Authors: Nonnie Frasier
“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.’
“There she was, the love of my life, reduced to a pathetic, dirty bag of skin and bones. On that day I swore that I would take my dying breath fighting the evil of prostitution, and I will uphold my promise. God help me! This is why a whorehouse must never be allowed here. Frank, I’ve never told anyone this. It’s troubled me terribly. This has to remain between you and me.”
Stunned, I looked at Grace. “Oh, no. He’ll never accept my family and who I really am. I’ll always have to guard my secret. Grace, what can I do? He can never know.”
“I am so sorry,” whispered Grace. “I never knew he felt this strongly. Your secret will always be safe with me, but you must never breathe a word of this to anyone ever again.”
A
s summer faded into fall, our hard work started showing the fruits of our labors. The cows were healthy. The root cellar was full of dried produce, smoked meat, and canned fruits and vegetables. Just as I had predicted when I first arrived at the ranch, we had dried apples and honey. One day, I showed Frank and Grace’s children how to follow bees to their hive and harvest honey using a smoking stick.
“Auntie Ada, that is the best trick ever! Those bees just give up their honey when you do that. They don’t even remember to sting.” Grace and I laughed as Ricky raised a willow stick and mimicked the honey-hunting techniques I had taught him.
Patrick ruffled Ricky’s hair as he walked through the kitchen door. “Ada, we are going to have a fair and rodeo in October! All the ranchers had such a productive summer that we decided we needed a celebration before the long, cold winter.
“The women are going to get their quilts ready for show, and the kids are fattening up calves and goats for judging. Mark Kuperidge knows some professional rodeo cowboys, so we are going to have a full-blown rodeo. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but we’re going to have horse races too.”
An old familiar thrill coursed through me as I anxiously asked, “What kind of horse races?”
“They’ll have some of the usual Quarter Horse races, but Mark has also contacted the thoroughbred racers. Oh, and I’m also entering you and Sheba in the women’s saddle-less draft horse race.” Patrick’s eyes glittered with humor. “You’ll win first, second, and third place. I still don’t know anyone who could compete with you!” He laughed at his silly joke about me bareback riding our draft horse to Grace’s at a full gallop.
“The rodeo will be on October 15
th
. Should be a great time.”
The days flew by, and soon the rodeo and fair were upon us. The town buzzed with activity, and everyone from church was there. At the fairgrounds cattle and horses were judged. Preserves, pies, and cakes were tasted, and the women showed off their handmade quilts and embroidery, with the best being declared worthy of blue ribbons. As we wandered through the maze of people, we could hear the harmonic vocals of a local barbershop quartet serenading the crowd. A myriad of picnic lunches could be seen spread from one end of the town park to the other, with everyone sharing and enjoying each other’s dishes.
There were the cutting horse and roping competitions, wherein the local cowboys vied for bragging rights. If it hadn’t been for Patrick, I would have been competing with them and showing them up.
“That cowboy couldn’t rope a blind hobbled mule,” I uttered as I watched the steer-roping event. “Please, Patrick, couldn’t I just compete in one event. I’ll put your hat on and tuck my hair up. They’ll never recognize me.”
Patrick smiled at my half-serious remark but also knew I was better than half of the cowboys here. “Now, honey, I don’t want you hurting those poor cowboys’ egos. You know how ornery they get when you show them up,” he jested.
While the local competition was fun, by far the best part of the day was the professional rodeo and races. Mark had managed to get enough money from the Denver sponsors that he had a pretty nice purse for the winners. Money always attracted professional riders, so Mark had no problem getting the best for the bull-riding and bronc-busting events. In addition, the promise of a good purse for the horse race brought out Denver’s thoroughbred horses.
Patrick finally had to drag me away from the beautiful, sleek, purebred horses in their stalls. “Ada, if you don’t come now, I’ll carry you. The professional rodeo events are starting, and I’m not missing them to keep looking at a horse, no matter how pretty it is.”
As we took our seats and the bull riding events began, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I missed Ma and Lettie. This rodeo was a lot like the ones I had been part of at the ranch. The professional bull riders gave an exciting show. Even I had to admit that their skills were exceptional. After the bull riding it was time for the races and we moved over to the track. I chuckled as I overheard several gentlemen loudly negotiating the odds on the race with a bookmaker.
“I’ll give you three-to-one odds on ‘Midnight Rider,’ the bookie said to one of the men.
“No, I want four-to-one,” the gentleman, countered.
“I’ll take those three-to-one odds,” another man in a suit, interrupted.
Whispering under my breath, I said, “Personally, I’d take ‘Purple Sage’ at five-to-one. ‘Midnight Rider’ looked a little slow at the warm-ups.”
“What was that?” Patrick asked, unaware of the events I was watching unfold.
“Oh nothing, just talking to myself.” I suddenly realized that I would rather not have to explain that comment. The race drew a large crowd and everyone cheered as the horses raced at breakneck speed around the track. In silent testimony to my old learned skills, ‘Purple Sage’ won the race.
The events and horse race activities ran late into the afternoon on Saturday. Pastor Burns realized that many people would be needed to clean up the fairgrounds after such a celebration. In preparation, he offered to cook a pancake breakfast for anyone who would use his or her Sunday Service time to help in this civic duty.
Most of the families brought wagons and built makeshift tents in which to spend the cool October night. The children once tucked in were unusually quiet, as the excitement of the day had proved to be too much for any late night shenanigans. Their parents, appreciative of a rare peaceful evening, drank coffee by the fire and pleasantly socialized with each other.
“Are you as tired as I am?” Patrick whispered softly in my ear. Though warm and snuggled in his embrace, I thought how nice it would be to feel the soft hay and heavy wool blankets we had in the wagon. “Sounds like the cowboys are spending all their winnings at the saloon tonight,” Patrick said. He held me tight as the sounds of honky-tonk piano and raucous laughter wafted into our little camp.
“It hasn’t snowed yet this year,” I said, trying to deflect the negative tone of his conversation. A shiver passed down my spine as I remembered that Grace had told me someone saw professional ladies from Denver at the saloon today. I cuddled closer to Patrick’s body, hoping to draw the sudden chill away from me. I couldn’t be sure they were the ladies from the Silver Dove, but I had worn my cloak with a hood to quickly hide my identity, just in case I might see someone who might recognize me.
Thinking about tomorrow’s plans, I informed Patrick of the day’s itinerary. “Tomorrow, Grace and I plan to start cleaning at the railroad platform before anyone gets there in the morning. Pastor Burns said he had plenty of people to help with the cooking, so we’re planning to start early. I know you need to get home to get the milking done, so Frank said he would bring me home tomorrow afternoon with Grace and the kids, if that is OK with you?”
Patrick yawned deeply, “Sounds good. I’ll miss you, but since it’s only a day I think I can survive. Let’s say our goodnight’s and hit the hay.”
“Good night everyone. We’ve had a big day and want to turn in for the night so all you wild hoot owls keep it down. We’re going to try and get some to sleep.” Patrick joked to our friends and neighbors as he herded me toward our wagon. Helping me up into our makeshift bedroom, he patted me lovingly on the fanny as we climbed into our sleeping quarters. It wasn’t long before we were fast asleep.
T
he next morning, dressed and armed with mops, buckets, and trash bins, we were ready for the day’s work. The town council had been gracious to donate all of the supplies. As the dawn sky broke into a brilliant red over the flat prairie, I found myself recalling Lettie’s old ranch foreman’s words.
“Red sky in morning, sailors take warning. Ain’t too many sailing ships in these here parts, but it’s always good to be prepared,” he’d say. Like a seaman, he would put a moistened finger to the air to test for wind direction as he walked away.
I began thinking on the wisdom of the saying. He might be right. Usually in October we would get rain and snow mixes, but today the east wind was blowing the clouds up against the mountains. Whenever this would happen, we could be in for some rough weather.
Oh, don’t be silly,
I thought.
Today will be lots of work, and then I’ll be ready to go home and sleep in my own bed. That hay wasn’t bad, but if I have my “druthers” I would “druther” be under my goose down comforter with that handsome man of mine.
I chucked to myself at my own pun.
Pastor Burns started another round of “Stand Up. Stand up for Jesus,” only he amusingly changed the words to, “Get up. Get up for Jesus.” The dissonance of singing voices forced the remainder of the sleepy congregation into the chilly fall morning. True to his word, Pastor Burns and his crew had mountains of hotcakes ready. Yawning children brushed tousled hair from their sleepy eyes, women busily tucked stray hair into bonnets, men snapped suspenders and donned over-shirts as they threw open their tent flaps and yelled “halloo” to the neighbors.
After a plateful of rubbery but satisfying pancakes, I kissed Patrick and watched him take the buckboard down the road toward home. Grace and I walked over to the train station and climbed the railyard stairs to the platform so we could remove and fold the bunting that had been used for decoration. “That’s odd,” Grace said. “I don’t think I have ever seen that railroad car or engine before.” We stood on the platform, watching a shiny red engine attached to one lone passenger car. The car’s shades were drawn, but someone was inside readying it for a trip.
“I don’t think I have either. It’s peculiar that it’s getting ready to leave this early on a Sunday,” I said. Behind us, I heard a group of women ascending the stairs. A harsh laugh, toughened from years of working smoke-filled saloons, rattled among the other voices in the group. Immediately my heart stopped and the air practically left my lungs. Panicked, I looked down the road where Patrick and Sheba had just been. The wagon had disappeared, so I exhaled in relief. Patrick was gone.
Aunt Lettie’s unmistakable laugh was behind us. It was Aunt Lettie for sure. Maybe Ma and Jeremiah were with her too. Patrick was gone, and this might be the only opportunity I would have to see my family again. I turned to face the group as they made their way toward the waiting train car. As they approached, I stepped into their path, blocking them from entering the car. I pulled the heavy hood away from my face and everyone stopped in silence. “Ada? Ada, is that you?” Ma asked. As I nodded, Ma and Aunt Lettie instantly engulfed me in smothering kisses.
“Whoa! Whoa,” I cried as their clutching arms threatened to hug the very life from my chest.
“Ada! We were sure we would never see you again! We cried when we read your letter and understood how hard this life had been on you. We never realized you would need to leave us because you were so unhappy. Can you ever forgive us?” Ma’s tears fell on my chest as I lost myself in her loving embrace.
Grace’s stifled cough caught my attention, and I smiled, grabbing her hand. Bringing her into the circle of love being showered on me, I said, “Grace, this is my ma, Annie Moore. And this is Aunt Lettie. This is my family. What do you think?” Grace smiled happily as she went around the circle shaking hands with everyone.
“I didn’t know how much I had missed you all!” I exclaimed as we walked toward the waiting railroad car. I was so absorbed with my family I hadn’t focused anything else until Grace suddenly grabbed my arm. I saw a horrified expression frozen on her face. Following her gaze, I looked down the platform and released a cry that hushed everyone’s laughter. Patrick stood on the far end of the platform, watching the ladies from the Silver Dove. He clearly could see that these prostitutes knew me very well.
I tried to step away from the embrace of my loving family, but Patrick had already seen everything. His face told the whole story. His anger glared from his blazing eyes. Without a word, he walked toward me and threw my forgotten shawl, which he had come back to return, down at my feet.
“I didn’t believe Mark when he said the only ranch he knew west of Denver belonged to a madam. It all fits now.” The deadly venom dripped from his words. “Birthing babies, shooting coyotes, and your willing appetite. I am a fool not to have seen it. You’re one of
Them
! Dungarees, I can abide; this I cannot!”