Unbridled Dreams (36 page)
Irmagard looked down at her plate. She fingered her napkin. She cleared her throat and looked up again. “I’m not coming home with you, Momma.”
A knock at the door announced the arrival of dinner. Willa stood up. “I know that,” she said. “I’ve accepted it.” She held out her hand. “Truce?”
The shock on Irmagard’s face transformed into surprise laced with a hint of suspicion. But to her credit, the child took her mother’s hand and shook it. “Truce,” she said.
O
UT OF THE SOUTH COMES THE STORM
,
AND OUT OF THE NORTH THE COLD
. . .
A
LSO WITH MOISTURE HE LOADS THE THICK CLOUD
; H
E DISPERSES THE CLOUD OF HIS LIGHTNING
.
Job 37:9,11
NASB
Belle and Momma had just stepped aboard the ferry headed back to Staten Island when a young boy pointed at her and said, “Daddy, it’s her! The Liberty lady!”
Belle smiled and said hello. “I’m flattered to be recognized.”
“It’s the red hair,” the boy’s father said, and extended his hand. “David Carter.” He smiled down at his son. “And this is George— whose mother had red hair.”
Had. Past tense. Just like the boy in St. Louis.
Ah, well. At least this boy had a father who made time for him—instead of sending him off with the governess. Belle sat down across from father and son. “This is
my
momma, Mrs. Friedrich,” she said to the little boy. “She’s never been to the Wild West before.”
Things couldn’t have gone better if Belle had hired someone and handed them a script. George struck up a conversation with Momma that went from bucking broncos to the Deadwood stage, from sharpshooting to Indians and from trick riders to buffalo. He admired them “all to pieces,” with special enthusiasm afforded the “Liberty Lady.”
“My goodness,” Momma finally said. “They should hire you to advertise for them.”
“I hear nothing but talk of horses and cowboys and Indians these days,” Mr. Carter said with a laugh. “George has a stick horse he rides all around the house, and his nanny has been startled more than once by a war whoop.”
“My apologies,” Belle said, laughing.
“No apology required,” the man smiled. “George has almost convinced me we should heed Horace Greeley’s advice and go west ourselves.”
They chatted for a few moments, and when Mr. Carter learned that Momma had never been to New York before, he regaled her with what he called his “visitor’s speech,” sharing details about the Brooklyn Bridge, the statue going up on Bedloe’s Island, and a dozen other topics Momma seemed to find fascinating.
When the ferry landed, the Carters escorted the ladies to the train, and it was during that part of the ride that Momma learned that David Carter was actually
Dr
. Carter, a widower, whose aunt was helping him raise George.
When conversation lapsed, George asked Belle a question about her horse, which he called a “dappered gray.”
“My goodness.” Belle smiled. “You really
did
pay attention.”
“I liked the way the flag waved out,” George said, gesturing as he spoke. “Did you have to teach your horse not to be afraid of that?”
Belle shook her head. “Not Diamond,” she said. “He’s very gentle.”
George pulled a wad of peppermint candy out of his pocket.
“Does he like candy? I could give him a piece.”
“He likes sugar cubes,” Belle said. “But he only gets a treat after he’s worked hard. And Diamond is resting for a few days.”
“Does that mean we won’t have the pleasure of seeing Liberty Belle perform this evening?” Dr. Carter asked.
“I only have the one horse,” Belle said. She glanced down at George. “So tell me, Master Carter, who
else
did you like watching in the Wild West?”
“The King,” George said. “And the lady that shot the targets. And Hi-dalgo. And—”
“And as you can see,” Dr. Carter said, “George and I will likely have to return many more times before he gets his fill.” He looked at Momma. “Tell me, Mrs. Friedrich, do citizens of the West find Mr. Cody’s production as fascinating as do we New Yorkers?”
“Some do,” Belle interrupted. “But Momma doesn’t care for it at all.”
Momma spoke up. “I’ve voiced very strong objections to my daughter’s involvement.” She gave a nervous little laugh and shrugged. “A mother’s concern over the inherent dangers to the participants.”
“Understandable.” Dr. Carter nodded. “Although I understand the Wild West travels with a very well-equipped medical department. Still, if it were George being tossed through the air by a wild horse, I’d probably be much less than enthusiastic about the whole thing myself.”
“I wouldn’t get
tossed
,” George protested. “I’d
ride
’em right into the ground!” He mimicked holding reins even as he slapped his back side with an open palm. All that was missing was the stick horse. The train pulled into the station at Erastina and as the crowd dispersed, Dr. Carter wished Belle and her mother a good day and headed off toward the stables, George in tow.
Things were going fine until the clouds rolled in.
“If it rains. . . then what?” Momma asked.
“Then everyone is even more careful than usual,” Belle replied. She wasn’t about to tell Momma about Helen Keen getting thrown because of lightning.
“Will people stay?”
Belle pointed to the canvas above them. “No reason not to. We won’t get wet. And remember what Orrin said that day at my luncheon? They performed in New Orleans for a crowd of nine.”
“Speaking of Orrin,” Momma turned around and looked toward the stairs. “I would have expected him to join us by now.”
Just a few minutes later, Orrin slid into a seat. He nodded toward the sky. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”
The cowboy band filed into place. “There’s Jonathan and Jason,” Belle said, and pointed out the boys from Nebraska. She leaned over and spoke to Orrin. “Did you remember to put them on your list?”
Orrin nodded. “Have a meeting scheduled with them for eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Well,” Momma said. “I thought at least through Tuesday. I’d like you to show me the grounds, and we’ll have Monte to dinner, of course. And as long as I’m here, I might as well see what the Wild West church services are like.” She glanced at Orrin with a smile. “I promised Orrin I wouldn’t get in the way of his taking all the time he needs for his interviews. It’s up to him, really.”
Today is Friday. Four days
, Belle thought.
Surely they could keep
a truce for four days.
Beneath the covered stands, the crowd stayed put, their enthusiasm undampened by the gentle rain that had begun to fall as the Grand Entry concluded. From time to time Belle glanced at Momma, whose expression remained polite but disengaged. She applauded at all the right places and even stood and clapped with the crowd. She sat up straighter when the cowgirls were in the arena and watched more intently, but overall Momma seemed distracted.
Disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm, Belle hopped up at intermission and, without waiting for Momma to react, said something about making sure Monte could find them after the Final Salute. Skittering down the stairs, she slipped in the mud. Lifting her skirt, she headed for the dressing tent and found Helen Keen and Dora— but no Monte—laughing with Shep about something.
“How’s your mother enjoying the Wild West?” Ma Clemmons asked.
“Better yet, how was supper?” Shep added.
“She’s doing her best. And she offered a truce.”
Ma Clemmons chuckled. “I told you we’d pray one up.”
Shep smiled. “How’s the Rubens Suite?”
“That was you?”
He shrugged. “I made a phone call and asked if it was possible.”
“Well, it was. The Queen of England would like that suite. To tell the truth, I think Momma’s a little overwhelmed by it.”
“I hope she’s staying long enough to see a performance on a sunny day.”
“They’ll be here at least through Tuesday.”
“That’s great,” Shep said, then frowned as he looked at Belle. “Isn’t it?”
“I honestly don’t know.” She sighed. “It’s so . . . awkward.”
Dora spoke up. “She l-looks sad. You should b-be nice.”
Belle mumbled a response, left a message for Monte, and ducked back out into the rain. In the grandstand, Orrin and Momma were drinking lemonade and talking to Dr. Carter while George leaned over the railing, his hand held out to catch raindrops.
“And here she is now,” Dr. Carter said, looking up with a smile. “I’ve just convinced your mother to join me for a late supper at Delmonico’s after the performance. I’ll need to drop George at home, of course. I hope we can convince you to join us?”
“I-I thought you wanted to have Monte to supper,” Belle looked at Momma. “I left word for him to meet us up here. Shep and the others are going to tend to his horse for him so he can come.”
“I take it Monte is a cowboy,” Dr. Carter said, and when Belle nodded, he glanced down at George. “We’d be happy to have his company. In fact”—he patted George on the head—“perhaps I could make an exception and let George stay up.”
George let out a “yee-haw” fit for any cowboy.
Rain continued to fall during the second half. As the mud in the arena got deeper, horses and broncs began to slip. Belle was thankful Blaze wasn’t being used tonight and that Diamond was safe in his stall. The entire crowd gasped when, in one of the races, a mustang slipped and fell, throwing his rider and then rolling over him. Apparently cushioned by the mud, the Indian got back up, caught up with the pony, leaped on his back, and with a high-pitched war whoop, tore around the arena to the applause of the delighted and relieved crowd. Momma watched the entire thing with her hand at her throat and sat back with an audible sigh when the warrior and his pony finally left the arena.
“He was showing off,” Belle said, “and he should have known better than to try that in this mud.” She glanced at Momma. “I don’t take stupid chances.”
Momma blinked away tears. “I hope not,” she said and squeezed Belle’s hand. “I sincerely hope not.”
“She looks sad. You should be nice.”
Dora’s words sounded in Belle’s head and she began to watch her mother’s reaction to the performance with new eyes. Dora was right. Momma did look unhappy, but there was more than unhappiness in her expression. She was
afraid.
She flinched at the sound of the guns in the sharpshooting scenes and started when a pony slipped or a bronc rider got thrown. None of Belle’s reassurances seemed to help.
