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office was securely locked. Bridget unlocked the door and breathed a sigh of relief to find the office exactly as she had left it the night before. She went to her desk and next to her typewriter placed a stack of notes she needed to type, as well as several letters Dr. Schmidt had requested be posted as soon as possible. She would concentrate on typing rather than on invisible prying eyes.
    Dr. Schmidt looked harried when he arrived. “There’s been a serious accident in the dynamite area where they are clearing for a road. I need to get out there,” he said as he packed extra medical supplies into his bag. “You can take care of things around here. I don’t know what time tonight I’ll be back. When you go home tell Mrs. Schmidt that I might be very late, depending on what I find at the blasting site.”
    The construction area was a dangerous place. There were a lot of accidents. The blasting jobs paid well. What sounded like easy money caused a lot of men to lie about their qualifications, saying they had blasting experience when they didn’t. Bridget had been typing up a report Dr. Schmidt was writing about the problem, with suggestions on how to have questions for prospective employees that would test their skill in knowing how to load dynamite. Dr. Schmidt was working with some people at City Hall in writing rules that the blasting company would have to follow, if they wanted to do any more business in the nearby area.
    When the accidents happened, people were killed or had their arms or legs blown off. It was a serious problem and Bridget was glad Dr. Schmidt was determined to improve the working conditions. It seemed to Bridget that she had more rules when she was at school learning the typewriter than the men did at the blasting site.
    With no patients coming in today, Bridget spent the time getting caught up on her typing. The evening train was due to arrive, so Bridget knew it was near quitting time. She went into Dr. Schmidt’s office, placing the neatly typed pages on his desk.
    She gasped when she returned to the front room to find a man in the doorway. He stepped forward and closed the door. Bridget was fearful. “Who are you? What do you want?”
    “Bridget, don’t you remember me? You hurt my feelings, not remembering me.”
    Bridget’s stare was intense. Trying to keep her voice steady she replied, “No.” Suddenly the man began moving around as he punched the air with his fists. “Boxer?”
    “The one and the same. How you been, kid? It looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself.”
    “Boxer!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. She hadn’t seen him since they were foraging for themselves on the New York City streets. When she first arrived in Oklahoma she sometimes wondered what happened to him and the rest of the gang, but quickly she put those days behind her. If she kept thinking about the bad times she wouldn’t be able to go on into the future. Now, here he was, this part of her past. The past that turned her into ‘Orphan Train Bridget’. Suddenly, Bridget was scared that her secret would be disclosed. She feared she would never be just ‘Bridget.’
    “Where have you been? How did you get here?”
    “I was too old to get on the Orphan Train, so I just worked my way in this direction.” His gaze circled the room.
    “If someplace was good, I stayed there until it wasn’t good any more. I came here because a guy I know wrote me they got big paying jobs loading dynamite. He said I didn’t need any experience and he’d get me on a crew. Then the bum goes and gets himself killed in an explosion a few weeks ago, only I didn’t know until I got here. I heard they had another explosion today.”
    “Yes,” that’s why Dr. Schmidt isn’t here.” Immediately Bridget wished she hadn’t let Boxer know that she was alone.
    “You look real fine, Bridget,” he said as she felt his eyes look through her clothes. “You must be making a lot of money, working for an important