Unbridled Dreams (22 page)
“Ma Clemmons is our wardrobe mistress, and I think she’ll be the one to see on both counts. As you get to know her and her staff better, you can begin to talk about a costume for Liberty Belle. For obvious reasons we’ll want you thinking in terms of red, white, and blue. And I’ll want to approve the final design before Ma Clemmons makes it. I just talked to her about you, and she’s thrilled with the idea of having more help. If you can sew, that’s where you’ll be working.”
Irma grimaced. “Can’t I work with the stock?”
“You’ll like Ma Clemmons, and working in wardrobe will also give you the opportunity to get to know some of the other girls.”
“I said I’d work hard if you’d give me a chance. I meant it.”
Of
course I didn’t think I’d be threading needles.
She squelched the inner voice and went back to reading while Mr. Salsbury gave his assurance about taking good care of Irma, and Daddy said Momma would especially appreciate Nate’s promise. Irma very much doubted Momma would appreciate anything about this adventure, but she said nothing. She had made up her mind and there was no going back now.
“I just now talked with Miss Keen,” Salsbury said, “and she’s agreeable to sharing quarters with you. So if you have no questions and that’s agreeable to you . . .” He pointed to the signature line at the bottom of the second page.
Irma hesitated when she read the last few lines of the contract. “It says I have to have my own horse.” She glanced at Daddy.
“And you do,” he said.
“I do?”
“What do you think the three of us were talking about over at the arena just now?” Daddy smiled. “Diamond belongs to you now—or should I say to Liberty Belle.”
Irma jumped up and hugged him. She began to cry happy tears. Finally, she sat back down and signed her first Wild West contract.
Liberty Belle.
Y
OU HUSBANDS, IN THE SAME WAY, LIVE WITH YOUR
WIVES IN AN UNDERSTANDING WAY . . .
1 Peter 3:7
NASB
Chicago taught Willa shocking things about herself. She, who had grown up reveling in the hustle and bustle of the tens of thousands of people living in her home city of Cleveland, found the endless traffic in the streets of Chicago positively unnerving. Crowded walkways and department stores that had once energized and excited her now induced something approaching claustrophobia. The noise in the streets below her hotel room window kept her awake. She missed the way people on the street at home always smiled and said hello. She missed Ella Jane’s sense of humor and Irmagard’s laughter. Staring at the far horizon across Lake Michigan made her homesick for the unobstructed view from her front porch. The aroma of cigar smoke that wafted out into the hall from the “gentleman’s club” at the hotel reminded her of Otto. When she saw any young woman with red hair, Willa struggled most of that night worrying about Irmagard. Was she truly all right? Had Minnie come to stay? Would Otto take their daughter’s depression seriously? When he failed to answer her first telegram, Willa worried aloud to Louisa. Together they agreed that no answer wasn’t necessarily an indication of trouble. It could be anything. Certainly if there were a problem, Otto would have contacted her at once. But for all her logic, Willa finally gave in to the unshakeable longing for home.
“I’m so sorry,” she said over an elegant supper with Louisa Cody, “but I simply cannot shake this
feeling
that I need to go home.”
Louisa waved her hand in the air. “I understand your concerns completely. Just don’t forget to mention Manitou Springs to Mr. Friedrich. It’s lovely there in late July, and wouldn’t it be nice to escape the heat in North Platte?”
It would, Willa agreed, but that evening as she lay in bed imagining surprising Otto and Irmagard with an early homecoming, Willa was not so certain she would go to Manitou Springs after all. It was an amazing thing to admit, even to herself, but after all these years, the prairie was
home.
“Yee-haw, cowgirl!” Helen Keen called out as Irma and Daddy ducked out of the Wild West office. She was walking along with arms linked with Monte and Shep. As the trio approached, Miss Keen called out “Do-si-do,” and both Irma and Daddy were swept into a two-step victory dance that ended with everyone laughing and Irma a little breathless because Shep had lifted her off the ground with a fierce hug as the moment of silliness ended.
Daddy beamed at them all and invited everyone to the hotel for an early supper, after which he and the men returned to the Wild West grounds, leaving Miss Keen behind to advise Irma on how to pack.
“You can have my trunk,” Minnie offered as they headed upstairs to their room. “It’s smaller than yours—probably about perfect.” As she unlocked the hotel room door she teased, “I don’t know if I’ll ever learn to call you Belle.” She led the way into the hotel room.
“Oh, I’ll still be Irma at home,” Irma said.
“Not for long,” Minnie disagreed. “Orrin Knox is going to
love
hearing about this. Remember he wanted to do a feature on Monte? I bet it won’t be long at all before he shows up at a performance to interview Liberty Belle.” She smiled. “You could end up on the front page of the
Register.
”
Irma crossed the room and opened the drapes. “Since you brought his name up, may I suggest that you pay a visit to Mr. Knox as soon as you get back to North Platte? If he really plans to do a series on Nebraskans in the Wild West, he’ll be in your debt for telling him about Liberty Belle.” She worked her eyebrows up and down and teased, “And you could collect on that debt in any number of ways.”
Miss Keen laughed. “Sounds like you two are plotting to rope someone.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Minnie said. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Just tell me you’ll do it,” Irma said.
Minnie didn’t answer. Instead, she slid her trunk into the middle of the room. “Isn’t this about the right size?”
Miss Keen nodded. “It’s perfect.”
“Then let’s get started outfitting my friend
Belle.
” Minnie began to empty her trunk.
It didn’t take Miss Keen long to look Irma’s clothing over and say, “I hate to tell you this, but I don’t see a thing that’s gonna be of much use on tour.” She reached for a hanger and held up a waist. “Here, for example. The fabric’s just too flimsy. It’ll never hold up.” She looked at the rest of the dresses, shaking her head. “They’re beautiful. They just aren’t much use.”
“What about for suppers in town?” Minnie asked.
“There honestly isn’t much time for any of that for us lowly performers,” Miss Keen replied and looked at Irma. “I only came along Friday night because the Shepherd wanted me to meet you. But even on the rare occasion when we
do
get invited to ‘dine with the stars,’ we’re supposed to keep our western duds on.”
“I assumed you just didn’t have time to change after the show,” Irma said.
“Doesn’t it bother you the way people stare?” Minnie asked.
Miss Keen shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if it bothers us or not. It’s free advertising for the Wild West if we wear our show duds around town.”
“Well,” Irma said, taking the waist out of Miss Keen’s hand and hanging it up again. “I guess that simplifies packing.” She gathered a few toiletries, her brush and comb, hairpins and jewelry, and laid them in Minnie’s trunk tray. With the addition of two nightgowns and her unmentionables, she was finished.
“We’ll go see Ma Clemmons first thing when we get back,” Miss Keen said. “She’ll know what to do.”
“I thought everyone had the day off on Sunday.”
“Oh, everyone does, but Ma and Pa Clemmons sorta hold court on Sunday evenin’ for anybody needing a listening ear. I guess you could say they’re everyone’s honorary grandparents.” She smiled. “Since packing’s finished, how’d you two feel about headin’ back over and taking a real tour of the back lot before we talk to Ma?” She glanced at Irma. “You might as well get started settling in.”
Just inside the gate, Miss Keen motioned toward the deserted midway. “I assume you got a good look at the concessions and the souvenir stands yesterday?” Irma and Minnie nodded. “All right, then.” She led the way across the grassy area just south of the arena and past the tent where Liberty Belle had signed her contract. She pointed toward a roped-off shop. “It takes four blacksmiths to keep all the horses shod and machinery repaired,” she said before leading the way toward the stables and corrals. “The buffalo are in the opposite corner at the far end of the midway,” she explained. “
Everyone
wants to see the buffalo.”
“And the elk?” Minnie chimed in.
“And the elk,” Miss Keen agreed. “Probably the only thing that attracts more attention than the buffalo and the elk is the Indians.” She nodded toward the Indian camp, where half a dozen women were gathered outside one tepee. “Last year we had Sitting Bull with us. This year it’s American Horse and Rocky Bear.”
She pointed toward the opposite side of the grounds at the largest tent in sight. “That’s wardrobe. We’ll head there later. This way for now.” Miss Keen named names as they walked past a long row of tents, most of them with flaps closed because the occupants were away from the grounds enjoying their day off. “Bill Cody, Nate Salsbury, Shep Sterling, Mr. & Mrs. Gable”—she leaned close—“also known as Annie Oakley and Frank.” She continued. “Lillian Smith . . . and various owners and management.” She indicated the rest of the long row with one sweep of the hand. “Important, but you don’t need a thousand names swimming around in your head right now. You’ll meet them all soon enough.”
At the far end of the row of larger tents, they turned left and stopped in front of two smaller tents pitched away from the others. “Dora and Mabel are in this one—they do the cowgirl race in the performance,” Miss Keen explained as she looked toward the corrals. “I thought we might catch up with them.” She turned back around and said to Irma, “You’ll like Dora. Oh wait, you’ve already met her. She helped you get changed for the audition.”
“She showed me
where
to change,” Irma said. “She didn’t say two words to me.”
“Well, Dora’s shy,” Miss Keen said. “But you’ll like her. She’s very sweet. And this,” she said, as she lifted the flap on the other tent and motioned Irma and Minnie inside, “will be our home sweet home for the next few nights—and again when we get to New York in a few weeks.” She leaned close and teased, “As long as you don’t snore, that is.”
The tent was furnished with two beds and a table. It was smaller than Irma’s room at home. When Minnie’s trunk arrived, there would barely be room to move.
Miss Keen pointed to the cot made up with a feather bed and several quilts. “That’s mine.” She pointed to the empty cot. “This is yours. And don’t worry, one of the porters will see that your bed’s all made up before tomorrow night.” She shrugged. “I know it seems really crowded, but the fact is, we work about sixteen hours a day, and by the time you get back here most nights you’ll be asleep almost before your head hits the pillow.” They went back outside and continued the tour. “Stay away from that,” Miss Keen said, pointing to what she said was the ammunition wagon. “The burly guy with the blond moustache is Bud Kramer. He has absolutely no sense of humor, and I personally give him a very wide berth.” She kept walking.
“What’s he do?”
“What
doesn’t
he do? He’s in charge of all the guns and ammunition. Repairing, cleaning, loading the blanks, loading Bill’s cartridges. And Bud makes all the glass balls for Bill, Miss Smith, and Annie.” Miss Keen paused. “Which reminds me, we tend to be informal around here, so from now on,
please
stop calling me ‘Miss Keen.’ Miss Oakley will likely order you to call her Annie the second she realizes you’ve been promoted from spectator to troupe member. But there is an exception to this rule.
Never
call Miss Smith anything but just that.
Miss Smith.
”
Irma nodded. “Got it,
Helen.
”
“About time,” Helen said with a nod. “
Belle.
”
As the trio walked toward the wardrobe tent, they passed another corral of sorts to one side of the backdrop where the covered wagons, the Deadwood coach, and various other props were stored behind ropes intended to keep the public from climbing on and around the equipment. “It may look haphazard,” Helen said, “but believe me it’s not. Dooley Parker is in charge of all that, and there’s a place for everything and everything is in its place.” She chortled. “And you do
not
want to encounter the wrath of Dooley Parker.”
