My Mother’s Hand – A Story of Wonderous Events in the Last Days of the Old West
A Story by Marla Todd
“The West is a wild place where God does not tread.”
That was the opening line from a cheap novel I had found on the seat in a train station a few years back. Pasha. My ranch was crawling with God, and his people, and things I do not try to understand.
On the first Sunday of each month Brother Henry visited to spread the true gospel, along with a good dose of hell fire and brimstone to the cowboys and rest of the ranch staff. The lovely Sister Gladys used to come with him, but she left the evangelical calling for my good looking friend, Theodore Cooper, who is also my attorney.
On the second Sunday Father Patrick would come calling to give blessings and communion to anyone who wanted it. Pat never cared if anyone was Catholic or not. I believe he just likes the company and the fresh air. Sometimes a few of the gregarious Sisters of Mercy will show up and sing for everyone. The nuns were like real sisters to many of the men, who usually only saw my housekeepers and cooks, or ladies of pleasure who lived on the outskirts of town.
On the third Sunday Rabi Josh comes out. We are old friends from our school days in Marysville. On occasion Josh brings his wife Hannah who is an ardent women’s rights advocate and believes in the education and equality of the fair sex. There is nothing fair about Hannah. She is 6”1’ with wild black hair she piles in unruly curls on top of her head, above sharp black hawk eyes. There is nothing remotely orthodox about that woman or Josh, despite them being Jewish. I enjoy their company immensely and always have them stay a few days.
On the fourth Sunday of each month Reverend Edwin Hill and his pack of seven active children come over from the Methodist Church in town. My theory is that these visits give Mrs. Hill a much needed break. My men like the good Reverend Hill due to his dry sense of humor and understanding of how hard the ranch life can be.
I have a guest house where I let them all stay in for a night or two if they wish. Meals are provided to all our visitors because it is the right thing to do. It is no surprise we are known for our hospitably at Silver Spring Ranch.
Occasionally, a couple of Mormon missionaries will come by and talk about Jesus Christ’s Traveling Road Show to the New World, their man Joseph Smith, and other such things. After listening to what they have to say, and I always listen, I tell them to go back to Utah and find themselves a nice wife. Just one. Not two. I tell them that no woman wants to share her man.
I will allow them stay in the bunk house for the night, especially if they are exceptionally young. I believe a night with the cowboys and other ranch hands is good for the Mormon boys. Someone in the kitchen will always pack them a meal and send them on their way. Two of them came back a few years back and still work for me. They are fond of Father Patrick and the nuns. I do not know if that means anything, but I found it sort of sweet.
Sometimes at night, after everyone else on the ranch has gone to sleep, I think about religion and God. I know I should be filled with awe and fear. Yes, when I look at a sunrise over the mountains, or see one of the boys bring in an orphaned calf I know that I am seeing God then and there. God is not, according to me, a grumpy old man in a white robe. Most of the time I do not even know if I believe in the old curmudgeon sitting on his golden cloud. Jesus I am sure could have helped me out more than once with his carpenter experience.
A while back I had the chance to travel up to Weaverville to the Chinese Joss House. It was a curious structure filled with beautiful wonders, with figures of nature and dragons in red and gold. I have no idea what the priests were talking about, as I do not speak the Chinese language, yet I found it not confusing, but beautiful and somewhat comforting as I sat in the cool room surrounded by the scent of woody sweet exotic incense.
Near Weaverville I saw large man-like creatures covered with fur walking through the forest on a full moon night. They turned and looked at me with golden brown eyes, then moved on without a sound. I cannot explain what I saw. It was neither man nor bear. I am convinced that there are some things we do not need to explain, but just accept in wonder. There are also things we need to keep to ourselves so that nobody will think we are crazy.
Lately everyone has been interested in the spiritualism craze that has invaded towns and cities all over the country, not just the West. That said, it is rampant in San Francisco and Sacramento, especially with society women. Good or bad that is nothing I want that kind of nonsense on the Silver Spring Ranch.
Hannah said it was all a bunch of malarkey. Aside from being an independent woman, she was also independent of God and all religion except the celebration of holidays. She said walking on the beach with bare feet, or gazing at a newborn bird did more spiritual good for her than a temple full of foolish old men who considered themselves wise. As for spiritualism, she said it was all smoke and mirrors.
“People who say they see ghosts and brag about it are the ones who are dishonest. People who see ghosts and spirits never tell a soul are the ones who know the real truth,” she told me once.
I believed her. Liars tend to brag more than anyone I know. I almost told Hannah about the tall hairy folks in the woods but I thought better of it.
My life took a turn in my 27th year. I met a woman. I fell in love. The romance did not end well, but I gained a family and a belief in something higher that I will not even try to understand.
She told me her name was Mary. We had met on a train between Denver and San Francisco. The sparks of affection hit my heart. We corresponded for a year then she came to the Silver Spring Ranch to be my bride. She was twenty-two but seemed wise beyond her years.
To my surprise Mary arrived with her three younger siblings. That did not take away from my happiness in finally having the woman I loved with all my heart and soul at the Silver Ranch. After a night of passion unlike anything I could ever imagine, I awoke alone.
“Mary? Mary?” I called out. I opened the front door of my house and stood on the veranda. “Mary?”
The snow peaked mountains loomed high in the background as the sun came up, lighting up the morning sky. Nobody was in the pastures and paddock except the cowboys feeding the horses and getting ready for the day ahead. I could smell the bacon and coffee coming from the kitchen. The large dining table table would be soon heavy with food for the men. More food would be brought out to the outdoor table by the bunkhouse.
I called out again, “Mary. Mary.”
Mary’s brother Robert, just a boy of thirteen years touched my arm. “Mary is gone. She ain’t…um, isn’t coming back.”
“What? You all just arrived yesterday. Mary seemed delighted to be here.”
“Her name is not Mary. Her name is Gladys. I had a feeling she would leave Miranda, Casper and me here.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“I am sorry to tell you this Mr. Ward, but Gladys was in love someone else. A Mr. Johnson. The man is not as good looking as you but he sure is rich. A lot richer than you. He owns a textile company of some sort. They have tickets to sail next week to Hawaii.”
“But…”
“She told me that wooing you might be the only way to get someone to take in the three of us, especially my brother. You know Casper is different than other people. Our father said he had Mongolian type idiocy. Do you know what that is?”
“I figured that out when I saw him.”
“He is a sweet soul and can be trained to be useful. Casper is no idiot.”
“Richard, I do not even know what to think.”
“Please, Mr. Ward, let us stay. Gladys is a good many years older than me. After our parents died in a hospital explosion Gladys said we had to move, and fast.”
The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of money. “Here is five hundred and fifty dollars for you. She gave me another hundred just in case I had to run, or to help pay for our education.”
“That is a lot of money. Richard…”
“Please let us stay. Miranda and I will be no trouble at all. We both learn fast and work hard. Casper is still young. He can be trained. I plan on teaching him out to read as much as his brain can handle it. He is only four years old. I do not want him to be put into an asylum for the feeble minded and insane. Please.”
I could still smell the bacon. I looked out over the pasture and watched the men come in for their morning meal. “Go fetch Maranda and Casper, get yourself some breakfast, then make you and you siblings presentable. After that meet me in my office. My housekeeper Mrs. Fummar will show you where it is.
I got a mug of coffee and went to my office to get his mind around what had just happened. The night before had been a night of passion. It was more than passion. It was a night of fantasy filled with acts that I could have never imagined. Now it made sense that Mary, now Gladys, was not the virginal sweetheart I had been writing love letters to for the past year.
After sitting at my desk, feeling like a festering steaming pile of cow shit, I worked on my current business plans for the ranch. From the time I was just a little older than Richard I had worked and sacrificed for my dream of having the finest cattle and horse ranch in the state. Now my dream had come true. The only thing missing was a partner, a wife and children. After only one night with a woman, I had been roped into three children and no wife.
You might be wondering what this has to do with all of my talk of God and religion, and events that none of us can explain. Just keep reading and I’ll tell you.
Before I could get halfway through my coffee Rosco Jennings, my ranch manager and best friend barged into the room. “How quick can we get a doctor in?”
“Let me take a look.” said Richard. “Our father was a doctor. He ran a hospital. Our mother was a nurse.”
To make a short story long, one of my cowboys had cut his leg on a rusty wire and failed to tell anyone. Afraid he’d lose his job on the account of not being careful, he let it his injury fester until his entire body was burning up.
The boy Richard cleaned the wound and then sat alone with the sick man for a few hours. Later that day the cowboy was up taking a meal. The wound was now a healthy pink, and completely closed up.
“What did you do Richard?” I asked the young healer.
Richard gave me a slight shy smile. “I closed my eyes and held my mother’s hand. She told me what to do.”
“Does this have anything to with spiritualism Richard?”
“I do not know what you mean? I am not a performer pretending to speak to the dead in order to use people’s feeling to gain power or money. I just think about my mother.”
Who was I to question the boy? He had just lost his parents and been abandoned on a stranger’s ranch in the middle of nowhere. Any young person would be talking crazy after an experience like that. His mother was a nurse, and he had obviously learned from her.
“I lost my mother when I was your age.” I told him. “I feel she is always with me too.”
The boy smiled and gave me a long heartful hug. He had lost everything. Who was I to question or judge. He was a good person. He could speak in tongues and dress in girl’s clothing as far as I cared.
That night as I lay in bed, completely alone, I thought about my mother. She’d told her children stories of taking a ship around the end of South America to come out to California in 1850 with her parents. My grandparents were not gold miners but made their fortune growing wheat. My father was a photographer and art gallery operator, but I would spend my summers on my grandparents’ farm. My mother died in childbirth with her 8th child. The baby also went with her. At the time I was helping my grandfather with the harvest and never had the chance to say goodbye.
When I was nineteen, I had the opportunity to buy the Silver Creek Ranch. My father gave me the downpayment. He said he invested in it because it was his favorite place to paint, and still set up his easel on occasion. My mother’s death still haunted him, and seeking solace he would come to the edge of the mountains to find peace in his art.
Over the next few years, I worked hard and went from one ranch hand, to having over 30 men work for me. The old shack the original owner lived in was torn down and replaced with a fine six bedroom home complete with indoor water. Now, eight years later I had three children to raise.
Several months after Robert “healed” the cowboy of his leg injury, another man became ill with what we thought was a cancerous tumor growing inside of him. His belly became hard and extended. Weakness overcame him, as his flesh grew gray and hot.
Robert heard to the illness and sat by the man for three days and three nights, just holding his hand. On the fourth day the man was healed.
“What did you do to cure him?” I asked Robert.
His answer was the same as before. “I closed my eyes and held my mother’s hand. She told me what to do.”
That was not the end of Robert’s cure. Within the next few years he had prevented thirty eight souls from answering the knock on Death’s Door. It did not matter what the injury or ailment. The range was immense; everything from rattle snake bites, to gunshot wounds, to terrible uncurable illnesses.
Each time he would tell me, “I closed my eyes and held my mother’s hand. She told me what to do.”
Robert’s skills did not go unnoticed. Everyone from the owners of Traveling Wild West Shows, to doctors from famous medical schools, to preachers, to spiritualists and preachers wanted to get Robert to go with them out into the world. Robert always politely refused their offers, saying that he would not take money or fame for his gift.
As the years passed Robert left to go to law school in San Francisco. Miranda, who was a talented artist, much to my father’s delight, went to study art in San Francisco under the wing of the great art teacher Arthur Mathew.
Casper became my constant companion and helper. The boy never grew tall, but he grew strong and was good with animals. I left him in charge of the goats and the barn cats. I’d find him in the barn petting the cats and singing hymns to them that he’d learned from Reverend Edwin Hill. A few of the cats eventually moved into the house with us, which was fine with me. Casper even learned how to read and write a bit. I helped him write letters to Miranda and Richard.
Miranda wrote me wonderful sketch filled letters from art school. About once a month she would also include a story of Robert’s healings. He would still say the words, “I closed my eyes and held my mother’s hand.” Robert never spoke of his healings, and remained modest about his remarkable abilities.
In the meantime, I started looking forward to Father Patrick’s monthly visits. Actually, I looked forward to visits from the nun Sister Bernadette. After several long talks into the night when she told me she wanted a different life and that she’d fallen in love with me. I had told her that I had loved her from the first time I met her. Shortly after that she abandoned her nun’s habit and made me her main habit. Sister Bernadette changed her name back to Lola and we were legally married.
My marriage was not the only one that spring. Miranda married an English artist named Thomas. Eventually they moved to France to study with Monet and other Frenchmen along with several famous American expatriates. Robert married a lovely girl named Franny and settled down in a respectable law practice. They had both left the ranch life for good.
On the last year of the 19th Century, December 31, 1899, Miranda and Robert came to visit Silver Creek with their families. We wanted to celebrate bringing the new century together as a family. Casper was over the moon excited to see his siblings and their families. The cowboys brought the cattle down out of the hills to enjoy a fine feast with all of us. My team roasted two pigs and more steaks than I could count. Neighbors came in from miles around. Several of my siblings made it. My father, now in his 90’s was living with us. It warmed his heart to have all of the family together.
By then Miranda had two children, and Robert four. Lola and I had been blessed with a son and a daughter. We were all happy, successful, and glad to be part of a wonderous new Century of light and progress. On that night I realized that taking in Robert, Miranda, and Casper had been the best thing I had ever done.
On the 10th of February 1900, I received a letter from Miranda. After reading it I must have sat with my head on my desk for an hour. Lola came in and read, then held me in her arms as we both wept.
Robert had died. He’d been hit by a carriage while crossing a busy street. His wounds on the outside had healed but inside he was damaged beyond repair.
Miranda wrote the following: My dear brother Robert wept because he could not find our dear mother’s hand to hold. Then he told his darling wife that he was sorry, though this was not his fault. He laughed in his delirium crying he should have stayed on Silver Creek Ranch living the life of a cowboy. Robert then closed his eyes and left the world of the living.
It seemed unimaginable to me that at the time of his death that the spirit of his mother had failed to help him. There again, my belief in God and any spiritual mystical mumbo jumbo was lacking. Maybe the cowboys were right in knowing that heaven was under the night sky with countless stars, listening to someone strum on a guitar as they sing along about long lost loves, and the lore of the endless West. Even the romantic lure of the West was now waning in the new century. I had even seen a horseless carriage – a motor car while I was in town last. The modern world was upon us.
A month after Robert’s death Casper brought me a small rather expensive looking leather case. On it were Robert’s initials engraved on a small gold plaque.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Robert left it. At the New Year,” said Casper. “Can I still stay here with you?”
I held out my arms and embraced Casper. “You are my son Casper. This will always be your home.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too Casper. That is forever.”
I opened the case. A single object, wrapped in a cream colored silk scarf lay inside. After carefully unwrapping the scarf I found a woman’s brown leather glove, hardened with age. Upon lifting the glove I saw bones, and dried flesh.
“Casper, do you know what this is?”
“He left it here,” said Casper. “Robert is dead now because he left it here.”
“Do you know what it is Casper?”
“Mother’s hand. He left it here.”
After Robert’s funeral Lola told me, “When I was a nun and visiting the churches of Rome, I saw things such as this, but never in my life would I have expected to have a sainted relic in my own home.”
“What should we do with it? We could take it to Rome.”
“It would be just another dead hand there. In Italy there are underground cities built of bones. Close the box, wrap it in chains. Next weekend we’ll take a boat out into the middle of Lake Tahoe and drop it in. They say the water is a thousand feet deep in the middle. Robert’s mam will find more peace there than in a city full of ghosts where nobody speaks her language. Then we will open a bottle of wine and make a toast to your dear son Robert, and to his mother and her hand.”
“Or we could bury the hand underneath the house and hope that none of ever die from illness or injury.”
And that is what we did. We buried the hand underneath the house.
Lulu and I, along with our friends Josh and Hannah would make a toast to Mother’s Hand every year on the anniversary of burying it underneath our home. Our children, Lily and Mark caught on and soon started doing it as well. Miranda said she would be honored to join in with our new tradition.
One winter night under a night sky with trillions of stars I sat on my front porch thinking of all of the strange and miraculous things I had experienced during my lifetime. Lola joined me with a bottle of port and two glasses.
“The hand was not the only miracle on this ranch,” my wife said to me. “Meeting you, with me being an Irish nun, living in the shadows of the Sierra Nevada mountains was the biggest miracle. Then she put her hand on my face and kissed me.
“And speaking of odd things, myself excluded, “Lola said with a smile, “Did I ever tell you about the time I saw a group of huge hairy men, each at least seven feet tall, walking through the woods here late one summer night?”
I almost laughed out loud. “Tell me more my love,” I said. “Tell me more.”
~ End
Vampire Maman 