“If you decide to marry her, Nelson, I’ll help you. I can teach Katya proper manners and social customs and things like that. It’s all an act anyway, isn’t it? But you’ll have to be prepared to make it through life on your own, without any money from your father—and not from gambling either. So how badly do you want her?”
“I love her, Violet.”
I believed him.
And I envied him.
As soon as I arrived home, I wrote a letter to Katya, inviting her to come home with my grandmother on Friday afternoon. I assured her that she could trust me. I asked Grandmother to deliver the message to Katya when she went to the settlement house tomorrow morning.
As for my own problems, I was nearly out of time.
Chapter
32
Thursday, July 13, 1893
I had agreed to meet Louis in the theater district on Thursday afternoon. Mr. Moody was holding a rally there, and I wanted to ask the theater manager for advice on finding my mother. Once again, I wasn’t quite courageous enough to venture downtown alone to an unknown part of Chicago, so I dragged Aunt Birdie along as my companion. Louis was waiting in front of the theater with our tickets, pacing nervously and checking his pocket watch as hundreds of people streamed past him into the auditorium.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I told him. “I stopped to read all of the show bills we passed, hoping to see my mother’s name on one of them, but I didn’t see it.”
“That’s okay, but we’d better hurry.” I introduced Louis to Aunt Birdie as we shuffled into the lobby with the crowd.
“I’m afraid we won’t have much time to talk to the theater manager,” Louis said. “The rally is about to begin, and I have responsibilities backstage.”
“I understand. I just need to ask him a few questions. It shouldn’t take long.”
“And after Mr. Moody preaches, it’ll be my job to pray with the people who come forward for the altar call.”
“Okay.” I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Just wait in your seats after the rally ends, and I’ll find you,” he promised.
“Oh, how nice!” Aunt Birdie said when we walked into the ornately decorated theater. I thought it was an outrageously elegant setting for a religious rally, with gilded woodwork, an elaborately painted ceiling, and maroon velvet seats, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
“Are we seeing one of Mr. Shakespeare’s plays?” Aunt Birdie asked.
“It isn’t a play, Aunt Birdie. We’re here for a church service.”
“Well, that’s odd.”
“Yes … well …” I didn’t quite understand it myself, so how could I explain it to her?
Louis found our two seats along one of the aisles in the rapidly filling hall, and I left Aunt Birdie there while we hurried away to talk to the theater manager. My hair grew faster than she moved, and I didn’t have the time or the patience to tow her any farther.
The backstage area resembled an anthill, with people darting around chaotically, shouting last-minute orders about lighting and curtains. Choir members milled around as they tried to find their places and their music. The male soloist sounded like Marley’s ghost as he warmed up, moaning his way up and down the scale with eeriesounding “Ohhs” and “Ooohs.”
We found the theater manager sitting behind a desk in his tiny office, calmly reading a newspaper. “How can I help you?” he asked after Louis introduced me.
“I’m trying to find my mother. She’s an actress. Her name is Angeline Hayes, but she might also go by the name Angeline Cepak.” I had written down the names for him on a piece of paper, and I handed it to him.
“Sorry. Never heard of her. Do you know which show she’s in?”
“No, I’m not even sure she’s in a show at the moment, just that she’s an actress.”
He tossed the paper onto his cluttered desktop. “Look, we’ve got people running all around town thinking they want to act. Most of them never end up in the business at all.”
“Well, if she is in the business, then someone must know her, right? How would I go about finding her? Is there a list of actresses somewhere?”
“I don’t know of any list.” He must have seen my disappointment— or perhaps the tears that filled my eyes, threatening to spill over—because his manner suddenly softened. “Look, Miss Hayes. If I were you I’d hang a notice in all the places where they’re holding auditions. Maybe she’ll see it. Or maybe another actor who knows her will see it. And it wouldn’t hurt to offer a reward. There’re plenty of actors on the lookout for their next dollar.”
“I see. Well, thank you for your help.” I turned to Louis as soon as we left the office. “I don’t have time to post notices in every theater. There must be dozens of them. My father is coming the day after tomorrow. And I don’t have any money for a reward either.”
“I guess it just wasn’t the Lord’s will that you find her,” Louis said. “I’m sorry, Violet.”
“Hey, Louis,” someone shouted. “Come on, we need you.”
“I have to go, Violet. Can you find your way back to your seat all right? I’ll meet you there afterward and take you home.”
I was deep in thought as I wandered back out to the auditorium, wondering how I could hang posters in at least a few of Chicago’s theaters before my father arrived on Saturday. I could list my grandmother’s name and address as the person to contact. Hadn’t she told me that she was searching for my mother too?
By now, nearly everyone in the audience had found their places. I hurried up the aisle before the lights dimmed—and found two empty seats. Aunt Birdie was gone.
Panic gripped me as I quickly scanned the theater. I couldn’t breathe. Why had I left her alone? What was I thinking? Several hundred people filled the huge auditorium. Hundreds more filled the balcony. How would I ever find her? I turned to the people in the row behind mine.
“Excuse me. D-did you see my aunt? She’s an older woman … w-with her hair in a bun and a dreamy smile on her face. I left her sitting right here.”
“I saw her get up,” the woman said. “I think she went that way.” She pointed behind her toward the rear auditorium doors.
Oh, God, help me! I prayed as I raced up the aisle. “Aunt Birdie!” I called. “Aunt Birdie, where are you?”
People turned to stare at me, scowling at my rudeness. I didn’t bother to beg their pardon. My voice grew louder and louder as my panic escalated. I knew I looked foolish running in useless circles, shouting her name, but I didn’t care. I had to find my aunt. One of the ushers hurried over to me as the house lights dimmed.
“Miss, you have to stop shouting and take your seat. The program is about to begin.”
“Please help me. I lost my aunt! She’s an older woman with a gray dress and she wears her hair in a bun—and I have to find her!”
“Have you tried the lobby? Or the ladies’ room?”
The ushers closed the auditorium doors behind me as I raced out to the lobby, calling her name. She wasn’t there. One usher pointed to the ladies’ room and I ran inside, my voice echoing in the empty space.
“Aunt Birdie? Aunt Birdie, are you in here?”
She wasn’t. I could no longer hold back my tears as I ran out to the lobby again. That’s when I began to bargain with God.
Please … I’ll stop looking for my mother. I’ll gladly welcome Maude and her children into our family … I’ll even marry Louis Decker, if that’s what you want. Anything! Just please, please, help me find Aunt Birdie.
I could hear the muffled sound of applause inside the auditorium. Across the lobby from me, the doors to the street stood open. I ran outside, praying that she hadn’t walked in front of a streetcar.
“Aunt Birdie!”
Pedestrians crowded the sidewalk, calmly going about their affairs, oblivious to my distress, while traffic streamed in both directions on the bustling thoroughfare.
“Aunt Birdie!”
Madame Beauchamps would have been ho
rrified to hear me shouting like a fishmonger on a busy Chicago street, but I didn’t care. How could I ever face my grandmother? How could I tell her that I’d lost her sister?
Please, God!
That’s when I noticed a commotion down the block in the middle of the street. Traffic had halted, and people were craning their necks to see what was going on. I ran out into the middle of it all, certain that a team of horses had trampled poor Aunt Birdie. I pleaded with God to spare her life.
And there she was in the middle of the road, hugging a policeman who had been directing traffic.
“Ma’am … ma’am …” he pleaded as he tried to pry off her arms. “You have to let go of me, ma’am. You’re obstructing traffic.” I wept with relief as I ran to her.
“Your family must be so glad to see you safely home from the war,” I heard Aunt Birdie say. “My husband, Gilbert, is fighting in Virginia to help free the slaves. Is that where you were fighting?”
“Ma’am, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you have to let go of me.”
“Aunt Birdie!” I called. “Thank God I found you!” She released the policeman to give me a hug. I had never been so happy to feel her arms around me. “I’m so sorry for the disturbance,” I told the policeman.
“Next time, lock the asylum door,” he replied. I wanted to upbraid him for his unkind remark, but we had caused enough trouble.
“Come on, we need to go back to our seats, Aunt Birdie. The program is starting.”
“I thought that soldier was Gilbert at first,” she explained as I pulled her out of the road. “He bears a remarkable resemblance, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I told her, but in truth, I couldn’t have said what the policeman had looked like. My knees were so weak from fright that I could barely walk. I dragged her back to the theater and through the lobby doors.
“I haven’t seen this many soldiers since the war began,” she said, gesturing to all of the ushers. They smiled and nodded at us.
“Glad you found her, miss,” one of them said. “I’ll escort you to your seat.”
“Is this one of Shakespeare’s plays?” Aunt Birdie asked loudly as we walked down the aisle. “I do love Romeo and Juliet.”
“Shh … It’s a church service,” I whispered as I helped her sit down.
“Well, it certainly doesn’t look like a church!”
I collapsed into my seat beside her, but it was a long time before my pulse returned to normal. What if I hadn’t found her? I shuddered at the thought and vowed never to involve her in my adventures again.
The choir sang several songs, as did the soloist I had heard warming up backstage. I was oblivious to all of it as I sat thanking God and waiting for my panic to subside. I remembered all the vows I had made during the crisis and wondered if God would hold me to them. I had promised to stop searching for my mother and to accept Father’s marriage to Maude. And I had promised to marry Louis Decker. I deeply regretted making that last vow now that Aunt Birdie was safe.
When I finally drew my thoughts back to the stage, a woman was playing a solo on the grand piano. She was wonderful. I glanced around the packed theater and knew I could never perform that way, no matter how simple the music was. I would die of stage fright before I ever played a single note. Surely that wasn’t my calling, was it?
At last, Dwight L. Moody rose to stand behind the podium in the center of the stage. He was a sturdy-looking man with a wide forehead and an impressive beard. A deep stillness fell over the auditorium as he began to speak.
“We have for our subject today the Prodigal Son. Perhaps there is not any portion in Scripture as familiar as this fifteenth chapter of Luke. This young man was like thousands in our cities today who want to get away from home and do as they please. So the boy came to his father and said, ‘Give me my portion and let me go.’
“He left home and went into that far country and got into all kinds of vice. He went to the theater every night and to the billiard hall and the drinking saloon. It does not take long for a young man to go to ruin when he gets in among thieves and harlots; that is about the quickest way down to hell.”
Mr. Moody paused and stared out over the audience for a moment. I had heard the story of the Prodigal Son before in my church in Lockport, but this time it moved me deeply. I thought of how my Uncle Philip had left home to patronize saloons, and how my father had joined Mr. Moody’s Yokefellows to search for him. I thought of my grandmother’s long years of waiting for Philip to return, her heart breaking. My mother was a prodigal too, turning her back on her home and her family to pursue a stage career in Chicago. She must have broken my father’s heart as he waited for her to return.
“At last the Prodigal’s money was gone,” Mr. Moody continued, “and he joined himself to a citizen of that country to feed swine. Now just for a moment think what that young man lost. He lost his home; you may live in a gilded palace, but if God is not there, it is no home. He lost his food; he would have fed on the husks that the swine did eat. You can never get any food for the soul in the devil’s country. Then he lost his testimony. No one believed him when he said he was a wealthy man’s son.
“But there is one thing he did not lose. If there is a poor prodigal here tonight, there is one thing you have not lost. That young man never lost his father’s love. When he came to himself and said, ‘I will arise and go to my father,’ that was the turning point in his life. If you are willing to admit your sin, and confess that you have wandered far from God, He is willing to receive you. I say to every sinner in Chicago, I do not care how vile you are in the sight of your fellowmen, the Lord Jesus loves you still.”
When Mr. Moody paused again, I remembered what Grandmother had said about her husband—he had preached too much law and not enough love. Love was what my Uncle Philip had longed for, and what I longed for too. I had traveled to Chicago to search for my mother, desperate to know if she loved me. And I had wanted a beau who would offer me all of the love and romance I had craved when reading Ruth’s novels. I wanted to find someone who loved me for myself, just the way I was, and God already loved me that way, right now.
“I can see the prodigal’s father up there on the roof of his house,” Mr. Moody continued, “watching for his boy. How his heart has ached for him! Then one day he sees that boy coming back. The father runs and leaps for joy. It is the only time God is seen running, just to meet a poor sinner. What joy there was in that home!
“No other subject in the Bible takes hold of me with as great force as the wandering sinner. The first thing I remember as a young boy was the sudden death of my father. The next thing was that my eldest brother left home and became a wanderer. How my mother mourned for her boy—waiting day by day and month by month for his return! Night after night she watched and wept and prayed. Our friends gave him up, but Mother had faith that she would see him again.
“Then one day in the middle of summer, a stranger approached the house. When my mother saw the great tears trickling down his cheeks, she cried, ‘It’s my boy, my dear, dear boy!’
“My brother stood in the doorway and said, ‘Mother, I will never cross the threshold until you say you forgive me.’ Do you think he had to stay there long? Oh, no! Her arms were soon around him, and she wept upon his shoulder, as did the father of the Prodigal Son.
“Oh, my friends, come home tonight. God’s heart is aching for you. I do not care what your past life has been like—God is ready and willing to forgive you. There is no father in Chicago who has as much love in his heart as God has for you.
“You can leave the pigpens and the gutters of this world and come home to Him. Give every area of your life to Him, and He will show you how He wants you to live. Offer yourself to Him, and you can know His will. Rich people can serve Him, poor people, men and women, old and young alike. There is a place for you in the Father’s house that only you can fill. And you begin to find it right here, when you give your life to Jesus.”
I felt like cheering
. Again, I recalled my grandmother’s words: “Violet, you be exactly who God created you to be, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“I’m going to ask you to come forward in a moment,”Mr. Moody told us, “so you can come home to Jesus. And you’ll never know if this may be your last chance to accept His invitation. I preached on the night of the Great Chicago Fire, but when I heard the alarm bells ringing, I dismissed the congregation without offering this invitation. That night some three hundred people lost their lives. Perhaps one of them had been about to surrender to Jesus—but I didn’t offer him the chance.
“After the fire, I vowed never to preach another sermon without inviting people to come to Christ. This is your invitation. Come now. The Father’s arms are open wide, waiting for you to come home.”
I longed to go forward. Mr. Moody’s sermon was the most compelling one I’d ever heard. Louis and several of his friends moved into place in front of the stage and I knew that’s what he’d meant when he’d said he would pray with people afterward. But I remained in my seat. I couldn’t leave Aunt Birdie alone, and she would be too confused if I tugged her forward with me. Instead, I closed my eyes and prayed silently.
Okay, I’m yours. Whatever you want me to do, God, I’ll do it. I know you have my best interests at heart, just like my father does when he tries to make plans for me. You know even better than he does what I should do with my life. I want to offer it to you now.
As people streamed forward, the choir sang the song about the shepherd searching for his lost lamb. My tears slowly fell. God loved me! It seemed so amazing. God felt as anxious and determined to find me as I had been to find poor, lost Aunt Birdie. He would search for me to bring me home to himself just as diligently as I was searching for my mother. He would search as hard as Grandmother had searched for her, as hard as Father had searched for his brother in all of Chicago’s saloons. God loved me that much.
I remained in my seat as the service ended and the lights came on and people began to leave. And as strange and untrue as it might sound, I felt loved for the first time since my mother left me. I still didn’t know what my future would be, yet I felt certain that if I came home to my Heavenly Father, then I could face anything in life.