Birdie's Nest (35 page)

Inside a matronly woman outfitted Birdie with four dresses, sleepwear, a petticoat and a navy blue coat that fit across her increasing waistline. The sales lady shook her head and sighed. “It’s not the prettiest thing, but it will keep you and your baby warm. Now, what about a corset for support?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not wearing a corset and cut off my baby’s oxygen supply. He needs it to grow healthy.” She’d also stopped wearing her leg holster, fearing it could reduce circulation in her leg and cause a blood clot or something. She didn’t know a lot about those things but did know her legs were swelling and that something too tight wasn’t good. Now she stored her revolver in a dress pocket and would transfer it to her coat pocket when outside.

“Well, we have some that are very light weight and support your lower abdomen and back.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m determined. Now, how about some comfortable shoes to wear to church?”

Birdie walked from the department store wearing the long coat and loaded down with paper wrapped packages. She stopped by the surrey and stored her purchases under the front seat. Before crossing the street to the bank, she waited for the mule drawn trolley to pass.

Town was crowded today. Maybe folks were getting an early start on their Christmas shopping. Located on the corner with four curved steps leading to the beautiful carved wooden door, Birdie entered and stepped into the shorter of the two lines. The light color granite floor accented the black marble squares reaching half way up the wall. Above the marble, mahogany paneling reached to the ten-foot tin ceiling. They didn’t construct many businesses with such extravagant materials in the future. As she waited in line, the door to Mr. Smith’s office opened and he ushered his wife and daughter, Lauren, out. He looked up, saw Birdie and nodded.

Something or someone in line caught Mr. Smith’s attention. He urged the two women toward the door. As they reached the exit, a man, dusty from travel, in dungarees, a well-worn black hat and a long coat entered and bumped into Lauren, separating her from her parents.

Mr. Smith bristled. “Watch where you’re going, mister.” He reached for his daughter but the man stepped between them.

The man tipped his hat to Lauren. “Beg your pardon, miss.” Before she could respond he spun her about, grabbed her around the neck and pointed a revolver at her head.

Mrs. Smith screamed.

Lauren sobbed, “Please…let me go.” She clawed at his arm. “I…can’t…breath.”

“Shut up and be still. Then I’ll ease up a bit.” She dropped her hands to her sides and her struggles stopped. The crook must have let her have a bit more air.

Birdie eased her hand into her coat pocket and touched the cold steel of the Colt.
Come on, Lauren. Go limp. If you’d taken self-defense classes you’d know that.

But, she hadn’t.

Mr. Smith took a step toward his daughter, but the robber waved the gun. “Get back or I’ll start shooting.” He gestured to Lucinda. “Lady, get over there in the corner.”

“Please…let my daughter—”

“Shut up! Get moving.”

Mr. Smith gently pushed his wife. “Go on, dear.” Hand covering her mouth, she stifled her sobs and walked to the corner at the far end of the teller’s cage.

He waved at the line of people gaping at him. “All of you. Get right over there.” He yelled at someone at the banker’s window. “Get to it Sam, and let’s get out of here.”

Birdie peered around people to see the man with a gun pointed at the teller. He threw a bag on the counter. “Hurry up, man. Empty both tills.” He gestured at the second teller. “Get out here with the others. Make it fast.” The teller almost ran to do his bidding. The one emptying the cash drawers seemed to be relatively calm.

The door opened, a man dressed in a three-piece suit entered with his hat pulled down to hide his eyes, and flipped the open sign to closed. He pointed his gun at Mr. Smith. “Escort me to the back and open the vault.” The vault was clearly visible through the bars so depositors could see how safe their money was. The brass six-foot wide, one-foot deep circular door with its round wheel crank looked like it belonged on a ship.

Mr. Smith’s gaze moved from the vault to his customers cowering in groups. “I’ll do no such thing.”

The man didn’t bat an eye. He aimed at an older bank customer and shot him in the chest. As the report shattered the quiet, screams echoed throughout the room. They watched in horror as the gunned down man hit the wall and slowly slid to the floor leaving a blood-streaked path. Several men rushed to help, but he was obviously dead. The women, weeping in fright, huddled together in a corner with the men surrounding them as the gun smoke slowly dissipated.

Mr. Smith’s face was chalk white. “All right, mister, I get the message.” With a gun in his back, Raymond started walking to the vault located behind the teller’s cage.

Birdie quickly assessed the situation, separated herself from the others and dropped to the floor. “Everybody get down.” They hesitated for a second, and then fell to the floor. The fancy dressed robber was the one to fear. The other two were merely his puppets. She’d have to put them out of commission before tackling the headman. And it would have to be fast because he’d be back in here at the first gunshot. It was days like this that made people wish Waco didn’t have a law against wearing a gun in town. Of course, some carried pocket pistols. Hopefully someone other than herself was carrying.

The man stopped, studied her a minute and then scowled. “Smart thinking lady. I’d sure hate to have to shoot any more of these nice folks.” He shoved Mr. Smith in the back and they continued toward the vault.

Sam, the robber at the teller’s window, busily stuffed money into a bag. The outlaw at the door kept checking outside to see if anyone had heard the shot and was coming to the rescue. Birdie made up her mind, drew her revolver and shot him first. Her bullet caught him in the right shoulder, disabling his gun arm. He dropped his pistol and howled, “I’m shot, Gabe! Help me. Oh, God, it hurts.” He released Lauren to use his left hand to staunch the bleeding. She ran to her mother.

Gabe was already homing in on Birdie. She fell to her left side and fired. A bullet caught him in the chest and he dropped. She rushed to Gabe, took his pistol and shoved it over to the men. One grabbed it and checked the chamber. A young cowboy sprinted from the huddle and rushed to pick up the gun by the door. Before he could get all the way back, a shot rang out from the teller’s cage and caught him in the leg. He scrambled to get his feet to working. Mrs. Smith and a man, crouched low, ran to grab his arms and pulled him to safety.

Birdie scooted closer to the huddle but kept herself five feet from the others. The two men with guns moved to either side of her.

“All right you yahoos,” shouted the boss in the fancy duds, “I’m coming out with your banker in front of me. If you don’t want him or another one of you shot, you’ll toss your weapons into the middle of the floor—one at a time.”

Birdie whispered. “Either one of those guns shoot .38s?” The cowboy nodded, released the chamber, reached over and poured six shells into her hand. She breathed a sigh of relief and filled her revolver with ammo.

When she nodded, the middle-aged gentleman tossed his gun. It clanked against the granite floor. Before the cowboy’s pistol left his hand, the other man was scooting forward to retrieve his and hustled back. Then he tossed his gun again. Three clangs.

“Now!” shouted the boss. “We’re coming out. Anyone make a move and I’ll shoot the banker and then you.”

The outlaw by the door had been watching the proceedings. He hollered, “Hey, boss, it’s—” Before he could finish, the teller in the cage threw a glass paperweight and it caught the wounded robber square on the forehead. He went out like a light. The teller tossed Birdie a grin before he ducked out of sight.

Mr. Smith appeared first. Red-faced, he looked ready to blow at any moment. Evidently the man wasn’t used to being ordered about or his having his business disrupted. He carried a large sack of money. His gaze caught hers. She covered her heart with her left hand, sagged, and then looked up and slightly tilted her head.
Come on now, Mr. Smith, let’s see some good theatrics.”
He nodded in response.

The boss glanced at the two pistols in the middle of the floor. His jaw tightened. “You think I’m stupid, can’t count?” He waved his gun. “Guess I’ll just have to start shooting until I find it.”

Suddenly Mr. Smith groaned, dropped the sack of money and clutched his chest. “Help…help me….” He fell back against the wall and pulled at his collar. “My heart…can’t breath.” He moaned and fell to the floor.

His wife screamed, “Raymond, Oh God, somebody please help him.”

The boss waved the gun, “Sit down woman, before I—”

Birdie fired off three rounds, each hitting him square in the chest. At the same time the door was kicked open and police and sheriff’s deputies, guns drawn, filled the room. The sheriff also toted a double barrel shotgun. He glanced around the room, took a quick inventory and then issued orders for those hurt to be transported to the hospital.

The two men flanking Birdie helped her to her feet. Mrs. Smith rushed over and gripped Birdie’s shoulders. “Are you all right, dear? You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?” Birdie’s ears rang from the shots. She could barely make out Lucinda’s words. The pungent smell of gunpowder hung in the air and on her clothes, stealing her breath.

Birdie shook her head and placed both hands protectively on her baby.
My God. I didn’t think once about my child, just flew headlong into this situation like it was only my life at stake. What was I thinking? What kind of mother am I going to be?

“No, not the baby. Please tell me you’re not cramping or anything like that.” Lucinda turned and hollered, “Raymond, Raymond, get over here and help me take care of Mrs. Lockhart. Her child may be in danger.”

The roar in her head grew and her vision dimmed. The last thing she remembered was Mrs. Smith trying to hold her up.

Chapter Thirty-One

Birdie tried to sit up. “I am not going to the hospital.”

Lucinda placed a hand on her chest and pushed Birdie back down. “Yes, you are dear. We insist.”

“I just fainted.”

“I know, but you need to get checked out to make sure you and the baby are fine. Raymond sent someone after Tad. So he’ll be there soon.”

Birdie let her head drop. “Oh, God, he’ll never let me leave the house again.”

The older woman patted her hand. “Now, don’t be thinking like that. He’s going to be so grateful you’re not hurt, he’ll forget all about your actions at the bank. Which I might say makes you a heroine.” She sniffed and wiped at a tear. “No telling what would have happened to our sweet daughter or Raymond if you hadn’t been so smart and skilled.”

The ambulance started up and Birdie began giggling hysterically. “If I’m not in labor a ride in this thing will sure bring it on.”

Lucinda grinned. “It is a mite rough.” She yelled to the driver. “Slow this thing down. We’ve got an expecting mother back here.” Birdie was seeing a different side to Mrs. Smith today. She had more spunk and courage than Birdie realized.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry about the bumpy ride.”

He slowed down and Birdie couldn’t tell which was worse, hitting the bumps and ruts slowly or fast. This ride was uncalled for. Someone could have driven her home in the surrey if they were worried. Of course, getting checked out with Dr. Floyd was the smart thing to do. “Thank you, Lucinda for taking care of me.”

“It’s my pleasure, dear. After all you’ve done for us, it’s the least we can do.”

Birdie refrained from saying, “Whatever.”

When they reached the hospital, two attendants met them and opened the door. Birdie sat up. “Okay, let me out of here. I can walk.”

“Here we are, Mrs. Lockhart. Your carriage awaits.” Nurse Taylor stood to the side with the antiquated wheeled chair she’d used during her first stay here.

“I really don’t need it, Nurse Taylor. I can walk just fine.”

“You let the doctor make that decision after he examines you.”

“Oh, all right.” Birdie felt ridiculous being made over so. She’d just had too much excitement this afternoon. That combined with her pregnancy and she’d fainted. No big deal.

Nurse Taylor took Birdie’s arm and eased her into the chair. “Doctor Floyd will be here shortly. We called him as soon as we got Mrs. Smith’s call from the bank.” She turned to Lucinda. “Would you like to wait with her until her husband arrives?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Don’t you need to be with Lauren? She’s had a frightening experience today.”

“She’ll be fine with her father. I rather think she’s enjoying the attention and the activity at the bank.”

Imagine that. Birdie wouldn’t have thought the girl gutsy enough. She pictured Lauren boo-hooing and wanting her daddy’s constant attention. Lucinda followed them inside and up to the second floor to the corner room she’d occupied on her first visit.

Birdie stood and moved to sit on the bed. Nurse Taylor started unbuttoning her coat and slipped it off Birdie’s shoulders. “Can you stand for me and let us get you out of your clothes and into a gown?”

“I don’t need to get into a gown. If you want me to lie down, I’ll just take my shoes off and stretch out.”

“The doctor will want to examine you and it would be easier for him if you had on something else.”

“Oh, all right.” Birdie unbuttoned her suit jacket and slipped out of it, the blouse and the skirt. Lucinda hung them up in the closet.

Nurse Taylor handed Birdie the gown. “You can leave your camisole and drawers on but step out of that petticoat.” Birdie had never thought she’d admit wearing crotchless drawers could be a blessing. She’d always hated OB exams, stripping and wearing those gowns you couldn’t keep on your shoulders.

As Birdie did so, the nurse turned down the cover. Birdie crawled onto the bed and pulled the cover up to her chin. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Guess if I have to be here I might as well rest my eyes a minute.”

Lucinda patted her shoulder. “You do that, dear.” She fiddled with the covers. Birdie peeked through her lashes to see the older woman folding the sheet back over the top of the blanket, just as Aunt Patty always made the bed. A lump rose in Birdie’s throat making swallowing difficult. She squeezed her eyes to staunch the tears forming and pretended to doze.