Bridget (The Bridget Series)

B
RIDGET felt like an attraction
at a side show carnival. Her parents had taken her to one when she was about five. She remembered looking in some mirrors that distort faces and figures. Then something happened. Her parents went away. Nobody would tell her why. For a time Bridget fended for herself with some other street kids. Sometimes they sold matches, rags, or newspapers to survive. Then one day the New York City cops took all of the them to a Children’s Aid Society.

Now she was on an Orphan Train. Like a side show carnival performer she was suppose to act nice, to lure in a customer—a farmer who would take her home.

Bridget didn’t understand why people treated children like livestock that they could slaughter at will.

The Hansens could use some help on the farm. The town minister Rev. Caldwell suggested taking in a child from the Orphan Train.

Speaking from the pulpit he devoted almost his entire Sunday sermon to the arrival of the Orphan Train.

“God wants every child to have a home. These children are victims of terrible misfortune they never asked for. Open up your heart and home and bring in one of these children. They will be a help to you.”

The train belched to a stop.

Somebody pushed Bridget towards the door and told her to stand up straight and be nice. It was the same speech she had heard at every stop. And, every stop was the same. People staring at her looked like distorted faces in carnival mirrors.

Dirty looking men wanting free child labor. Farming couples looking for an extra hand to plow and pick. They wanted boys. Hearty, strapping, hard working boys.

Bridget would be told to get back on the train and maybe at the next stop there would be a family.

By the time the train reached Oklahoma all of the boys had been adopted. The younger and cuter the girls, the better their chances of finding somebody to take them.

Bridget was ten with flyaway hair and still growing her back molars.

When the train reached the last stop Bridget automatically stood up and straightened her dress. She felt an adult arm push her forward.

“Don’t fidget,” said the adult sounding both tired and irritated.

As Bridget was shoved to the platform she heard a man call out; “This is it. She’s all we got left. Won’t somebody take her? She’d be good for cooking and cleaning.”

Some men on horseback turned and rode away. A man and his wife in a buggy turned around and left.

“She could be a big help to your wife,” Rev. Caldwell suggested to William and Estelle Hansen, who were still standing there looking disappointed. They had wanted to a boy to help with the farm chores.

“She doesn’t look like she’d be any trouble,” encouraged the pastor.

“Well, if nobody wants her, I guess we’ll go back,” shouted the man from the platform.

“Wait a minute,” softly said Estelle Hansen.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hansen, God will bless you with heavenly rewards for taking in this child, this girl. She will be a help and a companion to you.”

“Are you sure you want her, Estelle?” asked her husband.

“Yes, I do.”

Bridget felt Rev. Caldwell put his hand on her shoulder with the admonition,”God has seen fit to give you another chance by opening up the hearts of this fine family who have agreed to take you in. You be a good girl and don’t disappoint us.”

Somebody threw her small carpet bag onto the ground. That man she was suppose to call Pa limped over and picked it up. They piled into the wagon and Bridge t decided the woman she was suppose to call Mother looked tired, but seemed to be kind. Nobody knew what to say during the buggy ride home.

“I hope you like it here,” said the woman.

“Yes, ma’am”.

On Sunday they all went to church. Soon Bridget figured out that on Sunday everyone in the town went to church. If you missed a Sunday in church you’d better be dead. Then they’d carry you in on Wednesday and bury you.

Bridget spent her first Sunday in church sitting on the hard pews next to her new parents. Everyone turned and stared. A few smiled.

Rev. Caldwell strode to his pulpit and took over.

“We have a new member of our congregation,” he began looking in her direction. “All of you should welcome Bridget, The Orphan Train Girl.” As his voice trailed on and on Bridget feared that for the rest of her life she would be known as ‘Bridget, The Orphan Train Girl.’ I just want to be me, Bridget thought to herself.

On Monday her new mother took her to school. The teacher, Miss Frances, looked at Bridget with pity. “Do you know how to read, child? Have you ever been to school?”

“I know how to read and write and I know my numbers. I’m good at making sure nobody gets away with cheating. Ya see, if you’re selling rags for a penny a pound, they’ll try to pass off a slug and steal your rags. Or, they give you a penny and tell you it was a nickel or a dime and they want change. I’m good with money, ‘cause nobody cheats me.”

“I see,” replied Miss Frances as she suddenly sat down.

It was time
for Miss Frances to ring the bell calling the students into the school from the playground where the girls liked to jump rope and the boys would play Kick The Can.

“Good morning, students!”

“Good morning, Miss Frances,” was the reply Bridget discovered was the standard opening. “Boys and girls we have a new student. I want everyone to welcome Bridget, The Orphan Train Girl.”

There it was again. Bridget thought she heard Miss Frances ask the others to play nice and share their lunches. But what stuck was Bridget, The Orphan Train Girl.

It didn’t take
Miss Frances long to determine that Bridget was probably the brightest one in the class. Soon Bridget would be getting A’s on math papers and history tests. The others began asking Bridget for help with math. She would pretend not to hear when one of the kids needing help called her ‘Bridget Orphan Train.’ If one of the students just called her ‘Bridget’, she would agree to help.

Maybe life at school wasn’t going to be so bad. Bridget wasn’t so sure about life at home.