Birdie's Nest

by Linda LaRoque

Birdie took the brooch, a stunning amethyst the size of her thumbnail, surrounded by seed pearls. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Yes, I know. I found it buried away in some old things I went through recently. I don’t know why it wasn’t with the other jewelry passed down over the years.” Aunt Patty took the brooch. “Here, let me pin it at the juncture of the V. I’ll catch some of the lace and give you a little more coverage.”

  Feet tucked into the surprisingly comfortable shoes and twirling a frilly parasol, Birdie kissed Aunt Patty and sauntered down the multiple front steps of their home. She stopped beside her silver Ford Mustang convertible. How in the heck would she be able to get in wearing this get-up? Her hat was taller than the roof. She’d have to leave the top down and drive slow to preserve her hair-do.

  Birdie sighed. How on earth did I get myself into this mess? I should have approached Samuelson at his office and turned down his invitation.

  She slid the seat as far back as possible. The width of the bustle allowed her to reach the accelerator and brake. Did she look as ridiculous as she felt? Probably. Thank goodness the boat dock was nearby.

  Nineteenth century society folks, here I come!

  * * *

  The Brazos Belle stood at the dock decked out in party streamers of green and maroon to match Samuelson’s company logo. A costumed butler took Birdie’s invitation and escorted her across the gangplank. “Everyone’s aft on the upper deck, miss. Up those stairs. You won’t miss the crowd.”

  “Thank you.”

  Voices and laughter grew louder as she approached. What a sight. Men and women in period dress graced the deck, milling about in conversation, eating hors d’oeuvres, and drinking wine and cocktails. She lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and made her way to the rail to observe as they cast off. Maybe she could hide out over here for a while.

  Watching the ripples of the river glide by soothed her. Though plantation owners had built their homes near the Brazos for economic reasons, she didn’t doubt they’d enjoyed the calm breezes blowing in off the water and picnics on its banks. As a child, she’d often played along the grassy area, which no longer belonged to her family but to the public, as did the road that ran alongside the expanse of water.

  The boat was almost abreast of Birdie’s Nest. Red brick, her home sat on the remaining five acres of family land a hundred yards from the road with a matching brick drive leading to the covered side entrance. Four white columns graced the two stories. A porch ran the entire length of each of the two floors. The carriage house, located at the rear of the estate, had been used for rental property since the nineteen forties. The house looked larger than it actually was. Thank goodness a past ancestor had provided funds for the property’s basic upkeep. Otherwise her home would’ve been sold years ago. What a shame they’d not made arrangements for the taxes and insurance as both ate away at their budget.

  Now Samuelson wanted to tear down her family home and use the land for his financial gain. The county had given her sixty days to pay the back taxes. On the first of August the house would go on the auction block and be snatched up for a pittance by Samuelson. The man thought to do her a favor and pay the taxes, if she’d sell Birdie’s Nest to him. That wouldn’t happen. Somehow she’d raise the money before then, sell some antiques or family jewelry if she had to.

  “Miss Braxton!” She turned to find Samuelson bearing down on her. He stopped at her side. His gaze traveled her body, spending too long at the cleavage above the brooch. His perusal turned her stomach. She wanted to deck him. “You are stunning. If I didn’t know better I’d think I’d stepped back in time, right into the late nineteenth century. Where did you find such a wonderful costume?”

  “My Aunt Patty’s friends in the DAR helped her locate it.”

  “I see.” He nodded toward Birdie’s Nest, an irritating smile plastered on his face. The man was a salesman through and through. “I couldn’t help but notice you admiring the property.”

  “I’m admiring my home, Mr. Samuelson.”

  “Yes, of course.” He took her elbow. “Come meet some of our investors.”

  “Couldn’t we talk first? I have a few things I want to say.” Like don’t count on buying my home.

  “After I make the introductions, we’ll talk. They’re anxious to meet you,”

  She allowed him to escort her to a group of three couples, the men dressed as impeccably as Samuelson in period gray frock coats and striped trousers. The women’s costumes must have been tailor-made, as they were more elaborate than Birdie’s and complemented their expensive jewelry.

  “Miss Birdie Braxton, I’d like you to meet… ” Birdie listened with one ear, cataloguing the names away for future reference. She wasn’t interested in getting to know them, as she didn’t plan to see them again.

  “What an unusual name,” said the young woman in the red dress. Victorian women wore scarlet during the day? “How’d you come by it?”

  “Birdie is a family name.”

  “How quaint.” She turned to her friend and exchanged an amused glance. Birdie wasn’t exactly crazy about her name, but she carried the moniker proudly. How dare these rich snobs belittle it?

  Discussion turned to the building project. Birdie tuned out their chatter. She nodded and responded when appropriate and started to excuse herself, but froze at the older woman’s words.

  “Young lady, what a fine thing you’re doing selling your property to our corporation so we can build the resort.”

  All eyes regarded her. She waited for Samuelson to correct the woman. She’d made no commitment. He pretended he hadn’t heard and ignored her silent plea. Why, the man was trying to back her into a corner.

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, ma’am. I’m not selling Birdie’s Nest and never will. If Mr. Samuelson led you to believe otherwise, he misled you.”

  “Now, Miss Braxton, we’ve not had a chance to talk this evening. Don’t make a final decision yet. After all, you’ll lose your home to back taxes if you don’t take my offer. I think you’ll change your mind after I tell you how rich you’ll become.”

  “I’m not interested in your money. This is my family home, my heritage you want to tear down. I’ll find a way to pay the taxes. You can buy all the land around our five acres and build your resort, but Birdie’s Nest will remain in the very center. And, I believe city ordinances are in place that will control what you place within a certain distance of our home. I’m sure you’re up on those. If not, I’ll have my office direct you to the appropriate agency that can fill you in on the details.

  “In case Mr. Samuelson failed to inform you,” she added to the nearby investors, “I’m a Texas Ranger. Please don’t bother me or my aunt about this again.”

  Six individuals gaped at her. Red faced, murderous expression on his face, Samuelson stood, hands fisted. He’d try to choke the life from her if they were alone.

  She deposited her empty glass on a tray and started for the stairs. Her long skirt swished against her legs as she walked down the steps. She’d rather be below with the help than up there.

  For a short while, she stood and observed the paddle wheel turn, lifting and spilling water to propel them through the current. The odor of fish reached her nostrils. Birds dove for bugs, the resulting ripples forming a slowly disintegrating circle. Heat from the sun blazed down, and she was grateful for the parasol.

  The craft slowed as the captain turned the boat around to travel downstream. What had the river been like in the nineteenth century? Probably not as polluted as today. It would be exciting to visit other cities traveling by paddleboat. What a fascinating life that must have been in the old days.

  The suspension bridge loomed ahead. People milled about peering over the metal sides and dropping bites of bread to the ducks floating below. A small thundercloud formed over the span, threatening rain, casting a shadow below. She hoped it didn’t rain, not until she got home, anyway.

  Twirling the para
sol, she walked to the middle of the boat, propped her elbows on the rail and stared out at the passing scenery. A warm sensation tingled against her chest. She glanced down and clasped the brooch. It was warm in her hand. Had it absorbed some of the sun’s heat? That was odd. The sun drifting down behind the trees in Cameron Park cast mottled rays of light across the rippling water. An eddy formed in the path of the setting sun, swirling deeper, seeming to absorb the shadow of the cloud, the closer it got to the boat. Creepy! Birdie shuddered and straightened.

  Just as the boat reached the bridge, a bolt of lightening shot from the cloud hitting the whirlpool. An explosion of light hit Birdie, spraying her with water, just as a footstep sounded behind her. Before she could turn, pain exploded in her head and she sank into the deep.

  * * *

  June, 1, 1890 Waco, Texas

  Thaddeus Lockhart stood under a big oak beside the Brazos and viewed a couple of boys fishing from the bank. As a boy, he’d caught his share of crappie. He’d cleaned them on the grass, and then fried them over his campfire. The hot grease had burned his fingers as he picked the meat from the bones. He sighed. Those carefree days were over. His life now revolved around running the family ranch, caring for his sister and mother.

  Today he’d walked over from the Katy depot where he’d supervised the arrival of his new bull from Kansas. The animal hadn’t been amenable to being unloaded from the cattle car, and Tad ended up joining in the fracas and getting his suit filthy. Hopefully the bovine brute would use some of his attitude to impregnate a lot of his cows, and next spring the pasture would be loaded with calves.

  The river was up from the recent rains, but the mud had settled enough to make the water blue. Always traveling south, the current carried small bits of wood and other debris. Though just a hundred yards wide, he’d hate to drive a herd of cattle across the expanse. Undercurrents could sweep away animals and humans alike. Then there was the occasional water moccasin. He shuddered. Darn snakes! The suspension bridge loomed tall to his right. It had been a godsend to commerce in the area, and the five cents a head to take a herd across was well worth the price.

  He stomped out his cheroot and turned to go.

  “Help! Mister, help us!”

  Tad turned to spot one of the boys up to his neck in the water. He struggled to pull a body to shore. The other boy tried to reach the distance and grab his friend’s hand.

  “What the hell?”

  He bounded down the bank and splashed knee-deep into the water. A woman lay face down, her voluminous skirt, bustle riding on top, floating up around her. He grabbed the boy, tossed him onto the bank, and reached down for the lady. Hands under her arms, he hauled her up and placed her face up on the grassy bank. He dropped to his knees, leaned down, and placed his ear near her mouth. No breath and her lips were blue. If they didn’t get help soon she might die, if she wasn’t dead already.

  “You boys run, get help.”

  They were off like a shot. He flipped the woman over and yanked on the bodice of her dress sending buttons flying. With his pocketknife, he cut the ties on her corset… damned torture devices... and then pressed on her back. Come on, woman, cough. When nothing happened, he half stood straddling her body, lifted her at the waist with hands locked, and bounced her several times. Water spewed from her mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief as she hacked and gagged. He eased her down and rolled her to her back.

  Her eyes flew open. Beautiful blue eyes stared at him. “Who… are… you?” Her question turned into a cough. She rolled to her side and threw up more water.

  “Tad Lockhart, ma’am. Don’t talk right now. Help is on the way.”

  “What…what happened?”

  “You’ll have to tell us. We just fished you out of the Brazos.”

  She struggled to sit up, grabbed the base of her head and fell back in a dead faint. He rolled her to the side and lifted the long strands of hair. A lengthy gash across the base of her skull dripped blood onto the grass. Damn, looked like someone tried to kill this woman, and then dumped her into the river. He stood and looked up and down the expanse. He could see nothing suspicious, but most likely the culprit was long gone by now. Would he come back for her when he learned she lived?

  He squatted beside her, removed his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed the cloth to the wound. What was taking help so long? Easing the woman onto her back, he brushed long strands of her hair from her face. Half up and half down, hairpins caught in the tangled strands making his efforts seem useless. Her coiffeur resembled a bird’s nest. The quickly drying tresses were of varying colors. He’d never seen the like before. Mostly dark blond, some pieces were brown, some white, and darned if red wasn’t in there too.

  Tad took inventory of her clothes. Good quality, well made, and her skin bore no blemishes or paint. This was a lady, not one of the birds from the Reservation. His gaze drifted to the creamy globes visible above her dress. His body tightened in appreciation. Lovely! He grimaced and tamped down his response. Loosening her dress no doubt made the bodice drop. He tugged it higher and tucked the material behind her shoulders to stay in place. No need for the whole town to see her assets. Plus, if they thought he’d taken liberties, they’d be planning his wedding. His mother would be overjoyed. He snorted. Heck, he enjoyed women, but he didn’t intend to get leg-shackled for a long time. He hadn’t met a women yet who didn’t bore him stupid in a short period of time.

  * * *

  Birdie’s head pounded. She opened one eye and groaned as light pierced her brain. Squeezing the lid shut, she took deep gulps of air to calm the roaring in her head. Gradually, she worked her eyes fully open. She lay in an old iron bed, and she’d bet anything the cotton sheets were like some in the linen closet at Birdie’s Nest, one hundred percent cotton, starched and ironed. She’d recognize the fresh aroma anywhere. A white metal ware water bowl and pitcher sat on the table beside her bed. The room was large with ten-foot ceilings and a transom above the eight-foot door, much like those of Birdie’s Nest. Sounds of activity in the hallway filtered through the opening. Tall windows, with shades drawn, met at the juncture of two walls. So, she was in a corner room. She remembered waking up on the riverbank, a man bending over her. Where on earth had they taken her? She didn’t know of any hospitals in the area that resembled this austere place. The atmosphere reminded her of pictures from the early twentieth century.

  Her clothes? Where were they? And her gun and badge? She managed to sit up, but the room swam, the pain increased in her head, and her stomach churned. She eased back down and looked around for a call button. There wasn’t one. “Hey! Somebody! I want to know what’s going on.” Shouting hurt and she groaned.

  The door opened, and a man came in. Portly and bald, his kindly face oozed concern. A woman followed carrying a clipboard. Birdie gaped. The woman wore a long starched white dress and a cap, resembling a bird in flight, sat perched on her slicked back hair.

  “Good morning. I’m Dr. Franks, and this is Nurse Taylor.”

  The middle-aged woman smiled. Birdie concluded the woman wasn’t near as severe as her uniform implied.

  Holding a hand to her head, Birdie chuckled. “Is the entire town dressed up in Victorian garb?”

  Dr. Franks glanced at his nurse. She shrugged and shook her head. He turned back to Birdie and patted her hand. “It’s good to see you’re awake. We need to get a few bookkeeping issues out of the way.”

  “First you need to answer some questions for me. Where are my gun and my ranger identification?” She slapped her left thigh. “It was strapped right here to my leg before I landed in the water.”

  “They’re in good hands. Detective Ethan has them. He’ll be in to speak with you later.”

  Well, that was good to know. A fellow officer of the law would respect her property. She relaxed in the bed.

  The doctor nodded. “Since the location of your property is settled, can you give us your name, address, and age?”

  Nurse Taylor jotted the in
formation down as Birdie spoke.

  “Now then, Miss Braxton, how are you feeling?” The doctor held some round metal thing with a hole in it over each eye, leaned in, and peered at her pupils. She supposed that was what he was doing.

  “My head is pounding.”

  “Yes, that’s to be expected. You took a nasty hit on the back of your head.” He held a finger up in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  She grabbed it to keep it still. “One.”

  He chuckled. “Uh-huh. Room moving around a little, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “As I expected, you have a mild concussion. I stitched up the wound on the back of your head. The injury should heal with no problem, but you must lie still and quiet for several days.”

  Darn. She’d like to go home and let Aunt Patty take care of her. “Do you have a telephone I can borrow to call my aunt? She’ll be worried if I’m not home by dark.”

  “We have one in the office. We’ll call her for you.” He turned to the nurse. “Please get her something for that headache.” She nodded and left the room. The doctor walked to one of the windows, raised the shade and then the window revealing nothing but treetops and sky. A cool breeze accompanied the last rays of the day. The view wasn’t one common to Waco, unless they were near Cameron Park.

  “What’s the name of this hospital?”

  “Waco City Hospital. You rest, and I’ll be by again this evening.”

  She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds from the street below. Odd, not one car passed. If she wasn’t mistaken, a horse neighed. Where was this place located? She’d never heard of a City Hospital in Waco, but that didn’t mean one didn’t exist.

  The nurse returned with a policeman, his uniform nothing like she’d ever seen. The coat was long sleeved and wool. How on earth had Samuelson talked the entire town into dressing up for his party? Today wasn’t even a holiday. Or maybe she was crazy.

  Nurse Taylor put her arm behind Birdie’s head and eased her up. “Drink this and you’ll sleep off that headache.”