As time went on, Willa began to believe that, perhaps—if he ever asked her again—perhaps, she could look past the hurt and find a way to forgive him. After all, who amongst us is without sin? Then again, if the man wouldn’t talk to her, how could things ever be resolved?
CHAPTER 26
HOWEVER, THERE IS A GOD IN HEAVEN
WHO REVEALS MYSTERIES.
Daniel 2:28 NASB
“Well, look at you,” Helen said and burst out laughing.
Shep feigned indignance as he reached up to straighten his black silk cravat. He touched the brim of his black bowler and inspected Helen. “This is a perfectly normal getup for a New York gentleman headed to Sunday dinner with his family.” He fussed with his cuffs and collar. “You don’t see me laughing at your getup,” he retorted.
Helen picked up her parasol and feinted a jab in his direction. “That’s because I’m armed. You wouldn’t dare.”
“You feeling all right?” Shep said to Belle. “You look a little pale.”
“She’s as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” Helen said.
“I’ve never been to Sunday dinner at a New York brownstone before,” Belle said.
Shep smiled at her. “Nothing mysterious about it. We eat. And I’ve seen proof you know how to do that.” He winked. “You look wonderful, by the way.” He glanced at Helen. “You both look wonderful.”
Helen twirled around. “Thank you, Shepherd. I was telling Belle this mornin’ that I could get used to this dressing-up business. Shoot, if a person didn’t know better, they might mistake me for a lady.”
“If you ask me,” Shep said, “you’re all the lady anyone in his right mind would ever want.”
“That,” Helen said, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek, “was a very nice thing to say.” She put her arm through his and brandished the parasol. “So watch out, New York, here we come.”
Belle took Shep’s free arm and forced a smile. Why was she so nervous, anyway? Mrs. Mortimer had seemed nice enough. Belle was glad Helen was coming along, but she had a feeling this invitation to have “Sunday dinner with the family” was probably more about “inspecting the girl from Nebraska to see if she is worthy.”
They were on the ferry when Shep took her hand and said, “Relax, honey. It’s my family. I’m not feeding you to the lions.”
Even Shep was taken aback when his mother led the three of them into the brownstone’s dining room. “Well,” he said. “I didn’t think we were going to see the entire family today.”
Belle took in a sharp breath. The dining table had to be twenty feet long, and . . . how many. . . ? Too many Mortimers had gathered.
“This,” Mrs. Mortimer said, “is the young woman you’ve all heard so much about.” She indicated Belle. “Miss Irma Friedrich appears with the Wild West as Liberty Belle.” She put her hand on Helen’s shoulder. “And Shep has also brought his friend Miss Helen Keen.” They’d reserved a place for Shep and Belle together. But Helen was all the way down at the opposite end of the very long table, next to a spectacled dark-haired man. As soon as the three Wild Westers had found their places, Mrs. Mortimer began circling the table, introducing people as she went. “Celia and Marie, Shep’s sisters. Marie’s son, Gabriel. Uncle Charlie and Aunt Tillie. Cousins Helen and Barbara. Shep’s Uncle Harold and Aunt Sophie. And this . . .” Mrs. Mortimer put her hand on the shoulder of the squinty-eyed man at the far end of the table. “This is Shep’s brother, George.”
George stood up and, with the most wooden smile Belle had ever seen, bowed first to her and said, “At last, Miss Friedrich,” and then greeted Helen, only he called her “Miss Cream.” He cleared his throat. “You must forgive us for overwhelming you today. But one never knows when the entire family can gather. Celia and Marie just got back from the summer house out on Long Island, and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Tillie leave soon for their annual tour in Europe. And then there is Uncle Harold and Aunt Sophie”—when George indicated these two, they nodded—“who have taken to gadding about on that boat of theirs until the rest of us despair of ever seeing them.”
Feeling her backbone stiffen with what she hoped was a semblance of dignity, Belle said hello. She clasped her hands in her lap, hoping they would stop trembling before she had to actually pick up a fork. Shep reached for her hand beneath the table even as Mrs. Mortimer asked George to say grace.
“We thank thee, divine Providence, for all thy abundant gifts. We thank thee for family bonds that, while often stretched by distance and adventure, are never broken. We ask thy blessing upon this gathering and upon the various endeavors represented around this table. Amen.”
As the meal progressed and conversation departed from the initial polite questions directed at Belle and “Miss Cream” to more general discussion, Belle learned that Uncle Charlie was in shipping and apparently owned an entire fleet of oceangoing vessels that imported a vast array of exotic goods into the country. As for Uncle Harold and Aunt Sophie, who liked to gad about in their boat, Belle remembered talk of them from supper at the Brunswick, but it was still impressive to hear them speak of firing the cook or hiring a new captain or of the staff, who were positively unruly at times, in the same tone of voice the Masons spoke of livestock and gardening.
Marie, the gorgeous sister Belle had seen at the Wild West one afternoon, proved to be genuinely friendly. Celia, on the other hand, regarded Belle with a smile that wasn’t really a smile. Partway through the meal, Belle began to wish she and Shep had been seated with Helen—not only to get away from Celia’s icy stare, but also to have a better view of what was going on down there.
For all his squinting and pompous praying, George Mortimer appeared to be fascinated by Helen. He hardly took his eyes off her through the entire meal, and when dessert was finished, and the men were withdrawing for cigars and the ladies were going for a stroll in the garden, George decided he wasn’t ready for a smoke. So he and Shep, Belle and Helen, ended up seated in the gazebo, where George displayed a surprising amount of knowledge of cattle and an equally surprising interest in ranching in the state of Texas. Before the evening was over, George had exacted a promise from Miss Cream to show him the Wild West grounds.
“You haven’t been there yet?” Helen said, clearly surprised. “Surely you’ve seen your brother perform.”
“Well . . . yes. Of course I have. But . . .” George’s face reddened as he said, “I anticipate a much more charming companion would make the experience all the more fascinating.”
Belle almost laughed aloud at the dandy’s obvious flirtation, but then Helen winked at him and said, “Well, how could a girl resist an invitation like that?”
Later that night, as she and Helen lay in bed, Belle said something about the dreaded tour with George Mortimer.
“Who’s dreading it?” Helen said. “He seems to be a nice enough fella—if a bit of a stuffed shirt.” She chuckled. “I bet if a body ever got him out of that starched collar and into a flannel shirt, he’d be almost as nice as his brother. One thing for sure, he knows more about ranching than the average banker.”
“A girl could do worse,” Belle said.
“Oh, go on,” Helen retorted. “George Mortimer isn’t interested in me that way.” She forced a laugh. “You might find a girl like me polishing the silver in the butler’s pantry, but at that table every Sunday?”
Belle didn’t argue with her. The Mortimer home was opulent. Elegant. Polished wood and crystal chandeliers, sterling silver and fine china, silk wall coverings and ornately framed oil paintings, inlaid wood and thick carpets, butlers and maids and cooks and— If it weren’t for Mrs. Mortimer’s kind eyes and welcoming smile, Belle would have been tempted to feign illness just to escape that gargantuan table and the multitude seated around it. But she made it through the night, and as she and Helen and Shep had boarded the ferry to come back to Staten Island a few hours ago, Shep had put his arm around her and said, “And those, sweetheart, are the Mortimers.
”
“Did I do all right?” Belle asked.
“The more important question would be . . . did they do all right?” At her look of confusion, he smiled and winked. “I already approve of you, honey. It don’t really matter all that much if they like you. On the other hand, I am hoping you don’t want to run screaming out of my life after meeting the entire herd.”
Belle looked up at him. She shook her head. “I don’t want to run anywhere you aren’t.”
Shep yelled, “Yee-haw,” and sent his bowler hat spinning through the air toward the Statue of Liberty.
The Wild West train pulled away from New York in mid-September and wended its way along a short tour route that finally brought them into St. Louis. From St. Louis the troupe disbanded, with the Pawnee, Sioux, and Comanche returning to their various reservations and troupe members scattering to their homes throughout the west.
Belle, Shep, Helen, and Ned Bishop transferred to the Burlington Northern headed for North Platte on Wednesday, September 29. The few weeks before they had to be back in New York to prepare for the Statue of Liberty Parade would go quickly. Monte and Dora’s wedding was on Friday, and Helen would leave for Texas the day after.
October 6–9 was the Lincoln County Fair, and Bill Cody had asked Shep to participate in a chariot race and help oversee a twenty-five-mile relay race he had planned. Ned Bishop would be riding west to check on some land.
“We’re going to feel like we blinked and it was over,” Belle said. She opened Minnie’s most recent letter and read the clipping Minnie had enclosed. “Listen to this,” she said, “It’s from the Register. ‘Let the citizens of Lincoln County give Buffalo Bill the handsomest reception ever known. We have reason to feel proud of the worldwide reputation our honored citizen has received, and it is only right that we show our appreciation.’ ” Belle scanned the page and then exclaimed, “Oh my goodness . . . Minnie wrote this!” She held the article up. “Look. It says so right there. Miss Minnie Mason.”
Belle read on, wondering all the while if Minnie’s writing for the newspaper meant that Mr. Orrin Knox had finally opened his eyes. She hoped so. “Minnie says Momma’s involved in helping plan the big reception. There’s to be a banquet at the Pacific Hotel the night he arrives.” She looked up at Shep. “I suppose you’ll have to attend?”
“Couldn’t say,” Shep said. “Bill only mentioned the chariot race. There’s plenty of time to find out what he wants me to do after Monte’s wedding.” He stretched his legs out and, leaning his head back, fell asleep.
Everyone in the family met the train. The station was festooned with bunting in preparation for Buffalo Bill’s impending arrival, and Belle noticed that several businesses were flying flags. Uncle Charlie and Aunt Laura were there along with Monte and Dora and the four girls, and in the general pandemonium Belle noticed only one thing. The cane in Daddy’s hand.
“Daddy? What happened?”
He hugged her fiercely. But he said nothing. Instead, he looked at Momma.
“Your father had an attack of apoplexy,” Momma said, and raised her voice to keep Belle from talking. “He’s doing fine. He’s back at work, and Dr. Sheridan is very pleased with the way everything has turned out.” She hugged Belle and whispered in her ear, “His speech hasn’t returned yet, but we remain hopeful. I didn’t wire you because there was nothing you could do, and your father didn’t want you rushing home to see him that way. Please. Please don’t be angry with me.”
When Momma released her, she stood back and looked into her eyes with a silent plea, and Belle decided Momma had done what she thought best and there wouldn’t be any point to throwing a fit now. When she looked at Daddy, she thought she saw tears in his eyes. She hugged him again and held on to his good arm as together they all walked back to the house. And she saw the trees.
“Your father planted them while I was in New York visiting you,” Momma said. “Aren’t they wonderful?”
And they were. And so was the knowledge that Shep had been right all along about Edna Hertz’s letter being nothing more than a meanspirited attempt to hurt Belle.
The next couple of days were a whirlwind of preparation, and suddenly Monte and Dora were husband and wife driving away in a beribboned buggy toward town and a wedding trip to an undisclosed location. As the buggy disappeared into the distance, a collective sigh went up from the family. It had been a simple wedding performed beneath the overhang of the little log cabin Uncle Charlie and Aunt Laura had started their married life in. The cabin would be Dora and Monte’s new home when they returned from their wedding trip.
For the wedding, the girls had made garlands of fall grasses for the railing and a wreath to hang on the door. There was a wedding supper served outdoors on long planks, and Belle smiled to herself thinking that for one evening the Masons’ table rivaled that amazing dining table in Mrs. Mortimer’s New York brownstone.
Shep mounted up to ride over to Scout’s Rest not long after Monte and Dora drove away. He’d been asked to stay there through the end of the county fair, which meant Buffalo Bill wanted him at his beck and call. Word had it that the new mansion was finished. When Belle wondered aloud if the King of the Cowboys would have a room in the “palace,” he laughed and said he hoped not, he’d had trouble enough sleeping in the old house and if he could manage it he was going to bunk with the rest of the hands. If he had to, he said, he’d try out the barn. “I hear it’s been known to yield a fair night’s sleep for a weary cowboy or cowgirl.”
Belle felt lonely the minute he rode away. Lonely and nervous. It was time for her to tell Momma about Blaze.
Momma joined Belle on the porch as soon as Daddy had settled in for the night.
“You’re right, Irmagard. We need to talk. I’ve put this off for too long.” Momma’s voice was shaky, but she seemed determined. “I was only trying to do the right thing. I asked Dr. Sheridan if I should send for you, and he said he didn’t think your father was in any further danger. He explained that it would be a matter of time and that Otto would slowly get better. I decided he would much rather you see him in an improved condition. I know you’re upset about it, but—”
“No, Momma. I’m not.”
Momma turned and looked at her. “You didn’t want me out here so you could yell at me about not wiring you about Daddy?”
“No.” Belle sighed. “That’s not to say I wasn’t upset. But after I thought about it, I realized you did what you thought best. And what was I going to do, anyway? Come rushing home and watch? You have the amazing Mrs. McKay, and thank God for her. You did the right thing. But since you brought it up—what does Dr. Sheridan say about his speech? Is he ever going to talk again?”
“Actually,” Momma sighed. “I think he can talk. He just won’t.” She described seeing Daddy talk while he was watering trees.
“He talks . . . to the trees?”
“I know. It sounds crazy. But he’s clearly not crazy. I think maybe he’s . . . practicing.”
“For what?”
Momma shook her head. “I haven’t any idea.”
“I’ve ruined Blaze, Momma.” There. It was out. “There’s no explanation for it other than I was selfish and foolish. I rushed her. Cy Matthews—he’s the trainer—told me to wait, but I wouldn’t listen. I rushed her. I took her into the arena one night, and she spooked and hurt her leg, and—” Belle broke off. Gulped. “There. That’s done. I’ve been sick with dread over telling you. I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. It’s unforgiveable, really. After what you did. All that money, and she’ll never be in the Wild West.”
“Did they have to . . . destroy her?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. But she’s done with the Wild West. Cy said she’d be a fine saddle mare, but . . .” Belle sighed. “She’ll be the most expensive saddle horse in the country. I’m so sorry, Momma. I know it isn’t enough to say that, but I truly am.”
“You sound so miserable, Irmagard,” Momma said. “It’s only a horse.”
Belle looked at her, disbelieving. “You can’t mean that. You do understand what I just said? Blaze can’t perform with me. Ever. Not even in the parade.”
“I heard you. I understand. And there’s only one thing that concerns me.”
“Yes?”
“You said it’s unforgiveable.” Momma reached for her hand. “That’s ridiculous. It’s a horse, Irmagard. Just a horse.”
“But the money—”
“Oh, the money.” Momma waved her hand in the air. “There’s more money. I can always get more money.”
“But Daddy’s not well, and—”
“What does Daddy have to do with this?” Momma looked at her. Nodded. “Ah. You think that, while I wrote the bank draft, Daddy provided the funds. And why wouldn’t you think that?” Momma paused, clearly thinking deeply about something. Finally, with a great sigh, she released Belle’s hand.
“I told you about my mother and sister when we were together in New York. I didn’t tell you about my brother. His name was Philip.”
“I have an uncle?!”
Momma shook her head. “Let me finish.” She thought for a moment before going on. Then taking a deep breath she began. “Philip and I just never found a way to get along. He ran off long before my mother died, and I resented him for that for a very long time. Then, when he did try to ‘rescue me’—as he put it—I refused.” She paused and looked at Belle. “He came here once when your father was away, and you were very young He didn’t stay. We had a disagreement—” She broke off. Sighed. “I suppose it would be accurate to say we were ‘estranged.’ ” She moistened her lips. “He was killed in a riding accident not long after we parted, which—” Momma cleared her throat— “will always be one of the great regrets of my life.”
Unbridled Dreams Page 31