Bridget (The Bridget Series) (6 page)

The hospital was modern with light walls and dark wood for molding, beams, bookcases, and tables.

Dr. Schmidt was eager for the hospital to advance. He was the one who suggested the idea of bringing in women who were called ‘nurses’. Their job was to assist the doctor in treating the patients. Some of the men had at first laughed at him, because nobody took ‘nurses’ seriously.

Prior to the 1800’s, Bridget was told that nursing was a casual profession left to the monks, nuns, and women with low morals who set up make-shift hospitals, usually in churches. Nursing did not become a respected profession until the emergence of Military Nursing during the Crimean War.

Bridget remembered studying the Crimean War in school. She was the only person in the class who wrote down the correct answer; that the war from 1853 to 1856, was fought in Europe, between the Russians and the British, French, and Ottoman Turkish.

Even then many of the nurses were called ‘washer women,’ because all they did was to clean up the blood and filth.

Bridget learned that just a few years earlier some hospitals wouldn’t even let the ‘washer women nurses’ in the hospital. But Dr. Schmidt saw that in the big cities some schools were even giving girls formal training on how to help a doctor in the hospital. Still, many of the nurses were from very poor families because higher class families felt it wasn’t proper for a refined lady to do that kind of work.

Dr. Schmidt disagreed. He said in the future nurses would be important.

The nurses wore white uniforms which were called ‘fever proof’, protecting the nurses from catching any fevers from their patients. The uniforms were also suppose to be a public display of their feminine virtue—being able to treat patients while maintaining a respectable appearance.

The uniforms were a long sleeved dress with a starched collar, ruffled sleeves, covered by a matching starched apron with shoulder straps. Their white frilly hats were tied underneath their chins.

Occasionally, a doctor would put on a white coat or large apron if he thought an operation was going to splatter blood and get him dirty. Most of the time the surgeons would just take off their jacket and roll up their sleeves. If the room was cold, sometimes the doctors even kept their topcoats on.

However, some doctors were also starting to wear white coats because scientists wore them. Scientists and doctors didn’t always get along. Scientists were trying to debunk the tried and true medical treatments, like blood letting. Thus, to appear more up-to-date scientifically, doctors began wearing white coats, too.

If scientists and doctors didn’t always agree, there was no argument that the doctor was the most powerful person in the hospital. Nobody would even think of questioning his opinion or authority. Dr. Schmidt was even important in the town. His opinion was sought by a variety of people on many topics. Bridget felt privileged to be working for such a man.

B
RIDGET sat straight up in
bed. She felt chills knowing somebody was watching her. Quickly she pulled a blanket around her nightgown covered body and stood up. The drapes to her window were drawn. Nobody could see in. Quietly, she opened the bedroom door and peaked out into the hall. Nobody was there.

It must have been a nightmare, Bridget surmised, and got back into bed. Unable to shake the feeling that somebody had been looking at her, she was unable to fall back to sleep.

“You look tired, dear. Didn’t you sleep well?” Mrs. Schmidt placed a big plate of ham, potatoes and eggs on the table.

“I must have had a nightmare. I woke up thinking somebody was staring at me.”

“What?” Mrs. Schmidt was so shocked at the thought that she stopped filling the individual plates with her flavorful cooking.

“I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t see anybody. It was just a powerful feeling that somebody was watching me.”

“We’ve never had any prowlers,” reassured Mrs. Schmidt as she set a filled plate in front of Bridget and offered her some toast.

“I know. It must have been a bad dream,” said Bridget trying to convince herself.

“You’d better hurry and eat because Dr. Schmidt is already at the hospital seeing patients. He’ll be at the office with a lot of notes for you to type up.”

“You’re right,” agreed Bridget who was having a difficult time trying to banish her fears. She would concentrate on typing up Dr. Schmidt’s notes. The hospital was finding it a big help to have readable, typed words to follow, rather than the handwriting of a doctor who scribbled.

It was an easy two block walk to Dr. Schmidt’s office, but this morning’s walk was different. Bridget had an ominous feeling. Even the maple trees looked eerie. Bridget couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. A couple of times she suddenly turned around, but nobody was there. Bridget had never been accused of having a vivid imagination and, as far as she was concerned, she didn’t need to acquire one now.

The door to Dr. Schmidt’s office was securely locked. Bridget unlocked the door and breathed a sigh of relief to find the office exactly as she had left it the night before. She went to her desk and next to her typewriter placed a stack of notes she needed to type, as well as several letters Dr. Schmidt had requested be posted as soon as possible. She would concentrate on typing rather than on invisible prying eyes.

Dr. Schmidt looked harried when he arrived. “There’s been a serious accident in the dynamite area where they are clearing for a road. I need to get out there,” he said as he packed extra medical supplies into his bag. “You can take care of things around here. I don’t know what time tonight I’ll be back. When you go home tell Mrs. Schmidt that I might be very late, depending on what I find at the blasting site.”

The construction area was a dangerous place. There were a lot of accidents. The blasting jobs paid well. What sounded like easy money caused a lot of men to lie about their qualifications, saying they had blasting experience when they didn’t. Bridget had been typing up a report Dr. Schmidt was writing about the problem, with suggestions on how to have questions for prospective employees that would test their skill in knowing how to load dynamite. Dr. Schmidt was working with some people at City Hall in writing rules that the blasting company would have to follow, if they wanted to do any more business in the nearby area.

When the accidents happened, people were killed or had their arms or legs blown off. It was a serious problem and Bridget was glad Dr. Schmidt was determined to improve the working conditions. It seemed to Bridget that she had more rules when she was at school learning the typewriter than the men did at the blasting site.

With no patients coming in today, Bridget spent the time getting caught up on her typing. The evening train was due to arrive, so Bridget knew it was near quitting time. She went into Dr. Schmidt’s office, placing the neatly typed pages on his desk.

She gasped when she returned to the front room to find a man in the doorway. He stepped forward and closed the door. Bridget was fearful. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Bridget, don’t you remember me? You hurt my feelings, not remembering me.”

Bridget’s stare was intense. Trying to keep her voice steady she replied, “No.” Suddenly the man began moving around as he punched the air with his fists. “Boxer?”

“The one and the same. How you been, kid? It looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself.”

“Boxer!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. She hadn’t seen him since they were foraging for themselves on the New York City streets. When she first arrived in Oklahoma she sometimes wondered what happened to him and the rest of the gang, but quickly she put those days behind her. If she kept thinking about the bad times she wouldn’t be able to go on into the future. Now, here he was, this part of her past. The past that turned her into ‘Orphan Train Bridget’. Suddenly, Bridget was scared that her secret would be disclosed. She feared she would never be just ‘Bridget.’

“Where have you been? How did you get here?”

“I was too old to get on the Orphan Train, so I just worked my way in this direction.” His gaze circled the room.

“If someplace was good, I stayed there until it wasn’t good any more. I came here because a guy I know wrote me they got big paying jobs loading dynamite. He said I didn’t need any experience and he’d get me on a crew. Then the bum goes and gets himself killed in an explosion a few weeks ago, only I didn’t know until I got here. I heard they had another explosion today.”

“Yes,” that’s why Dr. Schmidt isn’t here.” Immediately Bridget wished she hadn’t let Boxer know that she was alone.

“You look real fine, Bridget,” he said as she felt his eyes look through her clothes. “You must be making a lot of money, working for an important doctor and all.”

“I’m working off my training. Dr. Schmidt paid for my schooling,” she stammered feeling increasingly more uncomfortable.

“You also spend a lot of time going to and from the hospital.”

Bridget felt a shiver of terror go down her spine. “How do you know that?”

A smirk crossed his face. “I’ve seen ya.”

“Seen me?”

“Yeah, you’re a pretty sight to see. Been here a couple of days, and I’ve had my eye on you.”

Bridget’s hands felt ice cold and she could feel her heart pounding, as if signaling a call for help. For a moment Bridget couldn’t find her voice. Then she managed to ask, “Where have you been staying?”

“Oh, you know me, I can sink into cracks. I find my way around. Didn’t take me any time to locate where you live and work. Nice place, that Schmidt house. Did you know that there is a corner where your curtains don’t quite cover the window.”

Bridget could hear herself gasp.

“They must have plenty of money. Look Bridget, I ain’t got the job I was promised. I need some money. You can get that for me.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Remember that winter I kept you warm? I stole for you.” Boxer moved even closer and his voice took on an intimidating tone. “You owe me.”

He rubbed his finger along the ruffle on top of her shoulder. Suddenly, Bridget felt dirty. She was almost overcome by an awful feeling that scared her, the way that thinking somebody was watching her had made her feel this morning. Knowing that Boxer had been outside peeking through her window panicked her and she wanted to run. As she thought about making a dash for the door, Boxer put his foot between her two feet and she knew she was trapped. “Money, Bridget.”

“I don’t have any,”

“That doctor you work for has plenty.”

“I can’t ask Dr. Schmidt for money.”

“Then, don’t ask him.”

“You’re asking me to steal.”

“You owe me, Bridget,” Boxer repeated, only this time his voice was forceful, demanding.

“No, I can’t,” Bridget pleaded.

“Well then, you don’t have to steal to give me a few kisses. Every been kissed, Bridget?”

She reached her hands upward to push him away. “Don’t you ever push me away,” growled Boxer as her grabbed her shoulders.

Bridget didn’t remember screaming, she just recalled hearing a piercing sound bounce around the room. She turned her head away from him as Boxer tried to force himself on her. Her foot slipped and she went crashing to the floor. Boxer was on top of her as she struggled to free herself.

Suddenly there was a commotion as a strange arm grabbed Boxer from behind and pulled him off of her, enabling Bridget to get to her knees. She watched in horror as Boxer and that stranger fought.

Then Bridget looked up and saw Sheriff Jasper race inside. “I heard you scream, Bridget.” Sheriff Jasper forcefully grabbed Boxer, as the other man let go of Boxer’s neck, permitting Sheriff Jasper to take over.

“I’ve been wondering when this guy would show up. I got a telegram this morning warning me that he might be headed this way. He’s wanted for burglary in several cities,” added Sheriff Jasper as he handcuffed Boxer and led him off to jail.

“He won’t be bothering you any more,” announced the good looking, young stranger as he glanced towards Bridget. Looking at her crumbled up on the floor, he extended his hand. “Are you okay? Permit me to help you up.”

“Thank you,” was her dazed answer as she took his hand and got to her feet. She felt a warmth in his touch that she had never before experienced.

“You must be Bridget.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“I’m the new doctor, here to assist Dr. Schmidt. I just arrived on the evening train. My name is Dr. Sullivan, but you can call me David.”

B
RIDGET hadn’t been aware that
there were so many pretty girls living in Canyonville. Not just pretty, but possessing extra sensory perception that transmitted instant information—a handsome, successful, eligible bachelor had ventured into their territory. The hunt was on.

Sitting at her typewriter Bridget ticked off Dr. Sullivan’s qualities: tender, kind, handsome, smart, an up-and-coming successful doctor, her hero for having saved her from Boxer. Being his wife would be such a …

“Bridget, Bridget, Bridget!” Bridget snapped out of her dreams to find blacksmith Floyd Legstrom standing in front of her. “My wife thinks the baby is coming.”

“I’ll go get a midwife.” Bridget ran the two blocks to the hospital and told them they needed to get a midwife over to the Legstrom home. Walking back to Dr. Schmidt’s office she scolded herself for daydreaming about Dr. Sullivan, rather than doing her typing.

She sat down at her machine and diligently began typing, actually managing to complete two pages before her mind began to tally up the enemy. There was Sally Ronjak. Her father, Jacob, owned the largest ranch in the area. Robert Grann owned the lumber yard. His daughter, Elisa, was on Dr. Sullivan’s trail. And then there was Savannah Katherine, daughter of the mill owner, John Chadwick. Bridget had never officially met any of them, but she already knew that Savannah Katherine Chadwick was a force to be reckoned with.

One of the doctors, who was studying how humans act like animals, had a photograph of a gorilla at the hospital. The gorilla was waving her arms flicking its hair, walking while swaying its hips. The words by the picture said that was the female gorilla’s way of attracting the male gorilla.