by Laura Deni
“If you think you’re coming down with something contagious, then you should go right to the hospital.”
“I’m not contagious,” snapped Savannah Katherine. Then, as a mountain lion sizes up its prey, Savannah Katherine stared at Bridget’s necklace. “I heard that Dr. David gave you a token gift. Isn’t that sweet of him. What a cute little trinket. I think I heard him say he bought it for you to thank you for your work. My Daddy says you must always remember the help. I was told Dr. David bought it second hand at the church bazaar. He must not have paid very much for it.”
Suddenly Bridget felt precarious.
“I understand those other two typewriters got married. How wonderful for them. Of course, you can’t expect the same for yourself, I’m sure you know that. Not considering your background. After all, no man with any self respect would marry a woman who came from the Orphan Train. Didn’t you live on the streets, eating from garbage cans, begging and stealing? Didn’t you even sell rags? Such a hard life. You have to understand that no man of any breeding is going to want you. It would be so much easier for you if you just learned to keep your place. Considering where you came from, you must be proud that you have become a typewriter.” Savannah Katherine’s tone was insulting, patronizing, and sneaky.
Bridget was left speechless, but she could feel her body sink into despair.
Savannah Katherine smirked as she said, “Tell Dr. David I was in and I’m concerned I’m getting a cold. Perhaps he could make a house call and come over and listen to my chest.”
Then she disappeared into the blur of horse dust, crossing the street in a victory walk.
Bridget felt her world fall apart. She wanted to run. To get away. Savannah Katherine was right. No respectable man would ever want her. Certainly not a doctor, nor his influential Boston family.
It was beyond humiliation.
Fortunately, neither Dr. Schmidt nor Dr. Sullivan returned to the office that afternoon. She didn’t know how she could ever again face Dr. Sullivan. They knew. How did they know? Why didn’t they tell her they knew?
She locked up and quickly walked home.
“What happened, dear?” asked Mrs. Schmidt instantly noticing that Bridget was not only distraught, but seemed to have been crying.
Bridget’s tone was straight forward confronting: “Do you know my background?”
Mrs. Schmidt saw Bridget’s anguished expression and swollen eyes. Gently she took her hand and led her to a chair. “Do you mean that you were adopted from the Orphan Train?”
“Yes. Why didn’t you tell me you knew? Who told you?”
“I didn’t mention it because it doesn’t matter.”
“How long have you known?”
“I guess since before you came. When you applied to test for the scholarship the school sent your records. Your school records show that the Hansens adopted you from the Orphan Train.”
“Probably the whole town knows.” Mrs. Schmidt was matter-of-fact as she sat down opposite Bridget. “There was a town meeting to decide how many girls to sponsor and which girls should be permitted to test for the scholarships. Your grades were excellent. You received wonderful letters of recommendation from your teacher and your town’s minister. That’s all that mattered to any of us.”
“Miss Chadwick came in.”
“Say no more,” interrupted Mrs. Schmidt. “Her father probably told her because he was at the meeting. These young ladies aren’t always nice. There’s always going to be people who want to ruin your happiness. It’s hard not to let them tear you down. They are putting you down because they can’t pull themselves up. That doesn’t mean you can change them,” Mrs. Schmidt cautioned. “That doesn’t mean they won’t bother you. It just means that you have to be so involved in your own life that they don’t matter to you.”
“That’s hard,” was Bridget’s anguished reply.
“I know, but if they make you that unhappy then you need to think about what you really want. Dr. Sullivan isn’t going anywhere and neither are Savannah Katherine, Eliza, Sally, or any of the others. He needs to find his own heart. Yes, every girl in town is going to view him as the most eligible catch. You can’t blame them. You see him that way, too.”
Bridget’s hurt engulfed the room. “They want to marry him so they can be a doctor’s wife. I want to marry him because I want to be his wife.”
“Nobody can tell you what to do,” said Mrs. Schmidt. “Just know that we want you here. You are part of this community. But, most of all we want you happy. I understand when there’s a man involved, it’s even harder. I don’t know what’s in his heart. You have to face the fact that he could end up with somebody else, not you, not Miss Chatwick, but somebody else. He could wed another and you’d still have to see him day in and day out. Is that going to make you miserable? Only you can decide.”
“If it was somebody from far away, like Boston, it would be easier, I guess. But, not Savannah Katherine.” Bridget made a face just saying her name, as though somebody had put vinegar on her tongue.
“Have you talked to Dr. Sullivan about the way you feel? Did you tell him what Miss Chadwick told you?”
Bridge shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen him. Besides, I couldn’t do anything like that.”
“Well, dear,” Mrs. Schmidt said patting Bridget’s hands, “if this is the first anybody has mentioned this to you, then that ought to tell you that nobody here cares if you came from an Orphan Train or from a cabbage patch. Miss Chadwick has just found a way to upset you. If she knows she has the power to upset you, she’ll just keep at it.
“But, I do know that right now Dr. Schmidt has a big project for you which might take your mind off of this. It even means that you can spend a week with your parents.”
As the front door opened, Dr. Schmidt’s distinctive footsteps announced that he was home. “I’ll let Dr. Schmidt explain it to you.”
Bridget tried to quickly wipe her eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the tears.
“I’m glad you’re here, Bridget,” said Dr. Schmidt as he joined her at the table. “Did you get something in your eyes?”
“No, sir. I’m fine.”
“Good, because I need you to help. Doc Patterson from your home town has a problem. All of the supplies he ordered were stolen when the stagecoach got robbed last week. And, those fellers using dynamite are now working closer to your town, so he needs to be prepared for accidents. Not that he’s going to be able to do much. Just bury the dead and try to bandage up the lucky ones who still have breathe in ‘em.
“I’ve fixed up some boxes of supplies for him. What we need you to do is take the boxes to him. Then you unpack the boxes, and get everything placed properly, just like I have in my office. You’ll need to write down exactly what is in the boxes and how much, so Doc Patterson can keep track of what he uses and on which patient.”
Doc Patterson was the town blacksmith, veterinarian and local doctor working on both animals and people. Bridget had never been sure if he was a real doctor, or had just picked up some knowledge as he went along. He seemed to know a lot, and far as she could tell, he never caused anybody any harm.
“Especially those elixirs,” continued Dr. Schmidt. “I wrote him a letter warning him about those elixirs. Some of the women here are taking just too much of that stuff. I think they end up plum forgetting what ailed them in the first place. They just know they need that elixir no matter what. Why, Mrs. Stutz let her dinner burn because she thought she could run down to the druggist for some more and get back home in time.”
Bridget had also wondered about the popularity of those tonics. The men seemed to go for whiskey while the women were a steady stream into the druggist, getting their daily dose.
“We’re going to pay your round trip train fare. Since the trains don’t run Monday through Thursday, you’re going to have to leave first thing in the morning. Then you can come back on the week from Sunday morning train.
“I’m sure you’ll be glad to see yo
ur folks. This will give you a little more than a week to spend with them, and to get Doc Patterson’s office looking like a doctor’s office. Maybe someday your town will get big enough to need a real doctor, but right now Doc Patterson is going to have to do.”
“I’ll drive you to the train.” Bridget’s hand automatically reached up to touch the necklace Dr. Sullivan had given her. “David has his hands full at the hospital. Four cowboys with more whiskey in them than sense got into a gun fight and all of them took a bunch of bullets. Two are probably going to die. David is going to be picking bullets out of the other two for the rest of the night.”
He sighed as he accepted a cup of coffee that his wife handed him. “I don’t know if they were fighting over a woman, a horse or some gold. Or, if they even know what triggered it, but they wasted a lot of good bullets.”
“You need to get a few things packed, and try to get some sleep. We’ll need to leave early in the morning. I already took the boxes for Doc Patterson down to the station. I also sent him a telegram that you’re coming, so he’ll be at the station to meet you.”
“Don’t forget the bonnet you bought for your mother,” added Mrs. Schmidt as she noticed her husband quietly motioning for her to follow him into the other room.
Bridget got up, went to her room and got ready to go home.
“I heard all about it,” he whispered in his wife’s ear. “That Chatwick girl just can’t keep her mouth shut.”
“She’s too sweet on herself, that Chadwick girl,” Mrs. Schmidt whispered back. “It will do Bridget good to see her folks.”
“Yeah, and Doc needs those supplies.”
Bridget didn’t remember packing last night, although she assumed she must have put something in the carpet bag she was carrying. “Here, dear, remember your mother’s bonnet,” said Mrs. Schmidt handing the box to Bridget. “You didn’t eat a speck for breakfast, so you take this sandwich with you.”
“Thank you.” Bridget tried to manage a smile, but it was tight and strained.
As Dr. Schmidt guided his buggy to a stop and helped Bridget down, he pulled a fat letter from his pocket. “I’ve written a note for Doc which is very important for him to open and read. Make sure you give it to him.”
Bridget took the letter and put it with her sandwich. “I will. And, thank you. Thank your wife for me.”
“We’ll see you in a week.”
Bridget wasn’t so sure.
CHAPTER 16
GOING HOME
THE train couldn’t move fast enough to suit Bridget. One of the women passengers was claiming to feel faint, brought on by the experience of traveling so fast. Bridget was sure she was just trying to catch the attention of the man seated across from her.
Bridget just wanted to get home. For the first time since the Orphan Train had left her there, the tiny town that had accepted her felt like home.
She stroked the hat box lid. She hoped her mother would like the hat.
Then her thoughts returned to the problem. How would she tell her mother and Pa that she couldn’t return to Canyonville. What kind of work could she find? Where else could she go? Cripple Creek was about 15 miles in the other direction. She’d never been there and didn’t know if they needed a lady typewriter. But then she would have to find a place to stay and pay room and board. It all looked pretty hopeless.
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 o
kay?”
“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.
