The tragedy of Baden

Chapter I

Ella Coleman had been a widow for two years, and the gloom of desolation following her sudden and severe bereavement had but partially worn away with time.

Her husband had lost his life in an altercation, and the law had vindicated his atrocious assassin, upon the plea of self-defense. Ella, who had looked upon her husband as the ideal of perfection, as did also the community in which he had resided, was felled by the blow for months afterwards, and in her sorrow clung but the dearer to the darling image of his love he had left for her to rear and nourish.

Mrs. Coleman was a lady of culture and refinement. She was possessed of beauty, and besides with a rich and lovely voice. Her husband’s death left her in moderate circumstances, and her scanty means had been sparingly divided between herself and little daughter in order to supply their direst wants.

Katy was the name that had been given to the child, and during the life of the father all that luxury could suggest had been lavished upon both the child and mother. Nothing but the most refined influences had been cast about the little one, and even at the age of ten she was by all who knew her considered to be the brightest, prettiest, and most endearing little lady in the community.

Katy was a typical blonde, with a shower of golden curls falling from her beautifully rounded head, while her eyes rivaled in the richness of their color the clearest cerulean blue. For a child she was well advanced in the rudiments of education, yet she was a total stranger to the ways and manners of the world.

Mrs. Coleman shed tears when she looked into the upturned face of her little daughter, and sought to solve the problem of her future existence.

‘ ‘ For myself, I care little or nothing ; for my child, I am willing to die. Our means are now nearly exhausted, and I see but a single prospect before me of restoring my darling to the life she enjoyed during her father’s existence, and to which she is by birth and heredity entitled. I have talent, but to what purpose does it avail me, untrained or undeveloped? With development and culture my voice could be made profitable, and Katy conld be restored to that life and environment which it was her father’s unrealized dream to rear her in.

“To acquire such culture must necessarily take me far away from my child, for a while at least; and my scanty means would never admit of my success with her to care for while undergoing my training. I must leave my daughter here in some good hands, until such time as I can properly provide for her, when I can take her to my heart and home again, as once before. But here comes the perplexing problem — where can I place her? Who will be a mother to her while I am gone? Who will rear her in the life of refinement and rectitude I would have her brought up in?

“I know of no one to whom I would entrust so delicate a charge. We had our coterie of friends, but they have drifted out of sight, as friends are wont to do when the clouds of adversity lower over us; and I really have but one resort, and that is to place my darling in an orphan asylum, until I return. There is one here, and I have often noticed the sweet and happy faces of its inmates while passing by. Some of these children show the stamp of better days imprinted on their faces. They are not all waifs. I will place Katy under the special care of the directress, and beseech her kindest love for my child; and should I never live to return and claim her again I will die with the consciousness that she is in good hands, who will watch over and protect her.

“And now this is my conclusion, and I must hasten to put my determination into execution; for time is valuable; and every day gained in getting off will bring my cherished hopes the nearer to fruition. Poor child, the parting will be hard on her, as it surely will be with me, but she is sensible; and if kindly treated she will soon become attached to those around her.”

Mrs. Coleman called Katy to tell her of her intentions, and the child came to her side, clasping a cherished, worn-out doll to her innocent breast as she responded. The mother carefully told her of the contemplated trip, and what it meant for her in the near future.

“Mamma will come and bring you better dolls, and prettier dresses ; and we will both be happy in a nicer home.”

The child cried bitterly at the strange announcement, but finally her tears dried away like dew drops on the lily in the morning sun, and she fell to sleep sobbing in her mother’s lap.

The next morning Mrs. Coleman dressed Katy in her neatest frock, and leading her by the hand she walked over to the orphanage, a Catholic institution a half mile distant from the Coleman cottage.

The mother rang the bell, and a Sister dressed in black and wearing a snowy white bonnet came to the door.

“Are you the Superior of this institution ?” Mrs. Coleman asked.

“No, madam,’ ’ was the reply, “but if you will walk into our parlor I will call her for you.”

The mother and daughter entered as invited, and within a few minutes the Superior in charge of the orphanage made her appearance. She was a good-natured, gentle, and intelligent looking woman, and Katy’s confidence was easily won on first acquaintance.

Mrs. Coleman briefly explained the object of her mission, and gave a succinct account of Katy’s life from infancy to the present date.

“You wish to leave your little daughter with us, do you, Mrs. Coleman?”

“Yes, Mother, for I could not feel satisfied with her anywhere else while I am away. My means are too limited for me to place her in a boarding-school, and here I understand you teach your children, as well as care for them in all other particulars. ’ 1

“Yes,” replied the Superior, “we try to fill the parents ’ place as nearly as we can. * 1

“Katy has been tenderly raised,” remarked Mrs. Coleman, “and never in all her life heard a harsh word spoken by any one. It is my intention to visit Europe, for maybe three or four years, and endeavor to perfect myself in voice culture, and thereby earn means enough to return and live comfortably with my child for the balance of my days.”

“That is very commendable in you, I think,” replied the Superior, “and while you are away we will endeavor to cultivate Katy in both vocal and instrumental music, ourselves.”

“Has your daughter been christened?” inquired the Superior.

“Yes, in her father’s faith,” replied Mrs. Coleman, “which is different from yours, Sister; and in this respect I would prefer Kate to remain as he intended her. But when she grows older and can think for herself she may be at liberty to select what creed she pleases, as, after all, religion is a matter of conscience, and it is perhaps better to leave such matters to that invisible teacher, rather than to coerce the soul against its natural and honest convictions.”

4 4 Very well,” replied the Superior, 4 4 we will endeavor to carry out your wishes, and I will only endeavor to inculcate in her the golden principles of all true characters — honesty, truth, and morality. After all,” added the Superior , 4 4 we are only traveling toward the same goal, though perhaps on different roads.”

4 4 And now, Sister,” added Mrs. Coleman, after a moment’s meditation, 44 I would make another request of you, and one of much importance to both my child and to myself. Should accident of any kind overtake me, so as to render it impossible for me to return, or if I do not appear at the end of five years, then you may reasonably infer that something has occurred to prevent my ever returning, and it would be my wish that Katy should be placed with some good family where she might become independent, and where she would be enabled to earn an honest livelihood. I would dislike to think that my child would be forever cloistered in an asylum all her life* so, for the reasons stated, secure for her a good home with some respectable family, if I do not return to claim her at the end of five more years. And now, Sister, I believe I have mentioned all the salient points I desired to speak about, and if you will take charge of her for me upon the conditions just mentioned, I will return with my child in the morning and leave her with you.”

“I will do all in my power to carry out your wishes, Mrs. Coleman,” replied the Superior; “and, moreover, I will take her under my special protection for you, while you are away.”

While this conversation was taking place, Katy, who had been led off by one of the Sisters of the order, was enjoying herself with children of her age, in another portion of the building, and when found by her mother she seemed to be immensely interested in some little children’s sport going on, and besides, she was the recipient of an orange, an apple, and a pocketful of candy. The child indeed was loth to leave her companions when her parent called her, a circumstance which the mother noted with glistening eyes.

On the following morning Mrs. Coleman and Katy, with the latter’s little trunk, arrived at the orphanage, and the innocent child, with her golden curls and her eyes of blue, was formally transferred to the

Sisters of that institution for safe-keeping, until her mother’s return.

Mrs. Coleman bade her child an affectionate adieu, and with promises of a return at some future day, when the two would live happily together in each other’s love, turned away to face the trials of a new and untried vocation, for the single purpose of bettering hers and the financial condition of her daughter.

That evening Mrs. Coleman started for New York, in order to take a steamer bound for some European port, and Katy turned in with her new acquaintances, to mix and mingle with them for the next five years.

Many weeks passed by before a word of intelligence was received from the mother, when finally, late in the year of 1865, a letter was received at the orphanage, informing Katy of her mother’s location in Milan, Italy.

“I have made a start at the work before me,” she wrote, “but find it difficult to master the language that is spoken here. Everything is in Italian; and before I can proceed with my musical studies, I find it necessary to acquire a perfect knowledge of the language spoken all around me.”

Katy was put to school and her teachers found her to be an apt and earnest scholar.

She was amiable, and her teachers loved her ; she was pretty and attractive, and her companions chose her as the leader of their girlish circles. As Katy, like her mother, possessed a natural talent for music, she soon became a prominent figure in her singing class, and was early given a conspicuous part in the little exhibitions that were given now and then at the orphanage.

Thus passed away the months and the years, and Katy grew strong and robust with advancing time.

Mrs. Coleman wrote about once a month to the Superior of the orphanage, and whenever she could spare a portion of her means she always shared it with her child.

The girl grew from childhood into young womanhood. Her acquaintances, beyond her little circle of orphan children around her, were very few, and of the outside world she knew nothing. Men, to her, were pictured as the stronger class; things to be shunned; things rarely to be spoken of and never to be spoken to. For what reasons, she never was informed. ‘ ‘It must be right, or else I never would have been warned against them. ’ ’

There were other bright children in the institution besides Kate Coleman; some of them were motherless, others fatherless;

some were both. Some bore the stamp of refinement on their faces; others did not. The majority of them were orphans, and the sword of sorrow had at some time in their early lives pierced their little hearts.

Noble souls provided for their wants, and generous men and women, in and out of Baden, never failed to respond when called on by the Sisters for some contribution for these little ones.

Often on Sunday afternoons visitors came to see the children and to inspect the institution. Some called with hearts beaming with sympathy for the friendless orphans, and laid gifts before them; others called through curiosity only; while possibly a few with sinister faces on them called for other purposes.

At the age of fourteen Katy received a letter from her mother stating that she had weathered the ordeal of her life.

“I can speak the Italian language now, and have been singing in light concerts ; but at what expense! My health has failed; my means are exhausted, and but for occasional sewing for some respectable families I would long since have been stranded. I am promised a subordinate part with an opera company now being organized, which, if I secure, will at least afford me bread. If I fail, however, in securing the position, then the Lord only knows what will become of me.”

This was the last letter Katy ever received from her mother, and after waiting a year for a reply to her answer, without response, she began to think of the request made by her mother before the parting.

“I must face the world; I must go out and seek a home amongst strangers. I must begin to earn an honorable existence for myself. But where can I find a home ? Who will care to give me occupation V 1 Thus queried the artless child at the orphanage.

She was now fifteen years old; strong, beautiful, and well developed for her age. Kate could play and sing, and even had a fair knowledge of the culinary art. Besides, she was neat and tidy ; unusually attractive; and withal, a good little housekeeper. Yet she knew nothing of the world, nothing of its pitfalls. This knowledge was reserved for her to learn later. Fortified by a sublime character and a thorough training, she was now about to embark upon an unknown sea; to enter the battle of life in a selfish and an unknown world, without a guide.

They had talked the matter over between them — Kate and the Superior of the asylum — and Mrs. Coleman’s request was remembered.

She was believed by this time to be dead. 1 ‘Were it otherwise, my mother would long since have answered my letters. She is dead ; and I can never see her face again, except in memory.’ ’ She said to the Superior, “I have now no friend for counsel and advice, except yourself. I am old enough to work and make an honest living. It was my mother’s last wish expressed as she was leaving; and now, Mother, if you can find me a good home I will go out and battle for a living.”

Chapter II

One afternoon, early in the month of January, when the sun shone out with unusual warmth and brightness for the season, a carriage drove up to the door of the orphanage, and a woman, well dressed and attractive, so far as apparel could make her, alighted and called for the Superior in charge of the asylum.

“My name is Mrs. King, Sister,” she announced, “and I have called to inquire if you could not furnish me with a girl ; some good and attractive child, whom I could adopt as my own, and whom I could furnish with a good and comfortable home. My husband and myself have no children of our own, and we feel greatly disposed to adopt and raise a child whom we might call ours, and treat as such. We both understand that it is your custom, now and then, to place out your girls as they grow up, and I have called this afternoon in search of one whom you could recommend in every respect as being worthy of the love and con- 20 fidence of an honest and respectable couple.’ ’

“Mrs. King,” replied the Superior, “we do, under certain conditions, place our children out when they become old enough to be self-sustaining, and where we can be well assured as to the character and standing of the parties who wish to adopt and properly provide for them. In this respect we are obliged to be very particular, and before we place out our children we have to receive satisfactory recommendations about those we entrust them to. We have a few girls at present,” continued the Mother Superior, “whom we might place, if the proper credentials and recommendations were furnished; but as I just remarked, these must be supplied in advance ; and promises of good care and treatment must be made before we can dispose of our children to strangers . 9 9

“Your terms are proper,” replied Mrs. King, “and as for the promises of treatment you exact, we would only be too glad to state that whoever you might entrust to our care would be treated as a natural child, and be provided for as such. Now what kind of references would you require, before disposing of your girls?”

“Only first-class ones,” responded the

Sister. ‘ 1 Bring ns the recommendations of some two or three well-known personages of high standing, and we would be pleased to take up this matter with you. We have the children to dispose of, and when you present the proper recommendations you may make your own selection. May I ask, ’ ’ she continued, ‘ 4 where you reside, and what occupation does your husband follow ?”

“We live in the country when at home, Sister; and my husband is a plain, honest farmer. Letters to reach us should be directed to Bristol, near which place we reside. We travel at times, and are well known to many of the best persons in the State. In fact, my husband does business with many of the leading citizens of this place, and could bring you any recommendation you might desire from many of them. Now, if an indorsement from such persons as your Mayor and the Bishop of this diocese would suffice, I could easily obtain them, as my husband and myself are well known to both of them,” responded Mrs. King, with emphasis.

“Testimonials from these two persons, Mrs. King, would be sufficient, and when you present them I will furnish you with a good, honest, and industrious girl.”

That night Kate and the Mother Superior walked in the moonlight, in the orphanage grounds, with arms around each other, while Mrs. King at home was busily engaged in getting up the required recommendations from the Mayor and the Bishop of Baden.

“ Mother,’ ’ said Katy, “ won’t it look queer for me to be managing a farmer’s home for him. Think of me milking the cows; getting the breakfast ready, and playing the farmer’s daughter. It’s my ideal of a happy life, Mother,” said the guileless girl, as she tossed back a handful of golden curls over her shoulder.

“And, Katy, best of all,” said the Mother, “you will be beyond the temptations of the world, while earning a quiet and comfortable home.”

“What are they, Mother? What are temptations of the world? Did I ever hear of them?”

“No, dear, never ! But the outside world is very different from the convent life you have been leading for the last five years; and I want to put you on your guard before leaving here. Beware of intimacy with others ; beware of bad compny ; and above all, beware of flattery. Bemember your training, and in case of any doubt let your conscience be your guide. Ask yourself the question, ‘Is it right?’ and if the reply is no, turn your back on any act or thought that may confront you.”

“Mother, did Mrs. King appear pleasant and attractive?”

“Well, child, we cannot judge people in this world by their appearances. Falsehood lurks in many faces; often the benignly featured are but counterfeits; and the frigid and repellant looking sometimes angels in disguise. However, testimonials weigh more with me than appearances ; and if Mrs. King’s are satisfactory, then, my darling, I expect I will have to give you up.”

“Mother, will you come to see me in my new home? That is, if I go away to be a farmer’s daughter?”

“I could not promise to do so, Katy, as my duties compel me to remain with my little ones all the time ; but you can come here from time to time, and always find a welcome and a home at Baden Orphanage.”

They walked up and down on the long gallery fronting the orphan asylum; while the little ones played on the lawn in the moonlight, in front of the house, with the motherly eye of the kind-hearted Sister upon them.

“Now, Kate, bear in mind, dear, all that

I have told you; and especially of flattery from either young or old men, since more evil lurks under that mask than under any other disguise the devil employs. ’ ’

“Why, are they that dangerous, mother?”

“Yes, child, and oftentimes more. Under no circumstances let any of them kiss you.”

“Why, Mother, were you never kissed, when a girl?” asked Katy, in her innocence.

“That’s not the question, dear. I am the interrogator now, not you . 7 9

“Mother, were you ever engaged?”

“My child, are you crazy to ask such nonsense ? 7 9

“No, but I heard a girl say you were here because no one would marry you in the world. Is that so, Mother?”

“Katy, it is not so, and since you have brought the subject up so flatly I will answer you. I was engaged once, but my affianced died, and with his death went all my love for earthly objects. His death drove me to a religious life, as death has driven others.”

“How sad, Mother!” exclaimed Katy. “But oh! would it not be nice if you were married, Mother, and I was living with you? I would do all your work, and you would let me love you. You know, I have no one on earth now to love. I am an orphan. You do not know how lonesome it makes me feel at times. I see other children with mammas and papas to love them, while I have none. Why is this, Mother V 9 “My darling child, as long as life lasts I will love you, and you must look to me as to a natural mother ; and in any hour of distress come to me, and I will be your mother and you will be my child. ’ 9

On the following afternoon the same carriage and occupant arrived at the orphanage that had called there the day before. Mrs. King, dressed in black, threw back her veil as she entered the building and called again for the Mother Superior.

“ Madam/ ’ she exclaimed, as the latter appeared, “had time afforded me the opportunity I could have secured you many more testimonials of our standing; these, however, I hope will be sufficient, as they have been furnished us by the best known and most respectable people in this community.’ 9 Saying which, Mrs. King presented two short testimonials, one from no less a personage than the Mayor, and the other from the Rt. Rev. Bishop of Baden, Each spoke in praise of the family in question, and each commended the bearer to the confidence of all concerned in the King family.

“Your recommendations are entirely satisfactory, and as you promise faithfully to bring up the child under the proper influences, and provide for her as though she were your own, I will call the one I have in mind for you, and if the liking is mutual, I will permit you to take her along . 9 9 Saying this the Superior excused herself for a moment, in order to bring in the girl.

“Katy,” exclaimed the Superior, “this is Mrs. King, the lady who wishes to give you a home, and who promises to care for you just as she would for her own. Would you like to go with her f 9 9

Mrs. King had arisen when Kate entered, and offered her hand to the girl. The latter acknowledged the salutation with some degree of reserve; for while Katy was exceedingly anxious to be about some honorable and independent mission in the world, she was not disposed to jump at such offers unless accompanied with some exterior attraction. In this instance there was none whatever.

Mrs. King was not the possessor of an attractive face; on the contrary, she carried an uninviting one. Nor were her manners captivating, but rather the reverse. She was repellant. However, thought Katy, her credentials are excellent, and who knows that behind her hardened features there may be a warm and tender heart.

4 ‘I wish to secure a girl of your age,” said the visitor, “who can assist me about my house, and at the same time be a member of my family. I can teach you in a short time how to become independent, and we can travel about and see the larger cities of the Eastern States. I will provide you with clothing, food, and shelter, and besides what change you may need from time to time in order to make your own purchases.”

“I will go with you,” said Katy, “and if you will do what you now promise, I will bind myself to stay with you for two years.”

Articles of agreement were then drawn up between them and duly signed, and soon Katy was riding off with her purchaser, under a two years ’ promise of servitude.

It had been many years since Kate had ridden in so pretentious a vehicle, and the exhilaration produced by her stylish conveyance caused her spirits to rise, and her girlish curiosity tempted her to ask questions.

u Dowe go to the country ?” inquired the orphan.

“Not now,” replied Mrs. King, “but later we may . 9 9

“What have you been doing with yourself,” inquired Mrs. King, “ever since you’ve been in that orphanage?”

The question, and more particularly the manner in which it was addressed, occurred to Katy as being a little abrupt, but she placed a charitable construction upon the motives prompting it, and answered that she had been doing a little of almost everything a girl of her age could do, with the object in view of helping the Sisters about the place. She sewed; sometimes cooked; often waited on the table ; looked after the younger children, and often taught them. Besides this, she sang in the choir, and played on the piano at exhibitions.

“Why, you ought to make an all-round handy girl about the place, ” remarked Mrs. King.

“Did you ever go a-begging?”

“Never in my life,” replied Katy.

“Where are your people?” asked Mrs. King.

“Dead, I suppose,” answered the girl sadly.

“You suppose? Don’t you know they are dead?” asked the lady.

“I know that my father is dead, for I have heard my mother say that he was killed unjustly by some bad man, many years ago.”

“Was your father Frank Coleman?” asked the lady earnestly.

“His first name was Frank,” answered Katy. ‘ ‘ Did you know him ? ’ ’

“Well, I heard something of that affair at the time, but I was under the impression that the other man was acting in self-defense,” said Mrs. King. “It was a shooting scrape, I believe , 9 9 she continued, * 1 and the courts allowed that your father was the aggressor.”

“All I know about the case,” said Katy, “is what my mother told me years ago; and I remember her telling me it was a base and unjustifiable murder.”

“Well, that would naturally be her way of looking at it, being as she was the widow; but the courts are nearly always right after they get through sifting those cases ; so you needn’t believe all the things you hear about people in this world. Who was it that killed your father?” asked Mrs. King.

“I never heard his name, or if I ever did,

I do not recollect it now,” replied the girl.

“And what became of yonr mother?”

“She went to Europe shortly after father^ death, and must have died there over a year ago.”

“Then you are a sure enough orphan, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” replied Kate, “as much so as any we left at the orphanage . 9 9

“Then you will take my name, being as you are now my adopted daughter, and while with me you will be known as Katy King; how does that strike you?”

“I suppose,” answered Kate, “it will do as well as any other.”

Mrs. Kin g had obtained now about all the information she desired, and she called to the driver to take her to number 750 Pine avenue.

“Now, as we are nearly home I will tell you something of your duties, and of what will be expected of you. In the first place, I do not believe in my daughter’s receiving beaux and other trifling visitors, until she is older than you are. So we will cut out all that; and, besides, letter-writing is an objectionable thing at your age. I guess the Sisters told you that, didn’t they?”