Unbridled Dreams (33 page)

“What’s that?”

“It happens sometimes when the workers are deep in the earth digging the foundations. Something to do with the depth. It isn’t understood very well, but it killed some of them. Roebling didn’t die, but he was partially paralyzed, deaf, and dumb. Mrs. Roebling began to make daily trips in his place, and she did such a good job communicating with the contractors—and she knew so much about bridge building—that some of them actually thought
she
was the chief engineer. When the bridge finally opened, Mrs. Roebling was given the first ride across.”

“For a cowboy, you certainly know a lot about the New York and Brooklyn Bridge,” Belle said. She smiled up at him. “I’m thinking maybe you know all that because you were here when it happened.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I was. You aren’t the only rich kid to hightail it for parts unknown.”

“How did
your
mother react?”

“She was fine with it. In fact, you’ll likely meet her one of these days. She’s out of the city right now, but she’ll definitely come over when she gets back.” He sighed. “In my case it was my father who protested long and loud.”

“Is it any better now?”

“He passed away last year. But we had some good moments together before he died. He never understood me, but I never doubted that he loved me.” He smiled. “I also have two sisters. One who won’t have a thing to do with what she calls Shep’s Folly, and the other who seems to think it’s all right. She was actually on the grounds the other day. Her name’s Marie. She has an eight-year-old son who really builds up my ego.”

“The blonde with the boy dressed in plaid knickers?”

“So you
did
see them.”

Belle nodded. “From the wardrobe tent. Mabel teased me about her. Said I should be worried.”

“And were you?”

“A little,” Belle admitted. “All right. More than a little. Your sister is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” She shrugged. “I actually skirted behind some tents to avoid you two. I thought—” She could feel herself turning red. “Never mind what I thought.”

“No, please go on,” Shep said. “I’m enjoying this.”

Belle nudged him. “Well, stop it.” She motioned to where a few of the Wild West crowd were gathered at the far end of the bridge. “We’d better get back. That’s Dora and Monte waving for us.” As Shep led the way back toward Manhattan, Belle said, “Do you think those two are unofficially courting?”

He nodded. “I do. And Monte could do a lot worse. Dora’s a good woman.”

“Mabel isn’t very nice to her sometimes,” Belle said. “She makes fun of her stutter. A lot. And I know you said Mabel’s had a hard life, but that’s no excuse to be mean. Especially to someone as sweet as Dora. Sometimes I wish Dora would just haul off and let Mabel have it. But most of the time she ignores the teasing. In fact, sometimes she even goes out of her way to be nice to Mabel, although Mabel
never
appreciates it.” Belle shook her head. “I don’t think I could ever forgive someone who was as mean to me as Mabel is to Dora.”

“I don’t know if I could, either,” Shep agreed. “Which is one of the reasons I respect Dora so much. Her faith is quiet. She doesn’t say much about it. She just lives it.”

C
HAPTER
19

R
EJOICE WITH THOSE WHO REJOICE
. . .
Romans 12:15
NASB

All around her the camp had settled in for the night. Now that she was used to working long days, Belle was beginning to have trouble sleeping again. Her mind just wouldn’t settle. There was so much to think about, and everything she thought about had an element of worry to it—from Mabel’s being mean to Dora, to Dora’s never fighting back, to Daddy’s goodness to her, to Momma’s simmering anger. As she wrestled with worry, Belle imagined her parents sitting out on the porch at home trying to catch a summer breeze while Daddy read and Momma stitched on her mantel scarf. If she were there right now, Belle knew she would be wondering why Momma messed with fancy stitching and wishing she could saddle up and go for a ride. Of course if she were back in Nebraska right now, she’d be out at the ranch.

The Masons were likely gathered around the table for a late supper. More often than not during the summer, it was sundown before anyone took time to eat. Belle pictured the family bowing their heads while Uncle Charlie said grace. She imagined mounds of fresh-picked green beans, sliced tomatoes, fresh-baked bread, and butter. Maybe Aunt Laura would have made a chokecherry pie. No . . . it was too early for chokecherries.

With a sigh, Belle turned over and tried to get comfortable. Though she was a thousand miles away from Nebraska, she was beginning to realize that she hadn’t really changed all that much. She was still hankering for things she couldn’t have. Still restless. Not exactly unhappy . . . but not content, either. Everyone said she and Diamond did a great job in the parades, but no one said a thing about her entering the arena. Lately she’d been thinking maybe it was Diamond. He was a steady and reliable horse, but there wasn’t an ounce of flash in him. She hadn’t liked the other cowgirls’ horses at first, but over time she’d realized there was something to be said for Helen’s brightly patterned pinto and the spotted rump on Mabel’s horse. Such things made for better “costumes.” Buffalo Bill’s white horse was proof. So was Shep’s palomino.

Shep.
She could worry over him for half a night. He stole a kiss and then he backed off. He said he wanted her parents’ approval for whatever it was he had planned and then he said he didn’t need it anymore. He kissed her on the cheek and said he wasn’t playing games, but then he seemed to hold her at arm’s length the next time they saw each other. Last Sunday in the city he’d held her hand as they walked along. But then for most of the past week he was back to the arm’s-length routine. What was going on? More important . . . why did she care? Because she did. She cared so much it frightened her.

Maybe romance had worked out all right for Uncle Charlie and Aunt Laura, but everywhere else Belle looked in the world the whole love and marriage thing turned out to be something of a mess. Everyone held up Ma and Pa Clemmons as paragons of marital devotion, but even they groused at one another from time to time. Working the wardrobe tent, Belle had seen it happen. As for Momma and Daddy, she wanted no part of a marriage like theirs. Oh, it might look great on the outside, but Belle knew that underneath the glossy surface of
dear
’s and
darling
’s there was all kinds of turmoil. And why did any of that matter to her? She was intent on staying single and being a star. Wasn’t she?

With a sigh, Belle threw back the covers and sat up. Whatever she was intent on, it wasn’t lying in bed thinking about things until she was wound up like a top. Tomorrow was her birthday. She’d be eighteen. And if she wanted to take a walk on a moonlit night without an escort, what was wrong with that? Some of the Wild West rules were just plain stupid.

Wiggling into her pants and pulling on her shirt, Belle grabbed her boots and ducked outside. The night air was cool. She felt better the minute she filled her lungs with it. Campfires burning over in the Indian village glimmered in the night. Moonlight reflected off the dozens of canvas “buildings,” illuminating the grounds with a pale light. When her footsteps crunched on the gravel paths running between the tents, Belle stepped into the grass. She paused at the entrance to the arena and spent a few minutes visualizing the moment when Liberty Belle would gallop in.

Shep kept saying it would be soon. He kept telling her to be patient. Well, she’d been patient for the entire summer. Her patience was wearing thin. About a lot of things Shep said and did. Maybe he was just stringing her along. Men were like that. Weren’t they? As if she knew anything about men. Momma had kept her on a very short leash.
Stop obsessing about all of that. You’re on your own and you still
aren’t happy. What’s wrong with you, anyway?

With a sigh, Belle turned away from the arena and headed for the stables. If nothing else, she could give Diamond a treat or two and brush him down. He didn’t need either, but he enjoyed both. As she walked past the bronc corral on her way to Diamond’s stall, a horse’s head came up.

“Hey, beautiful,” Belle said.

Blaze snorted and tossed her head.

“You are
such
a show-off.”

The mare pawed the earth and danced to the far side of the corral. Belle circled around. When she got close, she saw the first hints of scars on the mare’s sleek shoulder. Of course that happened with all the broncs after being spurred over and over again, but seeing it on
this
horse? It wasn’t right. Not for this mare. Not when she had so much promise—if only cowboys like Ned Bishop would back off and give her a chance to trust someone with a gentle hand.

It’s none of your business. You can’t afford to buy her, so let it go.

While Belle was arguing with herself, Blaze ducked her head and gave a little snort, then bucked a time or two.

“Ah, now,” Belle said. “That’s lovely, but it can’t be any fun at all, not when there’s a full-grown man flailing around on your back.”

Blaze snorted and spun about, then stopped, her rear to Belle.

“I see that,” Belle said. “And I see those ears. You’re listening to every word I say, and we both know it. So why don’t you just turn around and come over here and we’ll have a little talk, woman to woman.”

Blaze wheeled about. Instead of taking off again, she stood still and watched—albeit with the occasional tossing of the head and pawing of earth—as Belle ducked into the corral and, one step at a time, came within a few feet of her.
There’s nothing wrong with giving
her a lump of sugar. Shep said they like the idea of a bronc being easy to
handle.
So Belle palmed the sugar and extended her hand. Nostrils flaring, the mare stayed put. Belle stepped closer until, finally, Blaze snatched the lump of sugar and took off.

Belle began to hum. The mare settled and looked her way, ears forward. Soon Belle was standing beside her, stroking her muzzle. “We’re both nervous,” she said, “but I don’t think either one of us has anything to be afraid of, do we?” As she had seen Shep do back in Nebraska, Belle began to stroke the mare’s neck, moving slowly toward her shoulders and then down her back. With a soft whicker, the mare turned her head and nuzzled Belle’s arm.

“Don’t bite now,” Belle said.

The mare shook her head and snorted.

Belle laughed. “All right, so you don’t bite. You can’t blame me for mentioning it. You might remember that I’m the one you kicked— although I do believe that was unintentional.” Even as she carried on the conversation, Belle was remembering Uncle Charlie’s warnings about handling the barely broke ponies on the ranch. Blaze might be ready to make friends, but she was still a half-wild bucking bronco.

Someone had left a hackamore draped over a corral post. Without turning her back on the mare, Belle moved over to the post and retrieved it. In only a few minutes she had succeeded in slipping the hackamore over the mare’s head.
This is good, but it’s nothing new. The
cowboys get a hackamore on her every time they move her. She’s used to
this.
It wasn’t long before Belle was leading Blaze around the corral.
She knows all about this, too. You haven’t done anything special.

“So what d’ya think, lady?” Belle said aloud. “Would it be all right with you if I threw a leg over?”

“Absolutely not,” a voice spoke from the darkness.

With a snort, the mare pulled free and charged to the opposite side of the corral. Belle spun around, ready to scold the owner of the voice—until she recognized Buffalo Bill.

“I-I was just . . .” Belle shrugged. “She shouldn’t be a bronc. She deserves better.” Cody was agonizingly quiet. Blaze bumped her from behind.

As Cody lit a cigar, a flash of light illuminated his face just long enough for Belle to realize she was in serious trouble. Cody motioned for her to get out of the corral. She obeyed and waited while he sauntered over. When he came to stand beside her, he still said nothing. Instead, he rested his arms atop the corral fence and watched Blaze while he smoked his cigar. Finally, he spoke up.

“When Irmagard Friedrich first arrived on the Wild West lot, I saw a spoiled young woman with a lot of potential and a ridiculous dream. Ridiculous, not because of any lack of talent, but because she’d been raised for a different kind of life. Now, I don’t mind spoiled young women, Miss Belle. In fact, I have a great deal of affection for at least two such ladies by the name of Louisa and Arta Cody. And so I convinced my partner to see things my way. To decide there’d be no harm in doing an old friend a favor and seeing how the spoiled young lady with the dream would get on if we let her come along on the train.” Bill drew on his cigar. “In spite of what you’ve interpreted as disinterest, I have kept up with what’s been happening with you. Your road has taken its twists and turns.”

“I’ve been working hard,” Belle croaked.

“So I’ve heard,” Cody agreed. “According to some, you’ve gone from thinking you
deserve
to be a star to realizing you have to
earn
it.” He flicked ashes off the cigar. “You can be proud of that, Miss Belle.”