by Tanya Jolie
Chapter 10
When Moya arrived for work later that morning, Bridget decided to approach him about how he was injured and what he remembered. With Mike out of the office to talk to the sheriff, Bridget joined Moya in the telegraph room.
“What time did you finally get home last night Moya?” she asked casually after putting Emily in Mike’s office.
“After midnight,” he replied.
“Wow! Did it really take that long to get a reply from Harris?”
“Nej. Mike and I talked for a vile. He had a lot of qvestions. Didn’t he tell you?”
Thanks to her friendship with Elise, Bridget had learned a little Swedish, and she knew that nej meant no. But Mike hadn’t mentioned talking with Moya. She wondered why.
“What about?”
“He vanted to know about my head inyury, so I told him vat I know—noting.”
“Nothing? Not even bits and pieces?”
“Noting. Doc said I might never remember, but it might come back a little at a time or all at vunce.”
Bridget sighed. Moya was no help to her investigation. But she didn’t want Moya to know she was up to in case he told Mike, so she shrugged and spoke sympathetically, “I’m sorry to hear that, Moya. It must be awful to not remember part of your life.”
“It’s not bad. It’s yust dat few minutes ven I vas unconscious.”
“Would you do me a favor?” Bridget asked. “I want to check on Karin and see how she’s feeling. Would you watch Emily for me? I don’t want her around Karin if she’s sick.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Moya.”
After telling Emily to be good for Moya while she ran an errand, Bridget left the building. She didn’t check on Karin, though. Instead, she went to see Jared in his office.
“Hi, sugar,” he said as she entered.
Rising and striding around his desk, he swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately. She wanted to be swept into the moment, but she couldn’t. She needed information more than anything else. Pushing away from him, she asked, “Did you know that Moya and Mike sat at the newspaper office until after midnight last night?”
“No,” he replied as he draped his arm around her and escorted her to a chair. “Is it something I need to know?”
Bridget sat down and watched as he dropped into the chair next to hers. “I don’t know that it’s something you need to know, but it is interesting.”
“Interesting how?” he asked.
“I guess Mike was asking Moya what he remembered about how he got his injury, but Moya doesn’t remember anything.”
“That’s common knowledge around town. You two probably don’t know about it because you came after it happened. Nobody thinks anything about it anymore.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd?”
Jared laid his arm on the back of her chair and toyed with a lock of hair that had escaped from her chignon. “Doc Frey says it’s not abnormal for someone in his circumstances.”
Despite the flames of desire that shot through her, Bridget knew that this wasn’t the time or place to let those feelings overtake her. To distract her thoughts, she asked, “Do you still think it would be normal if you knew what Mike told me this morning?”
Bridget told Jared everything that she and Mike had discussed that morning. Throughout her explanation, Jared’s face took on a concerned expression. She didn’t know what he was thinking, because she didn’t know him that well yet, but she knew he didn’t like what she was telling him.
“What do you think?” Bridget asked when she finished. “Is this something we should be worried about as citizens of Forestville?”
“I’ll admit that it doesn’t sound very good, but you’ve got to remember that this is a company town. That means the company owns it. If Harris owns the company, he obviously owns the town. Is it really surprising that he would put people he trusted in those positions?”
“But prostitutes? Why would he demand payment from them?”
“From what you said, sweetheart,” Jared said calmly, “there’s no proof that he’s the one being paid. It sounds like they’re paying the sheriff.”
Pursing her lips, Bridget considered that for a moment. If she owned a company that owned a town, she would probably put people she trusted in charge, just as Jared had said. Did that mean, though, that she would take money from them instead of giving them a good salary? Suddenly, a thought struck her, and she had to know the answer.
“Jared?” she asked, unsure she actually wanted to know. “How did you get this job?”
His face took on a stunned expression. “Surely, you don’t think I’m being bought by Harris.”
“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “It’s not like I’ve known you very long. Besides, I didn’t say you were bought by Harris. I simply asked how you got the job.”
“He called on me one day about a year ago. He said he’d been asking around because he needed somebody here. He’d heard that I was a good worker and loyal to my boss, and he offered me a salary here that, quite frankly, I couldn’t turn down. He also offered to pay for a nanny and a housekeeper since my wife had died. He lived up to his end of the bargain, and he had got me a nanny who would also do the housework. I didn’t like her, though, because she didn’t always treat Emily well. So I hired Karin instead. She’s turned out to be great.”
Surprised by his complete explanation, Bridget’s suspicions peaked. It sounded to her like Jared was being bought, not by an outrageous salary, but benefits that were specific to him. He didn’t have a wife, so he was given someone who would serve as a wife. He was given a job of prestige, if not wealth.
“I don’t like the look on your face, Bridget,” Jared said, breaking into her thoughts. “What are you thinking?”
Embarrassed that he could read her expression, she gazed down at her hands that lay in her lap. “I just thought it was odd that he found you a nanny and housekeeper instead of letting you pick one you liked.”
Jared replied quickly, before she could even complete her entire sentence. “Oh, he did let me pick one. He was in town one day, so I told him how unhappy I was with the way she was treating Emily. He told me to go ahead and find the woman I wanted, and he would pay for her, no matter what the cost. He wants me to be happy here and to stay with his company.”
She shot her startled gaze to his face. “He said that? He pays Karin?”
“Actually, he pays me more so I can pay her. It works for us. So you see, he’s not buying me; he’s simply paying me a salary that’s consistent with my needs.”
“I see,” Bridget said, desperately struggling to contain her anger as she rose. “I should let you get back to work and go see how Karin is feeling.”
Jared scrambled to his feet and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Tell her I hope she feels better soon.”
Bridget struggled to contain her excitement at his innocent peck. Oh, how she wished she could stay and love him—right on his desk if need be. Instead, she left, promising that she would relay the message. But her mind reeled with thoughts and suspicions that she really didn’t want to have. Was Jared really that naïve?
Chapter 11
Rather than going to check on Karin, this time Bridget went to the doctor’s office to see how Rollie Palmer was feeling. When she arrived, though, she discovered he’d already gone home.
“Then he wasn’t injured as badly as it seemed yesterday,” Bridget said to the doctor. “I’m glad. I was really worried about him when my husband didn’t get home until around 10:30 last night.”
Dr. Frey’s eyes took on a seriousness that Bridget hadn’t seen the day before as he said, “Oh, he’s quite badly injured. He just wouldn’t stay here. He insisted that he would heal better in his own bed. Since his injuries weren’t as serious as Moya’s were, though, I decided to let him go. I wish he wouldn’t have, though. Now I have to go over to his place to check on him.”
“Neither Jared nor Mike mentioned it. What
are his injuries, anyway?”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you because you do the printing of the paper.”
“We’ll just print his injuries and his name. I promise. If we print anything at all.”
Dr. Frey chuckled. “Young lady, if you didn’t print little things like this, you wouldn’t have much of a newspaper.”
With a smile, Bridget agreed. “I suppose you’re right. So I can report the accident, how it happened, Rollie’s name, and his injuries. Is that okay?”
This time Dr. Frey turned solemn. “I wouldn’t print anything about how it happened.”
“Why not?” Bridget asked. “It might alert others to be careful—so they don’t have the same thing happen to them.”
Turning in his chair and going through some papers on his desk, Dr. Frey said, “Rollie has at least two broken ribs and one cracked. In my opinion, if you crack a glass, you throw it away because it’s broken. If you crack a bone, it’s broken, so you treat it. Not all physicians believe that, though. Of course, he’s quite bruised around the site of his injury. Also in my opinion, he most likely has a cracked or chipped thoracic vertebra. He’s going to be bedridden for quite some time.”
While the physician scribbled on a piece of paper before him, dipping his pen into the ink on occasion, Bridget asked, “Could you write that down for me, Dr. Frey? I’ll never remember it all.”
“That’s what I’m doing right now. I wasn’t sure I should tell your brother last night, so I didn’t. The more I thought about it, though, the more I think this accident needs to be published.”
Bridget studied him curiously. Only a few seconds ago he was telling her that she shouldn’t print about the accident, but now he thought it was a good idea. And why was he telling her these things when he wouldn’t tell the actual reporter for the newspaper? All she did was print what Mike wrote.
As though she’d asked the question aloud, Dr. Frey said, “I want you to write this article, not your brother. He was much too curious last night. I’m not sure he would be objective.” The doctor paused to hand her the piece of paper. “I also wrote on there what he said caused his injuries—simply a board falling on him. Print that and that alone.”
“I promise, sir,” Bridget agreed, but she wondered why he would word his statement like that.
“Don’t elaborate on it.”
“I won’t.”
“What I’m going to tell you now, you can’t repeat to anybody, not even your brother. Will you promise to agree?”
Desperate to know what he would say, Bridget agreed without hesitation. Then the doctor went on to explain how Moya was the most respected man in town because he was always honest and trustworthy. Bridget didn’t disagree; she’d found Moya nothing less. Rollie was probably the next most respected and trustworthy man in town. Moya had been injured on the job, just as Rollie had—by a falling piece of wood, be it a limb or a board. Still, she decided, Dr. Frey was telling her nothing of import. She couldn’t understand why he would want her promise not to print it. His next words, however, explained everything.
“Either of their wounds could have killed them” Dr. Frey announced. “Moya is lucky that he only has memory loss. Rollie is lucky that he bent over just before being struck. If he hadn’t that board could have hit him on the neck hard enough to break it, which could have torn his spinal cord and killed him instantly—or paralyzed him for life.”
“So Mike was right when he told me that you said this wasn’t an accident?”
“Just like Moya’s wasn’t an accident.”
“How can you be sure of that when he doesn’t remember what happened?”
“I’m a doctor. I can tell when something is done on purpose. With Rollie’s accident, I see evidence that the blow changed direction in the middle of the board’s fall.”
“Meaning it wasn’t a fall.”
“Have you ever seen a board fall any direction than straight down? Have you seen a heavy piece of wood change direction, even if a strong wind caught it, in the middle of it dropping? I haven’t. But the nature of Rollie’s injury shows that likely happened.”
“Somebody swung that board, somebody pretty strong.”
“That’s my theory. Unfortunately, I can’t prove it without Rollie telling me what happened right before he was hit, and he’s not saying a word about it.”
Before long, Bridget left the office, notes from Dr. Frey in hand, and ran into Elise headed into the office. While Bridget waited outside, Elise went inside. A few minutes later, she came out with a small vial in her hand. Together they strolled toward the house that Elise had once inhabited. Now that she was married, she and Moya had a home of their own, and the Bengtson sisters lived in the house.
Bridget wanted to question Elise about Moya’s accident to see if she knew anything others didn’t, but she hesitated. Elise was so happy lately, much happier than she had ever been in New York, and Bridget wanted her to stay happy even longer. No, questioning her now wasn’t a good idea.
“How do you like being married?” Bridget asked Elise.
“I love it, Bridge,” Elise enthused. “I’ve never been happier in my life. Moya is probably the most wonderful man to ever walk the earth. What about you?”
“I like it. I’m just now getting to the part where we get physical.” Bridget felt her face heat as she blushed. “You know, in bed.”
Elise stopped and gave Bridget a bear hug. “I knew you would like him. Is it love yet?”
“I don’t know if I would call it love,” Bridget admitted, pushing away from Elise. “I like him a lot, though.”
“Give it time. It will happen. It has to happen.”
They walked in silence for a couple of blocks. Elise knew something about Moya’s accident. Bridget could feel it. Not today, but she would somehow get the truth from either Elise or Moya.
Chapter 12
Back at the office, Bridget sat down at Mike’s still empty desk to write the article about Rollie Palmer. If she hadn’t promised Dr. Frey that she would print what he’d told her, she could have a really hard-hitting story. As it stood now, though, she had a silly local interest article that would barely get noticed.
Suddenly, she craved something good, something juicy, something that would catch people’s attention and help her make her mark as a true journalist.
Mike came into his office just as she finished her article and asked her what she was doing.
“Dr. Frey asked me to write the article about Rollie Palmer and his accident. I promised I would.”
“But I was going to do that,” Mike protested.
“He doesn’t want you to. He’s afraid you’ll go over and above to get a better story. He just wants what he told me published, and I promised that’s what I would do. I’m putting in nothing more than what he told me I could publish.”
Mike dropped onto the chair before his desk. “Did he tell you something else?”
“He did, but I’m not at liberty to tell you what it was. He made me promise, and you know how I am about that. I always keep my promises.”
“Did he give you more information than he did me?”
“How would I know, Mike? I only know what you told me. That doesn’t mean you told me everything.”
“Sometimes you’re the most stubborn person I know. And right now I know that you’re not telling me anything, so I’ll drop the subject—for now. You can be sure we’ll revisit it, though.”
“Thanks, Mike,” Bridget said as she wandered out of the room. “I’m going to typeset this article now, so it will be ready to go when we’re ready for the next edition.”
***
On November 5, 1872, the saloon closed for business, and the American men of Forestville lined up to vote for either Republican presidential candidate, Ulysses S. Grant and his vice presidential nominee, Henry Wilson, or Horace Greeley and his running mate, Benjamin G. Brown. As Mike wrote in an article about the elections the following day, Greeley had been nominated by two partie
s, the Liberal Republican and the Democratic Parties.
No more accidents or injuries had been reported for two weeks, so the election was Mike’s focus for the newspaper. On the fourth Thursday of November, the day President Abraham Lincoln declared a national day of thanksgiving, all businesses closed and families and friends gathered together for dinners. It wasn’t an official holiday like the Independence Day, Mike reported, but the town had gotten together during the elections and had decided to observe it as a holiday.
Bridget and Karin Bengtson worked on pies and vegetables at Bridget’s house, while Elise and Stina Bengtson prepared a large ham and potatoes at Elise’s house. Everyone in those households met at Bridget and Jared’s house, which had the long table Elise had used when Bridget and Mike first arrived from New York. Bridget had learned that it had always been Jared’s table, but that he had loaned it to Elise for that particular occasion.
With the Bengtson sisters, Elise and Moya, Mike, Emily, and Bridget and Jared all seated around the table, Jared gave thanks for the food and their freedom. He also thanked God for Moya’s continued recovery from his accident and requested that he get his memory of the event back.
Hearing a movement across from her, Bridget opened her eyes to see Elise squirm on her chair. That was it! Elise knew that Moya already remembered the incident. Bridget was sure of it. Now all she had to do was get Elise alone and talk to her about it. This was the story Bridget wanted to write, this story about what was happening in Forestville. Mike couldn’t write it for fear of losing the newspaper, but nothing would stop her from writing it.
After dinner, Mike asked Stina to take a walk with him, so Bridget suggested that Karin, Moya and Jared take Emily outside to play while she and Elise cleaned up after their meal. Bridget started the conversation while she pumped some water into a pail in the sink so they could wash the dishes.