Ada's Secret (7 page)

The sounds of our pleasure echoed off of the surrounding hillside as we twirled, his manhood deeply impaled within me. The rhythm and intensity of Patrick’s thrusts increased, and the motion created waves on the surface of the warm pool. With each thrust of his stiff member, my desire for him heightened. I could sense his pleasure intensifying as our lovemaking became more focused. Coming to a climax, he swayed to his knees, lowering me into the comfortable waters, but my hunger still burned. Effortlessly he carried me to the sandy edge of the pool, where I lay naked and panting.

I watched his penetrating fingers disappear into my wet bush, stimulating and exciting my already sensitive regions. A tingle started at the tip of the nerve bundle, and exploded through my mysterious passage. Quivering, on the sand, breathless in satisfaction. Patrick gathered me into his arms, pressing his body close to mine as we rested on the beach. “The sun is warm and the breeze will feel good after being in the hot water,” he said, as he led me off the beach and onto a cool cotton blanket.

We soon realized that we had worked up an appetite for something other than making love. I watched with enjoyment as my lover opened the picnic basket, and examined its contents.  Excitedly he devoured a large piece of fried chicken I had prepared for our outing. Turning, he offered an equally delectable piece to me. Lying naked on our backs, we allowed the shade to cool us as we contentedly munched the last of the delicious meal. Sun glittered through the leaves of the old cottonwood tree, and deep sighs of satisfaction welled from both of us. With our bodies satisfied we drifted off to sleep.

The next moment, I was opening my eyes and seeing the setting sun. Looking over at Patrick, I  slapped his shoulder. Startled, his sleep-numbed brain registered the lack of danger, but questioned the attack. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

I held up a blood-speckled palm, saying, “If we don’t want to be a picnic lunch for these hungry mosquitoes, I think we better put on our clothes and go home.”

“Good idea,” he said. “I would hate to end such a perfect day itching with mosquito bites, especially in the more delicate areas.” His eyes twinkled as he patted my naked bottom. After I had put on my bloomers, petticoats, skirt, and blouse we climbed into the wagon. The corset, cold and empty, huddled dejectedly under the buckboard seat as Sheba trotted home.

D
ays later, Patrick and I sat at the kitchen table having breakfast. “I am so excited about today,” I said as Patrick finished his breakfast and picked up the Winchester.

“Me too. When Willie from the railroad came by to tell us that the bull had arrived, I couldn’t believe that he was here a week early,” Patrick replied.

“Good timing, though. Frank said he could go to town with me today. His wagon has a strong hitch and Frank’s horse Champ has worked with bulls before, so he won’t be as spooked as Sheba would.”

Patrick eyed our patient horse as she stood dozing in the morning sun. “Sheba needs a good day off anyway. Keep her in the corral and give her a bucket of those oats with a little molasses. She will be very happy.”

“Be quick,” I warned. “Frank needs to take Grace into town today, and I know she was planning to leave this afternoon. The baby still has not turned, and the doctor wants her close to his office, just in case something goes wrong.”

“You worry too much,” Patrick shot back with a boyish smile. “Anyway, I’m in a big hurry to get that bull in with the heifers, so we won’t be gone very long. I’m taking the rifle. You’ve got the shotgun if you need it. I pity the poor creature, man or beast, who crosses your path!” He knew I wouldn’t have any difficulty using the shotgun. “I don’t like leaving you alone, but I feel much better knowing you can handle a firearm.” He kissed me as he stepped onto the porch.

“Now git!” I told him as I shooed him off the porch. “I’ve got work to do. Today is laundry day and I have lots of chores to finish before you get home.” He disappeared on the path to the Tellers’ ranch. “Cold brisket and fresh asparagus will be waiting for you for supper when you’re back.”

I eagerly got started doing my chores. After cleaning the house for several hours, I set up the laundry tub and got a fire started to heat the water. The water had just started boiling, dissolving the white cakes of lye soap into a milky film, when I heard the first shot.

That’s funny,
I thought as I looked toward the Tellers’ ranch.
Frank is with Patrick, and Grace doesn’t like to shoot.
I wiped my forehead as the second shot brought my attention to the grassy hill that separated our ranch from the Tellers’. Nothing seemed amiss, but I was now on alert waiting for the distress signal. The third shot rang through the warm day. Three shots. I knew something wasn’t right. I gathered the skirts of my housedress together, and rushed to the porch.

Oh dear God! Frank and Patrick have been gone long enough that they won’t hear those shots. I hope it’s a mistake, but if Grace is in trouble she will be alone with the kids
.

I ran into the house and stood, disoriented for a moment.
How will I get to her fast enough? I can’t wear this damned skirt or I will be tangled up in sagebrush before I get halfway there. I wish ...

An idea swept over me. Pulling off my skirt and petticoats, I ran into my bedroom. I jerked the bottom dresser drawer open, searching for my precious dungarees. Swiftly I slid into them and tightened the waist ties. Now I could move!

Three more blasts from the Tellers’ rifle confirmed the urgency of the distress signal. My thoughts were racing on how to get there the quickest way. It was no mistake! I had to get there now, but how? Running wouldn’t be fast enough. I raced out of the front door, grabbing the shotgun as I bounded down the porch steps. Wait, I suddenly realized that Patrick and Frank had taken Champ. Sheba was in the corral, but we didn’t have a saddle. Hell, I didn’t have time to saddle her even if we did.

Not knowing what I would do when I reached the corral, I came up with a plan on the run. “Sheba, old girl,” I called to the startled horse. “I sure hope you are up for an adventure!” I grabbed her halter. Throwing a lead rope over her neck, I swung up on her back with a practiced leap.

Picking up the shotgun from the open gatepost, I squeezed my legs against Sheba’s sides, hoping she would understand my body language. Being conditioned to pulling a wagon, Sheba hesitated for an instant, but quickly realizing a heavy load no longer restrained her, she was into a full gallop in seconds.

As I directed the mare over the hill, she saw the Tellers’ ranch and instinctively knew where we were headed. Her big hooves rapidly hammered across the prairie grass.

“Tillie, Ricky, Grace!” I yelled, as I tied Sheba to the fence. I rushed through the open front door of the Tellers’ cabin. Tillie was huddled on the floor, by the stove, holding a wide-eyed Ricky in her small arms. Doubled over beside the table, Grace was panting and trying to control her breathing.

“Grace. Your labor has started, hasn’t it?” She couldn’t speak, but nodded in agreement. The baby was coming, but it wasn’t in the proper position for a safe birth. Grace’s contraction eased as she looked at me with grateful eyes. She gathered her strength and quietly but firmly directed the kids.

“Tillie, Aunt Ada is here now so will you please take Ricky into the parlor and look at the new picture book Daddy bought for your birthday?” The little girl stood with wide eyes and did exactly as her mother asked, taking the frightened boy out of the room.

I stepped beside Grace and led her into the bedroom. “Grace, I’ve done this many times. We’ll get through it safely. You and the baby will be fine,” I reassured her.

Her ragged breathing caught in her throat. “How do you know?” Another excruciating contraction caused her to double over in pain at my feet.

Suddenly, I heard the unexpected sound of her laughter. She clutched my leg as her unlikely laughter grew louder.
Was she going crazy? Was she really laughing, or did her crying just sound like laughter?

As I looked into her eyes I saw tears, and they were definitely tears of laughter as she pointed to my legs. “What is that you have on your legs?” she coughed, as another powerful contraction made her lean against the table for support.

Promptly, I understood the cause of her amusement. She had never seen my dungarees. “Haven’t you ever seen a woman in dungarees? It is the newest fashion,” I teased her lightly. “There will be time for a fashion show later, right now you get into that bed!” I commanded. “Believe me, this isn’t the last surprise you will get from me today.”

“Tillie, I need your help. It is time for your mother to have the new baby, and we know the doctor won’t make it here in time,” I called.

I knew Tillie had inherited her mother’s graceful strength. As she bravely stepped forward, she said, “OK, Aunt Ada, what can I do?”

“Get me more sheets and towels, and bring them to your ma’s room, please. After that it will be very important that you keep your eyes on Ricky.”

Tillie settled Ricky in the parlor with the picture book before she gathered all the supplies. I boiled water and tore clean rags into umbilical ties as Grace watched through fear filled eyes. “I’ll explain everything soon. Right now you need to know that I’ve done this many times before. You and the baby will be fine.”

Grace quietly lifted her work-dress and relaxed. My practiced hands felt the baby’s little body stubbornly resist my attempts to move it into the proper position. My recollections flashed back to the first time I had seen Lettie do this.

***

I
t wasn’t unusual for her to be called out to assist the finer ladies in Denver if the doctor was out of town, or the birth was anticipated to be difficult. Day or night, when Lettie got the call, she requested to have me go with her. Lettie was known as the best midwife in the city.

One evening she said, “Ada, I want you with me whenever possible. You have a good head on your shoulders and your touch is gentle yet strong. Women must have very special attention when they are in the throws of giving new life to this world, and you are able to give them the care they need.”

***

M
y memories dissipated as I calmed Grace and said, “Hold on, Grace. This is really going to hurt, but I need your help. After the next contraction, you have to completely relax and breathe through the pain.” Her eyes locked onto mine as she took a breath and went totally limp. “Here we go,” I coached.

As her contraction waned, I pushed Grace’s abdomen where I could feel the baby’s little head and applied a smooth, gentle pressure to the tiny spine. Grace groaned in terrible pain, but didn’t fight it. Finally the baby slid, head down, into the proper position.

“Is it OK now?” she asked. Grace’s breathing became more rhythmic.

“You and the baby will be fine. It’s in good position now, but it will be awhile before it comes.” I bowed my head and motioned at my dungarees. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“Ada, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You saved my baby’s life and probably mine too. You owe me nothing. How you learned to birth babies isn’t important. If you need to keep your secrets, I will do everything in my power to make sure no one ever pries them from you. All I know is that you are a blessing to me. I will never be able to thank you enough.”

Suddenly, all the hiding from my past could not be contained. Tears rushed down my cheeks as I sobbed out, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Begin at the beginning. Only you know where that is,” Grace said.

I started to recount the story of my Ma, Annie Moore.

Ma’s Story

A
nnie Moore lived with her poor Irish immigrant parents in a New York City tenement. When her mother became pregnant with her seventh child, eighteen-year-old Annie’s father arranged for her to be a mail-order-bride. Her father had chosen a letter from a miner who promised to give her a better life in San Francisco.

“Annie, New York is a difficult place for Irish people right now. There are no jobs, and all the young men will know is hard labor and disease. Please, go to the frontier where your chances are better.”

“Daddy, I’ll do what you ask and go to San Francisco. I appreciate what you are doing, but I’m scared,” Annie said, with tears in her eyes. She knew that she had no prospects here with her family in New York, but hated to leave the ones she loved.

“He sounds like a nice man, from the letters you let me read. I’ll do my best to make him happy, and be a good wife to him. It’s just so far to go, and I’ll miss you so much.” Her voice trailed off as she realized her future was certain.

Her father believed he was helping his daughter, but as it happened with many mail-order-bride contracts, Annie’s life did not improve.

As she stepped off the train in San Francisco, a cold, foggy afternoon greeted her. Looking around, she tried to be hopeful, but she was afraid.

“Where is he? What does he look like?” She searched faces expectantly hoping that someone would call her name. Annie was anxious to begin her adventure in a new land with a wealthy miner as her husband.

“So far San Francisco doesn’t look anything like what I anticipated,” Annie said, as she shrugged deeper into her light woolen shawl. “All the pictures showed San Francisco in the sunshine. I hope it looks much better when the fog is gone.”

The railroad station was dirty and the cold settled into her bones. Horses and wagons came and left, taking happy passengers away from the station. The hours passed, and her hope turned to despair. As evening approached, still no one had come for her. She was alone.

“Sorry, ma’am.” A weak-jawed little man with a conductor’s hat approached her. “We’ll be closing the station now. Maybe you should go see the police captain. The officers at the station down the street might be able to help you. They have a book with names of the people in town and at the gold fields. Maybe they know your man, but you can’t stay here any longer.”

Smiling sadly, Annie gathered the small satchel that held her worldly goods. Wrapping the thin woolen shawl tightly around her, she headed out into the misty night.