Ada's Secret (6 page)

“Please open your Bibles to Luke 7:36 and follow along as I read.” Pastor Burns’ strong baritone voice briefly faltered, then gathered strength.

36
And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him. And he went into the Pharisee's house, and sat down to meat.
37
And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of ointment,
38
And stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment.
39
Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner.
40
And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on.
41
There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty.
42
And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most?
43
Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged.
44
And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head.
45
Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet.
46
My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment.
47
Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.
48
And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven.
49
And they that sat at meat with him began to say within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also?
50
And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.
^"

“This passage alludes to the delicate subject of this woman being a prostitute.” I shot a furtive glance to see how Patrick was receiving this sermon. He sat cold, unmoving, but pain and rage filled his eyes.

“Now in those days, and even now, when men went astray, women were blamed.” Pastor John’s sermon continued, “Let us assume a young woman is abused and beaten by every man she has known in her life. She tries to make an escape from her brutal situation. Praying for a better life, she chooses a mail-order-bride husband. In his letter, he tells her he will give her a good home and take care of her. She trusts him believing she will escape her current condition. Her hope of becoming a respectable wife in a new life is within her grasp, but her dream is soon dashed. She finds that her future husband is just another of the cruel, brutal men in her life.

“He marries her only to make a slave of her. He works her harder than he would any beast of burden. He takes of her as he pleases. He beats her, and when he is tired of her pleasures, abandons her, to spend her last hours on earth as though she were trash, alone in some dirty alley.” Pastor John moved out from behind the pulpit. Slightly bowing over, he gestured with both hands toward the floor as if she were lying there in front of him.

“She has tried to be an upstanding woman, entering into marriage with honorable intent. Now abandoned, penniless, and without support, what options does she have?” Pastor John paused to allow the question to sink into the hearts of the congregation while making eye contact with some of the parishioners, who held their heads high.

The young preacher stood, and stepped again behind the pulpit. He looked compassionately at the ladies sitting in the back pew. “As she sits in the alley, she contemplates her fate. Hungry, cold, and alone, she knows that her virtue and honor are the only things of value that she has left. As this destitute young woman begs in the street, another man finds her. Does he support her and help her find the right path? Does he give her gainful employment or tithe any of his hard-earned money to charities that would assist this poor child of God?”

Pastor John’s voice became authoritative as he drove the message home. Slamming his fist on the pulpit he shouted, “No! He takes advantage of her! Knowing that she is destitute, he entices her to sell the only thing she has left, her virtue and honor. In the quest to please his own lustful hunger, he encourages her to prostitute herself, turning her to the path of sin.”

Standing tall behind the podium, he continued, “I ask you now, who has committed the worst sin? What could be more tragic than the spectacle this poor woman presents? An immortal soul in ruin! Where the star of purity once glittered on her girlish brow, burning shame has set its seal forever.
[1]
What else is left for her? Where can she go where her sin won’t pursue her?

“Ladies and gentlemen, the very promises of God are being denied her! Jesus said, ‘Come unto me, all
ye
that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ Hasn’t this child of God indeed labored, and endured a heavy burden? And what have we done to relieve it? Can you tell me a single employment where she can receive what we pray for every Sunday, when we beseech our generous Lord to ‘Give us our daily bread?’

“We have put this woman to shame! We are just responsible for her ruin as the evil men who have robbed her of her virtue! Only when we have lifted ourselves above our sinful desires can we pass judgment. But who among you is without sin. Who among you would be able judge this woman? I ask you, who would have the right to judge her?”

My thoughts flew back to Ma and Aunt Lettie, as I remembered their words. “We did not choose this path as ours, but God in his mercy has given us a way to make our daily bread on the backs of sinners who would condemn us. Never, will we allow women to be persecuted because of a decision forced on them by men. Self-righteous men and women may consider the work we do demeaning and evil, but we have created a business rich with profits that frees us to be charitable to those less fortunate in our community.”

T
he congregation was subdued as the ladies from the bordello made their usual early dismissal. After the service, Patrick was very quiet as he joined the other men talking in hushed tones outside the church. I tried to read his emotions, but I was interrupted by Grace’s hand grasping mine as she hustled me off to meet some of the other women. Quickly I found myself surrounded by happy family women. Grace introduced me to everyone, and everyone enjoyed a spirited time of fellowship.

As the members of the congregation drifted away intent on their own Sunday plans, I suddenly heard the buckboard behind me. Patrick’s eyes were glowing with enthusiasm as he impatiently clucked to Sheba. It seemed that his earlier mood in church had vanished, and I decided this was not a good time to discuss the merits of the sermon.

“It is such a beautiful day,” I said, removing my bonnet and allowing the soft breeze to caress my hair. “Do you smell those flowers? Oh listen, I hear a Meadow Lark,” I exclaimed as the beautiful trilling sounds of the small bird wafted across the wide pasture and disappeared into the hills.

I waved to Grace, Frank, and their children following behind us in their wagon. “I thought we were going on our picnic alone. Are Grace and Frank coming with us?” I asked.

“Nope,” Patrick chuckled with a mischievous look.

“Patrick, where are we going?” I asked. He only smiled and signaled Sheba softly with the reigns, urging her past our turnoff. She seemed to understand more than I did as she trotted down the road and pulled the wagon into a grassy field. Sheba snatched up mouthfuls of early summer grass from the rich meadow as she waited for Patrick to unhitch and hobble her.

“Don’t you dare explore yet,” he admonished me, as I looked around the peaceful meadow. I could hear bees buzzing, birds singing, and the babbling sounds of a small stream float through the air as he finished with the horse.

Running excitedly toward me, he grabbed the picnic basket and my hand in one motion. Faster, he pulled me toward the delightful sounds of cascading water. Suddenly, he stopped and watched me as I took in the sight before me.

“Oh Patrick,” I gasped. The damned corset so imprisoned my ribs that I couldn’t seem to catch a decent breath, but the sight I looked over took what little breath I had away.

To the west, towering mountains shed their last vestiges of winter as the melting snow turned streams into swollen rivers that disappeared to the east.

“This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen,” I gasped. “The view. And look at how clear that spring is.”

The view was indeed stunning, but the most captivating thing about this valley was a bubbling stream that popped out from the very center of the grassy knoll in front of me. The hot spring was only about eight inches deep and two feet wide, but crystal clear water bubbled from deep within the hillside and seemed to appear from nowhere. At the mouth of the spring, flat rocks diverted the water’s flow into a lively waterfall that filled a large pond on a ledge below.

Beneath the transparent waters in the deep pond, I could see the sturdy moss-covered boulders that defined and supported the pool as it looked over the breathtaking mountain vistas. I stood transfixed by the calm waters at the egress of the pool. As the tranquil waters flowed over a shallow dam, they split into shimmering ribbons before disappearing into the valley below.

“Touch it!” Patrick laughed, his bright golden eyes dancing.

I looked at him questioningly. I had seen many springs and this was beautiful, but cold waters of a spring were nothing unusual in the Colorado foothills.

“Ya gotta touch it,” he implored. Slowly, I squatted as much as my corset would allow and put my fingers into the flowing stream. “Its hot!” I burst out with surprise. This is a natural hot spring.” I dipped my hand back into the warm flow of water, and a girlish giggle escaped my corset-strangled chest.

Spreading the blanket and putting down the picnic basket, Patrick watched and laughed as I sat down on the soft bank of the pool and removed my shoes and stockings. “What? I have on petticoats and a corset, and I don’t want to ruin my Sunday dress, but I just have to put my feet in the water.”

“I have no intention of letting you ruin your Sunday dress, or the corset and petticoats that I know you love so much. I have a very simple solution for that.” Smoky amber eyes filled with mischievous fire as he stepped behind me and began to unfasten the buttons of my dress.

His intent finally dawned on me. “Right here? Take everything off here?” I asked.

He had already stripped down and was headed towards the pool. His muscled back was suntanned from working outside without his shirt. The tan line stopped suddenly at his waist, and his white butt flashed in the sunlight as he stepped into the beckoning waters of the spring.

“You won’t need that corset in here,” he called, wadding deeper into the clear water.

“When it comes to getting out of this contraption, you don’t have to tell me twice,” I giggled, slipping free of all my lady trappings.

He stood knee-deep in the pool, watching me delight in the hot spring. Mimicking my greeting on the day we married, he said, “How ya doing, honey? Is this your first time?”

At first I blushed, surprised that he was alluding to the very comment, which had to seemed to offend him when we first met.

Sobering up somewhat, he added, “Well do you like it?” He watched my face for any tell-tail signs of embarrassment, but he found none. Whatever shred of modesty I had left had disappeared. I stepped deeper into the heated waters.

“This is marvelous!” I exclaimed to him. A cool mountain breeze caught the delicate tissue around my uncovered nipples, sending shivers of delight through my body. I sank into the wonderfully warm waters of the pond.

He led me around the rim of the pool to the large, rounded boulders that formed a natural chair, ceremoniously steering me into the stones.

“I don’t think this will work on a naked behind,” I started to say as he settled me on hard boulders. But to my surprise the buoyancy of the water cushioned my seat, and a mossy covering over the hard stones made the big boulders feel like a velvet sofa.

“Oh my,” I whispered. “We are full of surprises today!”

He dropped to his knees in front of my throne, sinking up to his shoulders in the hot waters. “Ada, I have never known a woman like you. You’re always surprising me. If I ever cause you distress, please tell me. I am not an easy man to live with and can be judgmental. I hope you can learn to understand me. I’m so eager to share my life with you. Nothing you could ever say or do could change my mind about you.”

I held him tight in the warm waters.
Learn to understand you?
I thought.
I don’t think you know how much you’ll need to learn to understand me. I hope we never need to find out.
His honesty and vulnerability poured deeply into my heart. Could the sermon have softened his views on the type of women that had raised me? I was not yet willing to share my secret with him.

My senses filled with his wet, masculine scent, and I watched his manhood respond to our intimacy. He pulled me close, my breasts pressed against his chest. As our passion grew, his tongue caressed my lips, gently probing my hungry mouth. This man was insatiable, and I was just as ravenous.

As he positioned himself between the boulders, his erection found its path into my warm passage. He thrust himself deeply into my willing opening. Lifting me by my hips, he effortlessly pulled me into the center of the pool.

Panting in delight, I let myself yield to his passionate thrusts as the water made me float like a feather. As I hugged his waist with my legs, we circled in a passionate dance, our feelings finding expression through the silent language of our touch.