Unbridled Dreams (40 page)

Momma and Orrin came over to the Wild West grounds early Tuesday morning. They would have to leave before noon in order to catch the train home, but Orrin had one last interview to conduct, and so, while he spoke with Ned Bishop, Belle and Momma took a stroll, finally settling on a bench positioned just off the graveled path that circled the Wild West grounds. Once again, Belle asked about Daddy, and once again Momma said that he was in Denver on business. He sent his love. He would be thrilled to learn that the boots he’d had made were working out so well.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Belle asked abruptly. “Daddy isn’t sick, is he? Or is the bank having trouble?”

Momma hesitated. “He’s been very busy, Irmagard. To be honest I haven’t seen a lot of him in recent weeks. You know how preoccupied he can be when new projects arise.” She paused. “I shall tell him he must write more often.”

“And you will, too—right?”

“I will,” Momma promised. She gestured around them. “I was nervous about coming out here on my own,” she said. “I’m so glad I did.” She reached for Belle’s hand.

“I started a dozen letters to you, Momma. I really did. But somehow, I could never get past
Dear Momma.
I couldn’t say I was sorry for being here because I’m not.” She paused. “I a
m
sorry, though, for the way it happened. Daddy and I were wrong to go behind your back the way we did.”

Momma took a long time to answer. “All any mother wants is for her children to be happy.” She squeezed Belle’s hand. “I’ve seen what a life of traveling and performing can do, Irmagard. Based on that, I was completely convinced that this life couldn’t possibly make you happy. I was so convinced that I was willing to fight you for as long as it took for your dream to die.” She sighed and shook her head. “I was wrong.”

“I wish you could feel better about it,” Belle said. “Or at least not hate it so much.”

Momma let go of her hand. “I don’t hate it as much as I worry. About your safety. And other things.”

“You do know that a cannon could go off next to Diamond and he’d barely blink.”

“I believe you.”

“And you know I’m being careful not to take foolish risks in Dora’s act.”

“Yes.”

“Rowdy’s a little skittish, but he and I are going to get along fine. You mustn’t worry about that.”

Momma sighed. “I think I’ve finally come to realize that you really are quite gifted with horses. I’ve heard your friends talk about it enough over these past few days. Miss Keen has been especially careful to make certain I realize your talents in that regard. And Mr.

Sterling has done his share of praising you, as well.”

“Is it Shep who worries you, then?”

“No.” She shook her head. “He’s from a good family. I believe his intentions are honorable.”

“Then why can’t you be more like Daddy? Why can’t you be happy for me?”

Again, there was a long silence. Finally, Momma took a deep breath. “I haven’t ever spoken of this to you, but my mother and my sister were both actresses. They spent their lives traveling from place to place, and . . . I haven’t wanted to talk about it because it’s just too painful.”

Belle shifted on the bench and looked at Momma. But Momma kept looking off into the distance, clearly struggling with her emotions.

“Is that why you always got angry when I’d ask why I didn’t have grandparents and aunts and uncles like everyone else?”

Momma nodded. “Perhaps I was wrong not to explain what was behind all my protests. But it’s a painful story, and to be quite honest, it makes me ashamed to think about it, much less tell about it. But I know my past is the cause for the fear I feel in here”—she spread her hand across her midsection—“whenever I think of you living this life.”

Belle was silent. Waiting.

Taking a deep breath, Momma began. “My earliest memories involve waiting in the corner of a dressing room for my mother to come off stage. Or being jerked awake and dragged aboard a stage coach or a wagon or sometimes a train, en route to the next town. By the time my sister was ten, and I was twelve, our mother was wornout from drink and . . . things I never want you to know about. As far as I know, neither Olive nor I ever met our fathers. I asked about mine once. My mother slapped me and cursed him. I never asked about him again.”

“Oh, Momma—”

“The night my mother died, I took my sister by the hand and walked across town to a little clapboard church. The pastor and his wife took us in. They treated us very well, but neither Olive nor I wanted anything to do with religion. Olive seemed to forget a lot of the terrible things from her childhood, and as she grew older she grew more and more determined to become an actress.”

Momma glanced at Belle. “She had red hair and blue-gray eyes. Just like you. She was a stunning beauty and incredibly gifted. Unfortunately, she was also given to ‘episodes.’ No one knew the answer to her struggles and, it seemed, no one could help her. On stage, she was brilliant. Off it, she would descend into these terrible bouts of depression, and no one could lift her out.”

Swiping at the tears on her cheeks, Momma said, “Olive took her own life when you were a baby.” She shivered. “And that is why I never wanted you to have anything to do with this life you’ve run to.”

Belle leaned her head on Momma’s shoulder. Momma patted her cheek and then said, “I remember reading a Bible verse once that talked about the things in the past happening so that we could learn from them. When you first started talking about the Wild West, I used to quote that verse to myself as justification for why you mustn’t be allowed to go through with any such plan. I would tell myself that the past had shown me what happened to women who chose that kind of life, and I believed it was my duty to learn from it and to stop you.” She sighed. “But then your father reminded me that it was prideful to presume that I could know positively God’s will for another person’s life.

“Now don’t take this in the wrong way, dear, but you know that your father has never exactly been a religious man. So when he said that, I puffed up and thought what does he know, this man who rarely darkens the door of the church? I didn’t think God could possibly be asking me to trust Him that completely. Certainly not with you.” She swiped at a tear.

“But He
is
asking me to trust Him completely. I don’t like it one bit, but I think I finally realize that’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m being asked to trust God with my greatest treasure.” She took a deep breath. “So, Miss Irmagard Liberty Belle Friedrich, that’s what I’m going to do. With God’s help.”

They were both teary-eyed. Momma moved first. “My old bones are stiffening up. Let’s walk toward the arena and see if we can’t find Orrin. It’s time we met up with Monte and Dora and headed for the train station.”

Soon they were both swept up in the crowd gathered to say goodbye to Monte and Dora. Helen gave Momma an enthusiastic hug, and much to Belle’s surprise, Momma put her hands on Shep’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. When the time came for Momma and Orrin, Monte and Dora to climb aboard the train that would take them first to the ferry landing, and from there on to the train station and home, Belle couldn’t keep the tears back.

Momma reached for her and with the last hug whispered, “I am so proud of you.
So proud.
” When Momma stepped back she was crying, too.

Belle watched until the train was out of sight. She and Shep had just turned and started back for the Wild West grounds when Ned Bishop hollered that Bill Cody wanted to see Belle in his tent. Pronto.

It was nearly time for the twelve-thirty performance, and the usual crowd of admirers was gathered around Buffalo Bill when Belle walked up. The minute he saw her he said, “Well, folks. If you’ll excuse me, I have some business with this lovely young ranchera.” He tipped his hat and motioned for Belle to come by him, then offered his arm and led her away. When they were out of earshot, he chuckled. “That wasn’t nearly as hard as it usually is. Perhaps I’ll have you come rescue me more often.”

Belle relaxed a little. He certainly didn’t seem upset about anything to do with her.

“Your mother and I had a nice chat early this morning. She had an interesting proposal, and when I agreed to it, she decided I should take care of the details after she left for home.” He pulled a note from inside his buckskin coat. “First, I thought you might like to read the note she left me.”

July 20, 1886
To the Honorable William F. Cody

Bill: I want to thank you for what you have done to make
Irmagard’s fondest hopes and childhood dreams come true. Thank
you for your assurances and patience with my many questions,
doubts, and fears this morning. Having decided on this course of
action, I find myself, while still easy prey for worry, somewhat hopeful
for the future. Thank you for being willing to facilitate things.

Sincerely and with my best wishes for a successful winter
season,

Wilhelmina Friedrich

When Belle glanced up, Cody said, “Your mother wanted to do something to help you,” Cody said. “When I realized she was talking about some grand gesture, I immediately knew what would qualify as ‘grand.’ Now, it remains to be seen if this will actually work out, but if anyone can make it happen, you can.” He handed her the piece of paper he’d been holding back while she read Momma’s note. It was a bank draft payable to William F. Cody. For two
thousand
dollars. Momma had signed it and written beneath her signature,
payment
in full for one chestnut mare named Blaze. To be given to Irmagard
Manerva Friedrich, also known as Liberty Belle.

Willa’s train pulled into the North Platte station on one of those mid-July days when heat waves rose from the earth and the folks lucky enough to have an icebox were wont to chip off a piece now and then just to cool their foreheads. The Mason family was waiting, anxious to see Monte, excited to meet Dora, and eager to haul everyone home to the ranch. While Orrin Knox chatted with Minnie, and everyone else began to load up, Laura pulled Willa aside. “We should retrieve your buggy from the livery,” she said. “There’s something you need to see.”

Willa looked down at her black silk traveling skirt and wondered at the dictates of fashion. Certainly no one who’d ever lived through a Nebraska July would ever prescribe black silk as the ideal traveling suit. “I hope it won’t take too long,” she said. “I won’t last in this beastly heat.”

It didn’t take long. Taking the trail to the house, Laura pulled up at the picket fence gate. Looking over the formerly barren yard, Willa managed one word. “Who?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Laura said. “He drove out to the ranch the very day he got back from Denver. Asked me what kind to buy. Said he hadn’t listened very well over the years, but he thought I’d know what you’d want.”

“What . . . what did you say?”

“You mean after I told him it was going to take more than a dozen trees to make up for his despicable behavior?” Laura paused, then counted on her fingers and recited, “Oak. Maple. Cottonwood. Hackberry. Black walnut. Heavy on the cottonwood, since we know for sure they’ll thrive. I told him he’d have to water them every day. He said that wouldn’t be a problem.”