by Laura Deni
BRIDGET
Laura Deni
Content copyright © Laura Deni. All rights reserved
Published in the United States of America
First Publishing Date December, 2012
CONTENTS
Chapter 1 - Orphan Train
Chapter 2 - The Letter ‘D’
Chapter 3 - Visitors
Chapter 4 - Adoption
Chapter 5 - Being Tested
Chapter 6 - Becoming A Typewriter
Chapter 7 - Graduation
Chapter 8 - A Privilege To Be Working for Such a Man
Chapter 9 - Boxer
Chapter 10 - Sizing Up The Competition
Chapter 11 - Ice Cream Phosphate
Chapter 12 - The Box Social
Chapter 13 - That Green Eyed Monster
Chapter 14 - Mrs. Dillion’s Legacy
Chapter 15 - The Past Returns
Chapter 16 - Going Home
Chapter 17 - Engaged
Chapter 18 - A Love Turned Upside Down
REFERENCE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
References to the Orphan Train are derived from: Children’s Aid Society and the Orphan Train Museum
All reference to medical history and facts are derived from:
Oklahoma Historical Society
Science Museum
University of Minnesota
Drug Library
Nurses Info/History
Iowa Pathways
U.S. Government Bureau of Labor statistics for 1870-1901.
Language usage is reflective of the speech patterns used in the 1800’s.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Laura Deni began her writing career as a short story fiction writer. Her first published short story was in the Ball State University Forum, followed by short stories published in several other magazines. Needing a more reliable form of income, she switched to writing non-fiction.
She spent over a decade writing for the record trade publication Billboard; a combined total almost ten years researching/writing financial and business articles for such publication as Pensions & Investments, Business News, Business Insurance, Barron’s, Gift & Tableware Reporter; filed articles for the Religious News Service for 25 years; wrote feature articles for numerous medical and law enforcement publications and covered the entertainment scene for 40 years.
Her credits include being published worldwide in several hundred publications, with her articles translated into over 13 languages. For over 14 years she has been
the creator of and exclusive force behind the entertainment website Broadway To Vegas.
While in no way turning her back on her other writings, with Bridget she has returned to her first love—writing fiction.
PROLOGUE
LONGING to be cradled in his arms, instead Bridget was in a surreal state. watching the townsfolk scurry to care for her, putting cold cloths on her head.
Memories floated by: How she felt the first time her fingers touched his. The way her entire body was on fire when he caressed her neck. How soft and sweet his lips felt on hers.
Then a man from her past returned and a romantic rival upended her life. Now Bridget wondered if she would ever wear a wedding dress, or if she would be gowned in mourner’s black. She remembered how it all began.
CHAPTER 1
ORPHAN TRAIN
BRIDGET felt like an attraction at a side show carnival. Her parents had taken her to one when she was about five. She remembered looking in some mirrors that distort faces and figures. Then something happened. Her parents went away. Nobody would tell her why. For a time Bridget fended for herself with some other street kids. Sometimes they sold matches, rags, or newspapers to survive. Then one day the New York City cops took all of the them to a Children’s Aid Society.
Now she was on an Orphan Train. Like a side show carnival performer she was suppose to act nice, to lure in a customer—a farmer who would take her home.
Bridget didn’t understand why people treated children like livestock that they could slaughter at will.
The Hansens could use some help on the farm. The town minister Rev. Caldwell suggested taking in a child from the Orphan Train.
Speaking from the pulpit he devoted almost his entire Sunday sermon to the arrival of the Orphan Train.
“God wants every child to have a home. These children are victims of terrible misfortune they never asked for. Open up your heart and home and bring in one of these children. They will be a help to you.”
The train belched to a stop.
Somebody pushed Bridget towards the door and told her to stand up straight and be nice. It was the same speech she had heard at every stop. And, every stop was the same. People staring at her looked like distorted faces in carnival mirrors.
Dirty looking men wanting free child labor. Farming couples looking for an extra hand to plow and pick. They wanted boys. Hearty, strapping, hard working boys.
Bridget would be told to get back on the train and maybe at the next stop there would be a family.
By the time the train reached Oklahoma all of the boys had been adopted. The younger and cuter the girls, the better their chances of finding somebody to take them.
Bridget was ten with flyaway hair and still growing her back molars.
When the train reached the last stop Bridget automatically stood up and straightened her dress. She felt an adult arm push her forward.
“Don’t fidget,” said the adult sounding both tired and irritated.
As Bridget was shoved to the platform she heard a man call out; “This is it. She’s all we got left. Won’t somebody take her? She’d be good for cooking and cleaning.”
Some men on horseback turned and rode away. A man and his wife in a buggy turned around and left.
“She could be a big help to your wife,” Rev. Caldwell suggested to William and Estelle Hansen, who were still standing there looking disappointed. They had wanted to a boy to help with the farm chores.
“She doesn’t look like she’d be any trouble,” encouraged the pastor.
“Well, if nobody wants her, I guess we’ll go back,” shouted the man from the platform.
“Wait a minute,” softly said Estelle Hansen.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hansen, God will bless you with heavenly rewards for taking in this child, this girl. She will be a help and a companion to you.”
“Are you sure you want her, Estelle?” asked her husband.
“Yes, I do.”
Bridget felt Rev. Caldwell put his hand on her shoulder with the admonition,”God has seen fit to give you another chance by opening up the hearts of this fine family who have agreed to take you in. You be a good girl and don’t disappoint us.”
Somebody threw her small carpet bag onto the ground. That man she was suppose to call Pa limped over and picked it up. They piled into the wagon and Bridge t decided the woman she was suppose to call Mother looked tired, but seemed to be kind. Nobody knew what to say during the buggy ride home.
“I hope you like it here,” said the woman.
“Yes, ma’am”.
On Sunday they all went to church. Soon Bridget figured out that on Sunday everyone in the town went to church. If you missed a Sunday in church you’d better be dead. Then they’d carry you in on Wednesday and bury you.
Bridget spent her first Sunday in church sitting on the hard pews next to her new parents. Everyone turned and stared. A few smiled.
Rev. Caldwell strode to his pulpit and took over.
“We have a new member of ou
r congregation,” he began looking in her direction. “All of you should welcome Bridget, The Orphan Train Girl.” As his voice trailed on and on Bridget feared that for the rest of her life she would be known as ‘Bridget, The Orphan Train Girl.’ I just want to be me, Bridget thought to herself.
On Monday her new mother took her to school. The teacher, Miss Frances, looked at Bridget with pity. “Do you know how to read, child? Have you ever been to school?”
“I know how to read and write and I know my numbers. I’m good at making sure nobody gets away with cheating. Ya see, if you’re selling rags for a penny a pound, they’ll try to pass off a slug and steal your rags. Or, they give you a penny and tell you it was a nickel or a dime and they want change. I’m good with money, ‘cause nobody cheats me.”
“I see,” replied Miss Frances as she suddenly sat down.
It was time for Miss Frances to ring the bell calling the students into the school from the playground where the girls liked to jump rope and the boys would play Kick The Can.
“Good morning, students!”
“Good morning, Miss Frances,” was the reply Bridget discovered was the standard opening. “Boys and girls we have a new student. I want everyone to welcome Bridget, The Orphan Train Girl.”
There it was again. Bridget thought she heard Miss Frances ask the others to play nice and share their lunches. But what stuck was Bridget, The Orphan Train Girl.
It didn’t take Miss Frances long to determine that Bridget was probably the brightest one in the class. Soon Bridget would be getting A’s on math papers and history tests. The others began asking Bridget for help with math. She would pretend not to hear when one of the kids needing help called her ‘Bridget Orphan Train.’ If one of the students just called her ‘Bridget’, she would agree to help.
Maybe life at school wasn’t going to be so bad. Bridget wasn’t so sure about life at home.
The house was fine, made from sturdy wood. Inside the emotions were fragmented and convoluted. Bridget was afraid to ask questions for fear of being returned to the Orphan Train. The Hansens agreed to take her in, but they were under no obligation to keep her.
While she was living with the street kids she learned to stay out of the way, don’t get noticed and that meant not asking questions that might cause trouble.
Still, Bridget wondered why Pa had such a bad limp. When he was in the field he worked harder than any man in town. It was tiring, backbreaking work but he never complained. When he was inside his thoughts seemed elsewhere. Every Sunday night the church held a social with music, dancing and food. They never went. Bridget wanted to ask her new mother if they could go, but dared not approach the subject. Her mother never mentioned the weekly social. Sometimes you could hear the music and Bridget noticed that her mother would wistfully look in that direction. But, she never said a word.
The Hansens seemed to get by and have a few extras. They had a good piece of land and Bridget reckoned that her new mother was a fine gardener and her food tasted like you always wanted seconds, especially her biscuits and apple pie. Bridget helped her mother in the garden and also helped haul water for the laundry and beat the rugs. It was energy draining work and not much time for talking.
Mostly Pa ignored Bridget. He wasn’t mean, he just didn’t show any interest in her. Bridget knew he had been hoping for a boy to help him. Bridget didn’t know whether to be extra nice to him or to keep her distance. She had her own dance, like Molly the yard cat who would scurry, freeze, jolt, then hide.
Bridget sensed that Pa loved her mother. On her mother’s recent birthday Pa had gone to town and bought some of her favorite penny candy and toilet water—lemon verbena with lavender.
Bridget wondered if someday there would be a man who would remember her birthday.
CHAPTER 2
THE LETTER ‘D’
BRIDGET and her mother gathered a bowl of apples to peel for the pie they would make. They sat at the kitchen table which Bridget’s Mother carefully covered with oil cloth. The warmth from the fire was comforting. “Your house is warm. I don’t have to worry about being cold when I’m inside.”
“Were you cold before you came here?”
“Not when we had Boxer looking after us.”
“Boxer?” asked Bridget’s Mother, looking up from peeling apples, her expression turning quizzical at the unusual name.
“I don’t know his first name, but we called him Boxer because he would hold his fists up in a fighting position, and dance around punching the air. Boxer wasn’t afraid of nothin’. He made sure all the girls stayed warm. Once he broke into an apartment and came back with a chair.”
She could hear her mother gasp, so she quickly added, “I told him he shouldn’t steal. But he told me it didn’t matter because they had other chairs around the table and he had only taken one.”
Bridget’s Mother smiled at the thought of a family coming home to discover one of their dining room chairs was missing.
“Boxer broke the chair into pieces and tossed it into the oil can fire. Kept us warm all night long.”
Bridget’s Mother didn’t know what to say, so she just finished getting the pies ready. After placing them near the fire, the woman who was beginning to care for Bridget as her own, gathered up the long apple peels.
“Let’s see what the first initial is of the man you will one day marry.”
“Do you really think someday somebody will marry me?”
“Oh, child, you are going to find the most wonderful man and he will love you and take care of you. You will give me grandchildren. I hope you live close enough so that I can bake their birthday cakes.”
“Look, let me show you how. Pick up a long apple peel. Now move your hand in a slow circle and drop the peel.”
Bridget picked up a long peel and followed her mother’s instructions by moving her hand around. Then shelet the peel fall to the table.
“Now let’s look at the peel to see what letter it looks like.”
They both intently studied the ragged peel with it’s colored outside and pale under belly. “I see sort of a half circle,” said Bridget’s Mother.
“Then this piece sort of flops down over one side,” voiced Bridget.
“I think it looks like a ‘D’,” declared Bridget’s Mother.
“Yeah, I think so, too.”
“Then the first letter of your love will begin with the letter ‘D’”
CHAPTER 3
VISITORS
ESTELLE Hansen was anxious to see her two cousins, Alice and Grace. They were the daughters of Sarah Hill, who was the sister of Estelle’s mother. Sarah had married well, a banker, and the family was looked upon favorably. Estelle was considered a poor relation.
Alice had married once, but her husband had been killed out hunting deer and she never remarried. After their mother died, Alice took Grace in and the two women had been living together ever since.
Estelle hadn’t seen either Alice or Grace in years. Now they were passing through on their way to Kansas and coming for dinner. It seemed that Alice thought Grace was having some problems remembering, and she wanted her sister to see a doctor in Kansas who was suppose to be an expert in such things.
Bridget tagged along when her mother went to meet the train. Bridget’s Mother was eager for them to meet her daughter. The two cousins would spend the night at the town hotel and then take the morning train to Kansas.
“Oh, Estelle, you have a daughter, how wonderful. I can see you in her,” beamed Grace and she looked over Bridget and then reached to give her a big hug.
“Grace, she’s got none of our blood in her,” harrumphed Alice. “She’s that Orphan Train girl. I told you. Did you forget?”
Grace quickly pulled her arms away and her expression shifted from surprise to displeasure. “Orphan Train girl? Oh, Estelle, why?”
“Because I wanted a child. I wanted a daughter. I wanted Bridget.” Tears welled up in Estelle’s eyes and she pulled Bridget towards her. She, too, wis
hed that Bridget wasn’t always called ‘The Orphan Train Girl’. The words threw up a barrier that stopped her from feeling like a real mother. Everyone treated them differently.
“Bridget, help cousin Alice and Grace get their luggage.”
“Right away, Mother.”
“You let her call you, ‘Mother?’” said Alice spitting out the words as one spits out a bad piece of food.
Estelle didn’t have time to respond before Bridget was back with two bags. “I’ll put them in the buckboard, Mother.”
“Gracious!” declared Grace as she fanned herself with her hanky.
Quickly Estelle got the buckboard headed home. The wheels had barely turned once around before the inquisition started.
“Where did you get the name, Bridget? Did you have that name before you came here? What is your real name?” glared Alice whose backside was as big as her heart and mind were small. “What is your last name?
“Riley.”
“What kind of a name is that?
“Irish.”
“Irish! We have no Irish in our family,” fumed Alice.
“Did you have a nice train ride? interrupted Estelle, hoping to turn the conversation into something more pleasant. When neither cousin responded Bridget’s Mother tried again to bridge the gap. “Bridget and I had such fun peeling apples for the pie we made for you. And, I have a nice chicken roasting.”
“Did you wash your hands before you touched the apples?” was Grace’s patronizing question.
“I hear orphans are such dirty creatures,” added Alice.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bridget replied. I not only know how to wash my hands, I wash all parts of my body, including my privates.”
