Heart of the Beholder

7

THE SUN ROSE, ACCOMPANIED BY a loud chorus of roosters, geese, and crows. Bridgette pulled the thin blanket over her head and groaned.

“Up, up, Lazy.”

Bridgette peaked over the blanket. Birdie sat at the small table with an empty bowl in front of her and a spoon in hand. A little blue bird sat on the brim of her hat. “Birdie, I told you today is my late start day.”

“Bridgeet’s work starts late, n-not breakfast.”

Bridgette sighed, made herself sit up on the couch, and yawned. “Fine," she moaned. It took her a minute to find the motivation to stand, but eventually she did. She fetched what was left of the water in the bucket outside and heated it on the little stove. She added the oats and seasonings, then divided it into three bowls. Birdie happily slurped up her share.

Bridgette sat down at the table and rubbed her tired eyes. She had finished her first day of work by scrubbing the kitchen floor, which had made her back stiff and her shoulder ache. The day after that, she had sorted through paintings again. After lunch, Edgar had had her clean all the windows on the ground level. It was satisfying, yet exhausting work.

She wondered what Edgar would have her do today: the first day she would be alone with Lord Thornwood. Bridgette scooped up a steaming spoonful of porridge and blew on it. Her stomach twisted. She shoved the anxiety away and ate her porridge. She hadn’t even seen or heard from Lord Thornwood since she had introduced herself. She would just make sure to listen for the bell, and all would be okay.

“What wise words do you have for me today, Birdie?” Bridgette asked as they finished their breakfast.

Birdie tapped her chin with her finger, then said, “Don’t forget.”

“Don’t forget what?” Bridgette asked.

“P-potatoes.”

Bridgette’s brow furrowed. “Potatoes?”

“Exactly,” Birdie beamed and stood. She picked up the empty dishes and took them to the basin.

“I have to get more water to wash those,” Bridgette said.

“Up, up, Lazy,” Birdie sang.

“I am up. You don’t have to call me lazy. Who taught you that word anyway?” Bridgette said, fetching her worn boots from by the door.

“The birds,” Birdie said as she leaned out the open window and sent her little blue friend off.

Bridgette shoved one foot into a boot and laced it up. “You know, if they keep teaching you scandalous words like that, I will lock you in the closet,” she jested and put the other boot on.

Birdie turned with wide eyes. “Birdie doesn't like the c-closet.”

“But it's dark and quiet and a nice place to hide from your problems,” Bridgette said as she opened the small closet, got out her worn apron, and put it on.

“Bridgeet wants to h-hide in the closet?” Birdie asked, eyeing the open closet.

“Only sometimes,” Bridgette said with a small smile and closed the closet. She looked in on her mother, who was sleeping. “Well, I am off to do the laundry and get water. Pray that the morning sun doesn’t make me melt.”

“Bye, bye, Bridgeet.”

ONCE THE WET CLOTHES WERE hung and a fresh bucket of water was set by the back door, Bridgette brushed her hair and changed into one of her new work dresses Edgar had given her the day before. It was a plain black dress made out of lightweight material. The sleeves went to her elbows, and the hem went to her mid-calf; white lace trimmed the collar and cuffs. He had given her two identical dresses so she could wash one and wear one. He had also told her that should she stay until the weather grew cold, he would get her a long-sleeved, floor-length maid dress. Bridgette sat on the couch and pulled on her long black stockings, which were also given to her, before putting on her old boots. She had left her new black slippers at the manor to avoid getting them dirty walking to and from her cottage every day. She slid her arms into the white apron and tied it in the back. She made sure there was enough bread and cheese for Birdie and her mother for lunch; there wasn’t much. She would have to go to the market soon. Finally, Bridgette pulled her hair up and pinned it into a bun at the crown of her head, then fastened the white ruffled hairpiece in place to complete the uniform. “Now remember, Birdie, I will be back a bit later than usual. I am hoping before dinner. So please don’t think I got lost or forgot you. Just stay here. I will be back, I promise.”

“Okay, Bridgeet,” Birdie said as she picked up the bowl of porridge for Bridgette’s mother.

Bridgette looked over the small cottage to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything and groaned when she noticed the dirty dishes in the basin. She quickly fetched the bucket of fresh water and poured some onto the dishes. “If you feel up to it, Birdie, there are dishes to be done.”

“Too tired,” she replied, with an exaggerated yawn.

Bridgette shook her head and laughed to herself as she put the bucket back. “Well, just keep it in mind in case you find yourself bored.”

Bridgette said her goodbyes and left the cottage again. Though her legs were sore and her feet ached, Bridgette smiled as she made her way to Lord Thornwood’s manor in the late morning light. The walk wasn’t terribly long, and it let her enjoy the fresh air and clear her thoughts. It was wild to think that the week started with the unfortunate event of getting fired from The Golden Pear. Now, she was a maid for a lord, who liked to keep to himself and agreed to pay her nicely. She would be able to pay the increase of taxes, and have enough to save for a doctor for her mother. Soon enough, her mother would be healthy, and Bridgette could start saving for a nice house with a water pump on the inside. The thought made her giddy.

“Day by day, you will get there, Bridgette,” she said to herself.

Bridgette made it to the manor in record time. She walked around to the back and used her key to enter through the servants’ door. She exchanged her boots for the tidy black slippers. The kitchen door swung open. Bridgette stood up straight and smiled as Edgar came into the hallway, drying his hands with a white towel. His expression lit up when he saw her. “Good day, Miss Bridgette. I see the uniform fits you well.”

She curtsied and said, “I am ready to get straight to work, Mr. Edgar.”

“Very good. I was thinking of beating the dust out of the rugs in storage and finally laying them out.” Bridgette followed Edgar through the kitchen that smelled of cooked chicken and fresh bread. It made her mouth water. Edgar set his towel by the sink full of soaking dishes, then led her through the dining room, and up the stairs to one of the bedrooms being used for storage. Bridgette was amazed at how many rolled up rugs could fit in the room. How many rugs did one manor need? Her back ached just looking at them all.

“I have strung up a rope in the garden. I will help you get a few of the rugs outside, and you can beat them out there. If you have any pent-up anger, it is a great chore to relieve it,” Edgar said smoothly as he looked over the rugs.

“Do I look like someone who has pent-up anger, Edgar?” Bridgette asked with a laugh.

“In my many years of serving, I have found that the ones who seem the most innocent are the ones who have more things to hide,” he said with an air of humor.

Bridgette’s stomach twisted, but she pushed her unease away. “Edgar, are you telling me that you have pent-up anger you need to beat out?” she asked in jest.

“Only when the moon is full,” he said dryly.

She laughed. “I will try and remember that.”

Bridgette helped Edgar carry several of the smaller rugs outside to the line he tied up in the garden; it was ridiculous how heavy they could be. Edgar helped her hang a rug over the rope and handed her a rug beater—a long handle with twisted metal making up the paddle. He explained where each rug went, then excused himself to do some work inside. Bridgette whacked the hung rug, and a small cloud of dust escaped the tight fibers. She hit it with more force, and more dust burst from the rug. She beat the rug on both sides until her shoulders were screaming and no more dust flew into the air. Bridgette slipped the rug off the line and carefully rolled it back up. She grunted as she hefted it up the steps and through the servants’ entrance by herself. Her shoulders slumped as she walked back to the nine rugs waiting to be cleaned. It was going to be a long day.

Bridgette brushed her hands off and grabbed the edge of the next rug that was shorter, but wider than the first. She heaved with all her strength and threw the rug up. It missed the rope by several inches and fell back on top of Bridgette and knocked her off balance. Her hip met the hard ground with a bruising thump. “Oof!” she cried out. She scrambled to her feet and brushed herself off. “How embarrassing, Bridgette,” she mumbled to herself, and looked around to make sure Edgar hadn’t seen her fall. Movement caught her attention, and she looked up at a second floor window. The curtain had moved. Bridgette was fairly confident the window belonged to the room that was off-limits to her. Was Master Thornwood watching her again? Her heart sped up.

He wouldn’t yell at her for dropping a heavy rug on her own head, would he? Bridgette grabbed the rug and threw it with extra vigor over the line; it caught. She beat the dust out with a strong arm and tried to resist the temptation to look back up at the window. If he was still watching her, she would just have to show him what a good worker she was. She would not give him a reason to be upset with her.

She worked herself into a sweat cleaning and moving the rugs one-by-one, until all ten rugs they had brought out were dust-free and placed where they needed to be. Once she finished unrolling the last long corridor rug on the second floor, she leaned heavily against the wall. She wanted to slide down until her bottom hit the floor so she could rest her tired feet, but she knew how bad it would be if Edgar or Lord Thornwood found her sprawled out on the floor. She gave herself a minute to breathe, wiped her hands on her apron, then headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. She had just reached the dining room as Edgar was exiting the kitchen. “Ah, Miss Bridgette, I was just coming to find you.”

“I just placed the last rug,” she said.

“Perfect timing. I was coming to tell you that I am leaving to go do some errands. I just put the kettle on the stove. The Master will be expecting his tea soon.” Edgar beckoned her into the kitchen. “He will ring when he is ready, and you must deliver it promptly.”

“Understood,” Bridgette said as her stomach flipped.

“I don’t plan to be gone too long, but I will need you to start cooking the Master’s supper, so I can serve it when I get back.”

“Of course. What am I supposed to make?”

“I had planned mashed potatoes, with my signature gravy, and cooked asparagus. I will pick up some meat while I am out,” Edgar said as he opened one of the high cupboards and pulled out a book. “The vegetables are in the cellar. And if you have time, you can start on the gravy. You can follow this recipe,” he said, and laid the book open on the table. “Any questions before I leave?”

Bridgette swallowed and took a deep breath. “Get the potatoes and asparagus from the cellar. Boil potatoes and cook asparagus. Take the tea when Master Thornwood rings.”

“Very good. Cook enough so that we may eat as well. I will be back soon.” Edgar bowed politely, then left Bridgette alone in the kitchen. She clenched her hands into fists, then splayed her fingers and shook out the tension in her body. There was nothing to be worried about; she would make it worse by stressing. Bridgette knew how to cook, and she knew how to take tea to someone. It would be fine.

She set to work by filling a large pot with water and heating it on the stove for the potatoes, then she started setting the tea tray. She fetched a teapot and matching cup and saucer that were beautifully decorated in blue flowers and placed them carefully on the silver tray. After searching a bit, she finally found the sugar and cream. She finished with setting a single spoon in the correct spot and a tea bag in the teapot. The water still needed time to heat, so Bridgette propped the cellar door open with the brick on the floor, and walked down the steep, dark steps into the cold cellar. She squinted her eyes to try and see better. “Blast it, Bridgette, you should have brought a candle,” she cursed at herself, then walked along the wall and felt the shelves. There were many jars of preserved foods, Bridgette could only guess what they were in the dark. She kept moving and finally found a sack with potatoes in it. The potatoes were on the smaller side, so she grabbed six and held them in her apron as she looked for the asparagus. Her hand moved beyond the shelves and felt bricks. She squinted and realized it was a fireplace. A manor couldn’t have too many fireplaces, she supposed. She found the asparagus on another shelf and added it to her potatoes. The whistle of the kettle sounded from up the stairs. Bridgette hurried back up to the kitchen and kicked the brick out of the way to close the door behind her. She dumped the vegetables on the counter, then ran to the stove to remove the kettle from the heat and set it aside.

The calling bells on the wall silently stared down at her. He would ring when he was ready, and she would hear it and she would take him the tea. The water for the potatoes started to boil. “Okay, Bridgette, let's get these vegetables washed and potatoes boiling, and that should give the kettle enough time to cool before adding the water to the tea,” she said with a smile. “You are a natural. Who needs a full kitchen staff when there is Bridgette?” she laughed to herself as she gathered the potatoes and asparagus scattered on the counter, then put them in the sink. Her brows pinched together. “That is odd. I could have sworn I grabbed six potatoes, not four.” She washed the asparagus and set them on a towel to dry, then rinsed the four potatoes and added them to the boiling water. “Okay, I just need to get two more potatoes, then I can breathe for a minute.”

One of the bells on the wall rang, and it made her heart nearly jump out of her chest. Her hand was already on the door handle. She would just hurry to get the two potatoes in the pot so they would cook with the others, and then she would take the tea. It would be quick. She swung the door open and sprinted down the stairs. She reached the potatoes before the door closed and left her in complete darkness. With the two potatoes in hand, she felt her way back to the stairs. Bridgette patted the door until she found the knob, but it didn’t twist. Her stomach lurched. “Oh, no,” she said as she shook the door handle. “Come on, Bridgette, you can open a silly door.”

She heard the bell ring again on the other side of the door. Bridgette moaned in frustration and rammed her shoulder into the door with all her weight. It didn’t budge. “No, no, no!” She banged on the door with her fists, then stopped. What did she expect? That Lord Thornwood would hear her cries for help and come down to free her from the kitchen cellar? It was a disaster. “This is a new level of pathetic, Bridgette,” she groaned in the dark. “Think, Bridgette. There has to be a way out.” She went back down the stairs and felt around for anything she could use. The jars of food could do nothing for her. The sack of potatoes was useless. She found the fireplace again and inspected every inch with her hands for a fire poker or other tool that might be useful, but there was nothing.

The bell rang again, and it somehow sounded angry. Bridgette fell to her knees in defeat at the foot of the fireplace. “Why do I always have to do this?” she sighed in frustration. A draft blew over Bridgette's face, and she caught her breath. All fireplaces had a chimney, and sometimes fireplaces were stacked. If her memory served her right, there was a brick fireplace in the kitchen directly above the one in front of her. She crawled forward and moved her fingers over the inner hearth, then up the back wall and continued until she found the smoke shelf. It wasn’t a huge fireplace, but it wasn’t small either. Slowly, she angled herself in and up, and stood slightly hunched inside the hearth. The smoke shelf was as high as her armpit; if she tried hard enough, she could pull herself up on it. Bridgette looked up and listened. The bell was ringing furiously, and it didn’t sound muffled. There had to be a clear path up to the kitchen somehow. Bridgette braced her arms on the dusty smoke shelf and pushed with her legs. Her head hit the slanted ceiling of the hearth. “Ouch!” After rubbing the sore spot, she tried again, but minded how close her head was to the bricks above her. With many grunts and shifts of her body weight, Bridgette was finally crouched on the smoke shelf.

On top of the shelf, Bridgette felt up the walls of the flue. There was nothing obstructing her way, so she gingerly stood up. It was a cozy fit, but she did have enough room to turn in a circle and move her arms up and down. There was no ledge or anything to grab on to, so she would have to get creative. She braced her back against the solid brick behind her and pushed her feet on the wall in front of her. She inched her way up, alternating the support between her arms and her legs. It was a painstakingly slow process, but she was moving, and that was better than just sitting in the cellar waiting to be found. Her arms shook in protest, being so tired after lifting all those heavy rugs. She had to get into the kitchen so she could bring Lord Thornwood his tea. She couldn’t give up now. “Up, Bridgette, just go up,” she grunted to herself inside the chimney.

At first, Bridgette thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, but light was coming up from the brick above her. She struggled up a few more feet and grabbed on to a new ledge where the flue seemed to widen a bit. Her muscles ached as she pulled herself up and over the ledge. She didn’t have enough strength to stop her quick descent, so she slammed down on the smoke shelf stomach first with a grunt and then rolled off and landed hard on her back in the hearth of the kitchen.

The kitchen!

“You made it, Bridgette,” she gasped. She rested her head back on the cool brick and groaned in the silence. Silence? The bell! Her eyes snapped open, and to her horror, there was a cloaked figure standing against the wall. She scrambled to her feet with absolutely no grace and curtsied low. “Lord Thornwood, I apologize. I was about to bring you your tea, but I shut myself in the cellar, and the door got stuck.” Her voice shook, and she held her curtsy for an extra moment. Her apron was no longer white, and her hands were completely black. She was a mess. She slowly rose up from her curtsy and used what little courage she had to look up at the still form in front of her.

In the light coming through the kitchen windows, Bridgette was able to see her employer in more detail. He was mostly covered by his large black cloak with the hood pulled low in front of his face. The only skin she could see was his chin, which was tucked down against his chest. His shoulders were hunched forward, making him look like he was trying to hide in the little bit of shadow from his hood. He was tall despite his posture, and was dressed in fine clothing, as a lord should be. He still said nothing.

“The tea is ready, my lord. I can bring it to your study now, if you still want it,” she said, proud of the control she mustered in her voice.

“You climbed up through the fireplace?”

His rough voice didn’t sound amused at all, and she didn’t expect him to be. To her surprise, he didn’t sound furious either; he actually sounded perplexed.

Bridgette ducked her head to hide her smile. “Yes, my lord. I really wanted to impress you with my first afternoon without Edgar, and when I was trapped, I couldn’t just sit. I had to do something. I really didn’t want to keep you waiting. I apologize again.”

“So you were going to serve me tea covered in soot?” he asked with a trace of annoyance.

“I, well, um, I would have washed my hands at least,” Bridgette said as she hid her filthy hands behind her back. “Edgar said you don’t like to be kept waiting, so getting you the tea would have been top priority.”

“That is not what it looks like,” he growled. “How did you manage to get trapped in the cellar?”

“I was getting more potatoes, and I forgot to set the brick. I was trying to hurry,” Bridgette said. She would plead her case, but she needed to be careful she didn’t overdo it and push him over the edge.

“Hurrying through things makes one sloppy,” he said. The dark tone of his voice made her stomach tighten. His hood shifted as he looked around the kitchen. She caught a glimpse of his mouth in the deepest frown she had ever seen. “What is going on in this kitchen? You have food all over the floor.”

Bridgette looked and wanted to punch herself when she saw two perfect potatoes on the floor by the counter. She knew she had grabbed six potatoes. She could have avoided all of this. “So sorry, my lord. Please allow me to pick those up.” She picked the potatoes up and ran them to the sink. “Do you still want your tea?” Bridgette asked as she grabbed the kettle that was definitely not warm enough, and poured the water into the teapot.

“I will have it now,” Lord Thornwood said.

Bridgette poured the tea into the cup. “Cream and sugar, my lord?”

“No.”

“No?” Bridgette asked without thinking.

“You have not washed your hands,” he growled.

“Bird droppings, Bridgette!” she exclaimed and ran to the sink.

“Excuse me?” Lord Thornwood asked, sounding appalled.

“Nothing. Sorry, my lord,” she said quickly. Once her hands were scrubbed, she wiped them dry on her apron, and groaned when she realized she would have to wash her hands again. She washed them again and dried them on a clean towel she found. Lord Thornwood’s presence was uncomfortable and distracting. “I actually think the water has gone too cold. I can make a fresh pot and bring it up to you when it's ready.”

“I will have it now,” he ordered.

“Yes, my lord.” Bridgette brought the tea tray over to her employer with shaky arms. He grabbed the cup with a gloved hand and brought it to his lips.

“You are correct. This is not an acceptable temperature for tea,” he said with a deep frown and set the cup back on the tray. “Just as I do not find it acceptable for my tea to not be served to me when I call for it. I am willing to look past it this time, seeing as you were physically incapable of doing your job, but I will not be this generous again should you find yourself in a similar situation.” His voice was calm and cold. It took everything in Bridgette to make sure her exhausted arms didn’t drop the tray at his feet. The cup rattled on its saucer as her arms started to shake.

“I understand, my lord. You have my gratitude,” she said as she stepped back to the counter and set the tray down.

“Don’t take too long,” he said curtly, then disappeared through the dining room door, his cloak gliding behind him.

Bridgette let her shoulders slump as soon as he was out of sight. “By the sun that brings us light, Birdie! You could have told me to look on the blasted floor for the potatoes!” she exclaimed to the empty kitchen. She breathed in deeply then let it all rush out at once.

The door from the servants’ hall opened. “Time was on my side, Miss Bridgette. The market was not crowded at all,” Edgar announced cheerfully. Bridgette sheepishly turned around. Edgar stopped short when he saw her face, his basket of goods swinging on his arm. “Is that soot on your nose?” Bridgette covered her nose with a hand. Edgar’s eyes roamed down her dirty apron and across the coal-stained floor to the fireplace. He looked back at her with a puzzled expression. “I am having a hard time deciding what to ask first.”

“And I can’t decide whether I am the luckiest or the most foolish girl in the world,” Bridgette said as she rubbed her nose.

“Well, you can tell me all about it while we clean and finish supper, then I will help you decide which one you are,” he said with an amused expression.

“Edgar, you are my hero.”

THE SUN WAS BEHIND THE trees by the time Bridgette turned onto the road where her cottage sat. The late evening light was pleasant, even with her aching body from her eventful day of work. Luckily, it hadn’t ended in shambles, thanks to Edgar. Bridgette had told him everything while they fixed a fresh pot of tea and finished making the food. The old butler was a good listener. He smiled at her jokes, but never laughed at her stupidity. In the end, he was the one who served Lord Thornwood the tea and supper, which was perfectly fine with Bridgette. She knew she probably would have dumped the tray on the way up the stairs with how her hands shook. She hadn’t been fired, but it had been a close call. Edgar didn’t mention anything Lord Thornwood might have said when he delivered the food, which she took as a good sign.

Once the kitchen had been cleaned and scrubbed, Edgar packed a basket of the leftovers from the meal for her to take home. He was such a pleasant old man, and Bridgette was grateful for him.

Unusual noises made Bridgette pick up her pace. A group of people were standing in the road by her cottage. “What on earth?” She picked out the rowdy laughter first, then a woman yelling, and what seemed to be a goose honking. Bridgette broke into a sprint. She pushed her way through the crowd of young men who were standing around something on the ground. “Birdie?”

Birdie’s round form was hunched over a white goose that lay in the dirt. She mumbled as she moved her hands over its bent wing. “Oh, Birdie! What happened?”

Birdie looked up with a tear-stricken face. “Miss Bridgeet!” The crowd laughed around them. “He is a b-bad man!” she shouted and pointed at the tall form next to Bridgette. Bridgette looked up to find a smirking Jack. “He hurt it!”

“It is not my fault it didn’t move out of my path,” Jack said with a smug look. “Serves it right for blocking the road.”

“Birdie, take the goose inside. I’ll be right there,” Bridgette said. Birdie scrambled to pick up the hurt creature and hurried to the cottage. Some of the boys laughed as she stumbled through the door. Bridgette faced Jack with her hands on her hips and snapped, “What business do you have here?”

Jack's eyes slid down her body in a way that made her squirm. His tongue rolled over his top teeth. “Been playing in the fire pits, Bridgeet ?” He over-pronounced the way Birdie said her name, and Bridgette wanted to punch his perfect teeth out of his pretty face. “Who are you working for that has you dressed up so proper, but looking so filthy?”

“That is none of your concern, and neither is Birdie. You live on the other side of town; there is no reason for you to be here. There is no reason for you to bully someone as sweet as Birdie. She has done nothing to you.”

Jack set his hands on her shoulders and gripped them hard. “Come now, I mean the Batty Bird no harm. Just wanted to make sure she knows her place in Cold Stone Hollow, which we all know my family practically owns and runs. I am just making sure the whole town is the way it is supposed to be. We can’t have wild birds running amok and disturbing those who pass through. They need to be contained and controlled.” His smile was dark.

Bridgette pulled out of his grip. “Get away, all of you!” She backed away as Jack took a step forward, but something caught her foot, and she fell to the ground. The one who tripped her laughed loudly. Bridgette scooted backwards on the ground, trying to put as much space between her and the young men as she could. Her basket of food was still clutched tightly in her hand.

“Get up,” Jack said as he grabbed her arm. “Didn’t your mother teach you it's not proper for a young lady to roll in the dirt?”

“Let go of me!” Bridgette said as she kicked her legs.

Jack grunted and let go of her arm. Bridgette looked around. She hadn’t actually kicked him, so something else must have gotten him. Doctor Thistle stood above Jack, who was on the ground, clutching his face. Blood seeped through his fingers and onto his expensive waistcoat. Doc flexed his hand and glared at the crowd around him. “I hope none of you are wondering why it was necessary for me to do that. I know every one of your parents, and I am not afraid to tell them where you were tonight. They raised you better than that. I don’t want to see any of you lay a finger on Bridgette, Birdie, or any other lady. Do you understand?” The young men shifted and looked away from the Doc. “I asked you, do you understand?” Doc’s voice was so cold, it made Bridgette shiver.

“Yes, sir,” they said.

“Get out of my sight,” Doc ordered. The boys wasted no time in following his demand. Jack was helped up by one of his companions. He glared at the doctor. “Put ice on it and you’ll be fine.” The doctor turned to another one. “Charlie, I am disappointed to see you here.”

Charles dipped his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Doc.”

“Choose better, son,” Doc said. Charles nodded then hurried to follow the group. Doc turned and helped Bridgette to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

Bridgette shook her head. “No. My pride feels a little bruised though.”

“Let’s get you inside,” he said as he picked up her basket, and helped her into the cottage. “I am sorry I was not here sooner.”

“So am I,” Bridgette said. She approached Birdie at the little table. “Birdie, I am so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

Birdie sniffed as she petted the goose's beak. She perked up when she saw the Doc. “D-Doc, will he be okay?”

Doc approached the goose on the table with a concerned expression. He ran a hand along the damaged wing and hummed to himself. “I think if we wrap the wing up for a little while, he might be able to fly in a month or so. But it is hard to be sure.”

“Can we t-try?” Birdie pleaded.

“Of course. Hold him up right with his wing against his body. I will get a bandage out of my bag which I left outside. I will be only a second.”

Among the three of them, they were able to get the goose wrapped up and comfortable enough to waddle around on the ground. Bridgette made Birdie a plate from the food she brought home, while Doc checked on her mother. Once Birdie was happily content eating mashed potatoes and Edgar’s delicious gravy, Bridgette checked the bedroom. “Thank you for your help, Doc. I am afraid I forgot to make those blueberry muffins.”

Doc looked up at her as he packed his medical bag. “Don’t worry about it, Bridgette. I am just glad I got here soon enough.” He flexed his hand and Bridgette saw the bruises on his knuckles.

Bridgette nodded solemnly and tried not to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t come. “How is she?” she asked.

He looked over at Clara’s sleeping form. “The same,” he sighed. “Which is good because that means she hasn’t gotten worse.”

“That is promising,” Bridgette said, holding on to the hope that swelled inside her. “I found work, and I should have money for a specialist soon.”

Doc nodded. “I did hear that you were hired. Do you enjoy it?”

Bridgette gave a small smile when she thought about Edgar. “I do enjoy it. It also helps that it will pay well.”

Doc stood and stepped toward her. “That is good to hear.” His voice was light, but his expression was concerning. “I do feel like I need to be upfront with my worries though.”

Bridgette tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“As the doctor of Cold Stone Hollow, I make it a priority to visit everyone that moves in. I tried to visit Lord Thornwood at his estate a few weeks ago and didn’t get very far. The way the butler seemed to be hiding things was suspicious. Do you feel safe when you are there?”

Bridgette thought back to Lord Thornwood’s rough voice when he told her the tea was too cold. She had been afraid, but not for her safety. “I do feel safe there. Probably even safer than here.”

Doc adjusted his glasses and nodded once. “I think I will make room in my schedule tomorrow to come by and check on Birdie and your mother while you are working. I don’t want anyone to cause any more problems.”

Bridgette smiled. “I would be so grateful if you did. I will talk to Birdie as well about staying inside if anyone comes around.”

“Talk t-to Birdie about what?” Birdie called.

“About how we will put Jack in the closet with all the geese if he ever comes back around,” Bridgette responded.

“Good. Birdie doesn't like the c-closet.”

Bridgette and Doc laughed. “Will you stay and eat supper with us? We have more than enough.”

“No, thank you, I best be getting home to Ava. She has supper waiting for me,” he said as he walked to the door. “Good night, ladies. I will stop by tomorrow.”