficult. No longer could I stay at my aunt’s house, so I was blessed when Patrick accepted me as his mail-order-bride. Even though my courtship and wedding were different than what many think normal, everything was perfect for me. I am pleased to say that both Patrick and I are very happy together.

  The ranch is so beautiful. I hope you can come soon for a long visit. The house sits at the base of the foothills. Even though the word “foothills” makes them sound small, they are anything but that. From the kitchen window, you can see them meld right into the high mountains. Great forests of Ponderosa and Fir trees spread from the base of the hills to the snow-capped tree line of the rugged Rocky Mountains. Snow can fall at any time of the year in these mountains, so they are aptly named the Never Summer Range.

  About fifty feet to the north of the house is the barn. It is very well constructed, and is made of clapboard siding nailed directly onto stout wooden studs. Patrick and the neighbors put a huge hayloft over the four stalls because the winters here begin in September, and you may possibly need to feed livestock clear through the middle of April.

  Speaking of livestock, we have a horse named Sheba. She is a big bay draft horse with the nicest disposition. Yesterday when I was out mucking stalls, she came over to me and rested her head on my shoulder. Patrick said she doesn’t like people, but she follows me around the corral like a big dog and whinnies when she hears me talking.

  Buttercup is our Jersey milk cow. She has soft brown eyes and never gets irritable when Patrick milks her. She and Sheba have stalls with gaits that open into the south corral from the barn. Because the w
inter sun lies low in Colorado, Patrick says it will keep the corral dry and warm the stalls all winter. Both animals are wonderful company when I am doing the chores.

  The Hereford heifers are growing quickly. Their curly red bodies and little white faces stand at the fence every morning when Patrick milks Buttercup. They are very curious but soon lose interest and go about serenely munching the tall grass in the pasture. We had the bull over last month, and we think twenty-seven of the thirty heifers are pregnant. We are hoping to be busy calving by next April.

  The root cellar is one of my favorite amenities. Patrick dug it close to the house and made it deep enough that anything we put there stays cool all day long.

  Our neighbors Grace and Frank are wonderful people, and we trade our milk and eggs for their garden produce. We have a smoke house and have put everything from ham to a side of venison in it. The ranch has everything we could ever need or want.

  I think the most spectacular part of the ranch is the western sunsets. Afternoon shadows start early as the sun begins to set behind the Rockies. The sunset brings streaks of yellow, orange, red, and purple across the clouds, settling on the high mountains. Sometimes silver or gold lines the clouds, just before everything turns a beautiful dark blue, and the Milky Way spreads its multitude of silver stars across the sky.

  This is the most beautiful place on earth, Mother Burgess. Please come visit soon. We have plenty of room here for guests. Again, thank you for accepting me sight unseen. It will be my pleasure to continue to take care of your wonderful son.

  Yours truly, your daughter,

  Ada

  I put the letter into Patrick’s coat so that he could take it to the post office the next time he went to town. I glanced out of the window and stopped to observe the cattle grazing happily in the meadow. Twenty-seven out of thirty! We could have twenty-seven new little faces next spring. I wonder if we could be expecting some day soon? So far, no signs of pregnancy had interrupted my menstrual cycle. I wasn’t worried. The timing was in God’s hands. Besides I was not really ready for the trials of a new baby, and who would midwife me?

  I shrugged off the momentary sensation of fear and continued to pull fresh lettuce from the garden for our supper. It was late to grow lettuce, but if I planted it in the shade it didn’t go to seed too quickly. Lettuce provided some tasty variety to our meat and potatoes and the constant barrage of fresh vegetables from Grace’s garden.

  “Grace, you better get to canning those vegetables,” I told her. “You won’t have anything to feed that baby if you don’t quit giving everything to us,” I’d said, laughing when she brought over more radishes and squash one day.

  “Don’t worry about that. I have way too much squash. The birds would just get it, and I’d rather you have it.” She laughed and saw that thankful smile once again.

  “I’m the thankful one,” I whispered knowingly, “having my secret safe with you has been so unburdening. I can’t tell you how relieved I feel to have someone to talk to. Do you think Patrick could ever understand?”

  “I wouldn’t let it out too soon. Men are funny about those things. I am still surprised he lets you wear dungarees. Last week Frank saw a woman in town with a riding skirt on, and he made snide cracks about sportin’ women all the way home. I don’t know how you do it keeping a secret that big, but you are a remarkable woman and an even better friend,” Grace said warmly. “Thank you for confiding in me.”

  About two weeks later, Patrick and I went over to talk to Grace to see how the baby was doing. “Halloo! Anyone home?” we yelled, approaching the house. Frank and Grace greeted us at the door.

  “Well, hello there. What a pleasant surprise, and convenient for me,” Frank said. “Your timing couldn’t be better. I need your good husband’s strong back to help fix the wagon out in the yard.”

  Patrick and I laughed as I jokingly replied, “Glad to see someone can get some work out of him. Patrick you go help Frank. Grace and I are going to kitchen.” Once inside, Grace and I caught up on all the events since the baby’s arrival while making coffee and cookies for our husbands, after they finished their work.

  The heat from the stove was making the kitchen too warm for comfort, so Grace opened the window overlooking the yard. The voices of the men drifted into the kitchen, and we began to overhear their conversation. “What do you think of the plan the city fathers have allowing that house of ill-repute in town?” Frank asked Patrick.

  Patrick answered, “Frank, that is a sore spot for me. I have to tell you something that will explain why I will do everything in my power to make sure that place never dishonors our good town’s name. Whorehouses are dens of inequity, and there is nothing good that can come from one. They take decent women and turn them into drug-addicted, disease-infected filth. I know this firsthand.” Grace and I were riveted by their conversation. Being careful not to be noticed from the window, we continued to listen.

  “Frank I never have told anyone this, but being that you are my best friend I know I can trust you with my secret, “When I was a young man, still living with my parents in Vermont on the ranch, I fell in love with the neighbor girl. Frank, she was so beautiful. Miriam had long blond hair, dancing blue eyes, and her cheeks reminded me of ripe peaches. Her smile was so fetching that when she blushed, I couldn’t breath. I was sure she was an angel from Heaven. As pretty as she was, she had an even more beautiful voice: high, clear and the sweetest sound. She could out-sing a meadowlark. I wasn’t much of a churchgoer in those days, but when I knew Miriam would be singing, I was in the first pew. We fell madly in love and were to be married, but we were still young, and our parents wanted us to wait for a year. I loved her so much.

  “We walked to school together every day, and I made sure I was her escort to all the social events. She loved me too, and we would spend hours talking about what our lives would be like when we were married. Everything seemed so perfect, and even our parents were happy about the arrangement.

  “Remember what I told you about the wool mills where I grew up? When the mills closed and my father and I came to odds, I left home for California. I wrote Miriam a letter, but I never knew if she got it. I guess she thought I had abandoned her, or maybe she thought she would try to find me, but whatever she thought, she ran away with a traveling theatre troupe that had passed through town. She had always wanted to sing on the stage of a grand theatre, and everyone told her that she had such talent she should go to California.

  “One morning her mother woke up to find a note on her bed saying she had a job with a theatre company and was on her way to California. They promised her she would be a star. No one heard from her again, and we all feared the worst. Her parents were devastated and blamed me for her disappearance. We thought she had been killed. She wasn’t dead, but she would have been better off.

  “Three years later I saw her again. I had been in the gold fields north of San Francisco for about ten months, and a bunch of the fellows wanted to go to town. You know I don’t drink, but there was a really nice boarding house where I could get a hot bath, a good shave, and a home-cooked meal. I decided to treat myself to a little luxury while the boys lit up the town.

  “We stopped outside the saloon, and the boys were trying to talk me into going inside for a snort, when I saw her. At first I didn’t recognize her. Lord, she was so skinny and dirty. Her beautiful skin was yellow, and her eyes were just two marbles inside her skull. Frank, I was so shocked. I thought I had made a mistake, but when I heard her voice I knew it was Miriam.

  “She didn’t see me at first. She was propositioning a dirty old miner from the fields. Indecent proposition it was too; my Lord, it was horrible what she was offering. I ran over to her and took her by her shoulders, interrupting her. The old drunk scurried off into the night, and I drew her close. I was so happy to have finally have found her again. As I hugged her she yelped with pain, so I quickly let her go. Frank, she was nothing but skin and bones. Lord, just skin and bones.”

  Gra
ce grabbed my hand and squeezed as Patrick continued his story. “I don’t think she ever realized who I was. It broke my heart as I looked at her closely. Her once beautiful blue eyes were sunken and hollow. She stared at me, and I could tell she was drunk or on something. I had seen the opium dens as I traveled to the goldfields, and her bloodshot eyes had that waxy, dull look of a person who had spent too much time with the pipe.

  “Mother of God. Frank, I was shocked at what a mess she was. She was so sickly and ruined. I wanted to help her, maybe even start over with her, so I took the ten dollar gold piece that I was going to use at the boarding house and I gave it to her. Frank, she looked up at me and took the money, and then with a shameless grin, she grabbed my crotch! I was so stunned and disgusted that I just stepped back. She smiled and said, ‘What’s the matter, honey? Is this your first time?’ I was horrified. She wasn’t the beautiful, promising young woman I had loved. That place had turned her into a disease-ridden, hideous whore.”

  “Patrick, that would have been horrible, I can understand why you feel the way you do,” Frank said.

  “I couldn’t stop myself, Frank. I ran toward the end of the street because I didn’t know what else to do. I had to get away from her. I didn’t get far before disgust and nausea overcame me. I was sick, Frank, sick to my stomach. I couldn’t make anything stay inside. After I collected myself, I knew I needed to find her and try to set things right, but by the time I got back to where she had been, she was gone and no one knew where she went.”

  “What did you do?” asked, Frank.

  “I spent the rest of that night and much of the next day looking for her, but I never found her again. I finally got up the courage to go into that saloon and asked the bartender if he had seen her. ‘Yes, I know who you are talking about. Her name is Sadie now. She came in with a traveling theatre troupe a long while back, and they just left her here. The scum that brought her from back east probably got her started with a little taste of that stuff made from opium. Yeah, the medical fellas call it Laudanum, tincture of opium, that’s it. Them evil bastards works those girls from sun up to sun down, and then makes them sing all night. Soon the Laudanum isn’t strong enough, so they give them the opium pipe. When they can’t bring in enough money, they just up and leave ‘em stranded here. Leave her be, boy. All she has left is the few dollars she can hustle to keep her pipe filled until the tuberculosis finally puts her in a pauper’s grave. You can’t help her now. Go on home and don’t let her family know how you found her.’