Unbridled Dreams

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  “No, please go on,” Shep said. “I’m enjoying this.”

  Belle nudged him. “Well, stop it.” She motioned to where a few of the Wild West crowd were gathered at the far end of the bridge. “We’d better get back. That’s Dora and Monte waving for us.” As Shep led the way back toward Manhattan, Belle said, “Do you think those two are unofficially courting?”

  He nodded. “I do. And Monte could do a lot worse. Dora’s a good woman.”

  “Mabel isn’t very nice to her sometimes,” Belle said. “She makes fun of her stutter. A lot. And I know you said Mabel’s had a hard life, but that’s no excuse to be mean. Especially to someone as sweet as Dora. Sometimes I wish Dora would just haul off and let Mabel have it. But most of the time she ignores the teasing. In fact, sometimes she even goes out of her way to be nice to Mabel, although Mabel never appreciates it.” Belle shook her head. “I don’t think I could ever forgive someone who was as mean to me as Mabel is to Dora.”

  “I don’t know if I could, either,” Shep agreed. “Which is one of the reasons I respect Dora so much. Her faith is quiet. She doesn’t say much about it. She just lives it.”

  CHAPTER 19

  REJOICE WITH THOSE WHO REJOICE . . .

  Romans 12:15 NASB

  All around her the camp had settled in for the night. Now that she was used to working long days, Belle was beginning to have trouble sleeping again. Her mind just wouldn’t settle. There was so much to think about, and everything she thought about had an element of worry to it—from Mabel’s being mean to Dora, to Dora’s never fighting back, to Daddy’s goodness to her, to Momma’s simmering anger. As she wrestled with worry, Belle imagined her parents sitting out on the porch at home trying to catch a summer breeze while Daddy read and Momma stitched on her mantel scarf. If she were there right now, Belle knew she would be wondering why Momma messed with fancy stitching and wishing she could saddle up and go for a ride. Of course if she were back in Nebraska right now, she’d be out at the ranch.

  The Masons were likely gathered around the table for a late supper. More often than not during the summer, it was sundown before anyone took time to eat. Belle pictured the family bowing their heads while Uncle Charlie said grace. She imagined mounds of fresh-picked green beans, sliced tomatoes, fresh-baked bread, and butter. Maybe Aunt Laura would have made a chokecherry pie. No . . . it was too early for chokecherries.

  With a sigh, Belle turned over and tried to get comfortable. Though she was a thousand miles away from Nebraska, she was beginning to realize that she hadn’t really changed all that much. She was still hankering for things she couldn’t have. Still restless. Not exactly unhappy . . . but not content, either. Everyone said she and Diamond did a great job in the parades, but no one said a thing about her entering the arena. Lately she’d been thinking maybe it was Diamond. He was a steady and reliable horse, but there wasn’t an ounce of flash in him. She hadn’t liked the other cowgirls’ horses at first, but over time she’d realized there was something to be said for Helen’s brightly patterned pinto and the spotted rump on Mabel’s horse. Such things made for better “costumes.” Buffalo Bill’s white horse was proof. So was Shep’s palomino.

  Shep. She could worry over him for half a night. He stole a kiss and then he backed off. He said he wanted her parents’ approval for whatever it was he had planned and then he said he didn’t need it anymore. He kissed her on the cheek and said he wasn’t playing games, but then he seemed to hold her at arm’s length the next time they saw each other. Last Sunday in the city he’d held her hand as they walked along. But then for most of the past week he was back to the arm’s-length routine. What was going on? More important . . . why did she care? Because she did. She cared so much it frightened her.

  Maybe romance had worked out all right for Uncle Charlie and Aunt Laura, but everywhere else Belle looked in the world the whole love and marriage thing turned out to be something of a mess. Everyone held up Ma and Pa Clemmons as paragons of marital devotion, but even they groused at one another from time to time. Working the wardrobe tent, Belle had seen it happen. As for Momma and Daddy, she wanted no part of a marriage like theirs. Oh, it might look great on the outside, but Belle knew that underneath the glossy surface of dear’s and darling’s there was all kinds of turmoil. And why did any of that matter to her? She was intent on staying single and being a star. Wasn’t she?

  With a sigh, Belle threw back the covers and sat up. Whatever she was intent on, it wasn’t lying in bed thinking about things until she was wound up like a top. Tomorrow was her birthday. She’d be eighteen. And if she wanted to take a walk on a moonlit night without an escort, what was wrong with that? Some of the Wild West rules were just plain stupid.

  Wiggling into her pants and pulling on her shirt, Belle grabbed her boots and ducked outside. The night air was cool. She felt better the minute she filled her lungs with it. Campfires burning over in the Indian village glimmered in the night. Moonlight reflected off the dozens of canvas “buildings,” illuminating the grounds with a pale light. When her footsteps crunched on the gravel paths running between the tents, Belle stepped into the grass. She paused at the entrance to the arena and spent a few minutes visualizing the moment when Liberty Belle would gallop in.

  Shep kept saying it would be soon. He kept telling her to be patient. Well, she’d been patient for the entire summer. Her patience was wearing thin. About a lot of things Shep said and did. Maybe he was just stringing her along. Men were like that. Weren’t they? As if she knew anything about men. Momma had kept her on a very short leash. Stop obsessing about all of that. You’re on your own and you still aren’t happy. What’s wrong with you, anyway?

  With a sigh, Belle turned away from the arena and headed for the stables. If nothing else, she could give Diamond a treat or two and brush him down. He didn’t need either, but he enjoyed both. As she walked past the bronc corral on her way to Diamond’s stall, a horse’s head came up.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Belle said.

  Blaze snorted and tossed her head.

  “You are such a show-off.”

  The mare pawed the earth and danced to the far side of the corral. Belle circled around. When she got close, she saw the first hints of scars on the mare’s sleek shoulder. Of course that happened with all the broncs after being spurred over and over again, but seeing it on this horse? It wasn’t right. Not for this mare. Not when she had so much promise—if only cowboys like Ned Bishop would back off and give her a chance to trust someone with a gentle hand.

  It’s none of your business. You can’t afford to buy her, so let it go.

  While Belle was arguing with herself, Blaze ducked her head and gave a little snort, then bucked a time or two.

  “Ah, now,” Belle said. “That’s lovely, but it can’t be any fun at all, not when there’s a full-grown man flailing around on your back.”

  Blaze snorted and spun about, then stopped, her rear to Belle.

  “I see that,” Belle said. “And I see those ears. You’re listening to every word I say, and we both know it. So why don’t you just turn around and come over here and we’ll have a little talk, woman to woman.”

  Blaze wheeled about. Instead of taking off again, she stood still and watched—albeit with the occasional tossing of the head and pawing of earth—as Belle ducked into the corral and, one step at a time, came within a few feet of her. There’s nothing wrong with giving her a lump of sugar. Shep said they like the idea of a bronc being easy to handle. So Belle palmed the sugar and extended her hand. Nostrils flaring, the mare stayed put. Belle stepped closer until, finally, Blaze snatched the lump of sugar and took off.

  Belle began to hum. The mare settled and looked her way, ears forward. Soon Belle was standing beside her, stroking her muzzle. “We’re both nervous,” she said, “but I don’t think either one of us has anything to be afraid of, do we?” As she had seen Shep do back in Nebraska, Belle began to stroke the mare’s neck, moving slowly toward her shoulders and then do
wn her back. With a soft whicker, the mare turned her head and nuzzled Belle’s arm.

  “Don’t bite now,” Belle said.

  The mare shook her head and snorted.

  Belle laughed. “All right, so you don’t bite. You can’t blame me for mentioning it. You might remember that I’m the one you kicked— although I do believe that was unintentional.” Even as she carried on the conversation, Belle was remembering Uncle Charlie’s warnings about handling the barely broke ponies on the ranch. Blaze might be ready to make friends, but she was still a half-wild bucking bronco.

  Someone had left a hackamore draped over a corral post. Without turning her back on the mare, Belle moved over to the post and retrieved it. In only a few minutes she had succeeded in slipping the hackamore over the mare’s head. This is good, but it’s nothing new. The cowboys get a hackamore on her every time they move her. She’s used to this. It wasn’t long before Belle was leading Blaze around the corral. She knows all about this, too. You haven’t done anything special.

  “So what d’ya think, lady?” Belle said aloud. “Would it be all right with you if I threw a leg over?”

  “Absolutely not,” a voice spoke from the darkness.

  With a snort, the mare pulled free and charged to the opposite side of the corral. Belle spun around, ready to scold the owner of the voice—until she recognized Buffalo Bill.

  “I-I was just . . .” Belle shrugged. “She shouldn’t be a bronc. She deserves better.” Cody was agonizingly quiet. Blaze bumped her from behind.

  As Cody lit a cigar, a flash of light illuminated his face just long enough for Belle to realize she was in serious trouble. Cody motioned for her to get out of the corral. She obeyed and waited while he sauntered over. When he came to stand beside her, he still said nothing. Instead, he rested his arms atop the corral fence and watched Blaze while he smoked his cigar. Finally, he spoke up.

  “When Irmagard Friedrich first arrived on the Wild West lot, I saw a spoiled young woman with a lot of potential and a ridiculous dream. Ridiculous, not because of any lack of talent, but because she’d been raised for a different kind of life. Now, I don’t mind spoiled young women, Miss Belle. In fact, I have a great deal of affection for at least two such ladies by the name of Louisa and Arta Cody. And so I convinced my partner to see things my way. To decide there’d be no harm in doing an old friend a favor and seeing how the spoiled young lady with the dream would get on if we let her come along on the train.” Bill drew on his cigar. “In spite of what you’ve interpreted as disinterest, I have kept up with what’s been happening with you. Your road has taken its twists and turns.”

  “I’ve been working hard,” Belle croaked.

  “So I’ve heard,” Cody agreed. “According to some, you’ve gone from thinking you deserve to be a star to realizing you have to earn it.” He flicked ashes off the cigar. “You can be proud of that, Miss Belle.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Belle croaked. He was pleased . . . right? Then why were those beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead?

  Bill pulled his watch out of his vest pocket and held it up in the moonlight to read the time. Tucking it back into place he said quietly, “That being said, Miss Belle, I want you to understand something very clearly. If you weren’t Otto Friedrich’s daughter, you’d be packed up and on the train headed for home tomorrow morning.”

  Belle caught her breath.

  Cody pointed toward the mare. “A good bronc—and by that I mean one that can be counted on to buck and still behave like something less than a son of Satan around its handlers—is worth about two thousand dollars to me.” He paused. “Do you have two thousand dollars, Miss Belle?”

  “N-no. Sir.”

  “I thought not.” Cody nodded. “In the interest of making certain you understand what’s just happened here, let me clarify something. I am looking forward to introducing Liberty Belle to my audience. I am hoping that she has a long and very successful career with the Wild West. As I see it, there are really only two things that will prevent that from happening. The first is beyond our control, the second is not.” He paused. “Do you want to know what those two things are?”

  Belle nodded.

  Cody held up his index finger. “One. Injury. This Wild West business is dangerous. We do our best to make it as safe as possible, but horses slip, buffalo charge, and lightning strikes.”

  Belle nodded.

  “Now, the second thing that will—and I urge you to understand just how distinctly I am saying that word will. The second thing that will prevent Liberty Belle’s introduction to the Wild West audience— and is completely within her ability to control—is insubordination.” He paused. “This Wild West I’ve created is a fine-tuned mechanism, Miss Belle, and I can’t have my employees deciding they know better about this or that and straying from the fold.” He nodded toward Blaze. “She’s a fine horse, and I understand your attachment. But she’s my horse. Now, you remember that and we won’t have to have this conversation again.” He tilted his head and stared down at her. “The fact is, Belle, we won’t have this conversation again. Will we?”

  Belle shook her head. She was too near tears to trust her voice.

  Cody patted her shoulder. “So we both agree that when you take that hackamore off”—he nodded at Blaze—“that’ll be the last contact you have with my mare.”

  Belle nodded again. She watched Cody walk away, his head held high, the tip of his cigar glowing orange in the dark.

  Helen tucked her shirt in and sat down to pull on her boots, then looked at Belle. “How’d your little tea party with Blaze and Bill turn out last night—if you don’t mind my asking.”

  Belle frowned. “You spied on me?”

  “Honey, you have got to know by now that I am the worst mother hen on the lot. And in case you’ve forgotten, the female of the species wandering the back lot after dark alone is strictly against the rules on that contract you signed a couple months back. So yes, I spied on you and will continue to do so whenever and wherever I think you’re fixing to get yourself fired.” She stood up. “I assume from the fact you’re getting dressed for breakfast and not packing your things that you aren’t fired.”

  Belle pulled on a boot. “No. I’m not fired. Happy birthday to me. And I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Nodding, Helen bent down and pulled something wrapped in tissue from beneath her cot and plunked it on the table. “Happy birthday to you.” Belle opened it and exclaimed over the beautifully beaded hatband. Helen grinned. “The Shepherd helped me decide on the design.” She winked. “In case you need a reason to collect a birthday kiss or anything.”

  “Shep has made it very clear that he’s a gentleman and that gentlemen don’t do such things without the blessing of the parents.”

  Belle rolled her eyes. “Or something like that. I don’t remember his exact reasoning. Anyway, the gist of what he had to say pretty much guarantees there will be no kissing.”

  Helen chuckled a response and stepped to the tent entrance. As Belle sat down to put the new band on her hat, she saw Helen wave at someone, and just as she pulled her hat on, Shep showed up. “Happy birthday,” he said, and handed her a copy of the Wild West program. He pointed to where a red bookmark showed. “Open it up.”

  Belle opened the program. Someone had written the name Liberty Belle in the lineup.

  “Bill and Nate decided the Fourth of July was the perfect day to introduce Liberty Belle to the Wild West crowd.”

  Helen grinned. “What he ain’t tellin’ you is that Bill and Nate decided after this big galoot darned near threatened to quit if they didn’t put you in on your birthday.”

  And I nearly ruined it all just last night. Clutching the program to her chest, Belle stood on tiptoe and kissed Shep on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said. She kissed his other cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He smiled down at her. “Just prove me right today by showin’ ’em what you got.”

  “Ladies and Gen
tlemen . . . Miss . . . Liberty . . . Belle!”

  Even Diamond seemed excited about the moment. Tossing his head, he gave a little half rear and charged into the arena. Belle gripped the flagpole holder tight and glanced up to see that the flag was unfurled as Diamond did first one, then two laps of the arena. They were in the spotlight the entire time, and while Belle couldn’t see the crowd, she could hear them cheering and applauding. At the end of the second lap, Monte stepped out from behind the curtain just long enough to take the flagpole and holder from her. “You look great!” he shouted, and then he stepped behind the curtain, and Belle and Diamond were alone in the spotlight.

  Her heart pounding, Belle stood up in the stirrups and waved her hat to the crowd. They responded with polite applause, then quieted again as Belle gathered the reins. Diamond tossed his head and whickered. This is it. Here we are. What was it Shep had said earlier? Show ’em what you’ve got. Belle leaned down and patted Diamond on the neck. “All right, old friend,” she said. “Let’s show ’em what we’ve got.”

  And they did. Belle couldn’t remember a time when she and Diamond had been so in sync. It was as if the horse anticipated everything she wanted just a second before she asked it of him, and as a result, the entire routine was executed with a precision that had the crowd alternately cheering appreciation or gasping in amazement.

  When the routine was finished, and she and Diamond whirled around in front of the curtain and Belle took off her hat and waved to the crowd, she thought her heart just might burst with joy.

  As soon as she passed behind the curtain, the arena manager sent her back out to take another bow, and then another. Finally she was allowed to dismount, and as she slid to the ground, Shep came up behind her. When she turned around, he laughed aloud and picked her up and swung her around and for a brief moment forgot his own rules about kissing. And that was the best birthday gift of all.