Unbridled Dreams (17 page)

“What’s wrong?” Minnie asked.

“They’re so . . . plain,” Irma answered. “And look at that,” she said, pointing to the woman riding sidesaddle. “I didn’t think it could be true. Why would she do that? It’s the Wild West, not a ride in the park.”

Minnie shrugged. “Wait until we see the act. Maybe this is for the parade.”

Irma hoped she was right. While the other two rancheras rode astride, their saddles looked positively timeworn. The only thing fancy about their costumes was a little beading on their leather vests. And their horses were nothing special either—a rangy bay, a bald-faced pinto, and a positively ugly gelding with a spotted rear and a scraggly tail reminiscent of a worn-out broom. Maybe Minnie was right. Maybe everything would be different when they came back into the arena during the performance. Maybe the cowgirls saved their show costumes and better horses for later in the evening so that nothing would compete with the headliners for attention. Irma sincerely hoped that was the case.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer boomed, “Buffalo Bill . . . the chief scout of the United States Army and the avenger of Custer.” As the crowd roared approval, Bill Cody, mounted on his famous white horse, Isham, charged into the arena and into the spotlight. Here, Irma thought, was a man who knew how to dazzle. Cody wore a fringed and beaded buckskin coat and thigh-high leather boots.

People had always said that Bill Cody sat a horse like royalty. Irma didn’t know how royalty rode, but she marveled at the partnership between horse and rider as Isham skidded to a halt in front of the long row of performers and reared up while Cody waved his hat to the crowd and shouted, “Are you
ready
?” When the crowd yelled “Yes!” Cody whirled Isham around to face his company and hollered “Go!” and then charged back across the arena and out of sight.

Isham and his rider had barely disappeared behind the backdrop when the Wild West lineup transformed itself into an animated patchwork of whooping Indians charging one way, and cowboys firing revolvers and carbines going the other. It was choreography at its best, and as Irma watched the formations weave in and out of one another, the flames of her ambition flickered anew.

Monte dashed by. Irma and Minnie waved their lace-edged handkerchiefs and screamed his name. For a moment Irma thought she might cry from excitement and pride and bittersweet longing to be part of it all. Surely if Momma could see this for herself she would finally realize it wasn’t some second-rate circus. The Wild West was one of America’s greatest products, unforgettable to those who saw it and something to boast about for those lucky enough to perform in it. Why couldn’t Momma understand that?

The crowd sat down as the Grand Entry concluded. Irma opened her program to the page listing what was to come. She glanced at the boy seated next to her. “Well, here we go, Jack,” she said. “What are you most excited to see?”

Jack seemed to be thinking it over, but finally he said, “All of it,” he said.

Irma smiled. “Me too.”

As the evening unfolded, the band’s music and the announcer’s voice were the constants in an ever-changing drama unfolding in the arena. The announcer not only explained all sorts of things about the West but also made certain the audience’s attention was focused in just the right place, so they didn’t miss anything important. He delivered well-timed anecdotes, and once, when a rider took a tumble, the narrator eased everyone’s fears and soon had them all laughing at the antics of a cowboy clown who hurried into the arena while the fallen rider was helped out of sight. Later, the narrator pointed out that the rider who had fallen in an earlier act was back in the arena— proof that he wasn’t badly hurt. The band played tunes selected to make things either more dramatic or more hilarious, and by the third act Irma decided they more than deserved the praise given in the program.

For all of Irma’s daydreaming in recent years, she had not come close to imagining the actual performances of the improved Wild West. Diminutive Miss Annie Oakley fired rifles at glass balls and vaulted her gun stand to shatter yet more targets, among them a playing card held in her husband’s hand. She moved with amazing swiftness, agility, and a grace Irma believed even Momma would find admirable.

“He’s wonderful,” Minnie exclaimed when Shep Sterling displayed his myriad of talents.

Irma nodded agreement, following Shep’s every move and blushing furiously when he took a bow and seemed to be looking right at her—which was, Irma knew, impossible. Shep didn’t even know she was there. Yet. She wondered how he would react when he first saw her—and felt her cheeks grow hot again.

When the Deadwood mail coach came lumbering into view and a half-dozen Sioux sporting war paint and feathers filled the air with their cries, Irma shivered. At her side, Jack hid his face, and even the stony-faced Miss Farnham seemed to be affected as she covered her mouth with one hand. But then with a chorus of yips the cowboys came charging to the rescue. Monte was among them, and Irma and Minnie cheered right along with young Jack—louder, in fact, than anyone around them. Miss Farnham did not cheer, but she did look down at Jack and smile with what Irma thought looked like genuine enjoyment.

During one of the interludes a clown the announcer introduced as Hidalgo entered the arena mounted on a mule about the size of a large dog. Everyone—including Miss Farnham—burst out laughing. Hidalgo wore an enormous sombrero and winter chaps sporting long fur. He bumped along astride his little mule with exaggerated movements, and when he stood up and the mule walked out from under him and gave a happy little kick of freedom, the crowd applauded approval. Hidalgo spent the next few minutes chasing his mount around the arena and alternately being nipped or otherwise outsmarted. When Hidalgo swept his sombrero off his head to take a bow, the mule bowed alongside him—and then took the sombrero in his hand and charged away. Irma and Minnie laughed until tears were streaming down their cheeks.

As for the women of the Wild West, they raced one another and occasionally exhibited a skill that Irma had mastered. But no one female rider did
everything
Irma had worked into her routine. Two of the beautiful rancheras doubled as the homesteader’s terrified wife in one act and a maiden in distress on the hijacked mail coach in another. That, Irma thought, would
not
be something Liberty Belle would care to do. But then a cowgirl retrieved a kerchief from the arena floor as her black-and-white pony charged by it at a dead run. Irma could pick up a Stetson, but a kerchief would be much more difficult. She’d need a few days’ practice before she would be able to do that.

As soon as the Final Salute concluded, Miss Farnham grabbed Jack’s hand and hurried for the exit. Irma watched Jack depart with a feeling of sadness for the boy being swept away without a chance to tour the grounds or meet any of the performers while she and Minnie and Daddy followed the dozens of spectators who, in spite of the late hour, streamed toward the back lot. This area was lighted, as well, although Daddy said those lights would be going out soon, which was why performers were hurrying to get horses and mules stabled, wagons unhitched, and countless other chores accomplished. Much to Minnie and Irma’s disappointment, neither Monte, Ned, nor Shep Sterling were anywhere in sight. Buffalo Bill, on the other hand, was easy to find, standing just outside his private tent surrounded by at least two dozen admirers.

“Oh, no. . . .” Irma said, and grabbed Daddy’s arm. “There’s the man from the trolley. Do you suppose he’s going to challenge Mr. Cody?”

“Either way, we should say hello to Bill,” Daddy said, and led the girls in that direction.

Expecting a confrontation between the aggressive reporter and the famous scout, Irma was surprised when the recently obnoxious Mr. Harrison removed his hat and blathered energetically about how he’d been convinced no one could shoot well enough to accomplish the feats that he’d heard about. And then he apologized to Cody for his part in spreading a false rumor.

“Apology accepted,” Cody said with a smile and a wink. He went on to invite Harrison to join him and a few friends at the Laclede Hotel for a late supper. He caught sight of Daddy and nodded before saying, “And here they are now.”

“I can’t decide,” Irma said, and laid the dress she’d been holding up to herself atop the growing pile of other dresses recently “auditioned” in front of the dressing mirror in the elegant hotel room she and Minnie were sharing.

“It doesn’t
matter
which one,” Minnie said from where she sat in an emerald-upholstered chair by the window. “They’re all lovely.”

“But this one,” Irma picked the most recent reject up, “makes me look too young.”

“You
are
young,” Minnie said. “We’ll be the youngest ladies there.”

“And this one,” Irma continued, reaching for a soft blue sateen gown, “is probably too fancy.”

“Indeed.” Minnie lifted her chin and looked down her nose, pretending to be an elegant lady. “Unless, of course, there is a ball planned for the rest of the evening.” She pointed to the clock on the mantel. “But then the evening is likely to be over before you’re even dressed if you don’t make a decision before long.” She leaned back in the chair. “There’s something to be said for being the poor cousin. At least I don’t have a nervous breakdown trying to decide what to wear to supper.”

Irma glanced up and, with a little frown, apologized. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I . . .” She looked at the pile of dresses. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“Oh, hush,” Minnie said and jumped up. “The only way you’re making me feel is frustrated. For goodness’ sake, Irma. Pick one and put it on! You’ve nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” Irma said. “I just . . . I want to make a good impression.”

“On who? Or is it
whom
? Mr. Cody thinks you’re adorable. Your father would be proud of you if you showed up in boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt. And as for Shep Sterling—he’s not going to care what you have on, either.” She teased, “Although, perhaps
he’d
prefer the nightgown with the blue satin bows.”

“Minnie Mason!” Irma spun around to stare at her cousin with mock horror.

“Sorry,” Minnie said. “I keep forgetting you’re one of those modern women who has no plans to get married.” She arched one eyebrow and gazed at the pile of discarded dresses. “Although you must admit there’s some fairly contradictory evidence hereabouts.”

“Don’t be silly,” Irma protested. “Shep Sterling doesn’t care about me. He hasn’t written once since he left.”

Minnie reached for one of the dresses and began to hang it back up. “It hasn’t even been two weeks,
Irmagard.
And besides, he wrote several volumes with his eyes the day of your luncheon. And later that day at the ranch. And let us not forget his good-bye.” She made kissing noises.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about his nearly missing the train.” When Irma looked surprised, Minnie explained. “I—old-fashioned as it is to be interested in marriage—was making a last pathetic effort to get something besides an
ahem
from Mr. Knox. When I saw that he was headed around the corner of the train depot, I sort of . . . followed him.” She shrugged. “So I saw what he saw. And, I might add, what Edna Hertz saw. Although you don’t have anything to fear from
her.
”

“How can you be sure of that?” Irma worried aloud. “She’s had it in for me ever since Shep brought me those roses.”

“Because when I saw Mr. Knox rescue you from a potentially dangerous encounter with your mother, I did my part.” She shrugged. “I hinted to Edna Hertz that people who messed with you were inviting all kinds of unwelcome attention from the Mason family. The
entire
family. All
seven
of us. And I hinted how one or the other of us might know one story or another involving Edna and this or that boy from town. Stories Edna’s mother would find . . . enlightening.”

“You’ve never told
me
any of those stories,” Irma said. Minnie tilted her head and raised both eyebrows. Irma grinned. “Minnie Mason, that was just evil. To make poor Edna Hertz think you were going to tell on her.”

“I didn’t actually say we would tell. It was more . . . hinting. But girls like Edna usually have lots of things they don’t want their mothers knowing. Whatever secrets Edna has, thinking we Masons knew them made her incredibly agreeable to forgetting all about your one little moment with Mr. Sterling.” Minnie abruptly changed the subject and motioned to a pale blue dress Irma had already ruled out as being too plain. “That really does make your eyes look blue. And in the candlelight downstairs . . .” She picked the dress up. “This is the one.”

“Are you sure?” Irma looked doubtful.

“I’m sure,” Minnie shoved the dress into her hands. “Now get it on, because Uncle Otto is going to be pounding on that door any minute now, and
you
might be too nervous to be hungry but
I,
dear cousin, am
not.
”