The Hotel Bella Muerte: The Search for Sarah

Fall was officially in full swing and the dog days of summer had vanished from memory. I sat in the sitting room by the warm, crackling fire in my favorite blush pink, cozy sweater and flannel lined leggings. Things had been unusually quiet in the town and the hotel for the past month or so, and I sat pouring over old records, newspapers and documents on my laptop computer, a hot cup of cocoa in my hand. I had spent hours in that room as of late, looking for any and every lead I could find regarding Sarah and the residential school. I had hit a wall looking for my father’s family and decided to take a break to regain perspective on that front. I was initially surprised by the lack of information I was able to find in both cases. You would think that it wouldn’t be too hard to track someone down, but when the person you’re looking for has either, in my father’s case been a virtually nonexistent mother and father, or in Sarah’s been disappeared prior to the great invention of the internet……it isn’t as easy as it would seem. Still, I had made a promise to Nathaniel and to my dad to do my best in finding their perspective loved ones and I planned to do just that.

After weeks of digging into both cases, I had found….well……nothing. My father had a closed adoption that no one could reopen, though I had tried multiple times and in multiple ways to get the job done. Sarah on the other hand had no traceable fingerprint, online or documented, except for a first and last name on a birth certificate I was able to find in the bowels of the internet. I had sat down with Nathaniel after the day he had told us of his heartbreaking past and had him tell me everything he knew about his lost love. It wasn’t much but thankfully it was just enough information to discover that she came from the same reservation as he did and from there I was able to find the birth certificate.

Since they had only known each other for a short time, and because they had to speak and meet in secret, there wasn’t a lot that Nathaniel was able to tell me about her. He gave me a physical description of her. She had short hair, black as coal. Her eyes were brown, darker than the foundations of the earth and just as old. Her skin was creamy tan and flawless. Her body was curvy and full figured and her face round and adorably chubby with plush, red lips and rosy cheeks. She had a voice and laugh that was as musical as a waterfall and just as free flowing. The mental picture I had of Sarah was one of a beautiful young woman in her prime, untouched by age and the frost of the evil that surrounded them in that place. Unfortunately, that image of her was surely to have changed over the long years, reflecting only a ghost of what she once was. How changed she was by those years and the hardships of life, none could tell, but I hoped if I could find a picture of her Nathaniel might still be able to recognize her yet.

Armed with the little information I had I set about looking for her. I quickly realized though how impossible that task would be. It was as if she had hardly existed before she came to that school yet she certainly vanished entirely from the face of the earth after that. I also realized that in order to find her, I would have to dig into the records and depravity of that school, and that was one of the hardest tasks I’ve ever undertaken. So at the end of September I began to start from the very beginning. What, where, when, why, how, and who was involved with the residential school.

My first venture in looking into the residential school was to find out exactly where the school was and who the new owner of the property was. Thankfully for me it wasn’t too awfully far away from the town. So on one sunny, fall day I left town to see just where these two schools were and who was currently operating them. I left the hotel in the charge of the ever trusty Jasper Moon, and made my way to the place that had haunted many for years. I didn’t know what I would uncover on the journey I was undertaking, all I knew was I was surprisingly a mix of anxious yet determined to get to the bottom of things.

The drive was nice enough as I wound with the land over the hills and valleys, through the various towns along the way. A few hours passed and sooner than I thought I came to the town that housed the old residential schools. The town in and of itself was very underwhelming. It was small, quaint, and quiet. Just the kind of place you’d see on an old postcard or in an old timey movie. Upon entering the town, I almost found it hard to believe it held a place of such evil for many. I decided that a quick bite to eat in the town diner would do me good after the drive, plus it would give me the chance to ask a few questions of the locals.

The diner was like every other diner I had been to. It was small, smelled of grease and stale coffee, and was filled with folks who were likely permanent fixtures there. I took a seat at the bar and soon enough the waitress came over and took my order, a double cheese burger with fries and a chocolate milkshake. She was nice enough but a little suspicious of a new face. I took it that not many outsiders came to this town very often except to just pass through. The older gentlemen at the bar seated to my left and right stared at me openly with an almost disapproving glance. After my food arrived I began to eat and get my courage up to ask the waitress a question I had wanted to ask since I first arrived in the town.

“Excuse me miss,” I began, “Do you know anything about the old residential school that used to be near the outskirts of the town?”

“Can’t say that I do.” She said eying me with even more suspicion now. “What even is a residential school? That like a boarding school or something?”

“Something like that.” I said disappointed. I had hoped she could tell me about the school.

Then to my surprise a gruff, deep voice next to me asked, “What you want with the residential school?”

I turned to my left to see one of the older men sitting next to me staring at me like I had just asked about the devil. “I…..I heard about the school from a friend and I was just passing through the town and wanted to stop by it if it was still there and maybe take a tour.” Then I quickly added, “I heard it was quite the school in its day.”

He slowly relaxed and to my surprise began to chat openly with me. “Oh good, I thought you were one of those activists that was gonna start ranting about that place.”

I was surprised by this statement, yet I cautiously continued. “No, no. I just wanted to know if it was still there.”

“It is.” He replied between sips of his coffee. “Place still stands but it’s not a residential school anymore, it’s a private school for kids that want a Christian education.” He said with what sounded like pride.

That was when a thought popped into my head. “Oh! I’ve actually been looking for private schools for my niece, Rebecca, I didn’t know there was one here.”

“Yes, yes. It’s a marvelous school. Much better than what it used to be. Did you know it used to house Indians? That was what it was built for. They tried for years to tame them, don’t know how successful they were but I sure am glad they stopped that mess and turned the school into something proper.”

I bristled at the man’s words. How could he be so nonchalant and callous? I tried to keep my voice cheery and even, “Do you know if they give tours of the facility. I’d love to tell my sister about the place, it’ll give her more options when choosing the right school for her daughter.” I lied.

“I believe they do with or without an appointment. You should definitely tour the place. It is really a great school.” The man said finishing up his cup and rising from his stool and grabbing his jacket.

“Well thanks for the info, I’ll definitely check it out before I leave town!” I said.

“Of course miss, have a good day!” He replied walking out of the diner.

I quickly finished my food and headed out to the school. I had decided I would go “under cover” and tour the school as Aunt Autumn, and see what the school was like and who currently owned the school. I asked the waitress how to get to the school from the diner and she pointed me in the right direction. I thanked her for the good meal and headed on my way. It didn’t take long to get there and as I drove up I was shocked at the size of the place.

The school looked like it was from a different time period based on its architecture, but it was so well kept it looked like new. It looked nothing like what I had expected or how Nathaniel described. It wasn’t run down and falling apart. I looked also at the outbuildings and there seemed to be a few more than what Nathaniel had told me about. They must have added some over the years. I began to walk to the front door of the school when someone came out dressed simply and in a habit. She started a little when she saw me but quickly smiled and greeted me warmly.

“Well hello!” She giggled. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi, my name Is Autumn I was hoping I could have a tour of the school if you aren’t too busy. I have a sister whom I’m helping find a school for my niece and I’ve heard good things about this one.” I said nervously hoping she’d buy the lie and simultaneously feeling guilty for lying to a nun.

“Of course, we can most definitely give you a tour. Follow me.” She said gesturing to me to follow her inside.

The front entry way was large and the woodwork old yet beautifully polished. I saw the grand staircase immediately upon entering. The same one Nathaniel described. The nun led me up the stairs and they began to creak and groan under our weight, also like what had been described to me. As we reached the second floor I saw the great hallways. It was almost surreal looking at a place that had been so heavy on my mind as of late and seeing everything as it had once been yet fixed up to brand new. As we went on the tour, the nun talked about all the school had to offer and its brief history. Not once did she mention the dark past of the school or reference its heritage. I was surprised by that but I guess no one wants to hear the bad stuff when looking for a safe place for their children to go to school.

Soon we came to what I recalled from Nathaniel’s story as the courtyard they had been kept in for outdoor time. I looked around at my surroundings. The place was beautiful! It was a glorious, lush garden with walking paths and open spaces for kids to play. I couldn’t believe my eyes. As I looked around my eyes came to rest on the back of the property where Nathaniel had said were supposed to be the great brick wall and the graves of all the children who had died at the school, yet, the only thing I could see were these flourishing, red, rose bushes that lined the wall. My stomach sank to me toes when I realized why the bushes were so large and so beautiful. They were being fed by the bodies of the children that had died all too young in that place. They had once again, covered up their sins and further poisoned the wounds of the past. The longer I spent in that place, knowing its true history, the suffering that had happened there, and the blatant cover up they had done, made me feel more and more sick.

Thankfully the tour soon came to an end and I was able to meet in the office with the head matron of the school. During our meeting I asked many questions to keep up appearances, but it was if I was hearing through a tunnel. Once the meeting was up I let them know I would get back to them, left my personal information with them, and thanked them for their time. Then I left quickly. The further I could get from that place the better. I made my way back to my town and the hotel. I didn’t know what exactly I would do with all my new found information, but hopefully it would help me with my search.

Now back in my sitting room/ study, I began to piece everything I had learned that day with what I already knew. There wasn’t much but I did have a few good leads. During the tour the young nun told me that the Church owned the school from its beginning. So that gave me something to look into. I also learned from the matron that the place was also privately funded by the church as well. This would leave a paper trail I could follow. So I set about looking into the history of the school and the division of the church that it fell under late into the night. Around midnight I found the jackpot.

The church had owned the property since its beginning. This I knew. What I didn’t know was that when the church bought the property they also bought other properties at the same time as well. All were listed in the public records of the town. They bought the properties for the boys and girls school, and two others besides. I started digging into other town records and found out that the other two properties where meant to be a home for pregnant, unwed mothers and an adoption agency/orphanage. Now armed with this information, I had to decide what to do with it. I began by calling the division of the church that funded the schools and other facilities. I wasn’t quite prepared for the answers I would uncover though.

The woman that answered the phone sounded old and tired. “Hello? How can we assist you today?”

“Umm, hi. My name is Autumn Winters and I was hoping I could get a little information regarding the records of the church.” I began slowly.

The lady said absentmindedly, “Of course what records were you looking for?”

“I’m looking for the records regarding the girl’s residential school that the church used to run.” I said in a hesitant yet matter of fact way.

This seemed to quickly grab her full attention. “What did you need those records for, may I ask?”

“Well….I’m looking for one of the old students who attended the school long ago. I was asked to find her by a friend of hers.” I said hoping she wasn’t about to give me the runaround.

“Those records were destroyed long time ago in a fire at the old records building, burned to the ground almost a year ago.” She told me going back to her former uncaring tone.

“Oh. I see. Is there any way possible that some of the records survived or maybe there is someone I could talk to regarding the school?” I asked hopefully.

There was a long pause over the phone. Then came a deep sigh and deep intake of breath. “The records are unfortunately nonexistent. However, there is someone who may be able to tell you about the records and person you are looking for. Her name is Sister Matilda.”

“That’s wonderful!” I said enthusiastically. “How can I reach her?”

“That’s the problem; you may not be able to.” She said with a tinge of sorrow in her voice. “Sister Matilda is unwell. She has retired to the mother house. I was told her mind is going slowly but surely. Such a shame too, she never seemed to forget a thing back in the day.”

I was utterly disappointed. My first true lead that might lead me somewhere and it was a bust. “You said I may be able to reach her? Do you think she’ll remember anything?”

“It is possible. She goes in and out. Her mind tends to decline later in the day so if you do talk with her it would be best to speak with her early in the day and you may have to speak with her more than once. I can’t give you any guarantee that she’ll remember, even then.” The woman told me.

“Well, can’t hurt to try. Where can I find her?” I asked.

Soon I had the answer to my question and hung up the phone. I hoped beyond all hope this would lead me to some answers and eventually to Ruth. I called it a night and headed to bed. The next day I went to the place the woman on the phone had told me I could find Sister Matilda. I pulled up to an assisted living facility neatly tucked away in town not far from where I lived as a child. The place seemed nice and clean, homey and cozy, and quietly simple. I entered the building and told the lady at the front desk I was there to visit Sister Matilda. She gave me a visitors badge and led me to her room.

Upon entering I noticed that she seemed to have a rather simple but strange decorating style. The bed, dresser, bedside table and wardrobe were plain and quaint. But she had many random objects and knick knacks that were strewn around the room with no rhyme or reason to them. I guess the nurse who had taken me back noticed me looking questioningly around the room, and told me she was a bit of a thief, often stealing things from visitors and other residents like an old crow. It was suggested I keep my valuables close before the nurse left me to visit with the Sister.

Sister Matilda was elegantly beautiful. She wore plain and simple clothes, yet somehow she radiated a refined and regal appearance. She must have been beautiful when young, but she had aged gracefully and matured to a beauty that was what all women could only wish for. She had porcelain skin dotted with liver spots and other signs of her true age, crystal blue eyes that had a knowing yet youthful appearance, gentle lines that seemed to grace her face in all the right places, and long white hair down to her waist, full and voluminous. She was small of stature and slight, very petite in every way. I walked over to her where she was sitting on the edge of the bed and heard her muttering and mumbling to herself about…..well I wasn’t sure what.

I gently knelt down to her level and called her name. “Sister Matilda, How are you today?” I asked softly as she continued to mumble about things I couldn’t understand. Names, people, places and things seemed to swirl around her mind, not able to fully focus on one thing at a time. “Sister Matilda,” I began again, “I came to ask you about the residential school, more importantly about one student in particular. I was told you could maybe help me find her.”

“Residential school, it was a residential school, the children the little children, how many children, small children big children……….” She muttered incomprehensibly.

“Sister Matilda, I’m looking for a girl named Sarah. Do you remember Sarah?” I asked. That’s when her whole demeanor changed.

Sister Matilda sat up straight from her previously hunched over position, her hands stopped nervously twisting in her lap, she looked up from the floor to meet my gaze, and she suddenly stopped talking. My eyes grew wide, watching her own expression change from one of panicked worry to one of joyful remembrance. I could see the spark of recognition in her eyes. She knew exactly who I was talking about. It was a name she knew and knew well and a person she had once cared for.

“She was such a sweet, beautiful girl.” She said staring off into the distance behind me as if Sarah was in the room with us.

“What happened to her?” I asked hoping the Sister would stay with me for long enough to tell me what I needed to know.

Her brow furrowed and she looked sad and worried. “She’s not here anymore.”

“I know.” I said playing along, “Where did she go?”

“Far away, she never belonged there, she was there too long.” The sadness in her eyes began to spill over, welling up into tears that fell slowly down her cheek. “She’s gone, she’s gone. So far away, no one can find her, I made sure, she’s gone, she’s gone, gone girl, gone…….”

Just like that, as soon as she had remembered she was gone. Her mind clouded over and so did her expression. I tried multiple times to get her to remember again and I listened to all the words she said hoping it would reveal something, but nothing more came of the conversation. I finally rose from my crouched position on the floor and told her goodbye and left. It was late afternoon by this time, and I decided, remembering the words of the woman on the phone, that I would come back earlier in the day again a few days later and would continue to come until Sister Matilda remembered.

I began to come twice a week. It took a while but slowly Sister Matilda began to remember more and more about Sarah. Most things were trivial and unimportant but others led me to believe, from what I could piece together, that she had helped Sarah get away from the school and even kept correspondence with her somehow. I don’t know how many girls there were that she helped do this but from what I gathered it was quite a few. The only two whose name she remembered were Sarah’s and another girl named Mary. She often got them mixed up which made it difficult to differentiate between the two. I finally got to the point after a few weeks to where I began to grow despondent and think that I would never find out the truth. On my last visit to the assisted living facility, I had just finished visiting with no luck and on my way out accidentally bumped into a woman.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! My bad.” I said stooping to help her pick up some photos she had dropped.

“It’s fine. It was my fault; I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She replied gathering up the photos as well. I went to hand her back the stack of photos I had picked up when right there staring back at me through the photograph was a pair of deep dark eyes with honey tan, flawless skin, and long coal black hair. I froze staring at the photo for a long time, only being called out of my trance by the woman asking me half jokingly, “Do you think I could have those back?”

I handed her back the photos saying, “Oh certainly, sorry.” She took the pictures back and looked me up and down but I barely noticed, still looking at the photo in her hands. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask, but who is that woman in the photo?” I asked looking up from the photo to meet her gaze.

“It’s a friend of my Aunt Matilda. Do you mind if I ask you a question? Are you the one that’s been visiting with my aunt? She questioned me.

“If your aunt is Sister Matilda……then yes.” I admitted hesitantly, hoping she wasn’t going to be upset.

“I thought so,” she said as her face began to soften, “They told me a redhead had been visiting with my aunt lately. I had no idea who they were talking about since I don’t know anyone with red hair.”

“I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind. I never even considered she had family when I began to visit.” I apologized.

“No, no. I’m glad you have been visiting her, partially because she doesn’t get a lot of visitors but also because she has been doing a little better as of late. She hasn’t been as lost in her own mind but she also has been reminiscing a lot too. I was bringing these photos to her so she could look at them. She’s been talking a lot about Mary lately.” She told me extending her hand out to me. “I’m Alice, her niece, it’s nice to meet you!”

I took her hand and shook it. “I’m Autumn, it’s nice to meet you as well.” Then I ventured spurred on by our glad greeting, “Do you have the time for me to ask a few questions and explain myself?”

“Of course let’s sit over here in the parlor.” She said leading me over to a set of chairs behind the glass partition leading that blocked off the parlor from the lobby.

“Well……I don’t know exactly where to begin……” I started, “But I guess I’ll start with why I’ve been visiting. I have this friend, his name is Nathaniel, and he went to the boy’s school. He became friends with someone that went to the girl’s school and I’m trying to help him find her. I have been looking for some time and every lead I seem to follow just becomes a dead end. I was given your aunt’s name by someone in the Church’s records department. I knew it was a long shot but I hoped I could find something out about the girl I’m looking for.” I paused briefly. “I’m not sure but the person I’m looking for was described to me and almost exactly matches the girl in that photo.”

Alice looked down at the photo and sighed deeply before speaking. “This girl’s name is Mary. Mary Littlefeather. My aunt hated that school, she hated working there, and disagreed entirely with what the church was doing to those children. Unfortunately when you are a nun you go where “God leads you” aka, where the Church wants you, not where you want to go. But Aunt Matilda saw a way to help them. She began to help some of the girls disappear from the school and get out. She was only able to help a few, but she loved all of them and helped them as best as she could. She told me this in secret at the beginning of the progression of her disease. At first I didn’t believe her but she told me that she and the girls had kept written correspondence over the years and she saved the letters. I found them and these photos in an old trunk in her attic. Mary was one of the girls that kept writing her most frequently.”

“Did she ever talk about a girl named Sarah?” I asked her hoping she’d say yes.

“Not to my knowledge. She mainly talks about Mary. I think she was her favorite.” Alice said giggling.

I was crushed. “She had talked to me about Sarah and Mary. But maybe she was mistaken.”

“Well……how old was Sarah or how old should she be now? Do you know what year she attended the school?” She asked me.

“Not for certain but she should be in her fifties. I know she was about sixteen when my friend saw her last.” I replied.

“Well…..if we do the math that would place her as residing at the school around the time Mary was there. Maybe they knew each other?” She suggested.

I hadn’t thought of that but the thought gave me hope. Maybe Sister Matilda couldn’t help me much, but perhaps Mary could! “Do you have an address for her by any chance?”

“Yes actually I do. However, I’m not 100% sure she still lives there. Around the time she would have been about thirty or so, she stopped writing my aunt altogether. She just stopped one day and no one knows why.” Alice told me looking troubled.

“I’ll take any lead at this point.” I told her bringing out a notepad I kept in my jacket pocket. After writing down the address she knew to be Mary’s last residence, we talked for a bit more and then parted ways. I had thanked her profusely for all she had done to help me and promised to continue visiting with her aunt when I could.

The next day I took the address and looked it up on the computer. Surprisingly it wasn’t that far from the town. It was only one state away, a few hours drive out. I packed an overnight bag and told Jasper of my plans and headed out. I hoped to reach the residence before dark, barring a few pit stops and lunch. Before I knew it I was there, just at dusk as the sun was setting. I walked to the front door, butterflies in my stomach, and after standing there trying to think of what to say for what seemed like an eternity, I knocked on the door. Within a minute or two, a middle aged woman, beautiful as could be, answered the door.

“I don’t want to buy anything you’re selling.” She said after giving me the once over.

I was left speechless, but quickly found my voice as she was closing the door. “Wait! I’m looking for someone named Mary Littlefeather!”

She stopped with the door cracked half open. “What did you say?” she asked once again opening the door wide.

“I’m looking for someone named Mary. Are you Mary?” I asked her studying her expression closely.

“I am, but I haven’t heard that last name in a while. I’m Mary Spencer now.” She stated looking at me with confusion and concern.

“It’s just that…….I’m looking for a friend of a friend and I was told you might be able to help me. I got your address from Sister Matilda’s niece.” I told her quickly hoping she wasn’t going to close the door on me.

Her face softened then and after standing there for a few minutes as the dusk deepened into twilight, she looked at me carefully and at last said, “You had better come in it’s getting cold. Who is it you are looking for?”

“I’m looking for someone named Sarah. She would be about your age and I was hoping you would know her.” I answered stepping into the warmth of her home.

I turned to look back at her and that’s when she said to my utter surprise and shock, “Well, you found her. But I haven’t gone by that name in a long, long time.