Birdie's Nest

by Linda LaRoque

  Birdie peered at the liquid suspiciously. It didn’t have a distinct odor other than maybe some type of alcohol. “What is this stuff? Why can’t I have a pill like ibuprofen or codeine?”

  Her brow furrowed. “I’m afraid we’re not familiar with those two medications.”

  Birdie took a deep breath and exhaled, then took the glass and drank the entire contents. She shuddered, “Blech…that’s terrible.”

  “Yes, but it will help the pain.” She motioned the officer forward. “Now Detective Ethan, don’t keep her too long. She’ll be groggy soon.”

  Detective Ethan smiled down at her. “Got yourself in a little fix, did you?”

  “No, I most certainly did not. Carl Samuelson hit me on the back of the head with something and tossed me over the rail of the Brazos Belle.” At least that’s what she assumed had taken place. “You need to arrest him for attempted murder.”

  “Carl Samuelson? I’m not familiar with the name. Where’s he from?”

  “He’s been in Waco about a year, but he’s from Chicago. Plans to build a big resort on the Brazos. Thinks he’ll buy Birdie’s Nest, tear down my historical home, and push away all remains of my heritage.” She had to get out of this hospital and find a way to pay their taxes so Samuelson wouldn’t have the upper hand. Why had he attacked her? Did he know something she didn’t?

  “He scratched his beard with his pencil. “Let’s back up a minute. What’s your name?”

  “Birdie Leigh Braxton.”

  “Are you related to the Braxton’s in Hill County?”

  “Not that I know of but I guess it’s possible.”

  He jotted something on his note pad. “Where do you live?”

  “I live at #7 Brazos River Road.”

  He frowned. “Here in Waco? I’m not familiar with that address.”

  “Why, everybody in Waco knows where Birdie’s Nest is across the river. A two story red brick home with white Georgian columns and shutters.”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am, can’t say I’ve ever seen the place and I know every street and road in this county.”

  Odd. Most people had at least seen Birdie’s Nest from a distance when driving the roads through Cameron Park. Her eyelids grew heavy. She let them drop. “Well, it’s an old home, built in 1892 for a then-young Birdie. I’m named after her. Birdie is a ridiculous name, but my family wanted to carry on the tradition.”

  “I see.”

  Birdie forced her eyes partially open and studied his expression through half lids. He obviously didn’t believe her. “Look detective, don’t patronize me. If you don’t believe me, just say so.”

  “Miss Braxton, how could a house built in 1892 be there when it’s only 1890?”

  Chapter Two

  “Good morning, Miss Braxton.” Nurse Taylor, chipper voice trilling, waltzed into the room. “How is your head this morning?”

  “It’s better.” Birdie threw the sheet back and eased her legs over the side of the bed. “I need to go to the bathroom.” And she wasn’t using that bedpan again. Talk about an invasion of privacy.

  “You sit right there, young woman. You cannot walk down the hall. I’ll bring a wheeled chair.” She winked. “You can take a long soak while we’re there.”

  Ah, a soak sounded heavenly. “Can I wash my hair?” Though her hair felt clean, she didn’t remember it being washed. Thinking about the muck from the river within the tresses made her head itch. “It must stink something awful.”

  “Honey, we washed your hair real good before the doctor shaved a small portion where he put in the stitches.”

  What? Shaved my hair? Her hand flew to the back of her head. She winced at the soreness, but sighed with relief to find the bandaged spot was relatively small, about two inches long.

  “You can relax, Miss Braxton, we didn’t cut off much. No one will know but you.”

  It didn’t take the nurse long to wheel Birdie to the spacious bathroom. Something could definitely be said about claw foot bathtubs. Even at her five feet, eight inch height, she could sink down in the water up to her chin. She glanced at the old fashioned toilet with the tank near the ceiling. She’d had to pull a chain to flush it. She needed answers. The detective had said something about it being 1890. What kind of joke were they playing on her? Whatever, it wasn’t funny and she’d hate to have to arrest them for kidnapping. Since she was a law enforcement officer, the charges against them would be harsh. Wherever she was, the environment was authentic. If the circumstances were different she’d be fascinated and anxious to explore.

  An hour later, clean and dressed in a fresh gown, Birdie crawled into the bed and groaned. The bath had sapped her energy and her head pounded. She breathed in the scent of freshly laundered sheets and willed the pain to go away.

  Nurse Taylor slipped an arm beneath her head and held a glass to her lips. “Drink this. It’s not as much as I gave you last evening, but it will help you rest. You’ll feel much better when you wake.”

  Birdie didn’t have the energy to argue. She drank the vile brew and then curled on her side. The nurse adjusted the covers.

  She wanted to go to sleep, but Detective Ethan’s comment haunted her. Did he say it was 1890? The nurse was almost to the door. “Wait. What year is it?”

  Nurse Taylor turned and smiled. If Birdie wasn’t mistaken her expression radiated sympathy. “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss that later. Sleep now.”

  At the sound of voices in the hall and Nurse Taylor’s orders, her eyes popped open.

  “You gentlemen will have to come back after dinner. The doctor will be in to see her after lunch. She’s sleeping now.”

  Gentlemen? Yeah, sleeping.

  * * *

  Well rested after a relaxing evening at Lucy’s home, Tad bounded up the steps of Waco City Hospital to check in on the young woman he’d fished from the Brazos yesterday afternoon. Lucy, his mistress, was quickly becoming too demanding and soon he’d have to move on. He enjoyed visiting the same woman and didn’t much go in for frequenting the Reservation, Waco’s red light district. He knew the city regulated and checked the women’s health so they were disease free most of the time, but there was something to be said for developing a relationship. Someday he’d have to get married. Lord knows his mama nagged him enough about settling down, but he’d not found a woman who could keep his interest for long. Being tied to one for life just didn’t sit well.

  Carrying a big bouquet of daisies, he strolled down the hall toward the patient’s room. Outside the door a policeman and a nurse he’d seen yesterday stood deep in conversation. They looked up as he approached.

  “Excuse me. I’ve come to see how the young lady is doing.”

  The nurse took the bouquet of flowers. “She’s resting and is better today, but she has a concussion.” She sniffed the daisies he’d picked up at the florists. “I’ll see to it that she gets these.”

  “My name is Tad, by the way.”

  She smiled. “I know. You’re the young man who came with the ambulance yesterday. Come back after lunch.” She nodded to the policeman. “This is Detective Ethan. I expect he has some questions for you too.” She turned to leave in search of a vase he suspected.

  Questions? What could the man have to ask him? “Detective, I told the policeman who arrived at the river yesterday everything I know.”

  “Yes, I’ve read his report, but some things have come up. May we speak in private?”

  “Sure. Let’s go outside and have a smoke.”

  They settled on a bench outside in the shade of a live oak. Tad pulled a cheroot from a pocket inside his suit coat while Detective Ethan studied him.

  “Do you know the young lady?”

  “Nope. Never met her before.” He lit his smoke with a match and took a draw of the tobacco. “Did you learn her name, where she’s from?”

  “Yes, she’s Birdie Leigh Braxton. The young lady said she lives across the Brazos in a big red brick house built in 1892.”

&nbs
p; Tad choked on the smoke he’d swallowed and coughed to clear his gullet. “She must be out of her head, confused on the date. Plus, there are several big houses over there but none of them red brick.”

  “Did you know she had a revolver strapped to her thigh?”

  His face heated. “How the heck would I know that? Are you accusing me of taking liberties with that young woman?”

  The detective chuckled. “Nope, just asking.”

  “Pleased to hear it, officer.” He smirked and released a guffaw. “Not to say in different circumstances I might give it a try, but not while a woman is unconscious.”

  “Birdie Leigh Braxton. You sure the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Ethan remained quiet for a moment, Tad supposed to give him time to think, but he could only shake his head. “I’ve never heard of her.”

  “Aren’t there some Braxtons on your mother’s side of the family?”

  “Sounds familiar, but if she’s a distant relative…” He shrugged. “Anyway, how would you know?”

  “I took the liberty of asking around.” He smiled. “Actually, I had my mother do the asking at her weekly ladies’ social. She was very discreet, asked the ladies in general if they knew any Braxtons and your mother’s name came up.”

  Thank goodness. His mother wouldn’t take kindly to being the topic of social discussion. “I’m headed home this afternoon and will ask Mother if she knows the young woman.”

  “Let me know what you find out.” He reached into his pocket and removed a silver object. “Take a look at this.”

  Tad took it and ran his thumb over the smooth metal of the silver star, one worn only by Texas Rangers, but this one hadn’t been formed from a peso. Stamped across the top of the ring surrounding the star was Department of Public Safety. Across the bottom was Texas Rangers. Inside the star was Sergeant.

  “Turn it over.”

  Engraved on the opposite side was Birdie Leigh Braxton 9-15-2010. The date must be an error. Why, 2010 was one hundred twenty-two years into the future. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was pinned to Miss Braxton’s holster.”

  * * *

  Nurse Taylor was right. Birdie felt considerably better. Her head still throbbed but not with the nauseating intensity it had before. A grumble from her stomach indicated how much it needed feeding. Rich food odors wafting in from the transom made her mouth water. Thankfully the door swung open and her favorite nurse came in bearing a tray.

  She set the food on the bedside table. “I bet you could eat something now, hmm?”

  “Something? I could probably eat a horse.” She scooted up in bed while Nurse Taylor arranged the pillows behind her back.

  “Don’t overdo and make yourself sick.”

  “I won’t.” She took a spoonful of the thick chicken noodle soup and closed her eyes. “Heavenly.” When she was finished, she set the bowl aside and drank some of the cool water.

  The door opened and Dr. Franks came in with a clipboard in his hand. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat. When Nurse Taylor headed out, he halted her. “I’d like for you to stay.”

  The nurse nodded and moved to stand at the foot of the bed.

  “How do you feel today, Miss Braxton?”

  “My head still hurts some, but not bad. Why hasn’t my aunt arrived to take me home?”

  “I’m sorry but we’ve not been able to locate her.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Let me ask you, what day is today?”

  “Let’s see, I’ve been here almost a full day. The party aboard the boat was, what, Saturday? So, it is Sunday, right? Or Monday?” Those knockout drinks might have had her sleeping longer than she’d thought.

  The doctor and nurse exchanged a glance. “What’s wrong? Isn’t that right?” She shrugged. “I could be a day or two off.”

  “It’s not the day we’re worried about Miss Braxton. It’s the date.”

  “Oh, June second, maybe the third. Why?”

  He sighed deeply and leaned back against his chair. His gaze probed hers. Birdie turned to see Nurse Taylor wringing her hands.

  "What is the year, Miss Braxton?"

  Was this guy nuts? "2012, of course."

  Sorrowfully, he shook his head. "No. No, my dear, it is not."

  She studied his clothes. Her gaze moved to Nurse Taylor’s long dress and hairstyle, and the cap on her head. If she wasn’t mistaken, they appeared to have stepped right out of a nineteenth century storybook. And that fit right in with the room’s furnishings. “Okay, I’ll bite. What year is it?”

  “It’s 1890.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, right! You’re just going along with this nineteenth century costume party theme, right? But, I have to say you’re taking it to the extreme. The party was over last night.”

  “I assure you, Miss Braxton, Nurse Taylor and I are not part of a costume party.” He cleared his throat. “We could not reach your aunt by telephone. The address you gave us doesn’t exist. I fear you’ve suffered some brain anomaly due to the wound to your head or perhaps caused by your near-death experience.”

  He rose from the chair. “Nurse Taylor will take you outside for a while. Maybe the fresh air will blow the cobwebs from your head.”

  The nurse scurried for the door. “I’ll be right back with a wheeled chair, Miss Braxton.”

  Dr. Franks patted her hand. “Everything will come back to you in time. If not, there are treatments that will help. We’ll move you to a sanatorium and they’ll have you back to yourself in no time.”

  A sanatorium? They used shock treatments and God only knows what other type of primitive means of torture. She hid her hands under the covers to prevent the doctor from seeing her trembling. God, was this Victorian comedy someone’s idea of a sick joke?

  “We’ll put notices in the newspapers and hopefully your aunt will see them and come for you.”

  “I’m not going to a sanatorium, Dr. Franks. I’ve read enough to know what goes on in those places.” She couldn’t contain a shudder and gripped handfuls of the bottom sheet to still the shakes.

  He wrinkled his brow, obviously dismayed by her negative judgment of their methods.

  “Well, perhaps we can work out something else for you. Ah, here’s your carriage.”

  Nurse Taylor rolled in the ancient wheelchair, complete with a wicker back, she’d ridden in earlier.

  “Enjoy your time outside, Miss Braxton. The water wagon just sprayed down the road so you should be able to enjoy the view without dust blowing in the off the street.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and giggled instead. Water wagon? What on earth was he talking about? She couldn’t remember any dirt streets in Waco. They were laying this nineteenth century business on thick.

  A wheelchair ramp occupied half of the wide stairwell. Fearing she’d be tossed or run into the wall, Birdie gripped the armrests as Nurse Taylor wheeled her down the slope, but the nurse was a pro and they were soon zooming through the lobby.

  No one else was outside on the lawn. Thank goodness, as Birdie felt ridiculous being wheeled out the door in the ancient contraption. In a gown and robe no less. Nurse Taylor parked her under a large oak tree with her back to the massive trunk. Wrought iron benches were strategically placed for visitors to sit with their loved ones. The white frame building sat alone at the edge of a manicured lawn of Bermuda grass or some other similar variety. It wasn’t the St. Augustine she’d grown up with in the yard at Birdie’s Nest. One lone road, sure enough it was white caliche, wound in a circle up to the packed clay walkway.

  Hair rose on the back of her neck, butterflies fought in her stomach. She struggled to breathe. A carriage sat out front with a horse. A man stood nearby as if waiting for someone. Her gaze returned to the hospital structure. Two stories high, the windows rose tall on each floor, and a wide porch spanned the front exterior. It was lined with rocking chairs. Hanging baskets added color to the white clapboard.

  An older lady bustled out the front door and
down the steps. Dressed in dark gray, she unfurled a matching parasol and held it above her head. The man by the carriage pushed away from the bench he leaned against and waited to help her into the buggy. When she was seated in the back, he climbed aboard, clicked the reins and the horse trotted off.

  Through the trees, Birdie could see a house here and there, each a great distance from the other. She turned and gazed across the ravine that ran parallel to the road. Buildings rose in the distance, probably two to three miles away so she couldn’t make out much, but the black smoke rising from factories was hard to miss. As was the suspension bridge that spanned the Brazos. Her house was missing across the water though a few buildings dotted the green river bank. Her chest muscles tightened and pinpricks dotted her body as adrenaline rushed through her system.

  This was too perfect to be an elaborate act. Dr. Franks, Nurse Taylor, and Detective Ethan weren’t dressed up in Victorian clothes for her benefit, and this building would make any historian proud. And worst of all, Aunt Patty was missing.

  This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming and will wake up any minute.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, Miss Braxton?”

  Her chin trembled, but she couldn’t seem to still it. She shook her head. “No. I’m ready to go in now.”

  “A nice nap will make everything appear better. You’re not alone. I promise.” Nurse Taylor unset the brake on the chair and within a few minutes, was helping Birdie into her bed.

  Nap? That’s all she’d done. She needed to think, figure out what was going on here, get well and make plans to escape whatever hell she’d found herself in, but her head pounded. She’d close her eyes for a few minutes and try to make sense of her situation. Nurse Taylor removed one of the pillows so she could lie back, and then smoothed the covers and pulled the sheet up over her breasts. “You have a couple of guests.” She winked. “Gentlemen callers.”

  Oh goodie. Probably Carl Samuelson trying to take the heat off himself by attempting to convince her he wasn’t the one who’d tossed her overboard. When she felt better, she’d slap him into cuffs. If she couldn’t gather enough evidence to keep him in jail, she’d find a way to get it. “Show them in.”