Ada's Secret Read online

  I remembered that the winters were always the hardest time for me. While I loved learning at school, it was difficult being there. Once the parents learned where I lived, they would forbid their children to speak to me. However, that didn’t stop the teasing.

  “Ada’s mommy got laid ah!” and “Which one’s your daddy, Ada?” were just some of the cruel taunts the children sent my way. One afternoon when the boys were teasing me, I decided I had taken enough. I tackled the biggest boy, punched him in the nose, and sent him home crying. After that the taunts stopped.

  Being a loner, I immersed myself in my studies to make the tedious weekdays pass quickly. Ma and Aunt Lettie insisted that I go to Sarah and Jeremiah’s house for the weekends. On Friday evenings, before business at the Dove got rowdy, I would be shuttled over to the Freeman parlor where I would happily settle into blankets laid on the floor for my bed.

  Jeremiah spent weekends managing business at the Dove, and Sarah loved having another pair of hands to help with their twin boys. Two energetic boys required undivided attention during the day, but at night Sarah and I spent quiet hours reading and talking.

  “Ada, I know you have a hard time at school because you live at the Dove,” Sarah said one evening after the children had been put to bed. “You live in a different world than those other kids. And even though being different must be hard, your life contains art, music, and wealth that other children will never even dream about. Every day you see people from other parts of the world and hear languages that other students will never hear.” She punctuated her point by speaking the French she grew up with as a young girl.

  ***

  The railcar suddenly hit a bump, and my thoughts were drawn back to the present. I looked around the railroad car full of the tired ladies of the Silver Dove and realized what an amazing family this was. I had twenty-eight aunts of varying colors, sizes, and cultures. Their features included anything from beautiful ebony skin, to stunning blue eyes, and to all manner of textures of hair. I had aunts speaking Spanish, sashaying next to aunts speaking French. Even though my life had been different, I now realized how special it had been, even with its hardships.

  Now looking over at my red-haired, green-eyed mother, she seemed plain beside the exotic beauties around her. Her beauty and natural red hair had helped her succeed to become one of the best at her trade, but time and the hard work of providing for me had begun to catch up with her. Now, it was her exceptional management of the Silver Dove that made her valued.

  As Ma had taken on more management and training duties, Lettie was freed to increase profits by marketing the Silver Dove and the Silver Dove Ranch. Most women did not own land, but Lettie was definitely not like most women. Her financial success at the Dove had allowed her to buy anything she desired, and her desire was to breed and race Quarter Horses.

  When she bought the Silver Dove Ranch, Lettie had one registered stud and three mares. Within five years, Crackerjack’s stud fees were paying for the ranch’s entire overhead, and her yearlings were selling at top prices. Lettie loved horse-trading, but her business interests didn’t stop there. Soon she had created another opportunity at the ranch. Each summer she delivered the territory’s five top rodeos.

  Lettie’s rodeos brought scores of cowboys from California to Chicago. They would arrive dreaming of the territory’s best prize money and beautiful women. It was my job to see that everything was ready for this flood of lonely men. Managing room reservations, calculating the odds on races, and helping Maria, the kitchen manager, provide the best vittles in the territory, were just some of my duties.

  “There are huge profits when you give men a little prize money and lots to spend it on,” Lettie would say as the Sheriff accompanied her to the bank after each event.

  Between rodeos, the ranch needed a full complement of ranch hands to mend fences, manage animals, and keep the meadows ready for hay season. These were skills that had served me well on Patrick’s ranch.

  Patrick. My thoughts returned to my current predicament. Where would I be if I didn’t have this ranch to call home? I couldn’t begin to imagine what I would do if I was all-alone with no way to support myself. Now more than ever, I understood why my mother had to sell her virtue.

  Chapter 16

  I didn’t know what happened to Patrick after I left that day, but Grace told me the full story later. Patrick ran Sheba all the way back to the ranch at a full gallop. She was not accustomed to being driven so hard, and he was surprised when she lowered her head and kicked at the buckboard. “Sheba!” He pulled harshly on her bit and realized he was taking his anger out on the animal that least deserved it. The mare’s mouth dripped white frothy foam as her big chest heaved with the effort of breathing. She trickled sweat from her flanks and trembled from the senseless exertion that Patrick had put her through.

  As the heat of his righteous anger began to dissipate, Patrick realized how his fury had hurt everything he loved. After removing the moist tack from the exhausted horse, he began brushing Sheba slowly, cooling her down. “Sheba! I’ve have punished you for something that isn’t any of your doing.”

  From the corner of the barn, Buttercup mooed her unhappiness. He was late with her breakfast, and her full udder was painful. “I’ve involved you in this awful mess too. Whom else have I hurt today?” he said, sitting down to milk her.

  After settling the animals in, Patrick looked across the yard. Everything leading up to the cabin looked so inviting because of the special touches Ada had applied. Even the laundry tubs were neatly stowed, waiting for their weekly ritual. The garden sat tilled and was ready for spring planting. His winter clothes hung on a peg, where Ada had left them to air-dry. Everywhere he looked reflected the goodness and decency of the woman he had rebuked and left standing at the train-station.

  “Oh dear God, what have I done?” Patrick stood in misery as he removed his hat, wiped his forehead, and gazed at the empty cabin. “I’ve judged Ada because of my bad experience with Miriam, but Ada isn’t Miriam,” he whispered to the wind as he chastised himself. “I was so quick to condemn the woman I truly loved that I didn’t even give her a chance to explain,” he continued. “She tried to tell me that I didn’t understand. Understand what? I have to find out.” He looked across the ranch that now held no purpose for him. “I don’t want to live here without her,” he said, inclining his gaze skyward as if pleading to God.

  Patrick’s thoughts focused. Frank and Grace should have her at their ranch by now. I’ve been an ass. I have to set this right. Why did I have to be so pigheaded? I’ll be honest with her and admit how horribly wrong I’ve been. What ever it takes. I can’t stand to lose her. Dear God, please, let her find it in her heart to forgive me.

  He pulled his collar up against the cold wind blowing down off the high peaks as he set off for the Tellers’ ranch. Buttercup and Sheba were safe in the barn munching on an extra ration of grain to make amends for the wrongs committed against them.

  “I’ll need to hurry,” he said. Looking at the cold grey clouds that were quickly obscuring the high peaks, Patrick tried to judge the speed and strength of the approaching storm. He coughed into the cold wet drizzle that had already started to fall. “I should have enough time to get there and back before the brunt of the storm hits.”

  Holding on to his hat, he started jogging toward the Tellers’ ranch. He glanced at the cattle as they began to huddle together in the pasture. They’ll have plenty of shelter in the willows by the creek, Patrick thought as the cold rain dampened his cheeks.

  Patrick’s heart was hopeful as he played the scenarios through his mind of what would happen when he saw Ada. She’ll understand. We’ll get through this. I overreacted. I love her, and that’s all that matters. Finally reaching the Tellers’ ranch, Patrick crossed the pasture and stepped up on the porch. He knocked on the door and when no one answered, he opened the door and entered. “Knock, knock! Anybody home?” he called. The kids were playing in the parlor and oblivious to hi
s presence. Hoping that he could talk with Grace alone, he said, “Grace, knock, knock, it’s Patrick! Can I talk with you?” Hearing the sounds of skillets banging, he headed to the kitchen.

  “Grace, it’s Patrick! Can I talk with you?” he repeated more loudly. As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he sensed something heavy heading toward his head. Patrick quickly ducked and lowered himself to one knee. Grace’s cast iron skillet swished within inches of his skull, knocking his hat across the floor.

  “I should brain you with this old skillet!” Grace shouted, picking up the frying pan and standing over his cowering form.

  “What? What did I do?” Patrick questioned as Grace lowered her weapon.

  “You are not only a buffoon and a hothead, Patrick Burgess, but you are an idiot and a fool. That woman is a much better woman than you’ll ever deserve, and you turned her out like she was some kind of garbage.”

  Grace slammed the skillet down on the cutting board. “I never thought I would see the day when I wanted to shake you until your teeth rattled, but by heaven, Patrick, if I wasn’t such a peaceful woman, I really would knock some sense into your thick head with this skillet!”

  Patrick had known Grace for a long time and had never seen her this mad. He held up his hands in absolute surrender. “Ada said she would be coming home with you, so I’ve come to beg her forgiveness, and pray that she will have me back. Grace, I know I did a terrible thing and I’ve come to apologize and promise that I will never do anything this stupid again.” Patrick lowered his hands and bowed his head humbly.

  “Well, Patrick Burgess, that’s all fine and good, but she isn’t here. She left with her ma and Lettie. Fine women, both of them!” Grace glared at him. “Now your getting what you deserve. Your beautiful, faithful wife went back to Denver with the people who know how to show their love for her!” Grace regretted her blunt and angry explanation as she watched Patrick’s eyes fill with tears of shame and regret. His broad shoulders slumped wretchedly, and he fell to both knees in front of her.

  “Oh Patrick. I’m sorry.” She quieted her tone and knelt down next to him. “It’s just that I am so angry with you for hurting her. Ada is a good woman, and no man’s hand but yours has ever touched her. She had a difficult childhood, but Ada is an amazing woman because of it. She needs to be able to tell you the whole story herself,” Grace said, trying to comfort him. “Patrick, she tried to live up to your expectations, but she couldn’t erase her past. When you confronted her at the train station, Ada couldn’t hide it anymore. She always wanted to tell you. She was afraid you wouldn’t listen or understand. Ada’s a fine and respectable lady that got tired of not being true to herself.”

  Patrick’s voice expressed the pain he was feeling. “I hurt her terribly. Do you think she will ever have me back?”

  “That will depend on you. Ada is a passionate woman,” Grace said as she gave his slumped shoulder a playful shove. “You’d better get down to Denver just as soon as you can. A train leaves in the morning. You better be on it, with your hat in your hand, and an apology in your heart.” Grace picked his hat off of the floor and put it firmly on his head. “I’ll have Frank take you into town in the morning, and we’ll be glad to look after the animals for a few days.”

  Patrick gave Grace a grateful hug. As he opened the door, a cold blast of dousing rain struck him in the face. “You better take Frank’s slicker,” Grace said as she pitched the heavy, waterproof cloth to Patrick. “That rain has been soaking everything since you got here, and the wind is pushing the clouds west. It hasn’t frozen yet, so I hope we don’t see much snow, but when those clouds get stuck up against the mountains you never know what will happen.”

  Grace escorted Patrick out the door and looked to the clouds swirling down from the mountains. “It’s only October, so it shouldn’t be that bad but you better get home so you will be ready to catch that train in the morning.” Patrick gratefully pulled the slicker over his head and set off into the soaking rain to his ranch.

  Patrick was cold and wet when he returned and opened the barn door to check on the animals once more. Even though he had cinched the slicker as tightly as he could, his hair and clothes were dripping wet. The rain was still heavy but was now mixed with snow. He pulled the slicker off and shook it in the barn. “You girls should be happy you are inside tonight,” he spoke soothingly to Sheba and Buttercup. Checking their mangers and water troughs, he was happy to find that they were all still full.

  “The other girls,” he continued, motioning to the cows in the pasture, “all have pretty good coats so they should be fine. You girls are going to have to do without me for a few days. Frank’s taking me to the train so I can go get our Ada back.” Sheba nuzzled his shoulder to acknowledge her forgiveness and reaffirm their friendship.

  Once in the house, he toweled his head and put on dry long johns. Patrick was too tired to start a fire so he just stocked wood for the morning. He decided to retire early and crawled under the thick down comforter. With his redemption plan in place, he listened to the rhythmic pattern of the rain falling on the roof and soon fell asleep.

  ***

  The house was very cold when Patrick woke. He knew that it must be time to get up and get the milking done, but it was so dark inside. The silence was interrupted by a gust of wind hitting the house at full force, making it shudder. The wind howled down the stovepipe and whistled at the chinking in between the cabin’s heavy logs.

  Getting up, he tried to look out of the bedroom window, but a sheet of solid ice distorted the dark grey scenery outside. Patrick looked with horror at the window’s nail-heads holding the frozen windowpanes in place. Every head was so cold that pinpoints of frost covered each nail. The inside corners, where the glass met the wood frame, were filled with small piles of snow.

  Remembering that Ada had already hung his winter clothes up, he headed to the parlor. Soon heavy canvas trousers covered his woolen long johns. Putting on a heavy wool sweater and the buffalo coat that he used in the most severe weather, Patrick knew he was ready to brave the outdoors.

  “I have to check on Sheba and Buttercup and the cows,” he said as he pulled heavy winter boots over his feet. “Hopefully, I can make it to the barn!” he shouted to himself, above the shrieking wind.

  Opening the front door and taking a breath the frozen air burned his lungs. His eyes and face were blasted with suffocating snow. “Damn it’s cold!” he uttered. Securing the door behind him, he fought his way toward a hazy shadow that slowly materialized into a snow-besieged barn. The wind and snow were like wild creatures, seemingly attacking Patrick as he made his way. Only when he had pulled the barn door shut did he find shelter from their bite. “Sheba? Buttercup?” Patrick yelled into the silence of the barn. Sheba nickered nervously as Buttercup mooed her dissatisfaction.

  “OK, girls. You will be safe here, but I’m a bit worried about the cows in the pasture. I can’t see anything past the barn. I sure hope they huddled together under the willows. I really wasn’t expecting a blizzard this early,” Patrick said to the animals.

  Going outside once more, he forced himself against the wind. Moving away from the barn, he tried to see beyond into the pastures. The blowing snow erased any details. Everything was blank white, confusing his sense of direction. Patrick decided it was time to return to the safety of the house or run the risk of getting lost in the white out. As he headed back he thought, I’m afraid you cows are on your own.

  The dark curly fur of the buffalo coat was firmly impacted with the fine white snow. When he pulled himself up on the porch, he stopped to listen for any sound that might bring promising news from the animals in the pasture. Patrick’s ears strained, but only the sounds of the screaming wind escaped from the blizzard. Defeated, he let the force of the raging wind drive him through the cabin’s front door and propel him into the cold, dark interior of the house.

  “What can I do? I’m powerless against this storm. I can’t save the animals! I can’t even save mysel
f or my marriage!” he screamed at the howling wind. He quickly stripped out of the frozen clothes and placed them by the cold fireplace.

  His fingers still tingled from the icy wind as he opened the wood stove. Patrick’s heart ached once more when he looked inside. Ada had prepared the fire before they went to the rodeo. One spark from the tinderbox filled the kitchen with light and the promise of heat.

  Oh Ada, I hope she’s safe. I’m sure she made it to Denver before the storm hit, he thought. But how am I going to get to her? Why was I so stupid? For the rest of the day Patrick paced like a caged animal as the blizzard continued to taunt him. He cursed at the wind and snow as their strong blasts shook the cabin walls. Finally, he sought consolation and warmth under the down comforter in bed, and fell into a restless and nightmare-filled sleep.

  Morning dawned and again it was quiet ... too quiet. The winds had now stopped and deafening silence terrified him. He tried to whistle, but even his cheery notes seem to freeze and fall flat. Once again pulling his heavy clothing over his woolen long johns, he started to head for the kitchen. He tried to look out of the bedroom’s ice-coated windows, but they would not even allow a weak glimmer of light to shine through.

  Water stood frozen in the teapot, and he blew on his fingers as he made a fire in the wood-stove that had gone cold overnight. It crackled to life, but the house remained silent and fearfully cold. Inquisitively, he tried to gain information about his world through another ice-encrusted window and finally worked up the courage to crack open the door.

  Silence, lethal and cold assailed his senses. Again the frozen air burned his nose and lungs. He caught his breath as he surveyed the terrible wonderland that sparkled before him. Overnight the storm had moved out and now the morning sun sparkled off the fresh snow making it glitter like diamonds. How could anything so awful look so beautiful? Donning his heavy buffalo coat, Patrick looked over the snowdrifts between him and the barn that were taller than his head. He then closed the door behind him to conserve what little heat had built up in the house.