Unbridled Dreams (41 page)
“But . . . but . . .” Willa kept staring at the trees. “I thought—”
“I know,” Laura said. “I thought the same thing when Charlie went looking for him, and Willard told him Otto was in Denver. But we were wrong.” Laura reached over and patted Willa on the arm. “He wasn’t giving up on this life and going in search of another. He’s got everyone in town talking, the way he’s tending these trees,” Laura said. “And he planted every single one with those soft banker’s hands of his.” She flicked the reins of the buggy and they headed north to the ranch.
The week after Momma left New York passed in a haze of delightful hard work and unusually long hours. Though she had two horses to manage, Belle was still expected to keep up her commitment to work for Ma Clemmons. As soon as Blaze was transferred to the same stable as Diamond, Belle began to spend as much time as possible simply running her hands over the mare’s body and down her legs, over and over again, trying to root out the old expectations and ingrain new trust. “See there?” she’d say. “You can trust me. I’ll never hurt you.”
While her trust of humans was taking longer than Belle would have liked, Blaze latched on to Diamond like a filly with her dam. Every time Belle took Diamond out to be longed, Blaze carried on to the point that Belle finally took to leading Blaze out first and hitching her to a corral post before going back for Diamond. It worked. Blaze could see Diamond and was content. The wranglers began to tease Belle about the “overgrown weanling with the blaze.” Belle wrote Momma about it all, with studied emphasis on how Blaze never kicked or nipped.
If Momma could trust her in spite of her own fears, the least Belle could do was write more often.
On her way to the stables one morning about a week after Momma had left, Belle detoured by the mail office and found two letters. Daddy had finally written, and from the heft of the envelope, it was a long letter. Resisting her first impulse to tear it open on the spot, Belle decided to wait until after supper, when she would have more time to truly savor Daddy’s news.
She didn’t recognize the handwriting on the other envelope, but it appeared to contain only one sheet of paper, so she opened it and read.
Dear Irma . . . or I suppose I should write “Dear Belle” now. . .
I know we have never been close, but I wanted you to know that
you have my profound sympathy. I have always held you and your
family in high regard and am grieved every time I drive by the lovely
home where my friend Irmagard used to entertain. With its drapes
drawn, the dear old place almost seems as if it is mourning its loss.
Certainly all of North Platte is deeply saddened by recent events. It
is my fondest wish to see restoration accomplished, and I shall pray
fervently to that end. I refuse to believe that your parents’ separation
is permanent, and I shall always be their defender and yours. If I
can be of any encouragement to you, do not hesitate to write. In the
meantime, please know that you have my best wishes, both for success
in the Wild West, and for reunion between your parents. Do not
listen to those who would say otherwise. Your father’s recent return
from Denver and new activity at the house in your mother’s absence
gives us all hope that healing is at hand and that North Platte will
once again look to Mr. and Mrs. Otto Friedrich as the social leaders
they have always been. Hope on hope ever.
Your friend,
Edna Hertz
P.S. Please thank Mr. Sterling for the autographed photo. I was
so disappointed when my parents were not able to make good on their
promise to see the Wild West in St. Louis. Mr. Sterling’s kindness is
greatly appreciated.
Belle ran for her tent. With trembling hands she opened Daddy’s letter, but its contents disappointed—or encouraged, depending on how Belle decided to think about it. Daddy said nothing about any difficulties like those Edna Hertz mentioned. Everything in North Platte was just fine according to Daddy. He’d been to Denver on business. The only thing strange about the letter was the absence of any mention of he and Momma having gone to the opera house or visiting the ranch together. Maybe what Edna said was true. Maybe Daddy was trying to spare her feelings.
Daddy’s letter lay in her lap and Edna’s was atop the table when Shep found her.
Shep ducked inside, careful to leave the tent flap up so they were visible to anyone who cared to look. “What’s wrong, honey? Helen said she saw you running for the tent. Said something about a letter and tears.”
Belle motioned to the table, where she’d thrown Edna’s letter.
Shep read the note over twice before setting it back atop the table and, sitting down next to Belle, putting his arm around her. “Do I know Edna Hertz? Name sounds familiar for some reason.” When Belle looked up at him he could see disbelief in her eyes.
“Do you
know
her? She practically climbed in your lap the day you brought me those roses.”
“Ah.”
That one. Ample curves. Nice enough looking. A way of
moving that called attention to herself. Trouble just waiting to happen.
He’d been more than a little relieved when she didn’t show up in St. Louis. “You know the publicity office sends those autographed photos out when folks request ’em. Right?” He reached for the note and read it a third time. “Anyone who would send a thing like this is no friend of yours. Or mine.”
“I never thought of Edna Hertz as a friend,” Belle said. “But I didn’t realize she
hated
me enough to do something like this.” She swiped at more tears and blew her nose. “I
knew
something was wrong when Momma was here. I just had this . . . feeling. All she would say about Daddy was that he was in Denver. ‘On business,’ she said.” Belle shook her head. “And I thought we were finally going to all get along
.
”
“Now, hold on,” Shep said and pointed to the note. “You don’t know if any of that is true. Other than that your father was in Denver. And your momma told you that.”
“It says the house is closed up. Why would she make that up?”
“If your daddy was gone, and your momma was here, why wouldn’t they close it up for a few days? There’s a reasonable explanation for everything in that letter.”
“If she was planning on leaving Daddy, you can be sure I wouldn’t know anything about it until the deed was done,” Belle said. “That’s how she handles things like that.” She sniffled again. “In fact, her trip here and buying Blaze and all of that was probably part of her plan to—”
“You’re being awful hard on her.” Shep frowned and looked down at her. “Especially when you don’t know—”
“I know,” Belle interrupted him. She told him about being six years old and seeing her mother with another man.
Shep thought for a long while before finally saying, “You never asked her about that?”
“What would have been the point? Daddy came home. Things seemed to be all right.”
“Except you’ve carried the memory, the disappointment, inside you all these years and let it fester without giving your poor mother a chance to defend herself.”
“My
poor mother
?!”
Shep could feel her stiffen. She moved away from him on the cot. He gentled his voice. “There’s generally two sides to every story, sweetheart. We’re all low down at one time or another.” He paused. “That’s why Sunday Joe has so much to say about forgivin’ every time he gets a chance.” She let him take her hand but kept her distance. “If there’s bad history between your folks, that’s a hurtful thing for a child to have to witness. But that was a long time ago, and it seems to me that, if you think it through, you’ll realize there’s been a lot of goodness piled into both their lives since. If you ask me, it’d be best for you to just let all that stuff about what you saw or didn’t see go, so it doesn’t taint the present.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Carryin’ around something like that doesn’t do anybody any good. Like I said before . . . it festers. And that’s an ugly thing to have in a life.”
Belle sat quietly for a while. Fresh tears began to course down her cheeks. “Even if I think you’re right, I don’t know
how
to let go of it,” she said. “I can’t.”
“Maybe Sunday Joe could help you figure out how. Want me to see if I can find him?”
Belle reached for the letter. “My father has always been devoted to her. He’s given her that house and every other thing she’s ever asked for. If this is true—if she’s left him—it’ll kill him.”
“Seems to me there’s
two
hearts breaking when a marriage has trouble,” Shep said. He offered to go get Sunday Joe again.
“I don’t want Sunday Joe,” Belle said. “Not right now.”
“What then?”
“You,” she said. “I want you to hold me.”
So he did.
“You did great, sweetheart,” Shep said as they walked toward the back lot together after the evening performance. “I’m proud of you.”
“Can’t let a little thing like a life falling apart interfere,” Belle said. “The show must go on and all.” She sighed. “I just wish I knew what I’m supposed to
do
about it. I mean, do I write Aunt Laura to find out what’s going on? Do I telegraph Daddy? Do I get on a train and head home?”
“No,” Shep said quickly. “You do
not
get on a train. You stay here and do your job as best you can. Whatever is going on in North Platte, you keep out of it. And when whatever is going on is over, you love them both—warts and all, as they say. If your Momma had wanted to involve you, she had plenty of opportunity to do that when she was here. And besides, for all you know, that letter is pure meanness coming out of what’s-her-name.” He tied Golden Boy’s reins to a hitching post. “And as Sunday Joe would say, this is one of those times when you can do more good prayin’ over it than messin’ with it anyway.”
Belle pulled Rowdy’s saddle off and set it atop an empty rack, then grabbed a brush and began to go over the horse’s sweat-soaked coat. Maybe Shep was right. Today’s performances might not have helped her know what to do, but they’d provided an outlet for her emotions. She was calmer now, and she could see the logic to what Shep was saying. He was right about Sunday Joe’s advice, too. She’d talked to the preacher between performances. He’d been short on outrage at Momma over the past and long on Belle’s need to forgive. He’d even used the word
fester
and talked about how things kept inside and not given to God ended up hurting people. She needed to forgive the past.
Belle knew he was right. But that didn’t mean she could do what he said.
