Birdie's Nest (3 page)

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 information 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.”

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.