As the sun slowly edged upwards, Cora double-clapped. “Let’s get going, everyone,” she announced, her voice at fever pitch. “It’ll take us about two hours to get there.”
Within minutes, the household was busy checking carpetbags, bringing the buggy around, and climbing into a neighbor’s borrowed wagon. The temperature at a balmy sixty degrees helped. The trip went smoothly, until they hit Omaha and all the Wild West show traffic. Carefully maneuvering their doves into a slightly dingy hotel, the madams made sure they were all safely housed before continuing on to bigger and better things.
Registration at the Omaha Grand was an experience in and of itself. As soon as they entered the main lobby, they could see a young, stiff-collared, tight-suited clerk from behind the front desk give them the once-over, then appeared extraordinarily preoccupied with his paperwork. Up close, they were completely ignored until Minnie harrumphed, at which point he put down his pen to address no one else but Pete.
“I presume you have a reservation for your party?” he said.
“You presume right, sonny,” Minnie replied, bristling.
Cora leaned against the counter. “Yes, we most certainly do. It’s under the name Dolan.”
The clerk wrinkled his nose at the two doves standing off to one side, then started quickly running one finger down the thick reservation ledger. “Let me see. McMillan, Swathmore, Markham, Smith, Cullen. No, I’m afraid I don’t see Dolan.”
“Do check again,” said Cora, her gloved hand clamped over his, her voice like ice.
“Yes, I believe my friend, Miss Annie Oakley, made the reservation. Do check it again,” Ellie chimed in.
“Miss Oakley? Let me see.” He did a more thorough search this time, his finger slowly gravitating down the list. “Ah, here it is, reserved by a Miss Oakley and Mr. Butler. My, oh, my,” he mouthed, ogling them with renewed respect.
Cora drew herself up, slightly irked by Ellie’s statement. How dare Ellie mention only her knowing Annie! It’s just not fair. She doesn’t even care about Buffalo Bill, not the way Cora did.
Minnie cleared her throat. “And our room numbers are?”
Eyeing the doves, he paused. “I’ve put you on the second floor; rooms 210 – 214. But, one second.”
He bent over the counter and whispered to Cora, “Excuse me.”
“Yes, now what?” she replied, two fingers tapping triple time.
“Are they who I think they are?” He jerked his head toward the doves’ general direction.
Festooned in their brightly colored satin dresses, boa-feathered wraps, and low-cut bodices, Marlene and Rosie stood by awkwardly, fidgeting with their purses and trying to look nonchalant. Upon first entering the lobby, the doves had already created a small sensation amongst the guests, especially from the men. The women––presumably their wives or mistresses––immediately set their noses up in the air and actively disregarded the entire South Benton entourage.
“They are paying customers. That’s all you need to know, young man,” Cora said, using her most autocratic voice. “Will it be necessary to speak to your superior?”
“No need, no need,” the clerk sputtered, palm-slapping the counter bell. From out of nowhere, two bellhops instantly appeared, and in a matter of seconds, they were all ushered upstairs.
Traipsing through the hallway on the second floor, they admired the beautiful floral wallpaper, the long, lush carpet, and commented on how just a hint of lavender was lingering in the air. Halfway down the corridor, the bellhops opened a few doors for them, but it was just shy of Cora and Minnie’s two-roomed adjoining suite that Rosie stopped and flung her arms around the younger madam.
“Mrs. Cora, you are always there for us. May God look kindly on you,” she blurted out, wiping away a tear.
“Of course, Rosie, of course,” Cora nodded, patting the girl’s arm, but it wasn’t until she and Minnie had entered their double rooms that she remarked, “A little help from God would be nice.”
Closing the outer door to Cora’s room, Minnie chuckled. “Amen to that.”
Cora dropped her bag and surveyed their suite. Her room was the very epitome of elegance. Plush chairs, expensive carpets, ornate glass lamps, two brocade-covered settees, as well as large, mahogany desks made their jaws drop, but it was the elegant four-poster bed, covered in gold damask, that bowled her over. Cora immediately went over to it, and lying down, spread her arms out like angel wings.
“Now this is the life, isn’t it?” she purred.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Cora,” Minnie said snickering from their joint doorway. “We have to get to the show soon. We didn’t come here to lie around all day on a bed, now did we?”
Her remark triggered a frown from Cora, but inside of ten minutes, they were down in the lobby next to Ellie, Pete, Marlena, and Rosie. A quick hand signal to the now humble clerk promptly brought their buggy around to the front entrance, and after meeting up with the other doves, they were off.
Just outside the makeshift show gates, Cora was awestruck by all the colorful signage. Posters of Buffalo Bill were everywhere––Buffalo Bill stopping a stampede of wild Indians, Buffalo Bill on his steed next to Napoleon, Buffalo Bill’s face superimposed on a running buffalo, Buffalo Bill facing a group of docile Indians. Annie’s portraits were prominently displayed as well, Cora noted. One was with her and Sitting Bull, another one with her posed with her rifle, her dress, and her curls.
Excitement rippled through the audience as the Dolan contingent parked their rides, filed through the main gate, and settled into their reserved seats. Looking across the corral, Cora could see along the south side, the public wooden benches rapidly filling up cheek to jowl, with jostling, talking, and laughing ticket holders.
“It seems Annie and Brett really did take care of us,” Minnie exclaimed, patting her cushioned seat and viewing the noisy throng across the way.
Cora wasn’t listening. She was too busy looking around, soaking up the atmosphere.
When a bugle heralded its first notes and an American flag was slowly raised by a couple of cavalrymen, a hush fell over the crowd. All eyes were riveted on a gray-haired, well-dressed man clutching a megaphone as he walked out of the front door of a cabin placed in the middle of the corral. He paused theatrically.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” he announced. “Welcome to the first ever Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. My name is Nate Salsbury, and today you shall see the most tremendous, the most audacious, the most authentic re-enactment of the Wild West you will ever have the good fortune to see!”
A thunderous cheer erupted as Cora leaned forward intensely with an odd little smile.
Suddenly, visions of her pouring over each newly bought dime novel so many years ago were washing over her now with a vengeance. How could she possibly explain to her seatmates about her excitement, as she had lain nestled in bed, studying Buffalo Bill’s every move, Annie’s every shot?
Mr. Salisbury continued. “What you are about to witness today is nothing short of a masterpiece. Each act has been carefully designed and choreographed to render a true flavor of the Wild West and the people who lived, and indeed, still live in it. So, without further ado, just sit back and enjoy the show!”
His last two words were drowned out by a tremendous applause as a ‘family’ of plainspeople suddenly appeared and positioned themselves around the log cabin. The mother and daughter were in gingham prairie dresses, the father in work clothes, and the young sons in knickers, high woolen socks, and boots. All in all, a most peaceful scene as the audience waited, quiet, unsuspecting.
Without warning, a row of war-painted Indians appeared on the upper ridge just beyond the corral, raising their bows in the air and whooping furiously as they headed down toward the cabin.
The audience let out a collective gasp. “Look out!” they shrieked, as mothers tried to calm their children, and everyone watched in horror. Round and round the tribal ‘savages’ rode, encircling the terrified family
, closing in slowly, the feathers in their war bonnets shaking and their tomahawks, raised to strike.
The sound of heavy powwow drums rumbled through the air, enveloping everyone with a sense of doom. A musical band, dressed in cream-colored, woolly cowboy chaps off to one side, commenced playing, and none other than Buffalo Bill, garbed in white on his white galloping steed, swooped in with his men to save the day. The crowd went wild. Stamping, cheering, and applauding, they rose up to give the Great White Savior and his team of expert marksmen a standing ovation.
Cora rose up with them, practically pounding her hands together as she yelled, “Bravo! Bravo! ”
Glancing down again at Minnie and Ellie, she was appalled to hear her daughter mutter, “I wouldn’t say that this is entirely accurate, would you, Minnie?”
“Hush! It’s Buffalo Bill, for goodness sake!” Cora snapped.
Once the act was over, a team of men pulled the cabin away as people all around them commented, “Isn’t this grand?” “I guess he showed them!” “Such good theater!”
The crowd was more than ready for the next act: The Best Little Shot in the West.
“Look, it’s Annie!” Ellie called out, as Pete guzzled the contents of his flask, the doves oohed and aahed, and Cora leaned forward so far her elbows rested on her knees.
There she was, perky in her tan outfit, her tan woolen leggings, and her tan hat with her little signature silver star on the inside brim. Shouldering just a .22 Marling rifle and a mirror, she strolled out to the center of the corral and waited for her husband, Frank Butler, to come out and set up targets in varying sites––some high, some low.
Next, she positioned the mirror in front of her with one hand, and with the other, adjusted the rifle backwards on her shoulder. Everyone stopped breathing. Crack-crack-crack-crack! Crack-crack-crack-crack! went the rifle, shattering each target into bits and pieces.
People were on their feet, cheering, whistling, and screaming. Bowing magnanimously, she held out her right palm, her ‘wait’ signal, as her husband retrieved the mirror and brought out her horse and a shotgun.
“A shot gun?” Cora exclaimed. “Why, she’s much too small for such a big gun!”
Ellie was more specific. “Why, that’s the palomino Brett trained,” she said, but no one was paying attention to her.
All eyes were on the pint-sized lady being helped up onto the palomino. Her shotgun in a sheath and riding side-saddled, she took the reins and began trotting around the corral to thunderous applause. Out came Nate Salsbury again, his megaphone tucked under his arm, and when he issued his next announcement in a manufactured Western twang, “Wait, ladies and gents! You ain’t see nothin’ yet!” the crowd roared their approval.
In the middle of the corral, Frank Butler stood with a clay pigeon launcher. As Annie picked up speed, he launched the first clay piece. High into the air it went as Annie shouldered her shotgun, still going at a fast clip. She aimed, shot, and down the object came, raining tiny fragments of clay. Butler launched another one. Annie aimed and shot. Another pigeon came crashing down in pieces. Soon the palomino shifted into a full gallop, and with every new launch, Annie aimed, shot, and hit each target full on.
“I just can’t believe it, can you?” Cora asked Minnie, not even waiting for any answer before turning back to the show.
With the crowd in a near frenzy, the young woman slowed to a standstill, sheathed her shotgun, climbed off of the horse, and gave the cutest little curtsey imaginable. Then, as laughter and applause rippled through the corral, a team of red-bandanaed, black-shirted cowboys rode around her, holding their cowboy hats up in the air and hollering flamboyantly to all the visitors.
No sooner had Annie and Frank walked off, then the cowboys started their trick riding by sidestepping, rearing their horses up on their hind legs, doing fancy hoof work, and looping lassos in coordinated circles.
“Ellie, you’re missing everything!” Cora said angrily, watching Ellie’s eyes turn toward the sidelines where Brett was taking care of Annie’s horse as it left the main ring.
“Yessiree, Ellie, ish gonna be grand, just like Ulyssessh,” Pete slurred, his face bright red, his nose more bulbous than ever.
“Hush, you two! Watch!” Minnie yelled over the applause, winking at Ellie.
It was bandits this time. Dressed in black dusters, black hats, shirts, pants, and carrying six shooters, they were violently taking over a Wells Fargo & Co. stagecoach filled with passengers and their driver, a hired shot-gunner, riding on top. The crowd yielded a collective gasp while one woman shrieked. But her scream morphed into a “Thank God!” as once again, Buffalo Bill came to the rescue.
With his long hair flowing behind him, his white steed galloping effortlessly, he and his men started shooting blanks as the well-rehearsed actors fell each time the bullets ‘hit’ them. Before long, the strewn bodies on the ground were up and smiling, the passengers were out of the stagecoach acknowledging their liberators, and the Great White Savior, like true royalty, sat back in his saddle and waved to the delirious crowd.
“My hands are gonna fall off from all this clappin’,” Marlena announced, as the full cast and crew came out onto the field to take their final bows.
“Best day of me life,” Rosie shouted, wrapping her feathered boa more securely around her.
Cora remained silent, but when she turned toward the others, her face was nothing short of glowing.
“Oh, Mama.” Ellie smiled.
The crowd was beginning to leave. Their pace, once lively, was now sluggish as the tired homesteaders, well-dressed patrons, and visiting dignitaries slowly made their way toward the exit. Amidst the crowd, a young man was holding up a sign that read “Dolan.”
Cora made her way over to him. “We are the Dolans,” she said. “And you are?”
“The name’s Ambrose, ma’am. I’m here to invite all of you to the Peachside Drinkery. In an hour’s time, Mr. Buffalo Bill will be hosting a special dinner.”
“And Annie Oakley?” Ellie asked.
He grinned. “You betcha!” and handed her a small map.
An hour gave them ample time to walk through the camp. It was as if they had entered a small tent city, like the ‘Hell On Wheels’ they had all heard of during the early railroad building days. Complete with cooks preparing food, a blacksmith, costume seamstresses, and a large pen housing horses, goats, and pigs. Further off to the north was a small corral, with a couple of buffalos and beyond that, various teepees.
“Buffalos!” Minnie exclaimed. “That’s interestin’, seeing as how I read Buffalo Bill was famous for killing so many of ‘em.”
“Along with Injuns, I might add,” Pete agreed, looking less red but still holding onto Minnie. He hiccupped. “You know, this camp reminds me of when we gathered at the sshtart of the land russsh, when we…”
“Pete!” Minnie warned.
Cora swirled around violently, tears forming. “Listen, you are not going to spoil this day for me! You hear me?” She charged ahead.
Ellie sped up to walk beside her. “Mama, it’s all so grand. Just think, they have everything they need right here, don’t they? Just like a little village. I’m so looking forward to meeting Buffalo Bill tonight, aren’t you?”
“Thank you, Ellie,” Cora said, her eyes growing soft. “Thank you for supporting me.”
Before they knew it, they had reached the Peachside Drinkery. Ambrose greeted them at the door and quickly ushered them toward a back room. There, several long tables had been set up with candles, baskets of bread, and an abundance of whiskey bottles and shot glasses. As more and more Wild West show people entered, the Dolan cluster stood off to one side, waiting for directions. Suddenly Annie, Frank Butler, Brett, Nate, and the great buffalo hunter, Bill Cody appeared.
“Where’s Mrs. Cora?” Annie asked loudly. When Cora gingerly raised her hand, the sharpshooter laughed and steered her way over. “So nice to meet you. I have heard such good things about you! It would be a great hon
or if you sat between me and Bill Cody tonight. Won’t you please follow me?”
Everyone laughed at Cora’s stunned reaction. As Annie guided her toward Bill Cody at the head of the table, the madam’s eyes were practically popping out of their sockets. With the clatter of chairs moving over a wooden floor, the clink of shot glasses, and loud chatter filling the room, Brett quietly grabbed Ellie’s arm and maneuvered her toward the other end of the table where they cuddled up so close, they appeared as one. Pete and Minnie sat across from Cora, with Pete next to Nate, Minnie on the other side, and the doves were all nicely distributed amongst admiring cowboys, musicians, and actors.
The door swung open with a bang. “Bradford!” Bill broadcasted. “Glad you could make it, fella! Hope you brought your camera! Come, sit here,” he said, sweeping his hand toward an empty seat next to Minnie.
All heads rotated toward the newcomer as Pete, Minnie, and Cora cried out, “Bradford Jones, the photographer?”
A look of bewilderment crossed his face.
Minnie rang out, “Remember us, the Dolans? Nebraska Land of ’56? Small world.” Minnie giggled, as he sat down next to her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
“My, oh, my,” he agreed, with a sizeable wink. “To think, you were just a girl the last time I saw you. 1856 Land Rush, right? And now? Well.” He glanced across at Cora, then looked Minnie up and down. “Let’s just say, you both turned out just fine.”
Blushing, Minnie almost choked on her whiskey.
Across the table, Buffalo Bill was drinking his and holding court. “Mrs. Dolan, I do hope you enjoyed our show today,” he said, pouring himself another shot.
“Indeed I did, Mr. Cody,” she said, beaming.
Annie placed her hand lightly onto Cora’s. “I’m so glad. This is our first real go at it, and we were all a little nervous about it.”
The Dolan Girls Page 11