Unbridled Dreams

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  “Wait,” Otto said. “Please—darling. Let me explain.”

  She stopped in midstride. Lifting her chin, she said, “I’m certain you have a thousand reasons why you believe what you’ve done is right.” She clutched her bag and motioned him aside. “Now let me out. I want to go home. I need to think.”

  She could hear the relief in his voice as he said, “I’ll see you at home, then.” She stole a glance at him. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was relieved to be rid of her. In fact, he’d already shifted his attention to the piles of papers waiting atop his desk. Willa exited the bank and walked home.

  “I didn’t know what he was up to, ma’am,” Ella Jane called after her as Willa headed upstairs.

  She paused on the landing and gazed down at the worried housekeeper. “I’m not angry with you, Ella Jane. I’m just . . .” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m just tired.”

  “I’ll make you some tea.”

  “No. Don’t. I just . . . I’ll call you if I need anything.” Willa looked down at her. “Did you have plans to spend the evening with Samuel?”

  “I did, ma’am. But I’ll send him away.”

  “Don’t. I won’t be needing anything tonight.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” With a sigh, Willa put her hand on the banister and hauled herself up the stairs. Taking her hat off and unbuttoning the waist to her traveling suit, she retrieved the mail from her bag and headed downstairs to put it back on Otto’s desk. She was in Otto’s office before she noticed the flowery script on the second letter. Her heart pounding, Willa opened it. And her world fell apart.

  At first she thought she was having a heart attack. Sinking into Otto’s chair, she put her head in her hands and wept. It had been a dozen years since Otto’d had an affair. At least that’s what she had believed. Of course things between them weren’t perfect, but what married couple achieved perfection these days? Willa had learned to be content. Otto was a driven man, and living with him had never been easy. Still, when he promised “never again,” she’d believed him. She did what she could to be a good wife. And now . . . this. She closed her eyes and leaned back in Otto’s chair.

  The longer she sat there, the angrier she became. How long had their marriage been a sham? How could she not have known? How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she listened to Philip? If she had, this wouldn’t be happening. In fact, if she’d listened to Philip, Irmagard wouldn’t be off on some wild theatrical jaunt, either.

  Back upstairs, Willa changed from her black silk traveling suit into a simple calico frock and emptied the trunk Johnny Dolan had delivered while she was at the bank. She refilled it with her simplest dresses, a few toiletries, and her Bible. Where she was going, she wouldn’t need silks.

  She wrote out a bank draft and then, sitting down at her writing desk, scribbled a note.

  To Mr. Wilber Cranston

  From Mrs. Willa Friedrich

  Enclosed is a bank draft I wish to have converted to cash. I realize this is an unexpected and rather sizeable withdrawal requiring Mr. Friedrich’s authorization. Please remind him that this bank draft represents only the principal amount of the personal funds I inherited from my brother. I do not at this time require that the interest on my investment be paid. I anticipate making this withdrawal in about half an hour and would appreciate the cash being assembled prior to my arrival.

  Calling for Ella Jane, Willa handed her the note and sent her off to deliver it, then sat back down to write the note she would leave Otto.

  Years ago when I learned that I couldn’t trust you to be faithful in the way most women expect faithfulness, I made a conscious decision that, for the sake of our daughter, I would accept whatever love you could give me. I am proud of the fact that Irmagard has grown up in a family with two loving parents.

  No. She didn’t need to explain any of this. She should just get to the point. Laying that sheet of paper aside, Willa took another.

  I stayed with you because of Irmagard. I thought we had rebuilt a life worth keeping. I was deluded. Given opportunity, you encouraged our daughter’s most egregious foray into deceit in her eighteen years. You’ve shown her how to get her own way and how to manipulate circumstances to her liking. You’ve helped her ignore my wishes and allowed her to break her promises. But that is not all. It is not even the real reason I am leaving you. The real reason lies beneath this note. I have taken what I want from the house, and I have enough of my own money to live comfortably. Willa.

  She began to weep as she wrote, but by the time Willa had rewritten the letter a fourth time and reduced it to one paragraph, she was past weeping. She got up, closed her trunk, and pushed it out into the hall. Downstairs she laid the day’s mail and her note atop Otto’s desk. Hearing Ella Jane’s return she called for her to help her bring her travel trunk back downstairs.

  After Ella Jane had helped her hitch up the buggy, Willa climbed aboard. “I’m going to the bank. I’ll be back in a few minutes. There’s a note in Mr. Friedrich’s office that explains what’s going on. You have my permission to read it.” She drove away.

  Hatless, his arms pumping, Otto came barreling down the road toward her. When Willa didn’t slow the buggy, he called out for her to stop. Shaking her head, she flicked the reins, and Nellie moved into a trot. Once at the bank, she pulled up and climbed down with a glance behind her. There was Otto, fast on her heels. She ducked inside and headed for the teller’s window. When she asked for her money, Wilber shook his head.

  “Please, Mrs. Friedrich.” His pained expression went from Willa’s face to the bank entrance and back again. “You know I can’t—” He cleared his throat. “I need to have Mr. Friedrich’s authorization or—” He paused and leaned forward. Lowering his voice, he pleaded, “I’ll lose my job, Mrs. Friedrich.”

  Just then Otto came storming through the door. He reached for the carpetbag Willa had tried to give Wilber.

  “I insist that you stop causing a scene. This is ridiculous.”

  “You are the one causing the scene,” Willa hissed. She shoved the carpetbag at Wilber. “It’s my money. I want it. Now.”

  “What, exactly, are you going to do?”

  “First, I’m going to pay you for Nellie and the buggy. Then I’m going to drive back to the house and give Ella Jane a very generous wedding gift. And then I’m leaving you.”

  “Leaving me?” He lowered his voice. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion. Irmagard is perfectly safe. She’s going to have a wonderful education. If you don’t believe me, I’ll take you to see her.” He put his hand on her arm and leaned close, “Please. Darling. Come into my office so we can talk in private.”

  She could barely look at him. She did, however, glance around the bank enough to realize that while Otto’s employees were busily looking busy, they couldn’t have avoided hearing at least part of the spat. She didn’t want to be the topic of supper conversations that evening. She didn’t want to be “that poor Willa Friedrich. Had no idea the old boy was playing the old game with a little hussy out Denver way.”

  “I don’t want a scene, either,” she said softly. “But I intend to finish this transaction one way or the other.” She looked him in the eye. “And when I’m gone, you’ll be free to attend to your little friend in Denver without my interference.”

  Otto went pale.

  Willa nodded. She looked away.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Otto ordered Wilber to “do what Mrs. Friedrich has requested.” He touched her arm. “It isn’t what you think,” he croaked. When Willa didn’t move, he crossed to his office. She heard his footsteps retreat. The door close. Once again she was aware of how quiet things were in the bank. Weariness descended. Wilber counted the money. Finally Willa composed herself enough to ask, “What’s a good horse and buggy cost these days?”

  The balding teller stammered, “I-I . . . about sixty dollars.”

  “Take sixty dollars off that pile of bills a
nd hand it to me. With an envelope, please.”

  She scrawled Otto’s name on the envelope, inserted the money, and handed it back. The door to Otto’s office remained closed as she walked past.

  Back at the house Willa spoke to Ella Jane. “I’m leaving now, and I won’t be coming back. It comforts me to know that I can trust you to take good care of things until Mr. Friedrich decides what to do.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ella Jane nodded. “Of course.”

  Willa peeled off several twenty-dollar bills and held them out. “This is for you.”

  The dark-haired girl stared at the pile of bills and backed away, shaking her head. “I can’t, ma’am,” she said. “It’s too much.”

  “It’s a rare young lady who can witness the things you’ve witnessed while working in this house over the years and keep from gossiping all over town, Ella Jane. You’ve been loyal and kind. And this doesn’t even begin to be enough.” Willa almost broke down. She cleared her throat. “You know, I doubt that Reverend Coe would want to know this, but your quiet faith has been more of an encouragement to me over the years than all his sermons combined.”

  Ella Jane started to cry. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Now you take this money, or I’m going to have to—” Willa changed her tone. “Please. Please take it. I need for you to take it.”

  Ella Jane looked up, her eyes luminous with tears. She took the money.

  “There’s a good girl,” Willa said. “God bless you.”

  “I’ll pray for you, ma’am,” Ella Jane said. “I’ll pray for you and I’ll never stop.”

  The tears were spilling out of Willa’s eyes now. She nodded toward the house. “Would you pray for him, too, dear? I don’t think I can right now.”

  Willa’s buggy topped the last rise just as the sun was setting. As she pulled up and looked down in the valley at the little ranch bathed in golden light, she wiped away the last of her tears. Here, she thought, was the ultimate irony. After spending years resenting Charlie Mason and blaming him for turning Irmagard into a cowgirl, after railing against what ranch life had done to Laura—when Wilhelmina Ludvik Friedrich needed sanctuary . . . here she was looking down on the Mason ranch.

  Charlie and Laura Mason would be able to give her the quiet strength and faith-based wisdom she so desperately needed. But it wasn’t just the Masons who brought her out here. Willa knew that the prairie itself had a role to play, too. It had happened in times past when she rode out to sit beneath a lone cottonwood tree. It would happen again. She reminded herself of the things she believed. The God who loved her and told her to cast her cares on Him was the Creator and Sustainer of everything stretched out before her. The God of this endless sky cared about her. The God of these seemingly empty plains knew what was going on in her life. She might not have always been able to live out those truths, but she believed them with all her heart. And she knew that if she would listen to His voice in the midst of the worst things, He would teach her eternally good things. Out here, she would be able to listen.

  Looking down on the ranch, Willa prayed. The first word that came to mind after she’d said amen was the last word she wanted to hear. Forgive. She flicked the reins and headed the buggy down the trail. She didn’t want to forgive Otto. She was tired of forgiving Otto.

  Through the screen door Willa could see the Mason family gathered around the dinner table as she climbed down from the buggy. Laura and Charlie came out onto the porch, a combination of surprise and concern shining on their faces. They both spoke at once. What was wrong? Was Otto all right? Had something happened with Irma?

  Willa stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her. “Otto’s fine. He, uh . . .” Her voice wobbled. “He was at the bank. I came back early. To surprise him. Them. But—” She swallowed. “Of course Minnie’s told you. . . .”

  An unspoken message passed between the Masons. Charlie went back inside and Laura came down the stairs. Taking Willa’s hand, she said, “Let’s walk.” And she led the way right back up the trail Willa had just driven over. “Otto didn’t say a word to anyone about his Wild West plans until after you were gone,” Laura said. “Even when he asked Charlie and me about taking Minnie with them, he didn’t mention that you didn’t know about it.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I suspected. I should have pressed him for the truth.” She sighed. “But Minnie’s been unhappy, too.” She explained Minnie’s reaction to Mollie’s engagement. “I owe you an apology. I chose to remain ignorant because I knew the trip would cheer Minnie up.”

  “You needn’t apologize,” Willa said. “It all falls squarely in Otto’s lap. Even if you had said something, he wouldn’t have changed his mind.”

  “If it means anything to you, since he’s been back Otto has heard from me about involving Minnie in this latest deception—in not very calm terms.” She paused before saying, “What Otto did was terrible. But the two of you have been through worse. What I meant is . . . I saw the trunk in the buggy. Are you sure about that?”

  “Angry as I am about Irmagard and the Wild West,” Willa said, “the trunk in the buggy isn’t about that.” Taking a deep breath, she told Laura about the letter from Denver.

  Laura stopped walking. She shook her head and reached out to hug Willa. “I am so sorry.”

  Willa pulled away. “But you aren’t surprised.”

  “I didn’t know, if that’s what you mean. But. . . Otto’s. . .” She sighed. “Otto is Otto. I hoped he had changed.”

  “I couldn’t stay in that house another moment. I hope it’s all right that I came here. I suppose I’ve put you in a terrible position with Otto being your brother and all. But I didn’t want to go to a hotel.”

  “I’m glad you came to us,” Laura said. After a moment, she added, “Heaven help Otto when Charlie finds out about this.”

  “Charlie doesn’t need to get involved,” Willa said quickly. “I just didn’t want the two of you to think I came running out here because I was throwing some childish fit over the Wild West.” Her voice wavered. “I’d be grateful if I could stay until I know what I’m going to do.”

  “As long as you want,” Laura said. “Now come back to the house with me and try to eat some supper. Charlie can bring your trunk up to Monte’s room later.”

  CHAPTER 14

  WHATEVER YOU DO, DO YOUR WORK HEARTILY,

  AS FOR THE LORD RATHER THAN FOR MEN.

  Colossian 3:23 NASB

  Irma lay atop her cot and stared up at the canvas tent roof. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to being called Belle,” she said.

  From where she lay a few feet away, Helen answered. “That’s the name on your contract, isn’t it?”

  “It still feels like I’m putting on airs to use it.”

  “Give it a few more days. And stop explaining. Annie Oakley used to be Annie Moses, and Shep Sterling’s mama calls him Henry. Nobody thinks they’re putting on airs. Belle’s a fine name.”

  “Wh-what did you just say?” Irma sat up and looked across at Helen.

  “I said,” Helen repeated, “to forget about Irmagard and just be Belle.”

  “No—not that. About Shep. You said his mama calls him— Henry?” So he was telling the truth about that, too, back in Bill’s barn. He was telling you the truth about everything, and you didn’t believe him. You made fun of him. Oh, brother. Could it be more embarrassing?

  Helen cleared her throat. “I thought you knew that.”

  “The program says he’s from Texas. Is that really true?”

  “If the program says Shep has punched cattle in Texas, then you can believe he’s punched at least two cows in the state of Texas. Show names aside, Bill tries to be as accurate as he can about things like that.”

  “But I’m right, aren’t I? Shep’s not really from Texas. And his real name is Henry Mortimer.”

  “Which person are people going to talk about, read about, want to come and see at the Wild West? Irmagard Friedrich or Liberty Belle? A cowboy named Henry
or Shep? It’s not very hard to figure out, is it? And I’m no gossip, so that’s all I’ve got to say on the subject of Henry Mortimer. But I’d love to know where you got Liberty Belle. Which is, as I said, a fine name.”

  “Did you ever play dress-up or pretend when you were little?”

  “Honey, I started keeping house for my daddy and five brothers when I was ten years old. I didn’t have time to play at much of anything. But I know what you mean. I used to pretend my mama was just outside in the garden. It got me through some awful times.”

  What must Helen think of her—a girl whose daddy essentially bought her an audition and a horse. “You must think I’m the world’s most spoiled brat,” she said.

  “The Good Lord takes people down different trails, Belle,” Helen said, her voice gentle. “He don’t love me any less because He let me have a different childhood from you. Now hush up about all that and tell me where you got the name.”

  Irma took a deep breath. “I was about fourteen when I started trying to do a combination of things I’d seen at a traveling circus that came through town. And you know how they take off their hat and take a bow and pretend the announcer is calling their name? Well, I just could not imagine anyone hollering Ladies and gentlemen . . . Irmagard Friedrich. ”

  When Helen chuckled, Irma said, “See? That’s exactly what I mean. So I decided to make up a name. July fourth is my birthday. So the Liberty part was easy.” She smiled as she told the rest. “And Belle was the name of one of my Aunt Laura’s favorite milk cows. Aunt Laura told me Belle was French for beautiful, and I decided Liberty Belle sounded nice.”

  Helen laughed out loud. “How can anyone who’s named for a heifer feel like she’s putting on airs?”

  “You won’t tell anyone that part—will you?”