Unbridled Dreams

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  Helen trotted her horse by. “Go on, hot shot. You can do this. Give ’em something to remember. Your Momma deserves to see more than a pole race and an automatic ride.” She leaned over and patted Belle on the head. “Now everybody up there in the stands thinks I’m taunting you some more. It’s called milking it for the publicity, hon. We’ll plan some other little tricks together as time goes on.” She reined her horse away. “Go get ’em.”

  Belle rode a prancing Rowdy around the perimeter of the arena, aware with every step of exactly when she would ride past Momma. She didn’t look. Finally, whirling about, she kicked Rowdy into a gallop and, as they passed her hat, she slipped down and snagged it. The crowd roared. Her heart was pounding, and she was trembling so badly she almost dropped the hat just trying to put it on. She and Helen took a victory lap while the clowns tumbled into view, turning the removal of the poles from the arena into a hilarious act involving dueling poles and racing stick horses.

  It was over. After she slid to the ground, Belle had to hold on to a stirrup while she waited to stop shaking.

  Helen hopped down. “Good work,” she said, and offered a hug.

  Belle shook her head. “You made that happen. I was—”

  “You were nervous. So what. We make a good team.” Helen grinned.

  Monte, Dora, and Shep, along with some of the other performers, gathered round, offering congratulations. Shep planted a kiss on her cheek. Ignoring the jeers of some of the cowboys, he whispered, “You were superb.” Then he turned toward Helen, shaking a finger at her and scolding, “Bad cowgirl, stealing a girl’s hat the first time she’s in the arena with a new act.”

  Helen shrugged and turned to Belle. “Go on now,” she said, and motioned toward the stands. “Your momma’s gonna be wondering where you are. You tell her I said good-bye and thanks for everything.”

  “She’ll want to see you before she leaves,” Belle protested. “You’re practically part of the family now. Can’t you hornswoggle someone into taking care of the horses again?”

  “Hornswoggle? ” Helen looked horrified as she glanced at Dora.

  “Did she really just say hornswoggle? ”

  “You g-go,” Dora said, and reached for the horses’ reins. She stroked Rowdy’s neck.

  Monte spoke up. “We’ll catch up. I think Dora’s having second thoughts about leaving.”

  Dora smiled. “C-come on, cowboy,” she said, and together, she and Monte gathered the horses’ reins and wove their way through the crowd toward the stables.

  Momma and Orrin Knox were visiting with a woman who was obviously a high-society New Yorker when Belle and Shep caught up with them. Momma spoke to Shep. “I’m not really certain I’m speaking to you, young man.” She eyed him with mock anger. “ ‘Compliments of the management’ indeed.”

  Shep ducked his head and mugged guilt. “I deeply regret any appearance of subterfuge, ma’am. I was merely hoping to enhance your opinion of my hometown. And, by association, of myself.” He put his hand on his heart and bowed his head.

  “You do see what I mean,” the elegant stranger said. “Always the actor.”

  When she extended a hand to Belle and introduced herself as “this ingrate’s proud mother,” Belle saw where Shep’s gorgeous sister had gotten her amazing blue eyes. Mrs. Mortimer looked up at Shep.

  “You were right, son. She’s lovely.” She turned back to Belle. “Your mother and I have compared notes and found that we share the same affliction wherein we swing between states of euphoric pride in our children and terrified denial over the danger inherent in what they do for a living. We have also agreed that the only proper treatment for it is for all of us to enjoy a late supper at the Brunswick.” She glanced at Shep. “I imagine Edward will be happy to accommodate a request for one of the private dining rooms. He’s getting used to giving out favors to family by now.”

  “I only asked for a nice room,” Shep said, somewhat defensively. “And flowers,” he added. His mother tilted her head and arched one eyebrow. “Oh, all right. And a breakfast cart. But that was all. And Uncle Edward was happy to do it.”

  CHAPTER 23

  THESE . . . THINGS DOTH THE LORD HATE . .

  A PROUD LOOK, A LYING TONGUE . . .

  Proverbs 6:16-17 KJV

  It had to be a plot. There was no other explanation for Shep’s mother just happening to occupy the seat next to Momma at the Wild West. And if Shep had somehow arranged for his mother to meet her mother, what did that mean? And if it meant what it might mean, how did Belle feel about that? Life was getting confusing. She didn’t know how she felt. Or maybe she did, and she just didn’t want to think about it. There was so much going on, and now she had more work than ever to do in the arena—which was wonderful. She’d known she would eventually meet Shep’s family because he’d talked about it, but here they all were, and Shep was pulling her chair out for her to sit down in this elegant restaurant, and his mother was laughing and chatting with Momma as if they’d known each other for ages. Shep’s Uncle Edward had come in and said hello, and as the moments went by, Belle was feeling more and more like she was taking a test for which she hadn’t studied.

  The entire thing was too ironic for words. Shep’s background was more like hers than she’d realized. He, too, had essentially run away from home to join the Wild West. And his father had been a banker—although, as the evening wore on, it became apparent that the Mortimer family’s banking concerns were on a much higher rung of the financial world ladder than Otto Friedrich’s First Bank of North Platte. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Everything about Mrs. Mortimer—from the trim on her stylish hat to the tip of her leather-clad boots—said old money and lots of it. Diamond earbobs and jewel-studded bracelets flashed in the restaurant candlelight.

  She insisted that Henry must bring Miss Friedrich to the house to meet everyone but said he should wait until Aunt Tillie and Uncle Charlie come back to the city from the summer house. And Aunt Sophie and Uncle Harold would be back from that boat trip down the coast in a few weeks.

  “They promised Cook she could go see her family next month, and you know how they are, Henry. They can’t get by without Cook.” A boat with a cook? And a captain? Mrs. Mortimer might have called their mode of transportation a boat, but obviously Aunt Sophie and Uncle Harold had taken a trip on the family yacht.

  Belle was beginning to have her own What hath God wrought thoughts. She could almost envision the hilarity in the upper stratosphere as the angels above got the joke on the girl who ran away from home to find her own way in life, successfully escaping from the world of finishing schools and social graces, only to fall in love with the only man in the Wild West whose family represented everything she had run away from. He even had his own Uncle Charlie. Whoa. LOVE?

  It hit her just like that. She looked across the table at Shep, who was telling Momma the story about his begging Buffalo Bill for a job, and realized that if she had her way about things, Shep Sterling would have a place at all her tables for the rest of her life. And just at the moment she thought that, Shep glanced her way and winked, and it thrilled her right down to her toes. She winked back. Shep gave a little nod toward Momma, as if he were telling Belle, I told you I’d win her approval. And apparently he had, because Momma seemed happier than Belle had seen her in a long, long time.

  Momma and Orrin came over to the Wild West grounds early Tuesday morning. They would have to leave before noon in order to catch the train home, but Orrin had one last interview to conduct, and so, while he spoke with Ned Bishop, Belle and Momma took a stroll, finally settling on a bench positioned just off the graveled path that circled the Wild West grounds. Once again, Belle asked about Daddy, and once again Momma said that he was in Denver on business. He sent his love. He would be thrilled to learn that the boots he’d had made were working out so well.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Belle asked abruptly. “Daddy isn’t sick, is he? Or is the bank having trouble?”
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  Momma hesitated. “He’s been very busy, Irmagard. To be honest I haven’t seen a lot of him in recent weeks. You know how preoccupied he can be when new projects arise.” She paused. “I shall tell him he must write more often.”

  “And you will, too—right?”

  “I will,” Momma promised. She gestured around them. “I was nervous about coming out here on my own,” she said. “I’m so glad I did.” She reached for Belle’s hand.

  “I started a dozen letters to you, Momma. I really did. But somehow, I could never get past Dear Momma. I couldn’t say I was sorry for being here because I’m not.” She paused. “I am sorry, though, for the way it happened. Daddy and I were wrong to go behind your back the way we did.”

  Momma took a long time to answer. “All any mother wants is for her children to be happy.” She squeezed Belle’s hand. “I’ve seen what a life of traveling and performing can do, Irmagard. Based on that, I was completely convinced that this life couldn’t possibly make you happy. I was so convinced that I was willing to fight you for as long as it took for your dream to die.” She sighed and shook her head. “I was wrong.”

  “I wish you could feel better about it,” Belle said. “Or at least not hate it so much.”

  Momma let go of her hand. “I don’t hate it as much as I worry. About your safety. And other things.”

  “You do know that a cannon could go off next to Diamond and he’d barely blink.”

  “I believe you.”

  “And you know I’m being careful not to take foolish risks in Dora’s act.”

  “Yes.”

  “Rowdy’s a little skittish, but he and I are going to get along fine. You mustn’t worry about that.”

  Momma sighed. “I think I’ve finally come to realize that you really are quite gifted with horses. I’ve heard your friends talk about it enough over these past few days. Miss Keen has been especially careful to make certain I realize your talents in that regard. And Mr.

  Sterling has done his share of praising you, as well.”

  “Is it Shep who worries you, then?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He’s from a good family. I believe his intentions are honorable.”

  “Then why can’t you be more like Daddy? Why can’t you be happy for me?”

  Again, there was a long silence. Finally, Momma took a deep breath. “I haven’t ever spoken of this to you, but my mother and my sister were both actresses. They spent their lives traveling from place to place, and . . . I haven’t wanted to talk about it because it’s just too painful.”

  Belle shifted on the bench and looked at Momma. But Momma kept looking off into the distance, clearly struggling with her emotions.

  “Is that why you always got angry when I’d ask why I didn’t have grandparents and aunts and uncles like everyone else?”

  Momma nodded. “Perhaps I was wrong not to explain what was behind all my protests. But it’s a painful story, and to be quite honest, it makes me ashamed to think about it, much less tell about it. But I know my past is the cause for the fear I feel in here”—she spread her hand across her midsection—“whenever I think of you living this life.”

  Belle was silent. Waiting.

  Taking a deep breath, Momma began. “My earliest memories involve waiting in the corner of a dressing room for my mother to come off stage. Or being jerked awake and dragged aboard a stage coach or a wagon or sometimes a train, en route to the next town. By the time my sister was ten, and I was twelve, our mother was wornout from drink and . . . things I never want you to know about. As far as I know, neither Olive nor I ever met our fathers. I asked about mine once. My mother slapped me and cursed him. I never asked about him again.”

  “Oh, Momma—”

  “The night my mother died, I took my sister by the hand and walked across town to a little clapboard church. The pastor and his wife took us in. They treated us very well, but neither Olive nor I wanted anything to do with religion. Olive seemed to forget a lot of the terrible things from her childhood, and as she grew older she grew more and more determined to become an actress.”

  Momma glanced at Belle. “She had red hair and blue-gray eyes. Just like you. She was a stunning beauty and incredibly gifted. Unfortunately, she was also given to ‘episodes.’ No one knew the answer to her struggles and, it seemed, no one could help her. On stage, she was brilliant. Off it, she would descend into these terrible bouts of depression, and no one could lift her out.”

  Swiping at the tears on her cheeks, Momma said, “Olive took her own life when you were a baby.” She shivered. “And that is why I never wanted you to have anything to do with this life you’ve run to.”

  Belle leaned her head on Momma’s shoulder. Momma patted her cheek and then said, “I remember reading a Bible verse once that talked about the things in the past happening so that we could learn from them. When you first started talking about the Wild West, I used to quote that verse to myself as justification for why you mustn’t be allowed to go through with any such plan. I would tell myself that the past had shown me what happened to women who chose that kind of life, and I believed it was my duty to learn from it and to stop you.” She sighed. “But then your father reminded me that it was prideful to presume that I could know positively God’s will for another person’s life.

  “Now don’t take this in the wrong way, dear, but you know that your father has never exactly been a religious man. So when he said that, I puffed up and thought what does he know, this man who rarely darkens the door of the church? I didn’t think God could possibly be asking me to trust Him that completely. Certainly not with you.” She swiped at a tear.

  “But He is asking me to trust Him completely. I don’t like it one bit, but I think I finally realize that’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m being asked to trust God with my greatest treasure.” She took a deep breath. “So, Miss Irmagard Liberty Belle Friedrich, that’s what I’m going to do. With God’s help.”

  They were both teary-eyed. Momma moved first. “My old bones are stiffening up. Let’s walk toward the arena and see if we can’t find Orrin. It’s time we met up with Monte and Dora and headed for the train station.”

  Soon they were both swept up in the crowd gathered to say goodbye to Monte and Dora. Helen gave Momma an enthusiastic hug, and much to Belle’s surprise, Momma put her hands on Shep’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. When the time came for Momma and Orrin, Monte and Dora to climb aboard the train that would take them first to the ferry landing, and from there on to the train station and home, Belle couldn’t keep the tears back.

  Momma reached for her and with the last hug whispered, “I am so proud of you. So proud.” When Momma stepped back she was crying, too.

  Belle watched until the train was out of sight. She and Shep had just turned and started back for the Wild West grounds when Ned Bishop hollered that Bill Cody wanted to see Belle in his tent. Pronto.

  It was nearly time for the twelve-thirty performance, and the usual crowd of admirers was gathered around Buffalo Bill when Belle walked up. The minute he saw her he said, “Well, folks. If you’ll excuse me, I have some business with this lovely young ranchera.” He tipped his hat and motioned for Belle to come by him, then offered his arm and led her away. When they were out of earshot, he chuckled. “That wasn’t nearly as hard as it usually is. Perhaps I’ll have you come rescue me more often.”

  Belle relaxed a little. He certainly didn’t seem upset about anything to do with her.

  “Your mother and I had a nice chat early this morning. She had an interesting proposal, and when I agreed to it, she decided I should take care of the details after she left for home.” He pulled a note from inside his buckskin coat. “First, I thought you might like to read the note she left me.”

  July 20, 1886

  To the Honorable William F. Cody

  Bill: I want to thank you for what you have done to make Irmagard’s fondest hopes and childhood dreams come true. Thank you for your assurances and p
atience with my many questions, doubts, and fears this morning. Having decided on this course of action, I find myself, while still easy prey for worry, somewhat hopeful for the future. Thank you for being willing to facilitate things.

  Sincerely and with my best wishes for a successful winter season,

  Wilhelmina Friedrich

  When Belle glanced up, Cody said, “Your mother wanted to do something to help you,” Cody said. “When I realized she was talking about some grand gesture, I immediately knew what would qualify as ‘grand.’ Now, it remains to be seen if this will actually work out, but if anyone can make it happen, you can.” He handed her the piece of paper he’d been holding back while she read Momma’s note. It was a bank draft payable to William F. Cody. For two thousand dollars. Momma had signed it and written beneath her signature, payment in full for one chestnut mare named Blaze. To be given to Irmagard Manerva Friedrich, also known as Liberty Belle.

  Willa’s train pulled into the North Platte station on one of those mid-July days when heat waves rose from the earth and the folks lucky enough to have an icebox were wont to chip off a piece now and then just to cool their foreheads. The Mason family was waiting, anxious to see Monte, excited to meet Dora, and eager to haul everyone home to the ranch. While Orrin Knox chatted with Minnie, and everyone else began to load up, Laura pulled Willa aside. “We should retrieve your buggy from the livery,” she said. “There’s something you need to see.”

  Willa looked down at her black silk traveling skirt and wondered at the dictates of fashion. Certainly no one who’d ever lived through a Nebraska July would ever prescribe black silk as the ideal traveling suit. “I hope it won’t take too long,” she said. “I won’t last in this beastly heat.”

  It didn’t take long. Taking the trail to the house, Laura pulled up at the picket fence gate. Looking over the formerly barren yard, Willa managed one word. “Who?”