Bridget (The Bridget Series) (11 page)

Doc was at the station to meet her. He began loading the supplies into his wagon. “I’ll take you to your Pa’s, then I’ll come back and unload the boxes. Get caught up with your folks. Tomorrow you can come and start doing whatever it was Dr. Schmidt told you to do.”

“Oh, he asked me to give you this letter,” remembered Bridget as she pulled the envelope out of her lunch sack. She handed the letter to Doc and watched as he walked over by the side of the building, opened up the sealed flap and read the contents. Then he picked up the last box and loaded it onto the wagon.

“Okay, now. We’re ready. Yer folks expert ya.”

A wave of trepidation swept over her.

Her folks had heard the wagon and were outside waiting. Bridget didn’t wait for Doc to help her. She jumped out of the wagon and ran over to her mother, careful to hang onto the cord around the hat box. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said flinging her arms around the woman she had learned to love as her mother, but who was a bit taken back by the overenthusiastic greeting.

“What’s the matter, child?”

“Nothing.” Noticing the look on her mother’s face she added, “I’ll tell you later. First, look at your bonnet.” She held the hat box up so her mother could untie the cord. Bridget was so caught up in watching her mother open the hat box that she didn’t notice Doc slipping her Pa a letter.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything so beautiful! Let’s go inside so I can really look at it and try it on.”

Bridget’s Mother led her inside, glancing at her from the corner of her eye. She wondered why her daughter had been crying. She closed the front door. “Who is he?”

“Who?”

“The man who makes you cry.”

“Let’s look at your bonnet,” answered Bridget who wondered how she was going to explain why she couldn’t return to Canyonville.

“Okay, let’s look at my beautiful bonnet and then you can tell me about the man who makes you cry.”

Bridget’s Mother held the bonnet the way fancy women hold their jewels. This was a special bonnet. Owning a sun bonnet was a necessity. Owning a fancy bonnet was for the special few. There was a ridged stiff brim, with a contrasting dark and light blue velvet and blue satin ruffle around the front and sides, and a cape or bavolet, to protect her neck. The ties were as beautiful as the ruffle. Bridget’s Mother gave her daughter a big hug. “How could you have afforded this?”

Bridget and her mother sat down as Bridge explained Mrs. Dillion to her and told her all about the auction.

“And, your new necklace, the one you keep fingering. Was that a gift from the man who makes you cry?”

“Yes,” was Bridget’s soft reply.

As she tried to decide where to begin, the door opened and her Pa came in. “Later,” said Bridget’s Mother in an understanding tone of voice.

Bridget couldn’t help but notice that her Pa seemed in a particularly good mood. “I’m hungry, Estelle. I could use some of your good food.”

It wasn’t near supper time but Estelle Hansen carefully placed her prized bonnet back in its hat box, gently tied the cord and patted it as she placed in on the top of the bureau. Then she put on her apron and started to cut potatoes and carrots into pieces.

“Bridget, do you want me to take you up to Doc’s and then pick you up when dinner is ready?”

“Thanks, Pa.” She noticed that he didn’t seem to have as much trouble with his leg. Sometimes when he was tired he’d have to place his hand behind the knee to help the bad leg move. She didn’t know what to say to him as they drove the short distance into town, so they sat next to each other in silence.

“Good to have you here,” he said as she got out. His comment almost made her trip. For an instance she wondered if he was talking to her. She turned towards him and smiled. “It’s good to be home.”

Doc’s office was mostly blacksmith and horses with a corner for humans. Bridget could understand why Dr. Schmidt wanted it sorted out. She began by putting the horse liniment and ointment in one cabinet and all medicine and supplies for people in a different cabinet. She wondered if Doc knew about washing his hands and thought about how she should approach the subject without offending him. There was also that issue of him spitting the juice from his chewing tobacco. He didn’t have a special jar. He just spit anywhere.

Doc walked in and seemed surprised to see her. “I thought you were going to spend some time with yer folks?”

“Pa will pick me up in a little bit. This gives me a little extra time to get the supplies unpacked.”

“I got to go look at a horse at the Rawlings’ place. Will you be okay?”

“Sure will.”

Doc guided his wagon down the road as Bridget tended to the boxes. She unpacked the elixirs. The bottles glistened and gleamed from the sun coming through the window. Bridget stared at the elixirs. The other women took daily doses, claiming they couldn’t get along without the liquid.

Bridget hurt. Not with a headache but with a heartache so painful it felt like her body was going to be ripped open. She uncapped one of the bottles and smelled the contents. It wasn’t an offensive order. Maybe the elixir would make her feel better. If it worked for the other women, she shouldn’t be any different.

Bridget looked around for a clean class. Finding one hidden in the back of a shelf, she started to pour and then stopped. Dr. Schmidt had warned her that the elixirs were causing the women problems. Bridget knew she had to talk to her folks. She decided to wait on the elixir until after she told them she couldn’t return to Canyonville.

Bridget forced herself to return to unpacking the boxes. Dr. Schmidt had packed a lot of plasters for fixing broken bones, since those were part of the supplies stolen in the stagecoach robbery. Doc had wrapped up broken bones before and most of the people with broken legs had ended up with only a slight limp.

She was amazed that Dr. Schmidt could wrap a broken bone so well that, if the patient obeyed his instructions, they might not have a limp at all.

Bridget was glad that Mrs. Schmidt had given her husband some oil cloth to pack in the supplies. At least that could be wiped off. The battered wooden table top had stains that were beyond identification.

It was getting dark and she knew her Pa would be coming for her. She made sure the cabinets were locked and the windows were also shut and locked. As she looked out, she thought she saw somebody who looked like Boxer disappear into the trees. At first she felt a chill of fear, and then she admonished herself that she really must be tired and should stop letting her imagination play tricks on her. After all, Boxer was in a Kansas City jail.

She heard the wagon approach and went out to meet her Pa. With his bad leg, she wouldn’t expect him to get out to help her get in. She was used to jumping into the buckboard. “There sure is a lot to do,” she said not really expecting her Pa to answer.”

“You’re the one to do it. Good that you’re here.”

Bridget was flabbergasted at his comment. As they approached home she inhaled the wonderful savory aromas of her mother’s cooking which seeped through the walls to perfume the outside. “Maybe I should have stayed to help her.”

“She’s fine.” He tied up the horse and the two went inside. As far as Bridget was concerned her parents were acting
odd.
Her mother was smiling. Her Pa seemed lighthearted. Bridget worried that she was about to ruin whatever was making then happy by telling them that she couldn’t go back.

They noticed that
she only picked at her food. “Come, you help me with the dishes,” said Bridget’s Mother. Bridget helped clear the table and got the water heated to wash the dishes. Pa sat down with his pipe and seemed content with his own thoughts. “Do you intend to tell me about the man who makes you cry?”

“It’s not his fault. It’s the other girls in town who want him. And … and …. they all know.”

“Know what?”

“That I came from the Orphan Train.”

“Is that so bad? They all know here.” Noticing her daughter’s hurt expression, she quickly added. “I know, at first it bothered both of us. It hurt me, too. Nobody would let me be your mother. I felt that I was always set apart, too. It wasn’t, ‘Estelle, bring your daughter.’ It was, ‘Estelle, bring your Orphan Train daughter.’ That hurt me, too.”

Bridget knew what her mother said was true. She felt bad that she hadn’t thought enough about how the Orphan Train comments made her mother feel that she wasn’t a real mother. “It just seemed so different in Canyonville. Nobody asked me questions about where I came from or what it was like to be taken in by somebody who didn’t really want me.”

“That’s not quite true.”

“Pa wanted a boy. A boy to help in the fields.”

“Yes, but he agreed to take you. If he hadn’t wanted you, he wouldn’t have agreed. Look now at how everyone loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show you.”

Bridget looked down at the dishes and nodded her head.

“About this man,” persisted Bridget’s Mother.

Bridget softly said his name. “David.”

Bridget’s Mother smiled. “Of course. Remember the apple peel? You’ve found your ‘D’!”

“I remember. Oh, he is so wonderful. Dr. Sullivan. Dr. David Sullivan. He is so kind and thoughtful.” Bridget rubbed the necklace with her soapy fingers. “And smart, really smart.”

“Has he told you that you coming from the Orphan Train makes a difference to him.”

“No, he’s never mentioned it.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“There are others, fancy girls, who want him. One in particular, Savannah Katherine, said that his family would never approve of me. They’re from Boston. His father is a doctor and his grandfather is a doctor. His sister is getting married to a lawyer. His mother is society. Real high class, fancy people.”

“So this real high class fancy young man gave you a beautiful necklace, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t have to do that.”

“No, but Savannah Katherine said that it was a token gift, and didn’t mean anything.”

“I think you listen too much to this Savannah Katherine. She’s just trying to make you unhappy because this lady, who you think has it all, wants something you have. She wants David. She’s just being mean, trying to drive you away. You’re doing what is best for her, not what is best for you.”

“Now you just straighten up and realize that you’re as good as any of them. Better than them. You are not only a typewriter, you won a scholarship. You have your David who thinks enough of you to give you that necklace. You just stop listening to those girls and start listening to your heart.”

Bridget had been standing there not moving, her hands in the hot water. “Now get to washing those dishes and then get to bed. You have to get Doc’s office fixed up and the week is going to fly by before you know it. On Thursday, you are I are going to be making some pies and biscuits.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The week did
fly by. On Thursday they sat and laughed as they peeled apples and made biscuits, the way they did when she was a small child.

Oddly, neither of her parents pressed for any more information about David.

On Friday morning Bridget was startled to see her Pa wearing his good shirt. Without saying where he was going he curtly announced, “I’ll be back shortly.”

That wasn’t at all like him and Bridget wondered what was going on. When her mother came out of the bedroom Bridget’s mouth fell open at the sight of her wearing her good Sunday church dress.

“Is something going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“You’ve got on your Sunday dress and I just wondered …”

“Oh, this old thing. I just felt like putting it on.” Looking Bridget up and down, she added, “Your hair ribbons would look nice. You go put those on. Yes, those would look becoming.”

Obediently, Bridget went into the bedroom to brush her hair and put in the ribbons. She shook her head in disbelief, thinking that both of her parents were going daft.

She walked back into the living room and screamed. Standing next to her parents was Dr. David Sullivan.

S
HE couldn’t believe her eyes.
Dr. Sullivan—David—standing next to her folks, in their living room. She was speechless. “That’s quite a scream,” kidded David. “Now that you’ve awaken any living soul or animal within five miles, you could say ‘hello.’”