by Alix Labelle
And Mike proceeded to explain how Moya had been assaulted, as well, and nearly killed by a blow to the head. It wasn’t a lumberjacking accident. It was deliberate, according to Dr. Frey.
“I haven’t asked Moya about it,” Mike admitted, “but Dr. Frey was quite willing to talk. He knows that it was deliberate because of the type of injuries, just like with Palmer. Apparently, though, Moya doesn’t remember his attack, so they can’t go to the sheriff.”
Bridget had known that Moya was injured by a falling limb, which was why he had trouble using the left side of his body, but Elise hadn’t mentioned that it had been deliberate.
Before Bridget could ask Mike more about what had happened to Moya, though, Mike continued. Since they’d been in town and he was trying to find a story, he’d learned that the owner of the mercantile store was none other than Frank Harris. The owner of the livery stable was Frank Harris. The men working in Forestville, both at the lumberyard and the mill, were paid only a small salary but their homes were theirs to live in rent-free as long as they worked for the lumber company. If they left or worked for someone other than Frank Harris, they would be charged an exorbitant amount of rent. Even the prostitutes at the saloon paid someone from their earnings, although nobody knew who that was because they physically paid the sheriff, who put the money in the bank—owned by Frank Harris and run by one of his cronies.
“This is beginning to sound like corruption,” Bridget said in amazement.
“That’s the same thing I thought.”
“Thank goodness he doesn’t own the press.” Mike cleared his throat, which sent suspicion racing through Bridget. “Michael, tell me he doesn’t own the newspaper.”
“In essence, he does,” Mike admitted. “When I signed the contract, there was a clause in it that said, if I ever printed anything he didn’t approve, he could take over its operation or appoint someone else to do it.”
“Mike! How could you sign that?”
“I was desperate to have a newspaper, and I was thrilled it was happening. At that time, I had no idea that I would actually find evidence that he wouldn’t want published. After all, we’re protected by the constitution.”
“But not from Frank Harris,” she said angrily.
“I realize that now, Bridget. Most likely, the last thing I will ever write here is a story about Frank Harris and his minions.”
“Does that mean you’re going to continue investigating what’s happening?”
“I am.”
“I don’t know, Mike. That might not be such a good idea. You’ve already been warned.”
“We can’t let this go unreported, Bridge. We have to do something to stop it.”
“I didn’t say we would. Am I included in that contract?”
“No, just me. You’re just a woman according to him. He didn’t want anything that included your name. I figured that, since I was putting up half the money and you weren’t contributing, it would be okay.” He paused and gazed at her over his desk. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing really. I was just curious.” Bridget rose from her chair and started out of the room. “I’d better check on Emily. Who knows what a five-year-old could say on a telegraph machine.”
But in fact, Bridget was thinking a lot. Mike had given her information that he’d gotten from somewhere, and Jared had told her last night that he wasn’t allowed to do anything about the attack on Rollie Palmer. Nobody, however, had said anything about her not investigating what was happening in Forestville. She couldn’t tell the men what she was thinking, though, because either or both of them would try to stop her.
For her, this wasn’t about Harris and whatever he was up to; this was about free press; this was about protecting the Constitution. If someone didn’t take a stand, sometime, somewhere, this could grow to cover more than just their little part of the United States. It could fester like an infected wound and spread throughout the country. One reason her family had come to America was because of the freedom, and Bridget would be damned if she wouldn’t stand behind that freedom.
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 st
raight 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.