by Laura Deni
Bridget learned that before Mrs. Dillion was widowed she had both a vegetable and a flower garden, which was the envy of the women folk. Her husband had been a stagecoach driver running the route between her old hometown and Canyonville. For over ten years he drove without a speck of trouble. Then one night he was shot to death in a robbery. He had left his wife a little money, but Sheriff Jasper worried that as she got older the funds got smaller.
Suddenly Dr. Sullivan was standing by the blanket, an elderly lady on his arm. “Bridget, have you met Mrs. Dillion?”
“No, I haven’t and it’s a pleasure to meet you. I brought entirely too much food and there is a lot left. Won’t you please join us?”
“We just ate,” injected Dr. Sullivan. “I have just enjoyed the best jam sandwich I have ever eaten,” he exclaimed. Bridget realized that it would be impossible for Mrs. Dillion to sit down on the ground and then get up again. That’s why Dr. Sullivan had left her in the buggy and then joined her in the buggy to eat the jam sandwich that she had made for the auction.
Bridget didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Sheriff Jasper wasn’t at a loss for words. “Bridget is right. Her eyes are bigger than my stomach. The food is delicious. Why don’t you take the remaining food in her box and take it home, Mrs. Dillion. You can eat it for dinner tonight. I promise you, you’ll enjoy it.”
“Oh, yes, please Mrs. Dillion. That would make me very happy. I understand you used to have a vegetable garden. I’d like to know what you think of the way I cooked the vegetables.”
“Great idea,” Dr. Sullivan chimed in as he scooped up the leftovers. “We’ve had a busy day and now I’m going to drive my date home.” He gently led Mrs. Dillion back to his buggy and helped her get inside. Then he handed her Bridget’s box of food and the two drove off. For the first time that day, Bridget smiled.
CHAPTER 13
THAT GREEN EYED MONSTER
BRIDGET was startled when Eliza Grann entered the office. She was another one that had her cap set for Dr. Sullivan. Bridget didn’t remember seeing her at the box social, but there had been a lot of people.
Still, it was hard to miss Eliza with her cascading chestnut hair and big eyes that looked like a deer. No, thought Bridget. A cow.
“I just wanted to return one of Dr. Sullivan’s gloves. He left it at my place last night,” purred Eliza as she waved the glove in her hand.
“He’s not here. Would you like me to give it to him?” Bridget tried not to choke on the words. She looked at the glove Eliza was clutching and recognized it as one that she’s seen Dr. Sullivan wear when he drove his buggy. Bridget felt a sickening feeling overwhelm her, wondering how Eliza obtained an article of his clothing. Why had he gone to her house?
Eliza looked at Bridget with distain. “No, no. Just tell him I have it and he can pick it up the next time he comes over. Oh, and I’m so glad he liked the cake I made. Why, he ate two pieces.”
Then with a hoity-toity air she turned and waltzed out of the office.
Bridget tried not to let her feelings get the better of her, but it was hard. What had he been doing at her house?
Dr. Sullivan’s buggy was gone. That meant that he was out on house calls. Then Bridget remembered that Martha Ogden was taking longer than usual to recover from getting her appendix removed. Dr. Sullivan had mentioned going over to her farm to see how she was doing.
Bridget tired to use her typewriter but her fingers didn’t want to hit the right keys. All she could think about was Eliza clutching a piece of Dr. Sullivan’s clothing. Something he had worn. So personal, as if she was hugging him.
She wouldn’t be seeing Dr. Sullivan until tomorrow. That was a long time to think about Eliza having his glove.
She knew she was at a disadvantage. Those girls had store bought dresses. They even bought creams for their skin. They could buy perfume and hats with fancy ribbons and bows. And, they didn’t have any secrets. She knew she didn’t have a chance, so why did this bother her so much?
Dr. Sullivan needed a wife. There were many eligible girls in town. Bridget told herself that she should put him out of her mind, concentrate on doing her work and not pay any attention to the girls who were throwing themselves at him.
Then she put her head on her desk and cried.
Bridget had trouble getting to sleep. In the morning she didn’t feel like eating breakfast. “Aren’t you feeling well, dear?” asked Mrs. Schmidt as she put down a plate of bacon, potatoes and bread.
“I’m fine. I guess I didn’t sleep very well.”
“Nothing is bothering you, then?”
“No,” was Bridget’s unconvincing answer.
“You eat your breakfast while it’s hot. Dr. Schmidt has been gone for hours. He stayed so late at the Grann house last night that he didn’t get a chance to go over some of the papers at the hospital that he wants you to type. He got up early to go over those, so I expect he’ll have a pile of work for you.”
“He was at the Grann house?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Schmidt who was a little surprised that Bridget would ask a question about Dr. Schmidt’s personal activities. Mrs. Schmidt paused and then decided Bridget must have a good reason to have pried. “The committee meeting to develop some safety rules for workers who use dynamite took place last night at the Grann home. The mayor was there and Sheriff Jasper, Dr. Sullivan and …”
Bridget felt a surge of relief, as if she was permitted to again breathe. She didn’t hear a word Mrs. Schmidt said after ‘Dr. Sullivan.’ Suddenly, Bridget was hungry.
CHAPTER 14
MRS. DILLION’S LEGACY
DR. Sullivan came into the office carrying a jar of apple butter and 6 eggs. Gesturing his head at the groceries he said, “Martha Ogden paid me for the house call. “She’s been doing way to much. She has to rest more and, whether she likes it or not, just let her children take care of her for a couple more weeks.” Placing the apple butter and eggs on a cabinet he added, “After work I’m going to take these over to Mrs. Dillion. Would you like to come along? I know she’d love to see you.”
Bridget felt her heart race. “Yes, I’d love to go with you,” and then quickly added, “to see Mrs. Dillion.”
Bridget thought the day would never end. Finally, they headed over to Mrs. Dillion’s. David had held her hand as she climbed into his buggy. Then he gave her the apple butter and eggs to hold. She wondered if he could hear her heart beat as they made the short journey. David helped her down from his buggy. His arms were strong, holding her tightly so she didn’t stumble. She felt a rush of emotion surge through her as her body gently caressed his.
“There you go,” said David as her feet touched the ground. He took her hand and led her up the pathway, which in its day must have been neat and clean with flowers on both sides.
It was sad to see a house and garden slowly die, just as it was sad to see Mrs. Dillion live out the rest of her days in a state of need, neglect and memories.
Mrs. Dillion sat covered in a quilt as Dr. Sullivan—David—went to the kitchen looking for a pan to cook some eggs for Mrs. Dillion.
“Oh, David, let me.” Bridget quickly got up and grabbed the pan from his hands. “This is women’s work. You go have a nice chat with Mrs. Dillion. He smiled at her, their hands touching as he handed her the pan. It made Bridget feel good to help, as she found some lard in an ice chest and put a little into the pan. The eggs sizzled as the wonderful aroma filled the cottage. There were a few bread crusts. Bridget spread apple butter on the almost hard pieces, hoping that the apple butter would soften them up.
After the eggs were cooked, Bridget quickly cleaned the pan and joined David and Mrs. Dillion in the living room. Bridget felt comfortable in the house—a house which, years ago, had been filled with so much love.
It was dark and both Dr. Sullivan and Bridget knew they should leave. An ominous shutter went over Bridget as she said good-bye to Mrs. Dillion. “You can tell it was once a beautiful home,” observed Bridget as the
y walked to the buggy.
“It could be again,” he replied.
The news of Mrs. Dillion’s death came as no surprise. Her funeral was simple but meaningful. Rev. Harris read the 23rd Psalm and spoke of her now being reunited with her husband.
Dr. Sullivan would be moving into the house, just as soon as Rev. Harris and Sheriff Jasper could clear out Mrs. Dillion’s place and Dr. Sullivan could get it furnished.
Dr. Sullivan’s father, Dr. Michael Sullivan, was shipping him a chest and two chairs from Boston which ought to arrive in six months. With the exception of the kitchen table, all of her possessions would be donated to the church bazaar.
The church bazaar would be a week from Saturday, which meant she would again not be able to go home to see her parents. Again, Bridget felt guilty and wished her mother lived closer. She hoped her mother would understand. At least she would be able to give her mother more notice that she wasn’t coming.
She wanted to be at the bazaar because of Mrs. Dillion’s estate being for sale. She hoped she would be able to buy something, but then worried she would be spending her train fare money.
Just like the box social, the church yard was packed. Tables in front of the church were filled with items from Mrs. Dillion’s house. Neatly arranged in categories, Bridget was surprised to see such an array. A lifetime displayed on tables, being touched and looked at by both friends and strangers.
Rev. Harris and Sheriff Jasper were surprised when they brought Mrs. Dillion’s possessions to the church. They didn’t realize how many pretty items and jewelry she had, all neatly packed away in a closet. Then Sheriff Jasper recollected that before her husband had been killed Mrs. Dillion had been, as Sheriff Jasper put it, “one of the most fashionable ladies in town.”
Bridget thought it was both sad and romantic. Mrs. Dillion could have live better had she sold some of her possessions. But the lovely things she had were gifts from her husband. No amount of hunger could have made Mrs. Dillion give up the tangible memories.
Opal was there with her Alfred. They came rushing up to her. Opal was flushed with happiness. “I’m so glad to see you here, Bridget. I have the most wonderful news,” she giggled. “Guess why we’re here.”
“Why.”
“We’re hoping to buy my engagement ring.”
“Oh, Opal, that’s wonderful!”
“I know that Mrs. Dillion had some lovely jewelry. The old timers say that her husband used to buy her jewelry every birthday.”
“I don’t have my mother’s ring to give. So, we thought buying a ring here, a ring that was given to a woman by a man who loved her, would be nice,” said Alfred.
“Isn’t he just so wonderful!,” burbled Opal as she gazed into Alfred’ face. Bridget smiled. Their relationship was wonderful and she hoped they found the ring that would bring them as much happiness as Mr. and Mrs. Dillion had known.
Bridget looked over the tables and was astonished at the pieces of jewelry and other household items, such as vases and little boxes. Bridget didn’t know why Mrs. Dillion had packed them away. Maybe it was because her husband had died. Or, she had simply gotten older and rarely went outside or had company.
A hat box caught her eye and she asked permission to open it. Inside was the most beautiful blue bonnet with blue ribbons that Bridget had ever seen. She gasped and knew immediately that this would be her mother’s dream bonnet. The one her mother had said she had always wanted, but couldn’t afford.
Bridget looked in her coin purse. She had train fare money and little else. “How much is the bonnet?”
“Is for you, dear?” Mrs. Harris smiled as she asked Bridget the question.
“No, ma’am. I was hoping to give it to my mother. She has always longed for a bonnet like that. I need to know the price. I might not be able to afford it.”
“What a sweet gesture,” said Mrs. Harris. “And, you are such a big help to the town. A bonnet for your mother. Of course, she needs that bonnet. Let me see, I know we put a price on that bonnet somewhere, let me see.” Mrs. Harris turned the hat around and upside down and removed a small piece of paper, looked at it, and quickly put the paper in her apron pocket. “Ten cents. The price of the bonnet is ten cents.”
Bridge couldn’t believe her ears. Quickly she picked a dime from her coin purse and gave the money to Mrs. Harris, who placed the bonnet back in it’s box and held it out to Bridget.
“Here, let me carry that for you,” came the familiar voice belonging to Dr. Sullivan. “But, first, what do you think of this necklace? He held out a gold chain holding a gold locket with a diamond in the middle.”
“It’s beautiful,” sighed Bridget.
“I thought so, too. And, what do you think of this,” he asked reaching for a necklace which had a turquoise stone set in the middle of a flower pedal.”
“I like that, too. She had some lovely jewelry. Her husband must have loved her a great deal.”
“Yes, he did. And, I am going to buy this necklace for you.”
“What?” exclaimed Bridget while Mrs. Harris just beamed.
“Why?”
“Because I want to. Isn’t that a good enough reason? Now, you go wait for me by that tree. I’ll be right over.”
Obediently Bridget walked over to the nearby tree. She couldn’t believe her ears. He was buying her a present! Not any present, but a grand present. A necklace. It was the nicest gift she had ever received in her life.
She turned around but David was still talking to Mrs. Harris. She thought it was impolite to watch, so she turned away until she heard the rustle of his footsteps. He had her hat box in one hand and the necklace in the other. Gently he put the hat box on the grass and opened up the necklace clasp. His fingers felt warm on her neck. She could feel his pulse in his fingertips, his heart beat against her neck.
“The turquoise stone is almost the color of your eyes,” he commented as he placed the chain around her neck and hooked the clasp.
He had even noticed the color of her eyes! Bridget was beyond joy.
CHAPTER 15
THE PAST RETURNS
BRIDGET was on her way to the General Store when, from a distance, she saw somebody frantically waving to her. As the woman came closer Bridget recognized Miss Violet from school. They hadn’t seen each other since graduation.
“Bridget, I’m so glad to see you.” The two girls hugged and Bridget couldn’t help notice that Violet seemed overly excited. “I have the most wonderful news! I’m getting married!”
“Who is he? When is the wedding?”
He’s George from the mill. Rev. Harris is going to marry us this afternoon so we can catch the afternoon stagecoach.”
“What? Violet, when did all of his happen? Where are you going? I thought I caught a glimpse of you at the box social. I wish we had talked then.”
“We’ve both been so busy. I know you love your work. Everyone says you are the best typewriter,” gulped Violet trying to catch her breath. “I’m so glad I came here, because this is where I met George. He came down here from upstate because he didn’t think he wanted to farm, like the rest of his family. I thought I wanted to be a typewriter, and I’ve worked to pay back my learning. But, I know now what I really want to be is a wife and mother. George also changed his mind. He’s been working at the mill for almost two years now and he’s ready to go back home.”
“Go back home? Are you sure?” Bridget was shocked that Violet would turn her back on an opportunity to break free from the rigors of farm life.
“Very sure,” was her serious reply. “We’re getting married and then going back to his parent’s place. They are going to give us the plot of land next to them. We can built a cabin on it and farm the rest. It’s exciting. You know, a year from now I could be a mother! That’s what I want. To have George and a lot of babies.
“Being a typewriter is different from what I imagined, although I don’t know what I expected. I just know I found happiness with George and we are both ready to go back
upstate. I would have always wondered if I hadn’t tried to be a typewriter, but now I know that I want to be holding babies, not sitting in front of that machine.”
“As long as you’re happy.”
“I am deliciously happy. I’m so glad I got to see you before I leave. Wish me well.”
As the two girls hugged good-bye, Bridget whispered, “I wish that all of your dreams come true.”
Of the three scholarship winners Bridget realized she was the only one not getting married. As she fingered the necklace David had given her she thought—not yet.
Miss Savannah Katherine Chadwick was in a get even mood. In her target site was one Bridget Hansen. Never mind that Bridget had been nowhere near either Savannah Katherine or her box social meat pot pie, Savannah Katherine just knewthat Bridget must have been responsible for that embarrassing food incident. Now the impertinent working girl typewriter was wearing a necklace given to her by Dr. Sullivan and acting like she belonged. Savannah Katherine was having none of it.
That Friday afternoon Savannah Katherine walked into Dr. Sullivan’s office with the attitude of a general who was about to stage a conquering takeover.
“I need to see Dr. David,” she announced, feigning a cough.
““He’s not here right now. Would you like to make an appointment,” answered Bridget, her words clipped and professional, even though she couldn’t help but notice how Miss Chadwick referred to Dr. Sullivan as ‘Dr. David’.
“When will he be back? I have this cough and my chest hurts. I need him to check my chest.”
