Unbridled Dreams (19 page)

“Breakfast?” Irma moaned. “How can you even think of breakfast? I still haven’t digested the seven courses from Friday night.” She undid her braid and began to brush her hair.

“Do you think Mr. Cody and his stars have a party like that every night?” Minnie asked.

“I don’t know about everyone, but I think Bill Cody might. Apparently one of the issues between Arta’s parents is her father’s penchant for socializing.”

Minnie interrupted as she twisted her hair into a bun. “It’s good that we’re starting the Sabbath by going to church. Uncle Otto will be able to talk about
that
instead of midnight parties that might start more
gossip
when he gets back home.” Her hair finished, Minnie perched on the edge of the bed. “If you end up signing on with the Wild West, I’m going to miss you. You have no idea how I’ve relied on you over the years to be the one always getting in trouble so no one notices when I make a mistake.”

Irma chuckled. “It won’t take you long to find a new scapegoat. I’d say Maggie has real potential for stepping right into my shoes.” She frowned into the mirror. “Look at this.” She pointed to her hair. “I’m shaking so hard from nerves I can’t even put my own hair up.”

“Give me that,” Minnie said, and took the brush out of Irma’s hand. Motioning for her to sit down, Minnie started over. “We’ll do a braid. I’ll pin it up for church, and you can just let the braid down for your audition.”

Irma peered in the mirror while Minnie worked. When she put in the last hairpin, Irma nodded. “Very nice. Even Momma would approve.”

“Which brings me to the question that
I’ve
been thinking about while you were doing imaginary gymnastics over there in that chair.” Minnie handed Irma her brush. “What’s Aunt Willa going to say when she gets home and you aren’t there?”

Irma got up and began to pack her things into a small carpetbag. “She’s going to be upset.”

“I’d say that’s something of an understatement. You and I both know that when Uncle Otto talked her into letting him bring us to St. Louis, he didn’t say one word about an audition. In fact, I bet he had to promise he’d do no such thing just to keep her from throwing a fit about our coming at all.”

Irma shrugged. Minnie still believed Momma had agreed to this outing. Opening the wardrobe door she reached for a white waist. “Daddy said I should trust him to handle things.” Taking the waist off the hanger she put it on, talking as she buttoned up. “He told me to write long letters about how wonderful everything is, and that by the time I get home for school in the fall, Momma will have realized Daddy was right to let me have my last summer as a cowgirl.”

“Right,” Minnie said. “I’m sure that’s exactly what will happen.” She began to make up the bed. “Just about the same time Diamond sprouts wings and flies you into the arena for a performance.”

“I have enough to be nervous about today without worrying about Momma,” Irma stuffed her audition clothes and boots into her carpetbag. “Daddy said I should trust him to handle things, and that’s what I’m going to do.” She inspected herself in the mirror. “How bad could it be?”

Shep was in one of the canvas “barns” brushing down Diamond when Helen sauntered up.

“Hey, cowboy,” she teased, “you keep brushing and pretty soon we’ll be able to use that gray coat as a mirror. What’s going on with you, anyway? Dora said you shoveled breakfast in and sprinted out of the dining tent like you were trying to catch a fast moving train.”

Shep patted Diamond’s broad back. “Just sprucing him up a little.” When he ran his hand down a foreleg, Diamond picked up his foot. Hoof pick in hand, Shep bent to grasp the hoof, balanced it on his knee, and went to work.

“You goin’ to church this morning?”

Shep shook his head. “Thought I’d polish her saddle a little after I finish with Diamond. Monte pulled it out a while ago, and it’s real beat up. Stiff. Could use a good going over.”

“You know,” Helen said, “a shiny saddle isn’t going to win your girl a spot.”

“She’s not ‘my girl.’ ” Shep checked Diamond’s other feet. Helen wasn’t leaving. “You need something?”

“No, but I think you might.”

“What d’ya think I need?”

“A listening ear,” Helen looked up at him. “Come on. Remember me? The sister you never had?” She punched him in the shoulder. “I know a lovesick cowboy when I see one, Shepherd. So tell me about it. You been writing her?”

Shep shrugged as he reached for a body brush. “Nothing to write about.”

Grabbing another brush, Helen began working the other side of the horse. “I know you may not remember this, but from time to time I’ve been known to have feminine emotions. So you can believe me when I tell you that two weeks can be a very long time to a girl. And if you ask me—which I realize you haven’t—that little gal was a mite standoffish on Friday. And I know that bothered you. So what I’m saying is, if you haven’t written her, that’s probably why.”

“If I wrote Irma, her momma would have a fit.” While they worked, Shep told Helen about the incident with Blaze. “Mrs. Friedrich blamed me for that—which I can understand. And then . . .” He went on to relate his taking Irma flowers and arriving at the house just in time for a party—to which he wasn’t invited.

“Well, you just charmed the socks right off the grand dame,” Helen teased. “What about
Mr.
Friedrich? What’s he think about his daughter’s feelings for you?” She held up one hand. “And don’t argue with me about that, because the little gal has feelings for you even if you are too obtuse to see the signs.”

“If Irma said she wanted to fly to the moon, her daddy would try to build a set of wings.”

“So Daddy would have given permission for you to write,” Helen said, nodding. “But you clearly didn’t ask. Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to make trouble for anyone by causing even more conflict between Irma’s parents.” He paused. “I can’t explain it. There’s just an undercurrent of . . . something between them. I’m not sure they get along all that well.”

“You’ve never let parents stop you from flirting before,” Helen said. Understanding dawned on her face. “You’re
serious
about that little gal.”

Shep traded the body brush for a mane comb. “She’s seriously young. And seriously spoiled.”

“And seriously attracted to you,” Helen countered as she went back to brushing the horse down. “And beautiful. And apparently quite the talented horsewoman.”

“She’s also willful and temperamental,” Shep said.

Finishing with the brush, Helen walked to the box of grooming tools, took out a comb, and went to work on Diamond’s tangled tail. “What one person calls ‘willful’ and ‘temperamental’ can also be described as ‘determined’ and ‘passionate.’ Sometimes it’s all in the way you look at it.”

“Maybe,” Shep said. “But even if that’s true, she’s still young and spoiled. And the only thing I know can fix that is
time.
” He and Helen worked for a while in silence. Finally, Shep said, “She wants to become Liberty Belle. She doesn’t need me complicating her life.”

“That’s a great name, by the way,” Helen murmured. “I hope she can live up to it.”

“So do I,” Shep agreed, “because it’ll break her heart if she can’t.”

Helen ducked beneath Diamond’s neck and nudged Shep out of the way. “Get to work on that saddle, Shepherd. I’ll take care of the mane and tail. Although it’s the most tangled mess I’ve seen in a long time.”

Shep reached for the saddle and, settling on an empty crate nearby, opened a tin of saddle soap and went to work. If Helen was right and Irma was upset with him for not writing, he was going to have to explain himself. But how did a man tell a girl he was giving her time to live her dream before moving in to sweep her off her feet? And what if she refused to be swept? Maybe those stolen kisses didn’t mean anything. Maybe she’d only been playing the age-old game of cat and mouse, dancing the timeless dance of “boy meets girl, takes her flowers, steals a kiss.” Pondering that, Shep realized there was a problem with that scenario. He wasn’t playing a game.

“I didn’t expect it to be so deserted,” Irma said, as Monte led them past the Wild West ticket wagon and onto the grounds.

“Most of the performers are just now getting around to doing chores on the back lot,” Monte explained. “Today’s the one day we don’t all have to get up while it’s still dark.” Once they were past the arena, he began pointing to various tents and describing what was what. “That big tent over there is the dining hall. And next to that is the wardrobe tent, where everybody gets dressed before a performance. Those smaller tents are where the cowgirls bunk. Of course, once we start the road tour, we’ll all just live on the train until we get to Staten Island. Shep said that will be a more permanent camp.”

As they walked past the Indian camp with its open campfires and cooking pots, Irma said, “I can see why the Wild West is the talk of St. Louis. How many have ever seen that? Goodness, I
live
in the West and I’ve never seen a real Indian camp until now.”

“Well,” Monte said, “it’s not
exactly
the same. The tepees are canvas now, thanks to Buffalo Bill’s compatriots and their success at killing off the big herds.”

Daddy spoke up. “You taking the Indians’ side in that discussion?”

Monte shrugged. “Not taking sides. Just saying what is. Been talking to one of the braves some. Name of Macawi. It means ‘generous.’”

“Is he?” Daddy asked.

“Well, he invited me to share supper the other night. I think he enjoyed having a white boy to tease. While we were eating, Macawi and a couple of the others began talking about the old ways—sort of hinting we might be eating dog meat stew.” He grinned at his uncle. “You ever had that?”

Daddy nodded. “Had it and loved it. A very long time ago.” He winked at Irma.

They ended up at a spot beneath a towering oak tree where a collection of crates and boxes provided seating. “Welcome to First Church of the Wild West,” Monte said, and nodded toward a tall cowboy walking out of the dining tent. “That’s our preacher, Sunday Joe Cooper.”

Sunday Joe welcomed Monte’s family with a strong handshake and a warm smile. “Just make yerselves ta home. We’ll get started directly.” He turned back to Monte. “No Ned today?”

Monte shook his head. “Afraid not,” he said. “I’ll tell him you asked after him.”

“No need,” the preacher smiled. “I’ll catch up with him later today.”

They sat halfway back from the front, and as people began to arrive, Irma realized she was watching for Shep. She hoped he went to church, although she didn’t take time to think through exactly why that mattered. Leaning toward Minnie, she said, “I wonder if this will be anything like the revival meetings at home.” She wondered what Momma, who had always called revivals undignified and kept her family at home, would think of this “church” of wranglers and roustabouts and even, it would seem, a few Indians.

When the church bells of St. Louis began to toll, Sunday Joe stood up and welcomed everyone. “My name is Sunday Joe Cooper. And if you don’t already know, I ride broncs and buffalo to put clothes on my back and food in my mouth and speak for the Lord God Almighty to do what I can to help others along the way. I am grateful to William F. Cody for giving me the job that feeds my body and to the Lord God for reaching into a saloon in West Texas a few years back and dragging me into the kingdom. I kicked and I screamed but He didn’t let go. And if you are the sort who doesn’t want nothin’ to do with religion, you have come to the right place, folks, because this here ain’t about religion. It’s about relatin’—first to the God who made us and then to one another.” He paused. “And now we’ll just bow our heads and say thanks.

“Lord,” Sunday Joe said, “we want to say thank you that when Rocky Bear got throwed by that buffalo the other day he didn’t get hurt bad. And we thank you for bringin’ folks to see our Wild West show so’s we can earn our keep on this earth. Thank you for givin’ us friends and for blue skies and good horses. Thank you for the strength to shovel manure and the peace that comes from knowin’ you. Thanks for not givin’ up on us when we fail and for tellin’ us about heaven. Thanks that most of us can read your book and help us to share it with them that can’t read. Now we want to ask you to please watch over us all when we start to travel. Please keep the train on the rails, and if you’d see your way to give us sunshine and good crowds, why, we’d like that and we’d be sure to say thanks.”