by Laura Deni
As far as she was concerned winning a full scholarship should have been considered an accomplishment for any student. She feared that she would never be viewed as anything other than an Orphan Train child.
It was Rev. Caldwell who had come to their home a few days earlier to tell her parents that Bridget was one of three to receive a full scholarship. Bridget hadn’t been home at the time. She was running an errand for her mother, taking some apples and potatoes to the neighboring Vaughn family who lived about a mile away.
She returned home with one of Mrs. Vaughn’s coconut cakes. The two families frequently exchanged food. If one had harvested too much of one food, the Hansens and the Vaughns would work out some type of an exchange. It seemed to work out well for both families.
When Bridget arrived her mother told her the good news, hugged her, and the two danced around the room. Suddenly her Pa limped outside. As the door closed he looked at Bridget and only said one word, “Good.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have danced in front of him,” suggested Bridget.
“I’ll talk to him,” said Bridget’s Mother as she glanced towards the closed door. “After the accident … after he couldn’t walk right and couldn’t dance at the weekly dances anymore, he became a different man,” was her hesitate, melancholy reply. Then, as if speaking to herself, she softly said, “We so used to enjoy those dances.”
Getting ready to move to Canyonville gave Bridget mixed feelings. She was anxious to make something of herself. Yet, she would miss this woman whom she had come to know as ‘mother’. Mother and daughter gathered Bridget’s few possessions and prepared them for packing.
It wasn’t the first time that Bridget’s life would be forever changed by a train ride. Only, this time Bridget looked forward to the future.
Bridget was so excited that she had little memory of the train ride. At the Canyonville depot she recognized a few faces from the testing session. Most of the students had come from other parts of the state and would return to their hometown to find work. Only Bridget and the other two scholarship winners would remain in Canyonville after graduation.
All of the students would call each other by their first names, placing a ‘Miss’ in front. Bridget would be called Miss Bridget. Students would wear black skirts and white blouses, which the school provided. Each student would also wear a black apron, so that if the typewriter ribbon ink came off on their fingers, the students wouldn’t get their clothes stained with the permanent color.
There was a lot of nervous giggling when the new group of students went on a field trip to Miss Nancy’s Shoppe, which sold ready made clothing including hats, gloves and shoes. Important women shopped at Miss Nancy’s. If Miss Nancy didn’t have what you wanted in stock, there was a big catalogue where shoppers could order what they wanted. Bridget discovered that you could order clothing in different colors and sizes. “The best people buy here,” bragged Miss Nancy. “The mayor’s wife, the doctor’s wife, the wife of the bank president. All of the fashionable wives of successful men.”
The girls tried on their school uniforms. Bridget looked at herself in the mirror and actually liked how she looked. Adult. Proper. Smart.
She ran her fingers through her hair and momentarily wondered how she could fix it to make herself look pretty.
Then her thoughts returned to putting on her apron. She needed to concentrate on mastering the courses. Fixing her hair would have to wait.
School would last for four months, Monday through Saturday. Rules were strict. The three scholarship winners would stay at Greenview Manor. They would walk together to the school and return together in the evening. There was no free time, except on Sundays—after church.
As the weeks went by Bridget became friendly with Miss Opal and Miss Violet.
Bridget didn’t want to get too close for fear they would ask her questions about her background. Fortunately, most of their conversation centered on school—or boys.
Neither Miss Opal nor Miss Violet had a beau. They were hoping that being able to find a good job would help them meet a suitable husband. Bridget longed to be just ‘Bridget’, rather than ‘Bridget Orphan Train’. Nobody in Canyonville knew of her beginning. She, too, wondered what it would be like to have a husband and children. Bridget smiled as she remembered the day her mother had taught her to use apple peels to see the first letter of the name of the man she would marry. She remembered her peel had formed a “D”.
Getting too caught up in her dreams, Bridget banished those thoughts from her mind. She needed to be able to take care of herself. Bridget decided she had to concentrate on her studies—learning how to be a help to a man in an office—not looking for a man to marry.
In school there was a lot to learn that had nothing to do with a typewriter. The class in Deportment and Office Etiquette seemed to take up almost as much time as learning how to type and file.
They were taught that if their boss walked into the office smelling of tobacco, they should keep an atomizer in their desk drawer filled with either Lilac Vegetal or Bay Rum men’s cologne. They would purchase that from the barber shop and not expect to be reimbursed, because it was for their benefit. When they helped their boss off with his coat, they should gently spray the coat once, but never more than twice, with the atomizer. That would make the office air easier to breathe.
They should never walk into their boss’s office without first knocking and being told to enter.
They should never repeat anything their boss tells them or anything they overhear. Anything that is said in the office is private.
They should be quick to fetch their boss coffee or tea or whatever beverage he requested. If they had a boss that preferred hard spirits and that lingering odor was offensive to them, the class received a demonstration on how to put some vinegar on a handkerchief and breathe through the cloth. The vinegar would mask the smell of the alcohol.
Bridget wondered what she had gotten herself into, but she was determined to see it through and succeed.
CHAPTER 7
GRADUATION
GRADUATION day was approaching. Bridget had received a letter from her mother saying that Pa had given her permission to come to the ceremony.
Bridget was thrilled. That meant that her mother would also be able to see where she would be living and meet the family, Dr. and Mrs. Schmidt. Bridget had just learned that she would also be working for Dr. Schmidt, since he was one of the sponsors of the school program.
Bridget’s Mother had never been on a train. She was as nervous as if she was flying like a bird to the moon. She brought with her an apple pie. Bridget’s Mother had always enjoyed the happy times when the two of them would sit at the table peeling the apples and making pies.
She wiped a tear away when she realized that Bridget was going to be living 25 miles away and they might never again bake a pie together. Pa drove her to the train station and even stayed until the train began its journey.
The train seats weren’t as hard as the buckboard or the stagecoach. Bridget’s Mother took a window seat so she could enjoy the scenery. Some of the passengers nodded or smiled to her and she began to relax. The train jerked and suddenly they were moving. The scenery whizzed by. Bridget’s Mother wondered how fast they were traveling. It seemed that the fastest horse with the best rider wouldn’t have been able to keep up.
The train engineer came down the aisle, looking at and punching tickets. When she asked him how fast they were going he nonchalantly said, “Oh, about 30 miles per hour.”
“Thirty miles per hour!”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll pick up speed. You’ll be at your stop on time. We should be there in 45 minutes.”
Bridget’s Mother chuckled to herself. He thought she had been complaining that they were traveling too slow. “My, the world is getting fast,” Bridget’s Mother replied as she put her ticket back in her purse. She watched in disbelief as the fields, cattle and grass almost blended into one long mural.
Bridget was wait
ing at the station when the train pulled in. Several passengers got off and for a fleeting moment Bridget was worried that her mother wasn’t on the train. Since her mother wasn’t spending the night, there wouldn’t be a suitcase, so where what she? What had gone wrong? Suddenly, Bridget jumped up and down and waved as she saw her mother carefully step down the train steps tenderly cradling a bundle in her arms.
“I brought you an apple pie.”
“I’ve sure missed your pies! The food at Greenview isn’t anything like yours.”
“Where will you eat when you move in with this new family—the Schmidts?”
“Mrs. Schmidt is suppose to be a great cook. Their house always seems to smell like cinnamon or oranges. You’ll like her and I can’t wait for her to taste your apple pie!”
Bridget motioned for one of the buggy drivers and they headed for the Schmidt home. They would go there first so Bridget’s Mother could meet the family and see where Bridget would be living. Then Bridget and her mother would head over to the graduation. Dr. and Mrs. Schmidt would also be there, since he was one of the sponsors.
Bridget would also be working for Dr. Schmidt who was not only the first town doctor, but a very important physician at the hospital, which was the only hospital within a 50 mile radius. Bridget’s job would be to manage his office. Typing his patient and hospital notes, filing and running errands. Dr. Schmidt was also bringing in a new associate, a young doctor who was coming from Boston. Bridget would also type his medical notes. She didn’t know what all that entailed, but she was eager to start.
Dr. Schmidt’s office was between his home and the hospital, about two blocks on either side, so it would be easy for Bridget to make the daily trip from office to hospital and back again. Dr. Schmidt and his wife had almost the biggest house in town. Bridget thought maybe the mayor’s house was a little bigger, but not by much. The house had plenty of room for guests or boarders. Bridget would have a bedroom on the ground floor. Mrs. Schmidt was a kind woman who loved to fuss over people. Rumors had it that she was a great cook. If you stayed in her home she’d serve you a breakfast you couldn’t begin to finish—but did because it tasted so good.
Mrs. Schmidt greeted Bridget and her mother with open arms. “Welcome, welcome. Come inside.”
“My mother brought you one of her apple pies,” said Bridget nodding for her mother to give the pie to Mrs. Schmidt.
“Oh, what a pleasure. How nice of you to bring it all this way. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to balance it on your lap for the entire trip.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned towards the kitchen. “Come in here and I’ll put the pie by the stove so it can get nice and warm while I get out the plates.”
The three ate warm apple pie, washing it down with milk and coffee. They spoke of lighthearted pleasant things—how the train trip had been and how well Bridget had done in school. And, Mrs. Schmidt thought that apple pie was the best she had ever eaten. Bridget’s Mother felt good about Bridget staying there.
Bridget’s room was large. There was a nice bed, a table and bowl for washing and a bureau, plus a closet. Bridget was delighted to see a full length mirror. There were even nice pictures on the wall. She felt secure and was glad her mother had been able to come to her graduation, and see where she would be living.
“We hope you’ll be happy here,” said Mrs. Schmidt putting her arm around Bridget’s waist as she gave an approving look to Bridget’s Mother. “If you need anything, you just ask. Dr. Schmidt is very pleased with how well you did in school. You can be a big help to him. He’s a wonderful man, but he does have the worst handwriting anybody has ever seen,” she said with a hearty laugh. “So, if you can’t read his handwriting, don’t be afraid to ask him what it is that he wrote down.”
Bridget and her mother headed over to the school building, which is where the graduation would be held. Mrs. Schmidt was waiting for Dr. Schmidt to come home from the hospital. Then they would also walk over to the school.
The graduation ceremony was beautiful. All of the graduates sat on stage. Feet on the floor, erect, shoulders back, and hands folded in their laps.
The instructor spoke of the difficult program in mastering the typewriter, learning to properly file and manage what they called short hand. To emphasize that, she mentioned that at the beginning of the program the class was almost twice as large. Many couldn’t pass the weekly tests and dropped out.
Then, in alphabetical order, the name of each graduate was announced. She would stand, walk across the stage, receive a flower and her diploma, then return to her chair.
“Miss Bridget Hansen … Miss Bridget Hansen,” repeated the instructor as Bridget sensed others on the stage turning to look in her direction.
Bridget jumped up. They had to read her name twice before she realized they meant her. For so long she had been ‘Bridget Riley’, then ‘Bridget the Orphan Train Girl’. Now, it was simply ‘Miss Bridget Hansen’.
She looked at her diploma and there it was in beautiful script writing: Miss Bridget Hansen. She really was a Hansen. For a fleeting moment she thought of her original parents and hoped they wouldn’t have minded that she no longer used the name Riley.
After the ceremony there was a nice reception with tiny sandwiches, cookies, punch and coffee. Bridget enjoyed introducing her classmates to her mother. “Sarah, I’d like you to meet my mother.” Not my adopted mother, but ‘my mother.’
“So, you’re Bridget’s mother,” smiled a woman as she came over to chat. “I’ve heard so many lovely comments about your daughter.”
Bridget’s Mother smiled and relaxed. For everyone, it was a very good afternoon.
Taking her mother to the train was a bittersweet experience. “I plan to come home once a month,” Bridget said, offering her mother an encouraging look. “If I watch my budget, I should be able to afford the 50 cents fare. I could take the Friday night train and then return Sunday.” “That would be wonderful,” was her mother’s soft, choked up reply.
“This has been such a special day. And, do you know, not once in this town has anybody called me ‘Orphan Train Bridget’. It’s always ‘Miss Bridget.’”
“I noticed that, too. We were introduced as mother and daughter, not ‘Mrs. Hansen and her Orphan Train daughter’. That’s such a special feeling—being somebody’s mother. Being your mother. I wish it had been that way in town. But, you just can’t stop some people from talking. There are people who don’t want you to be happy. People who get joy out of hurting others.”
“That’s one of the best parts of being here, that maybe I’ll be able to stop being ‘Orphan Train Bridget’ and be just ‘Bridget’.”
“Something else, too. Maybe this is where you are going to meet your special fellow. Remember the apple peels,” smiled Bridget’s Mother. “Keep your eye out for a man whose name begins with “D”.
CHAPTER 8
A PRIVILEGE TO BE WORKING FOR SUCH A MAN
BRIDGET had never been inside a hospital. She already knew that people only went to the hospital if they needed surgery or caught something that somebody else could catch. Most gun shot wounds were taken care of in the doctor’s office. If a horse or a fist fight got the better of you, then you’d go to the hospital to have the bones set. Most of the small surgeries, like taking out tonsils, were done in the patient’s home using the kitchen table. Mostly, you tended to yourself at home.
For a moment Bridget wondered if the parents she had when she was small died in a hospital or somewhere else. Then she forced herself not to think about that. Every since she moved here nobody had called her ‘Orphan Train Bridget’, so Bridget surmised that nobody in this town knew about her past. Maybe she would be able to just be herself.
The staff took pleasure in being able to show Bridget around the hospital offices. There was a special location where she could pick up mail that needed to be dropped off at the post office and check to see if any mail had arrived for the hospital. There was another box where the doctors w
ould place their written notes for Bridget to type.
Bridget learned she was fortunate to be living in a time when so many improvements had occurred in the medical profession. Hospitals were now safe, because doctors learned they needed to wash their hands.
A man named Joseph Lister discovered how antiseptics would prevent infections. Doctors were then taught that before performing surgery, they must clean not only their hands properly, but also clean their instruments with the antiseptics.
Before Joseph Lister had come along, doctors would operate with dirty instruments. Most patients would live for a couple of days and a few struggled on for months, but would then die from infection.
The hospital officials were in awe of the medical advances which had occurred just since the beginning of the 1800’s. Bridget got out her pad and paper and took notes.
Soon it became apparent to Bridget that doctors liked to get credit. It seems that an American surgeon, Crawford W. Long, used ether as a general anesthetic during surgery but, unfortunately, didn’t publish that fact. Then along came dentist William Morton who did the same thing, but wrote down what he had done and published the information. He got the credit.
That was one of the reasons Bridget was at the hospital. To make sure that Dr. Schmidt and any other doctor received the credit they deserved. She was to document everything.
Even doctors who didn’t do research wanted to make sure there was a record that they had washed their hands and cleaned their instruments.
Bridget felt that someday every doctor’s office would have a typewriter—and somebody who knew how to use it. Bridget was beginning to comprehend that her job was important. Gradually, Bridget was awakening to the thought that she could matter, both to herself and to others.