Unbridled Dreams (25 page)

Through the screen door Willa could see the Mason family gathered around the dinner table as she climbed down from the buggy. Laura and Charlie came out onto the porch, a combination of surprise and concern shining on their faces. They both spoke at once. What was wrong? Was Otto all right? Had something happened with Irma?

Willa stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her. “Otto’s fine. He, uh . . .” Her voice wobbled. “He was at the bank. I came back early. To surprise him.
Them.
But—” She swallowed. “Of course Minnie’s told you. . . .”

An unspoken message passed between the Masons. Charlie went back inside and Laura came down the stairs. Taking Willa’s hand, she said, “Let’s walk.” And she led the way right back up the trail Willa had just driven over. “Otto didn’t say a word to anyone about his Wild West plans until after you were gone,” Laura said. “Even when he asked Charlie and me about taking Minnie with them, he didn’t mention that you didn’t know about it.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I suspected. I should have pressed him for the truth.” She sighed. “But Minnie’s been unhappy, too.” She explained Minnie’s reaction to Mollie’s engagement. “I owe you an apology. I chose to remain ignorant because I knew the trip would cheer Minnie up.”

“You needn’t apologize,” Willa said. “It all falls squarely in Otto’s lap. Even if you had said something, he wouldn’t have changed his mind.”

“If it means anything to you, since he’s been back Otto has heard from me about involving Minnie in this latest deception—in not very calm terms.” She paused before saying, “What Otto did was terrible. But the two of you have been through worse. What I meant is . . . I saw the trunk in the buggy. Are you sure about that?”

“Angry as I am about Irmagard and the Wild West,” Willa said, “the trunk in the buggy isn’t about that.” Taking a deep breath, she told Laura about the letter from Denver.

Laura stopped walking. She shook her head and reached out to hug Willa. “I am so sorry.”

Willa pulled away. “But you aren’t surprised.”

“I didn’t know, if that’s what you mean. But. . . Otto’s. . .” She sighed. “Otto is Otto. I
hoped
he had changed.”

“I couldn’t stay in that house another moment. I hope it’s all right that I came here. I suppose I’ve put you in a terrible position with Otto being your brother and all. But I didn’t want to go to a hotel.”

“I’m glad you came to us,” Laura said. After a moment, she added, “Heaven help Otto when Charlie finds out about this.”

“Charlie doesn’t need to get involved,” Willa said quickly. “I just didn’t want the two of you to think I came running out here because I was throwing some childish fit over the Wild West.” Her voice wavered. “I’d be grateful if I could stay until I know what I’m going to do.”

“As long as you want,” Laura said. “Now come back to the house with me and try to eat some supper. Charlie can bring your trunk up to Monte’s room later.”

C
HAPTER
14

W
HATEVER YOU DO, DO YOUR WORK HEARTILY
,
AS FOR THE
L
ORD RATHER THAN FOR MEN
.
Colossian 3:23
NASB

Irma lay atop her cot and stared up at the canvas tent roof. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to being called Belle,” she said.

From where she lay a few feet away, Helen answered. “That’s the name on your contract, isn’t it?”

“It still feels like I’m putting on airs to use it.”

“Give it a few more days. And stop explaining. Annie Oakley used to be Annie Moses, and Shep Sterling’s mama calls him Henry. Nobody thinks
they’re
putting on airs. Belle’s a fine name.”

“Wh-what did you just say?” Irma sat up and looked across at Helen.

“I said,” Helen repeated, “to forget about
Irmagard
and just be
Belle.
”

“No—not that. About Shep. You said his mama calls him— Henry?”
So he was telling the truth about that, too, back in Bill’s barn.
He was telling you the truth about everything, and you didn’t believe him.
You made fun of him. Oh, brother. Could it be more embarrassing?

Helen cleared her throat. “I thought you knew that.”

“The program says he’s from Texas. Is that really true?”

“If the program says Shep has punched cattle in Texas, then you can believe he’s punched at least two cows in the state of Texas. Show names aside, Bill tries to be as accurate as he can about things like that.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? Shep’s not really
from
Texas. And his real name is Henry Mortimer.”

“Which person are people going to talk about, read about, want to come and see at the Wild West?
Irmagard Friedrich
or
Liberty Belle
? A cowboy named
Henry
or
Shep
? It’s not very hard to figure out, is it? And I’m no gossip, so that’s all I’ve got to say on the subject of Henry Mortimer. But I’d love to know where you got Liberty Belle
.
Which is, as I said, a fine name.”

“Did you ever play dress-up or pretend when you were little?”

“Honey, I started keeping house for my daddy and five brothers when I was ten years old. I didn’t have time to play at much of anything. But I know what you mean. I used to pretend my mama was just outside in the garden. It got me through some awful times.”

What must Helen think of her—a girl whose daddy essentially bought her an audition and a horse. “You must think I’m the world’s most spoiled brat,” she said.

“The Good Lord takes people down different trails, Belle,” Helen said, her voice gentle. “He don’t love me any less because He let me have a different childhood from you. Now hush up about all that and tell me where you got the name.”

Irma took a deep breath. “I was about fourteen when I started trying to do a combination of things I’d seen at a traveling circus that came through town. And you know how they take off their hat and take a bow and pretend the announcer is calling their name? Well, I just could not imagine anyone hollering
Ladies and gentlemen . . .
Irmagard Friedrich.
”

When Helen chuckled, Irma said, “See? That’s exactly what I mean. So I decided to make up a name. July fourth is my birthday. So the
Liberty
part was easy.” She smiled as she told the rest. “And Belle was the name of one of my Aunt Laura’s favorite milk cows. Aunt Laura told me
Belle
was French for
beautiful,
and I decided Liberty Belle sounded nice.”

Helen laughed out loud. “How can anyone who’s named for a
heifer
feel like she’s putting on airs?”

“You won’t tell anyone that part—will you?”

“Of course not.” She chuckled, “But it’s gonna be hard.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Belle was almost asleep when a very low
moo
sounded from the other side of the tent.

She laughed. And mooed back.

Liberty Belle’s romantic dreams of the Wild West were challenged by several immediate and very strong doses of reality. Feeding several hundred people three meals a day was a complex task, and Belle soon learned that she was not the exception to any of the rules. When she first slept through the predawn clanking of the cook’s triangle, Helen gave her a good-natured shake and helped her get up. A couple of days later, when Belle was still moaning about the predawn rising, Helen was still patient but obviously less amused. Finally, she shook Belle awake with a “Look, honey, if you want to skip breakfast, then skip breakfast. I’ll see you later.” And she left. Belle rolled over and fell back to sleep.

Anybody could oversleep. It didn’t seem like anyone should care. But when Belle presented her first-shift breakfast ticket during third shift, the waiter said, “See you at dinner,” turned his back, and walked away. Belle skittered out of the dining tent to a rousing chorus of snickers and jibes.

All right,
she thought,
I’ll just go over to the office and get new tickets
for the later shift.
Except the clerk she talked to in the office laughed in her face. “If you can get someone to switch tickets with you, go right ahead, but this ain’t no hotel, and I’m not your concierge.”

That night, when she asked Helen to keep getting her up until she learned to hear the triangle, Belle promised not to moan and groan like a lazy child. The next morning Helen clanged a cowbell over Belle’s cot. And mooed. Helen, it appeared, was one of those annoying people who had a sense of humor in the morning. Belle was not. But the threat of a cowbell must have shaken something loose, because in a couple of days Belle was hearing the cook’s triangle. Helen hung the cowbell high up on the tent pole. Just in case, she said.

Another thing Belle had to learn was what it meant to work. Uncle Charlie might have let her be a ranch hand, but he’d also watched out for her. She had never realized just how much leeway she’d been granted—until now, when workdays were sixteen hours long and everyone had to do his or her part. With hundreds of animals to care for and two performances a day, there was no time for anyone to linger anywhere. Belle loved being part of it, but she’d never been so tired in her life. There was a rule against the performers sleeping with their boots on. If it hadn’t been for Helen Keen pulling them off while Belle slept, she would have broken that one more than once.

And then there was Blaze. Some of the wranglers were using the time in St. Louis to check out the new horses Bill Cody had purchased in Nebraska, and as far as Belle was concerned, not a single one of them deserved a mare like Blaze. They handled her without giving any quarter to the mare’s high-strung nature. By the end of Belle’s first week in St. Louis, it was fairly common knowledge that the chestnut mare was a humdinger of a bucking bronc. Belle couldn’t stand the idea. Of course no one would listen to her. Not even Shep.

“I hear what you’re saying,” he said one morning when Belle appealed to him for help. “And in a different world, maybe she
would
be a fine saddle mare. But the reality is, she’s not in a different world— she’s in the Wild West, and she’s the perfect combination of kindness and spirit to make a great bronc. She doesn’t pitch all over when the boys saddle her up, she leads well—and she can be counted on to tear up the place trying to unseat her rider. That makes her worth a lot more to Cody as a bronc than as an untrustworthy mount for one of the wranglers.”

“She could be trusted if they’d quit sawing at her mouth like that.” She waved toward where Ned Bishop was taking his turn trying to ride Blaze. Impulsively, she shouted to Ned. “Stop sawing on her mouth like that! She’ll go easy if you just give her a minute!”

Bishop pretended not to hear her. He tugged on the brim of his hat and said something to the wrangler standing at Blaze’s head. The wrangler stepped away. Blaze hesitated.

“See that?” Belle insisted. “She’s just waiting for someone to treat her right. She’s
not
a natural—” At that moment Nate pulled back on the reins even as he kicked Blaze in the side.

Belle grimaced. “Don’t kick her like that,” she yelled. “Just nudge her a little and—”

It was too late. Blaze exploded in a frenzy of bucking and twisting that unseated Bishop in less than half a minute. While other wranglers snagged Blaze, Bishop got up, dusted himself off, and lumbered across the corral. Ducking between the poles, he walked over to where Belle stood with Shep and said through clenched teeth, “Don’t you
ever
tell me how to ride a horse again! I don’t know who you think you are, Liberty Belle, but to me you’re still a spoiled brat whose Daddy bought her a ride on the Wild West train. And—”

Bishop didn’t finish whatever it was he was going to say, because Shep stepped between them, spread his hand across Bishop’s chest, and propelled him backward away from Belle. Whatever Shep said took the spunk right out of Bishop, who glanced at Belle once and then turned around and strode away. The idea of Shep protecting her was nice . . . but every time Belle practiced her own routine in that corral she still thought about Blaze and wished things were different.

The long hours and the disappointment on behalf of Blaze were hard to take, but those were nothing compared to the frustration Belle felt as, day after day, she and Diamond went through a rigorous practice session that no one who mattered seemed to notice. Oh, once in a while a few watched, and once in a while they even shouted a “yeehah” of approval. But no one said a thing about her actually riding into the arena for a performance. Neither Nate Salsbury nor Buffalo Bill seemed to have any interest in checking up on her. Apparently her most cherished dream was going to have to wait to come true.