My voice is in Heaven, and there is no one here to speak for me. Such it has been since that cold spring when we buried Min Lee in the ground. It was a place of peace -- tall grasses, protective mountains, and a gentle breeze -- and it was as good a place to rest as any. It is not like the cat-house. Four walls, the floor, and the ceiling surround me, and the door does not close. Such is the life for a whore.
Twyla and the girls are all right. They laughed at me when I wallpapered my ceiling with violets, but soon the others were decorating their views, too.
Min Lee always liked violets. When my mind takes fancy, I imagine that they grew over her in the spring and summer. I wonder if she saw the same pretty violets that I see waving on my ceiling every day. It is winter now. Her violets are dead and gone, but mine are still there during the day and at night when I am allowed an oil lamp. I prefer to lie on my back, but I have no say in what I like.
Christmas brings two kinds of clients to the whore -- the drunk and the silent. It is no surprise which ones I prefer. They are there for one reason, and they get on with it without making any fuss. I can see the loneliness in their eyes if I choose to look.
Sometimes I think daisies might look nice on my ceiling.
Twyla tries to keep the other ones away from me. When they are liquored up, they want things that I cannot give. I am the one that usually pays for it, not them. This was such an ocassion.
At least I was able to listen to Twyla's gramophone while I waited. I could sit and listen to it for hours.
Dr. Cleese is an excellent little man. He wears a hat like my father wore, except my father's hat is grey. Min Lee told me never to cut my hair, for my hat would not fit. I love my father's hat.
"What happened?" he asked one of the girls as he kneeled down to treat me. His hands were already digging into his medical bag.
"Rowins hit her," Dora said. "Drunk as a blimey skunk, he was."
"They ought to denounce the use of spirits this time of year," Dr. Cleese muttered. I winced as he touched my cheek.
He looked directly at me and said, "I'm sorry, Rae Ann. There does not appear to be any lacerations, although this will certainly develop into a nasty contusion by tomorrow. If you apply this salve, it should reduce the swelling. Are you hurt elsewhere?"
His eyes were dark. His voice was calm and professional. His hands were steady.
I felt my heart pounding. I quickly shook my head.
Only two men in Curtis Wells ever looked into my eyes and spoke directly to me. One was UnBob. The other was this man. Dr. Cleese took excellent care of all of us girls whenever we were hurt or sick. He never judged, and he treated all of us with respect.
He treated me in that way, too. Many people think I am stupid. I am not stupid. I can read and write, which is more than I can say for two-thirds of the people in this town. Some do not realize that I can hear their derogatory remarks. Some do, but they say them regardless: I cannot give them recourse.
I remember the first day that I met UnBob. I was in the store picking up some items while Selena was talking to Creel. A lanky but harmless looking man shuffled up to me, hat-in-hand, and ventured, "You're Miss Rae Ann, aren't you?"
I was startled. No one ever spoke to me unless Selena was there to interpret.
All I could do was nod.
"They say you got slow-wits, but they also say you read and write real good. I can read and write some, too. I'm not real good at it, though. I was on the easy words before Miss Fiona died. I was hoping to learn more."
I saw that he was a simple man and did not mean me any harm.
I took out some paper and wrote, "What is your name?"
He sounded out my words. "My name's UnBob," he replied. "My brother's name is Bob. My folks named me that on account that they did not know I was coming."
I thought that was all well and good, but I did not understand what he wanted from me. I smiled and nodded encouragingly.
He shuffled his feet. "Miss Fiona was a real nice lady. She was helping me learn. I was thinking on account since you know your letters real good that you might learn me."
If I could have laughed out loud, I would have. It was like the blind leading the blind.
"They say I'm slow, but I'll try real hard. Honest," UnBob pleaded. "I can do it. I know I can."
His look broke my heart. This man was trying to go beyond his own capacity, but no one thought he could. This is something I understood.
So I taught him, although it was not easy. He had to learn my signing, and eventually he learned new words. I learned that all men are not bad.
Mosby is not a bad man, either. I see him passing on the street now and then, and he smiles and nods at me in turn. I see the regret and pity in his eyes, and I see it even more so when Selena is walking with me. I still tear up thinking of his offer of allowing us to work in his saloon. It was one of the most magnanimous gestures anyone has ever made to me, although I know in retrospect that the offer was made more for Selena than myself. How could I, a mute, work as a bar-girl? How could I tell the barkeep the orders? How could I defend myself against a rude customer? No, I could not do it. Instead, I chose the only thing I could do. A whore does not have a voice.
Still, I have my dreams. Perhaps one day I will meet a man that will want to take me away from all of this. Perhaps he will forgive what I am and take me anew. Perhaps one day he will whisper my name, and I will say his. Perhaps . . . .
But it was not this day. No man would want a bruised mute whore sitting in a cat-house parlor listening to a gramophone. Sadly, I watched Dr. Cleese walk away.
One thing that Min Lee taught me was never to rely on a man. She would have warned me against falling for any man, especially for someone like the esteemed doctor. She would have told me not to go up to his room to listen to the gramophone. She would have comforted me when I ran out of his room, knowing that he thought of me as exactly as what I was. She knew my heart.
I had known Min Lee ever since I was 14. That was when I came to the Christian orphanage. I had seen my father murdered, and the bad men took me and prepared me for my life to come. I escaped from them, and the local sheriff handed me over to the orphanage. I would not and could not speak, and the teachers were impatient with me. Min Lee arrived shortly afterward. I admired her toughness, her ability to accept any situation with grit and fight. She was so much braver than I was.
Min Lee took care of me. She said that I reminded her of her little sister. Their father had sold them when they were very young, and they were put on a boat from China to California. Min Lee said that her sister cried silently every night. That was probably why I reminded Min Lee of her. I missed my father so much. At times, I would awake and find myself clutching Min Lee, and Min Lee let me. Her sister and my father were dead, and all we had was each other.
At sixteen, we were too old to stay in the orphanage. We left, finding odd jobs, but there was not much work for a China woman and a mute. We did the only thing that desperate women can do, for there was never any shortage of men or their depravity. Min Lee always earned more money: her vivacity and Asian features drew men to her. I took in the brooding types. To this day, I still fear what may walk through my door, but Min Lee faced the unknown with enviable bravado.
She would not have liked me crying into my hat as I ran up the stairs to my room. It was times like these that I missed her the most. She would have heard me. She would have understood. She would have held me as I cried. Now I had nothing but a pillow and a ceiling full of violets. I choked out a silent prayer to heaven, and I grew more despondent. Did God hear me? How could He hear me if I could not speak?
Seek and ye shall find, the Bible says. I wanted a voice.
"Forgive me," I tried to say, but the words fell silent from my lips.
This was how God answered my prayers.
The girls were decorating the cat-house with boughs of garland and bows of red. Christmas was nearing, and the mood was festive. I saw and felt little of the joy, however. Something more disturbing than a broken heart was troubling me: I had missed my monthly.
Never have I been with child. Min Lee and I always assumed that I was barren, which, admittedly, is an asset in my profession. Fear seized me. I was left with three options, and none appealed to me.
It was the only time I had ever seen Min Lee cry, whether from the pain or regret or guilt or all, and it was something I did not wish to endure. She always said afterward that she had spared some little girl from a miserable life. We never discussed what might have happened had she borne a boy. Min Lee made me swear that I would never do as she had done.
And yet, how could I bring a child into this world? How could I take care of it when I could hardly take care of myself? What if it should be a little girl -- would she end up exactly like her mother? And if I had a little boy -- would he grow up ashamed of me? How could I protect the child? How could I sing the child to sleep? How could I give it the love it deserved?
I could always give the child to a deserving couple, but I knew little of those. I knew of several girls that gave over their babies only to have their children work as free labor. I understood firsthand the quality of orphanages, and I could not hand a child over to them for any reason.
I could not get rid of it, keep it, or give it away. I did not know what to do.
I decided to place my confidence in Selena. I pulled her aside and signed to her my problem. After a moment, she understood. We both knew that Twyla would not allow obviously pregnant women or their children under her roof. It was not good for business.
"What are you going to do?" Selena asked me.
I shrugged, giving her a frantic look.
"Do you want a baby?" she asked, her dark eyes looking over me with concern.
It was a good question. Did I want a baby? Did I want life to grow within me? Did I want to give something to this world other than a few cheap thrills?
I placed my hand on my navel. There was a little one beneath my fingers. It would have tiny little fingers like my own. It would have tiny little legs and arms, and a little nose, and little ears. Its big eyes would look at me with love, and its voice would cry for me. The little one wanted to be loved, and God help it, I did.
I nodded to Selena. I wanted the baby. It would have the voice I never had.
Selena took a deep breath. "Then there's only one thing you can do," she said. She took me by the hand, and we left the cat-house.
I could not stop my tears as I hugged him. It was more than I could ever hope for.
"There, there," Mosby said, holding me. "It'll be all right. I'll wire my friend immediately and let her know you're coming. You'll have nothing to fear, I assure you."
I did not want to go to Mosby at first, but Selena insisted. He helped me without hesitation, offering me with monetary assistance and boarding. It required that I leave town and raise the baby in Denver. Although I was hesitant to leave Curtis Wells, I did not see any other choice. I did not know how I was ever to repay Mosby for his kind assistance.
I signed to Selena that I would name my child after him if it was a boy. Mosby laughed when she told him and said to her that it was not necessary. I wrote to him that it was. I would name my son after him and my father.
He patted my hand. "You just have a healthy child. You can do that for me."
I could not stop my tears. "Merry Christmas," I wrote to him.
He smiled, pity touching his eyes. "Merry Christmas to you, Rae Ann."
Christmas Day I sat alone in the stagecoach, clutching the carpet bag that carried all of my belongings. I had parted with whom I cared to part with. I was leaving the few friends I had so that I could help a new life begin.
I was scared. Despite Mosby's assurances to the contrary, I did not know what would happen to us if his lady friend refused take us in. I could not go back to my former life: I could not bring up my child in that environment.
With my hand on my navel, I wondered about a young woman years ago that was with child on Christmas night. Did she feel as frightened as I was? Did she feel the love for her child as I feel for mine?
She was blessed, but I was not. I sent up a quick prayer to heaven to for the safety of the coach. I had a vision of it toppling and crushing us to death. If we could only get to Denver, things might be all right. If we could just make it to Denver . . . .
I heard the stage coach driver urge on the horses, and I felt the carriage lurch forward. This was it. Life was ahead of us. I knew how cheap life could be, but I would not allow it to be that way for my child.
Although God had not spared me, I prayed that life could be better for my baby. "Please," I asked with silent lips.
The coach was rolling out of town at a leisurely pace. I looked out the window to view the place that I would never see again. What I beheld startled me.
He was older, but other than that, he had not changed. The last time I saw him, his hand had clutched his chest to stay the blood flowing from the wound. As his scream of pain died on his lips, so did mine. And then the bad men took me away.
Yet how could he be alive? I had seen him die, yet here he was in Curtis Wells, dismounting from his horse. He looked fatigued, and he was hatless. He looked wearily about town.
His figure was growing smaller and smaller as the stage coach pulled away faster and faster.
I clutched my hat and pounded on the roof of the stage. I had to stop the coach. My hat fell as I pounded with both of my fists, but it would not stop. I sank to the floor in despair. His figure was smaller and smaller and soon would be out of my reach.
Tears fell from my eyes as I prayed to God for mercy.
The coach was slowing.
I wiped my eyes, not believing it. I took courage, pounding on the roof again. The coach ground to a halt.
"What?" the driver asked.
I pointed frantically back to town.
The driver looked at me as if I was crazy. I tugged on his shirt, and I pulled on his arm. We had to go back to Curtis Wells.
"All right, lady," he said. He helped me back in, and he turned the stage around.
But when we got back, all I could see was the horse. There was no trace of the man I once knew.
I fell to my knees, crying into my hat. I shut my eyes. I prayed to God to hear me.
Please. Please. Please.
I felt someone touch my shoulder. I opened my eyes, and I saw two mud-caked shoes in my downcast gaze. A hand reached up to my face and lifted my chin. I had not seen his eyes in well over ten years.
"Father?"
His eyes narrowed at me.
I clutched the hat to my heart. He had to know me. He just had to.
Tears welled in his eyes as he crushed me to him. "Little one," he whispered. "Little one."
We sobbed.
We left Curtis Wells soon after Christmas to live in his home hundreds of miles away. My baby was born in early October, and I named her after Min Lee. Although life was difficult for us, it was not desperate. My little girl grew up to be a strong, proud, and beautiful woman.
As for me, my voice is in Heaven, and He is the one that speaks for me.
Christmas 2004