Bridget (The Bridget Series) (2 page)

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.

B
RIDGET 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’”

E
STELLE 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, wished 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.”

Grace’s complexion turned pale and her handkerchief whipped around as she fanned herself faster and faster.

Pa was waiting when they arrived home and limped over to help with the bags.

“Nice to see you, cousins.”

“It’s been a long time,” said Grace.

“There certainly are a lot of changes,” said Alice rolling her eyes towards Bridget.

“Yep. Estelle will have dinner in a little. The table is already set.”

Bridget wished she didn’t have to go into the house. Yet, in an odd way, she didn’t want her mother to have to go through the evening without her. After dinner Pa drove Alice and Grace back to the hotel. Bridget didn’t know what kind of a memory problem Grace was having, but she wished she could forget both of them.

The minute her mother heard the horse’s hoofs move away from the house she grabbed Bridget and hugged her. “I’m so sorry they said those things. You’re the only daughter I will ever have and I don’t regret taking you in.”

T
HE seasons flew by. Spring
brought butterflies, lightening bugs and the birth of many new animals. Her new parents were especially happy to see the arrival of a new foal. They always hoped for a regular rainfall, to ensure plenty of grass for the animals and a good harvest of spring crops.

The hot summer gave a hint as to whether the fall crop would flourish or dry up. The arrival of fall meant beautifully colored leaves and nutritional vegetables. The snow and winds of winter could be daunting but Bridget was beginning to collect warm memories of Christmas.

Bridget’s mother had made her a new skirt with matching hair ribbons. Her Pa got his wife a music box, which made her cry tears of joy. Bridget and her mother bought Pa some tobacco for his pipe. They would go to church on Christmas day, along with the rest of the town. Afterwards, they went home where they made popcorn and hot chocolate.

At home her
mother taught her to make biscuits—cut in the lard carefully, don’t stir more than necessary and don’t over roll. She learned that her mother always wished for a bonnet with lots of ribbons but was afraid to ask for such a luxurious item. Bridget discovered that her mother liked all shades of blue and had once won a school spelling contest, even though she had to leave school at age 11 to help on her parents’ farm.

Her Pa also had to cut short his schooling to help on his family’s farm. Even so, she knew little more about him than she had on the first day of their meeting.

Bridget and her mother went to the sink to do the dishes. Bridget pumped the water in to a pot and placed it on the stove to heat so they could wash the dishes.

Her mother gathered the dishes and Bridget added soap and poured the hot water over the dishes. The two women, the almost strangers known as mother and daughter, stood side by side over the remains of life eaten at the dinner table, deciding what to keep and what needed to be thrown away.

“How did you two meet?” Bridget suddenly blurted out.

“Our parents knew each other. They thought it would be good. One day his family came to dinner and our parents talked about it. We, your Pa and I, didn’t have much to say. I don’t know what I would have said. So, it was arranged, because they said it was time. That we both needed to be married and that way we would all be close by, to take care of each other.” Bridget’s Mother wasn’t complaining, just relating reality.

“When I was small I used to hear about weddings with brides in beautiful gowns. I’d pretend that one day I’d be a bride in a beautiful gown. There wasn’t money for material to make a dress and before I got married I’d never owned a store bought dress. We just stood up before the preacher. I wore a dress like the one I got on,” she said running her fingers around the material of her simple cotton housedress.

“He’s nice, yer Pa. He really is. He’s never been mean to me. He never blamed me for our not having any children—of our own.”

“He never says anything,” said Bridget sounding perplexed.

“He used to talk more,” answered her mother who paused, remembering. “We used to dance.”

“Dance?” exclaimed Bridget. “When? How could he, with that leg?”

“We went to the church dance every week. It was so much fun. Your Pa could jig his way around the room faster and better than any of them. We’d just fly!”

Bridget noticed that her mother’s face had taken on a faraway look. “What happened?”

“After the plowing accident he couldn’t dance any more. The doctor said he was the luckiest man alive that he didn’t lose his leg.” Bridget’s Mother sighed deeply and she began rubbing the dishes extra hard.

“I didn’t know,” Bridget softly replied and began putting away the dishes her mother had dried. Bridget turned away from looking at her mother, thinking that perhaps she had overstepped her boundaries in asking too many questions.