Confession Before Marriage

July 20, 1907

Miss Elizabeth Deming

1290 Lombard Street

San Francisco, California

Dear Miss Deming,

The enclosed pages were found in an envelope in a safe among the wreckage of the Crocker mansion on Nob Hill in San Francisco after the earthquake last year. Charles Crocker Sr. had died earlier in 1904, two years after his wife of 50 years had died. After the disaster, the surviving Crocker family had used their railroad to carry themselves, their servants and whatever remained of their treasures east and taken up residence in their mansion in New York City. We did forward the business records and securities from the safe to the Crocker family in NY. It was thought best to not forward these pages however.

As we discussed earlier, after we read these pages, we searched for members of the Deming family and you were the only one still in SF. It appears that they were written over 50 years ago by your Aunt Mary Ann. I leave it up to you to decide the fate of these documents.

Your servant,

Andrew McHale

Curator -- San Francisco Historical Museum

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April 4, 1852

My darling Charles.

I am so sorry that I wasn't able to give you an immediate reply to your wonderful proposal of marriage on Sunday. I am thrilled and thankful that you think so much of me to offer to share the rest of our lives together. I can think of nothing that would please me more than becoming Mrs. Charles Crocker.

But I have hesitated because I carry a secret about myself and my family. I have been afraid to reveal it to you while courting, but now know that I must. A marriage must be built on honesty and trust and I am writing this letter and the enclosed pages to assure you of my honesty. This is extremely painful for me and may also be painful for you. But, I owe it to you before accepting your proposal.

I love you and I believe you also love me. I pray that your love will allow you to overlook my past and accept me for what I am in the present. But, I will understand if you cannot bear this news. The social cost of it may be too much for your standing in society. If I receive no reply to this letter, I will know that you no longer wish me in your life. I cannot blame you for that decision, though I pray you do not make that choice.

If you still wish to see me after reading the enclosed pages, you may call at my door any evening after 6:00. My family and I live in the house at 517 California St., near the wharves. That's only about 10 blocks from your beautiful home on Nob Hill. I will wait for you there every evening until the end of April.

I love you Charles. I put my destiny in your hands.

Your Mary Ann

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Deming Family History

The history of my family started when my parents, William and Elizabeth, married in Cincinnati Ohio in 1819. My father was a protestant preacher who always sought out the challenge of bringing more souls to God. After my older sister Rebecca was born in 1821, they moved here to the mostly un-religious San Francisco -- though it was only a shadow of today's busy city. He preached from a small church on Market Street as part of a local association of churches. That organization grew steadily in numbers and then greatly expanded along with the rest of the city, starting with the gold excitement three years ago in 1849.

I was born in 1823 and we were blessed with my sister Sofia in 1825. We finally welcomed our brother, Michael, in 1828. My father preached in a series of churches here for almost 20 years, but eventually became bored with the business of conducting services each Sunday for the same parishioners. He wanted to bring the word of God to the heathen of the world and found the opportunity in Tahiti in 1841. Based on little more than the stories of sailors and returning ministers from the South Pacific, he made the pilgrimage to Tahiti and established the first protestant church on the largest island.

Of course, the rest of the family resisted moving from our comfortable city life in San Francisco to a tropical jungle filled with half naked people. But my father's word was law and we made the three month voyage on a two-master schooner, stopping only in Hawaii. My father bought land on the north coast of the island near Papeete. In the first year, we created a church, a home and gardens.

We children had objected to our new world but soon learned to find pleasure in it. The warm sun and cool breezes were always enjoyable. We learned to find and harvest local fruit and to also hunt the feral pigs and goats. Our mother schooled us with American books and tales of her own life. We learned to communicate with the native people and they taught us much about the jungles and reefs. They shared their fishing skills and we were soon able to reliably provide meals for the whole family. Our 13 year old brother Michael became the most successful of the spear fishermen.

By 1843 my father had established his church and counted over 300 worshippers on most Sundays. Political trouble had begun as the native Tahitians began to object to the law of their French masters. We three girls were then aged 22, 20 and 18 and had begun to take interest in the native men from a discreet distance. Of course, our strict education and religious indoctrination meant that we must always dress in long skirts and long-sleeved blouses and conceal any sign of our gender. Discussion of any form of sexuality was forbidden outside of marriage. The fact that native women went about bare breasted was deemed irrelevant. Even after we became adults, we didn't dare defy our father's wishes.

Our comfortable life was once again uprooted after father talked with a sea captain newly arrived from the Cook Islands far to the south. His tales of encounters with native peoples on the islands were both frightening and exciting. My father listened carefully as the captain described one set of islands that almost cost him his life. Only the largest of the islands in the group was occupied by humans. He and his crew had anchored just outside the reef and took a longboat in to meet the local people.

At first they were friendly and seemed interested in trading, but when the sailors refused to deal for their small shells, their friendliness evaporated. The sailors retreated to their longboat but were harassed and beaten until the captain fired his pistol in the air. That dispersed the natives who then launched arrows at the unfortunate sailors. Several men were injured, but none killed.

The captain ended that story by saying he felt sorry for the natives since they had never had a chance to hear the word of Christ. That statement changed our lives forever. My father felt the call once again and started to make preparations for traveling to the dangerous island. He secured some money from the association of churches in Tahiti and San Francisco. They contributed generously to his effort to bring God to the heathen. With those funds he chartered a ship to bring him, and his family, to that remote island so he could save their souls. We, the children, refused to go. We enjoyed our life in Tahiti and had no interest in going someplace even more remote. But mother would not contradict father and reminded us of our duty and debt to our father for supporting us for 20 years. There was only one answer to a mother's wish.

A few weeks later, we boarded the ship and started the 6 week journey to the island group. The life aboard ship was just as terrible as our previous journey. The constant rolling and smell of the bilge water below made some of us sick. When we arrived in the area, my father identified which island was our goal from the description given by the captain. There was also a smaller island north of the main and we made landfall there to establish a camp. We were on the north shore of the little island, so not visible to the natives on the main island to the south. My father wisely wanted to approach the natives carefully.

He expected to live in a primary base on the small island and make regular trips to visit the natives. The crew unloaded large amounts of equipment and supplies and built a couple of basic shelters. Fortunately, they found a nearby spring so we were assured a supply of fresh water. The area of the small island was probably around 8 square miles and most of the interior was shielded by a volcanic ridge along the south coast. The only sign of any earlier human activities were some small animal cages, badly rusted with time but still bearing a marking of "CD".

About a week after landing, my parents and the ship's crew departed at night, sailing to the west. They intended to arrive at the main island at dawn, coming from the west. That would prevent the natives from guessing the location of our base. My siblings and I climbed up the southern ridge and watched the ship's progress with the spyglass the next day. They sailed to just outside the island's reef and waited for an hour. With no activity from the natives, they launched the longboat to cross the reef and land on the beach.

Since the island was about 10 miles distant, we couldn't see what happened very well. The ship was visible as only a tiny spot of dark on the water. The longboat was nearly invisible. We were quite happy when nothing happened and went back to camp for the night. The next morning we could still see the ship moored near the reef. It appeared things were going well with the natives so we returned to camp for our midday meal.

A distant, but deep, "Boom" shattered our peace. It could only mean that the crew had fired the single cannon on the ship, no doubt in defense against an attack. We ran to the ridge and saw the ship still at anchor outside the reef -- no evidence of violence. But, as we watched, a column of black smoke began to rise from the ship. Soon we could see flames leaping from the deck and the sails all burned to ash in only minutes.

The four of us held each other and cried in pain and grief and fear. The horror of that scene was unbearable. Our parents were almost certainly dead, along with the crew. The four of us were marooned on the island and must find a way to live on our own. And, because these islands were so remote, there was little chance of a passing ship finding us in less than a lifetime. It was the darkest day of my life.

We remained lying on the top of the ridge, holding onto each other, for the rest of the day. The column of smoke from the ship pointed down to the place where our parent's dreams and lives had ended, and our lives were forever altered. We said no words, for there were none to say. We looked at each other with both pity for the other and horror for ourselves.

After dark we could again see the flames licking at the shell of the ship. By morning the flames were gone and only a hazy smoke rose from the wreck, completely burned to the waterline. We finally retreated to our camp thirsty, hungry and devastated. For the next few days we only stared silently into the campfire or sobbed uncontrollably in each other's arms.

It was Rebecca, the oldest and our natural leader, who first began to think about our future. There were plenty of ship's stores in piles around the camp: food, wood, flints, canvas, cloth, tools and rigging. With only us four siblings to feed, the food would easily last for a few months. But what would we do after that? The rainy season would start soon and the supplies must be protected from the downpour. How could we defend ourselves if the natives came after us? As we slowly recovered from our overwhelming grief, we faced the overwhelming problems of survival.

Rebecca began to plan and the rest of us simply followed her instructions. We moved all of the supplies into 4 large piles well back from the beach and then covered each with a sheet of canvas sail. We found two large buckets and fitted them with a yoke so one person could carry them both filled with water. We wove two poles into the edges of a piece of canvas to create a large sling for carrying firewood back to camp. We reinforced the makeshift shelters into more permanent structures and threaded palm fronds into the roof to create a better protection from the coming rains. We began rationing our food.

The hard work kept us from falling into a deep melancholia. We congratulated ourselves when we finished each project. I noticed that Michael, now 18 years old, had truly become a man: not just in body, but also in spirit. He always took on the hardest work and felt himself the protector of the family. His spearfishing skills assured us of reliable sustenance. Rebecca continued to plan and lead us toward whatever future we had. I became the primary collector of ripe fruit, herbs, firewood and water which were always needed. Sofia used her needlework skills to make and repair clothing and form canvas covers for our shelters. We all dug and hauled dirt to create fertile fields for potential crops.

Looking back now, I can see our slow transition from eager children raised under strict religious rules, to hardened survivors adapting their view of the world to accommodate the new reality. Out of habit, we wore our full clothing with skirts, blouses, leggings, stockings and shoes for the first month. Then Michael questioned the need for such coverings in a tropical paradise and we all agreed. In a matter of days, we women had reduced our clothing to simple, armless sack-like dresses worn knee length. Michael wore only pants with short legs. We all felt and appreciated the pleasure of letting go of some social restrictions.

For the next two years we struggled and learned and evolved in ourselves. We slowly dropped the many religious and social strictures we had grown up with and became stronger and more independent. After two years of hard labor and tight rationing of our resources, we had reached a stable, reliable and even pleasant style of living. We had finished grieving for our parents -- and our old life. We had seen no passing ships, so we accepted the fact that we would probably live out our lives on the island. After that realization, we recognized, and quickly abandoned, many of the rules and customs we had previously lived with. We eventually decided that clothing was not needed among ourselves, so we all reverted to almost nudity during the hot, dry season. We did keep some basic clothing to wear during the cool, rainy season. I must admit that I felt uncomfortable when I first saw my brother naked, but that quickly faded. We often teased Michael about his appendage, though I found myself staring at it sometimes.

Given our permanent isolation, we would never enjoy a happy marriage with a loving spouse and children. That meant no sexual satisfaction except what we gave ourselves. We all respected the others' privacy when necessary and continued to obey the important law that siblings do not have sexual attraction for each other. Despite that frustration, all four of us got along very well. There were some arguments of course, but we all truly loved each other and understood that we would be together forever.

Early in our third year I began to notice a change in Rebecca and Sofia. They often went off together and occasionally smiled at each other as if they had a secret. I was too busy with daily work to pay attention to them, until one day when I went to collect water. In the stream, there was a pool of water that was perhaps five feet deep. We always bathed there in the cool, fresh water. On this occasion I came upon Rebecca and Sofia standing together in the pool, naked. Their nakedness wasn't unusual, but they were standing face to face with their arms around each other. While I watched they kissed with a long, passionate kiss.

I quickly ran away while I tried to understand what I had seen. We had released ourselves from many of the strictures of civilized society, but still clung to basic values -- I thought. Those values included women not kissing each other in a sexual way, and sisters even more so. I didn't want to become the scold that enforced ridiculous rules and I definitely didn't want to try to discipline them for their innocent and loving behavior. But what are the well-considered limits to human activity that we should abide by?

For the next few days I pondered what ethics we should apply to just the four of us alone in the jungle? There was no one else to be offended, or insulted or to criticize us. The strict religious rules enforce by our parents had all dropped away as we survived and thrived on the island. We were living in a near perfect state of nature and had all agreed on any remaining taboos -- I thought.

A few days later, as I returned to camp with a load of firewood, I heard moaning coming from our shelter. I was afraid that someone was sick so I rushed into the structure and then froze. My two sisters were lying together on our bed, naked, and performing an act I had never imagined. They were lying head to toe and I could see Rebecca on top - putting her face onto Sofia's most private parts and licking her! It took a full minute for me to comprehend what I saw. And then Rebecca shifted slightly and I realized that Sofia was licking Rebecca's privates from below. I was shocked. I was disgusted. And I was curious. As I silently watched them pleasure each other, I realized that I was becoming aroused.

Again, I ran away from my sisters when they were doing something that I considered dirty, shameful and, until then, unimaginable. I desperately needed to talk about what I had seen, so I entered Michael's shelter. He was reading one of the three books in the camp for the hundredth time. When he saw my face, he leaped from his seat and demanded what was wrong. I couldn't speak -- I didn't have the words to describe what I had seen. I pointed my finger toward the women's shelter and my mouth moved with no sound.

Michael feared something had happened to one of them and rushed out and into their structure. I heard him shout, and then silence. I soon heard talking and gathered the courage to walk back there. Michael was sitting on the ground facing our sisters. They had gotten up and approached him to comfort him. They assured him that all was well and he shouldn't care about what they did with each other. They noticed me and repeated their assurances. I left and sat by the fire to think.

We had shed most of the rules of civilization along with our clothing, but I thought we had kept some that were basic. You cannot have sexual relations with a sibling. A woman's vagina was meant for intercourse with a man, not a woman. Weren't there any absolute limits to acceptable human behavior?

The girls brought Michael out and all of them sat around me by the fire. Rebecca started to speak.

"Mary Ann, Michael, please try to understand and don't condemn us. We all love each other completely but we're all sexually frustrated because we will never have partners. Having intimate, physical relations between us provides great pleasure and satisfaction. There is no damage. No one is hurt by our actions. Why should it be forbidden?"

I had no rational answer, but my deepest instincts rejected it. I needed time to think so I took hold of Michael's arm and pulled him up to standing. I looked at my two sisters with stern disapproval, but also with the love we shared. I asked them for time alone with Michael. I pulled him into his shelter and we laid down next to each other, silent for many minutes. I turned my head toward him and said:

"Michael, are you all right? How do you feel about this? Am I the only one who believes in some basic rules of humanity?"

He turned his head to face me, only inches away and slowly said:

"Mary Ann, I am so shocked that I can't really think right now. I feel there is something wrong with what they did, but I also can't answer Rebecca's question of why I feel that way."