Unbridled Dreams

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  The crowd began to applaud. Shep Sterling and Lillian Smith were the bookends to Buffalo Bill’s Grand Entrance. All three were riding horses adorned with show saddles and bridles. Silver discs reflected in the sun. Fringe on the performers’ costumes swayed as the parade horses pranced toward the train. All three stars dismounted straight onto the observation platform at the back of Cody’s car. Wranglers led the horses away, the band stopped playing, and Cody motioned for silence. He waxed eloquent about how it was an honor to be able to present a true picture of life on the frontier to the rest of the world. He reintroduced Lillian Smith, the Champion Rifle Shot of the World, and Shep Sterling, the renowned King of the Cowboys. Finally, Cody thanked the people of the great state of Nebraska for sharing their sons to make the West come alive for thousands, perhaps millions, of easterners. With a last flourish of his hat and a theatrical bow, Cody ducked inside his private car. Shep and Miss Smith followed.

  Irma’s heart sank. That was it? Shep was gone? Without so much as saying . . . What? What did you expect him to say? Something. Something sweet. Something . . . personal. A man didn’t just give a girl white roses and hold her while she cried and then just . . . leave. Did he? Apparently this one did. The varmint. Irma glowered at the train.

  Monte and Ned strode up. While Ned shook Uncle Charlie’s hand, Monte hugged his sisters and parents and promised to write. He smiled at Aunt Laura. “And I’ll go to church every Sunday, Ma.”

  In spite of her sore ribs, Irma hugged him. Her tears flowed freely as Monte picked her up and swung her around. Every single Mason was crying, too. Even Uncle Charlie’s eyes were red. With a nod and a tip of his hat, Ned said a quick good-bye and made a dash for the train.

  Finally, with one last round of hugs, Monte headed for the train, but Orrin Knox intercepted him. Daddy joined them both train-side and there was more conversation until the whistle sounded and Monte climbed aboard. Members of the troupe appeared on the platform at the back of every car, waving and laughing. Shep really was leaving without saying good-bye. Irma turned away.

  “A-hem.” Orrin Knox was standing so close she could feel his breath as he whispered in her ear, “Mr. Sterling asked if you’d come with me, please.” He touched her elbow and motioned for her to follow him. At the far corner of the station, he stopped. “I’ll . . . ahem . . . wait here. You . . . ahem . . .” He motioned her around the corner, where Shep waited, his hat in his hands.

  “You didn’t think I was going to leave without saying good-bye, did you?”

  His smile made her feel . . . fluttery. “I honestly didn’t know what to think when you ducked into Mr. Cody’s car. It made me feel—”

  “What?” He moved closer. “What do you feel, Belle?” He traced the line of her jaw.

  Belle. She’d never forget the sound of his voice saying that name. Never.

  Irma nodded. “You’d better go,” she said.

  He put his hat back on and bent to kiss her. It was gentle and not really all that passionate, at least not in the way Irma had dreamed of passion. When the train whistle blew, he kissed her again, and this time he wasn’t as gentle. The second kiss in her life set Irma to trembling all the way down to the tips of her toes. She clung to him as he smiled down at her and said, “I’m glad we got that settled.”

  The train began to pull out. After a quick hug, Shep charged across the platform. Jumping down, he sprinted after the last car. If it hadn’t been for the wranglers grabbing him and hauling him up, Shep Sterling would have missed the Wild West train.

  Her heart pounding as if she’d just bulldogged a calf, Irma watched until the train was out of sight before looking for the rest of the family. And that was when she realized that Momma was no longer waiting in the buggy.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE FOLLY OF FOOLS IS DECEIT.

  Proverbs 14:8 KJV

  “There you are,” Momma said as she bustled toward them. “Whatever are you doing hiding all alone over here by the shipping department?”

  Irma steadied herself. You can breathe now. She obviously didn’t see anything.

  “Tut-tut now, dear,” Momma said, and slipped her arm around Irma’s waist. “I know it’s all very difficult for you saying good-bye to Monte. But you mustn’t cry. Things are going to be fine. He will write. And you know he’ll take very good care of Diamond. And in time you’ll see that it was all for the best. Now come along home.”

  Was it Irma’s imagination or was Edna Hertz eyeing her? Was that a smirk? Or something more sinister? Irma watched with trepidation as Edna sashayed toward them.

  “Were you able to give Mr. Sterling my message, Miss Friedrich? I saw the two of you . . . talking.”

  Orrin Knox planted himself between the Friedrich women and Edna. Without giving Irma a chance to answer his question, he cleared his throat and said something to Momma about “asking Miss Friedrich for her assistance in arranging a future interview with Mr. Sterling—since Mr. Sterling had been to the house and seemed to be a particular friend of the family.” He continued, saying that he hoped Mrs. Friedrich didn’t mind that he had made the request of her, and that he would certainly never have done such a thing without asking permission under normal circumstances. . . . He blathered on and on until, out of the corner of her eye, Irma saw Edna Hertz roll her eyes and shrug, then retreat.

  “Goodness, Mr. Knox,” Momma said, “there’s no need to explain so . . . thoroughly. Nothing could please me more than to learn that Irmagard has been of assistance to you and the newspaper.” Momma nodded at Irma. “And I’m certain she was happy to help you. Weren’t you, dear?”

  Irma nodded. “I was.”

  “Well then,” Momma said. “Go on, dear. Tell him.”

  “Tell him what?”

  “What Mr. Sterling said. Whatever it was you asked on Mr.

  Knox’s behalf.”

  Irma could not think of one thing to say.

  “Might I walk you home, Miss Friedrich—so that we might . . . ahem . . . discuss matters further?” Mr. Knox glanced at Momma. “With your permission of course, Mrs. Friedrich.”

  Thirty-seven times. Orrin Knox had effectively ruined what could have been a nice walk on a nearly perfect spring day.

  “Ahem.”

  Thirty-eight. How did he stand it? Didn’t his throat feel like sandpaper by now? Couldn’t he just swallow instead of making that awful sound? Why didn’t he fiddle with his fob chain when he was nervous, or twirl his walking stick, or acquire any number of other less annoying habits. How did the other men in the newspaper office stand working with him? That’s probably why he gets all the traveling assignments. Irma had given up trying to make pleasant conversation a few minutes into the walk home. She’d begun to walk faster, honing in on the gate in the picket fence. It was in view now, just a little—

  “Ahem. I . . . ahem . . . I hope you know I can be trusted to keep a confidence, Miss Friedrich. That is if . . . if there’s anything— anything at all. A journalist prides himself on being trustworthy. At least . . . ahem . . . this journalist does.”

  Irma lowered her parasol and, closing it, rested the shaft on one shoulder. She could feel a bead of sweat trickle down her spine. Having been her defender at the train station, was Orrin Knox about to use what he knew against her? What did he expect her to say?

  Knox took his hat off. He cleared his throat. Again. “What I mean is . . . ahem . . . any fool could see that Shep Sterling finds you very attractive. Of course . . . ahem . . . anyone would see . . . I mean, any man in his right mind would see . . . Ahem.”

  If the man cleared his throat one more time she was going to brain him with her parasol. “Get to the point, Mr. Knox. What is it you have to say about Mr. Sterling and me?”

  “Did he say anything about England?”

  “England? ”

  “Yes. England.” Knox looked around them and leaned closer. “I assume he had something very important—something special—to tell you. That’s why he asked me to . . . ahem . .
. stand guard. But of course I didn’t eavesdrop. So I was wondering—is it official? Is the contract signed for the Wild West to go to England?”

  “The Wild West is going to England?!”

  “That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me—whether they are. Ahem. Or aren’t, that is.” He paused. “I know for a fact that when they were forming their partnership, Mr. Cody’s partner, Mr. Salsbury, said that he would one day get the Wild West to Europe. And with Queen Victoria’s Jubilee next year and the exposition planned there, the timing would be perfect. I thought maybe Mr. Sterling had said something to you right before he . . . uh . . .”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Knox, but the subject of the Wild West itinerary did not come up when Shep was saying goodbye.”

  “You would tell me, wouldn’t you? Ahem. I mean about England.”

  “What possible reason would I have to keep news like that to myself?”

  “If he writes you—when he writes—and there’s news of England . . . will you tell me? Please? It’s very important. To be the first journalist to report such big news—it would mean . . . ever so much.” He cleared his throat. “And in case you were wondering, I did see the kiss—but that secret is safe with me. I was only interested in the story. Of England.”

  They were at the front gate. Irma put her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Knox. Sincerely.”

  “Why, uh . . . ahem.” He blushed furiously and bobbed his head. “Of course. I . . . ahem. I would never want to cause you any difficulty. That’s why I stepped in when Edna Hertz . . . She may have seen—that’s why I stepped in.” He paused to take a breath. “I like you, Miss Friedrich. Not . . . not the way . . . ahem. As a friend. Not that you aren’t a lovely . . . ahem.”

  “I’d like to be your friend, too, Mr. Knox. And please call me Irma.”

  He cleared his throat and bobbed his head. “Yes. Well. Ahem.” He sighed and mopped his forehead again. “I’m sorry I’m so . . . ahem . . . awkward. I’ve always been this way with girls. Women. Females.”

  Irma smiled. “And yet that day at my party you talked to Shep Sterling for nearly an hour in the presence of many women, and I didn’t hear one ahem.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t explain it. I only have this trouble when I’m put on the spot with a girl. Ahem. Woman.”

  “You aren’t in the least bit interested in me as a woman, are you?”

  “I . . . ahem. I’m not certain I understand. Ahem.” Knox mopped his face again.

  “Of course you do,” Irma said. “You understand perfectly. You’re just too shy to say it. It’s all right. I’m not in the least bit interested in you, either.”

  He smiled. “Well, I, uh . . . ahem . . . guess I knew that. Even before today, I mean. Anyone could tell that. From the way you look when he’s around. Mr. Sterling, that is.”

  “So why are you still so nervous around me?”

  He shrugged.

  “Is it Momma? She can be determined. Hard to convince to give up on things she wants.”

  He glanced toward the house. “It wouldn’t do for me to offend the wife of one of the most powerful men in town by appearing to refuse to court her daughter.”

  Irma didn’t know what to say to that. She hadn’t really ever considered Daddy as being powerful or that people might be afraid to offend Momma—because of Daddy. Surely Mr. Knox was overreacting. She patted his arm again. “It’s all right. Really. Thank you for rescuing me earlier and for walking me home. I’ll be happy to let you know if I learn some inside news about the Wild West’s schedule. And now”—she motioned toward the house—“I imagine we’re fueling Momma’s matchmaking fires by standing out here so long. So”—she held out her hand—“to friendship.”

  “To friendship.” They shook hands. “And please call me Orrin.”

  Irma was halfway to the front door when Orrin called her name. When she turned back around he was tucking his handkerchief in his pocket. He adjusted the glasses on his nose and tilted his hat until it looked positively stylish.

  “Would you give my regards to Miss Mason—Miss Minnie Mason—the next time you see her?”

  A few days after the Wild West train left North Platte, Otto walked into the parlor and settled into his chair, newspaper in hand. “Where’s Irma?” he asked. “She’ll want to hear this.” He held up the newspaper. “Orrin Knox has written an article on suffrage.” Otto chuckled, “And he’s for it.”

  “She’s gone up to her room to write Monte,” Willa said, and picked up her needlework. “She said she was feeling tired and wanted to turn in early.” Otto only nodded and opened the paper and began to read aloud. It was maddening how oblivious the man could be to trouble. Leaning her head back for a moment, Willa closed her eyes and tried to listen. If he asked her opinion—which he would not—temperance was a far more critical cause than getting women the vote. No self-respecting lady would go anywhere near the polls unless something was done to end the disgusting amount of public drunkenness that plagued Election Day.

  As Otto droned on, Willa turned her attention to her needlework. She loved doing needlepoint, but this new fad of decorating patchwork with countless embroidery stitches in endless designs was more than a little taxing. It was called “crazy work,” and Willa suspected she knew the reason. A woman could go crazy before she finished even a small sample. She’d been working on the same section of her mantel scarf for weeks.

  As the sun went down and flickering lamplight replaced the light of day, Otto finished reading aloud, laid the newspaper aside, and buried his nose in a book. Willa pondered how to broach the topic she’d been worrying over for most of the day. The opportunity arose when Otto stopped reading and reached for his pipe.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Willa said, “that perhaps I should tell Louisa I can’t go with her to Chicago after all.”

  Otto frowned. “Why on earth would you do that?”

  Willa nodded her head toward the upper level. “It’s been several days since that train left, and I don’t think Irmagard has eaten a decent meal once. She simply isn’t herself. She says she’s tired almost every afternoon. She’s taking naps.”

  “I agree that Irma’s been a little quieter than usual these past few days. But when you consider that her best friend left on an adventure she’s long wanted for herself, that’s understandable. I also think the reality that neither Monte nor Diamond will be on the ranch this summer is just now beginning to sink in. I’d think it odd if she weren’t a little depressed.” Otto shrugged as he tamped the tobacco in his pipe. “She’ll come around.”

  “I’m afraid it’s more than ‘a little’ depression. You haven’t witnessed her attitude toward me.”

  Otto paused midpuff. He frowned. “If she’s been disrespectful, I’ll—”

  “No.” Willa shook her head. “It’s nothing like that. She hasn’t complained about anything. She’s been . . . agreeable.”

  Otto gave a little half-barking laugh. “Well, there’s a sure sign there’s something seriously wrong.” He finished lighting his pipe.

  “Don’t joke.” Willa got up and crossed to the window seat, where she perched in profile to her husband and stared out the window. “If she says ‘Whatever you want, Momma’ one more time, I think I may burst into tears.” She looked back at her husband. “I’m worried. Truly, seriously worried.” She paused. “She’s beginning to remind me of Olive—toward the end.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Irma’s nothing like your sister—may her dear, tormented soul rest in peace.”

  “She is very much like my sister,” Willa insisted. “The hair . . . the eyes . . . and, what frightens me most . . . the tendency toward moodiness.” She blinked her tears away. She would not cry. Otto hated it when she cried. Worse than that, he never listened to what she was saying if she cried. Willa once again looked back outside at the piece of ground they called the yard—although it was little more than a picket-fence-bordered pasture.

  Otto set his pipe down. He got up a
nd crossed the room. Sitting beside her on the window seat, he put his arms around her. “Now, Momma,” he said gently, and kissed her hair. “You must not let memories haunt you this way. It happens every April around the anniversary of Olive’s death. You remember that, don’t you? It’s unfortunate that Irma’s in one of her moods, but let’s not blow it out of proportion. And let us also remember that your sister was a delightful woman in many ways. Her tragic end doesn’t negate the fact that her stage career gave great joy to many, many people. To quote the Good Book you are so fond of reading, my dear . . . think on those things.”

  Willa shook her head. “You didn’t see her in those final weeks. She stopped caring about her wardrobe. She let others make decisions for her. She complained of being tired all the time. And all the while she was sinking deeper and deeper until—” Burying her face in her hands, Willa began to cry as old wounds wrapped themselves around present fears.

  Otto held her tight. “You are overreacting. Irma is going to be fine.” While Willa cried, he kept talking. “The past is past. We cannot change it. It can only harm us if we choose to let it do harm. You can choose what you think on. Doesn’t the Bible say that?”

  Willa blanched. He was right of course. Philippians chapter four, verse eight gave a long list of things a person should think about— and none of them had anything to do with mucking around in the past. Willa nodded.

  He gripped her by the shoulders and pretended to scold. “Then think on those things. The good things. Because you are going on this trip with Louisa Cody, Mrs. Friedrich. You are going to buy at least a dozen new hats and indulge every whim and—” he lifted her chin and made her look him in the eye—“you are going to trust Irma to me.”

  Doing her best not to sound disbelieving or challenging, Willa asked, “Are you certain you can manage such a thing? The bank demands so much of you. Such long hours.”

  It was a while before Otto answered, and when he did it wasn’t much of an answer. “I’ll take Irma to eat at the hotel on Monday. On Tuesday she and I will escort you to the train. Then we’ll drive out to the ranch for supper. And by Wednesday, I’ll wager Irma will be writing you about how much fun she’s having.” He paused. “Trust me, Willa. Everything will be fine.” He pulled her into his arms.