Ada's Secret (8 page)

“Where is the police sta ... ” she started to ask, but the little man had already closed the door, locked it, and extinguished the lamps. Feeling forlorn, she stepped out into the street. Annie knew she couldn’t stay at the station.

Taking her chances, she followed the cobblestone street and soon came upon the San Francisco Police Department. Grateful that she had not gotten lost, she quietly let herself in through the heavy doors of the big building. It was still cold inside, but she was out of the dampness and grateful for the possibility that someone would be able to help her. As she stepped up to the big oak desk, she cleared her throat, but the officer behind it did not pay her any attention.

“Excuse me, sir,” Annie spoke tentatively, “I just came from the train station and the conductor said I should see the police chief. I am looking for a man named Mike Brennan. He was supposed to meet me at the train station today, but he hasn’t arrived yet. I am Annie Moore, and I am to be his wife.” She smiled broadly, but as the policeman coughed and looked annoyed with her presence. Her smile disappeared.

The bored officer paged through the big book of names until he found the one he was looking for. “Sorry, girlie,” he sneered, “seems old Mike just left you a widow.” He laughed cruelly as the other officers snickered and resumed whatever jobs they had been doing. He pointed to a door to the left of the entrance with a sign that said “Coroner’s Office.” “The coroner is through that door, but I don’t think it will do you any good.”

Annie didn’t know where else to go. Opening the door, she came face to face with a large man in a dirty white coat. “I am sorry to bother you, sir,” said Annie quietly, “but I am looking for Mike Brennan. The officer told me he was dead and I thought you might know a bit more about it.”

“I am sorry, ma’am,” the coroner said. After wiping his hands, he scanned the big record book with “DECEASED” scrawled across it. “My records show that Mike Brennan died of consumption last week, and his partner collected all his belongings. There wasn’t much there anyway. No one had any money for a headstone, but there is a number on the wooden cross beside the grave. He is buried in the cemetery under number four, three, six, eight, two.” The coroner looked up with genuine sadness in his tired eyes. “Sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

Hot tears built up in Annie’s eyes. Helplessly she stepped out of the office. Annie pulled her bonnet back over her hair and tried to stretch the inadequate woolen shawl across as much of her slight shoulders as possible. “What now?” she whispered. “What now?” She was penniless and alone in the streets of a strange city, without any way back home.

***

“I
was so desperate,” recounted Ma. “I spent my first night in San Francisco in an alley. The next day, I tried to find work as a laundress or cook, but people took one look at my auburn hair and told me to find a lady named Scarlet. She would know exactly what to do with me. I didn’t know who Scarlet was, but I saw how men hooted and women looked horrified at the mention of her name. So I was sure I didn’t want to meet her, let alone work for her.

“Frantically, I wandered the streets. I had no food, and the only water I had to drink was from tanks used to water the animals. One cold damp evening, I sat on the street waiting for another miserable night to pass. I knew I couldn’t go on much longer.

“I shook every crumb out of my satchel, but there was nothing left of the food my mother had packed for the train ride days ago. I tucked the satchel under my head, and hoped sleep would stop my misery for a few hours. With my worsening plight, I began thinking about doing things I would usually never consider.”

“Ma, I never knew how hard it was for you.” Ada, squeezed her hand, and snuggled closer.

Ma continued, “I didn’t see the man at first, but suddenly he was too close and reaching for me. I tried to defend myself by swinging the little satchel, but he caught it before I could do any damage.

“I remember him saying, ‘Hey, hey, hey there Missy. I’m not here to hurt you! I’ve been watching and just want to help you.’ His deep, sad smile defused my fear, and I let him come closer. He reached slowly for my bonnet asking, ‘May I take off your bonnet? I just want to touch your hair.’ He looked so sad and pitiful as he reached haltingly for my hair. I was embarrassed because I was so dirty, but he seemed lost in a memory as he told me, ‘You remind me of my wife. Her hair was exactly the same color and so beautiful. She died of cholera. With my wife gone, my best friend Mac thought we should go work the gold fields, so I came here to work through the grief.’

“He continued telling me his story. ‘Mac believed that hard work never killed anybody, but a fight over the rights to our claim did. I’m taking what little money we made in the California gold fields back to Kansas tomorrow. When I saw you tonight, I believed you were my late wife’s ghost, but you are very real.’”

Ma recalled, “He held his battered old hat in his hand as he asked me, ‘I know it’s inappropriate for me to offer this proposition, but I am a very lonely man tonight, and I am willing to pay you well. Would you consider spending the night with me?’”

Lettie interrupted Ma, and said, “Ada, you must understand. Your ma was starving. She didn’t have any options.” Ada nodded her head. Ma continued her story.

“I was beyond desperate. This man was offering me a hot bath, warm dinner, and a safe bed. I was so cold and alone that I accepted his offer. I sold the only thing of value I had left, my virtue,” Ma explained.

Ma continued with the next part of her story. “That night I had a hot bath and a good dinner, before we went to his bed. The next morning, he left me in the hotel. He had paid for everything and had left me a twenty dollar gold piece. I justified my sin, convincing myself that I had helped him with the pain of losing his wife.

“As I stashed the money in my purse, I came up with what I thought was a good idea. I decided that being a prostitute might be an easy way to solve my present predicament and get a better life for myself.” Ma’s quiet laugh sang out with the anguish that was still very clear in her memory.

She continued, “I went out into the streets of San Francisco the next evening with the mistaken notion that being a lady of ill repute was going to be easy. I decided I could make enough money to buy a little boarding house, and live happily ever after.” Ma swallowed hard as she continued, “I don’t recall much of the next night, but I remember standing outside a rundown saloon thinking that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I had just abandoned my plan for the evening and was leaving to find a boarding house when a man ... ”

“Now, Annie!” Lettie interjected. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. That hideous excuse of a human being should be damned to Hell for what he did. He despoiled you, stole what little you had, and beat you so badly that we all thought you were going to die. He will pay maybe not on this earth, but someday, there will be reckoning for what he did to you.” Lettie turned and smiled at me, “You were the product of that difficult time.” Her eyes filled with love. “But out of the evil man creates, God gives us wonders.”

Lettie continued, “At the time I was putting the professional staff together for the Silver Dove when Jeremiah and I found your Ma, half dead, in that awful alley. We nursed her back to health and when I offered her a job at the Silver Dove, she decided to come to Denver with us. We didn’t know she was with child until three months later. I told your ma she should go to the Cottage for Wayward Girls in Colorado Springs. I knew the Sisters there would take care of you and find you an adopted home.”

Lettie smiled at Ma. “Your ma had another crazy idea. She wanted to raise you right here at the Silver Dove!” Lettie threw her hands up in mock exasperation. “I told her that this was no life for a little girl, but she wanted to give you everything that money could provide. I had my reservations, but I finally agreed because even now a single woman can’t make a decent living alone. Annie knew she could provide you everything you needed if you were here. You gave your mother a hard time during the birth, but you were strong and determined even from your first earsplitting cry.” Lettie and Ma both laughed with the memory. “You were so determined and feisty even then.”

“Annie,” Lettie spoke softly, “I still think we made the right choice.”

“I think she did too,” I said, smiling.

Ma answered Aunt Lettie, “Lettie, I have always been grateful to you for letting me stay. You saved my life, delivered my daughter, and gave me a good job. I owe you too much for me to ever leave you.”

Ma continued, “You were right about one thing, though, this hasn’t been an ordinary life for my little girl, but I know that we gave her all the things a young lady could ever want. She never knew hunger, and she has grown into a strong young woman.”

Ma looked deeply into my eyes. “Ada, never be ashamed of who you are. You are an honorable woman, and you have every reason to be proud of it.”

G
race’s coarse breathing drew my thoughts back to the current situation. My story was now revealed, and Grace would judge me as she wished. I couldn’t tell if Grace’s tears were from her pain or mine. She took my hands in hers and kissed my upturned palms.

“Like I said before,” Grace rasped, “all I know is that you are quite a woman, and I am proud to call you my friend.”

Grace gave one final push and the baby made his grand entrance into the world. As we held the new little Teller, we counted his fingers and toes and allowed him to suckle Grace’s waiting breast. He knew exactly what to do. We smiled, “Just like a man,” we said as our eyes met over the tiny new life in her arms.

“Frank and I had talked that if we had a son we’d name him Nathaniel, after his father.

The door to the cabin suddenly burst in with a loud crash. Frank in the lead and Patrick on his heels, rushed into the bedroom with their rifles locked and loaded. They stopped wide-eyed and panting from the exertion of breaking through the door.

“What the hell?” Frank stood dumbstruck.

“Frank, come meet your son, Nathaniel” Grace said.

“Are you OK? Is the baby OK?” Frank set his rifle beside the bed and began inspecting his new child as Grace nodded.

“Nathaniel, welcome to Teller family,” Frank said, beaming.

Soon Tillie and Rickey were crowding in the doorway. “Aunt Ada. I only did what you told me to,” Tillie said. “I took Ricky up to play beside the road because Ma was making such scary noises.” Tillie wriggled free of Frank’s grasp and crawled up on the bed to see the new baby.

“I was sure there was something very wrong,” stuttered Frank “Seeing the kids playing alone really scared me. Grace would never let them out of her sight.”

“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.”

T
he 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?”