Unbridled Dreams (27 page)

“I s-said be qu-quiet!” Dora said, jumping up and clenching her fists.

Just then Monte ducked beneath the tent flap. One look at Belle and he burst out laughing. “Helen said it was true, but I didn’t believe her.”

Belle sat up straighter. “Why not?”

“If Aunt Willa could see you now, she’d likely beg Bill Cody to keep you instead of telling him to send you home.”

Belle glowered. “Did you come over here to make fun of me or did you actually have something to say?”

“Well, yeah. Actually, I did have something to say. It’s time for supper.”

Just at that moment Belle saw Mabel plant the flat of her hand between Dora’s shoulder blades and give the smaller girl a shove so that she stumbled right into Monte.

“Whoa, there,” Monte said and grabbed Dora’s arm to keep her from falling.

“Th-thank you,” Dora said, pulling away. With a hateful glance Mabel’s way, her cheeks flaming red, Dora hurried back to one of the sewing machines, where she plopped down with her back to everyone before realizing there was nothing to work on. She sat still as a stone.

“So,” Monte said to Belle. “You want to come eat with Shep and me or not?”

The look on Mabel’s face when Monte mentioned Shep sent a chill up Belle’s spine. Dora liked Monte and Mabel liked Shep. Raising her voice to include Mabel and Dora in the reply, Belle said, “Sure we would. Wouldn’t we—Dora? Mabel?”

Dora shook her head. “N-no thanks.” She didn’t even turn around.

“Come on, Lora-Dora,” Mabel urged, “Let’s go have some supper.”

Dora still shook her head.

“Suit yourself,” Mabel said, rubbing her neck as she commented about how sewing was a literal pain in the neck. “Nice to be rescued,” she said and looped her arm through Monte’s and then Belle’s. “Sure you don’t want to c-come?” she called to Dora.

Ma Clemmons came back just in time to intervene. “Take it from an old lady, my dear,” she said, laying her hand on Dora’s arm. “Never refuse the invitation of a handsome gentleman.” She squeezed Dora’s shoulder even as her blue eyes sent Mabel an icy message.

“Come with us, Dora,” Belle pleaded. “Please.”

When Dora finally shrugged and got up, Belle inserted her into the space between herself and Monte.

Belle stayed in the wardrobe tent that evening during the Wild West performance. While the cheers and laughter of the thousands of spectators in the stands rang across the lot, she finished sewing on buttons. Once finished with that, she fired up the stove for heating Ma’s flatirons, relieved when she remembered enough from watching Ella Jane iron Daddy’s shirts to produce acceptable results.

After a while Belle decided it was better to be useful in the wardrobe tent with Ma Clemmons than to be wandering the back lot, miserable because she wasn’t riding into the arena.

Ma showed her how the costume department was organized, with each performer assigned a hook and each one leaving their work clothes on the hook while they performed and changing back at the end of the evening. The ladies had a private area cordoned off by a thick canvas drape. Ma had helpers assigned to the various aspects of costume management from cleaning to mending to replacement to sorting for the laundry.

“How’d you learn to do all this?” Belle asked at one point. “I mean . . . did
you
figure out how to make it work?”

“Mr. Clemmons and I traveled with a circus for years before Mr. Cody hired us on,” Ma said.

“I’ve never met a circus family before,” Belle said.

Ma laughed. “Oh, we weren’t a circus
family.
Not at all. In fact, when Grady asked me to marry him my family was outraged.”

“But you did it anyway?”

Ma nodded. “He was the handsomest man I had ever seen. And the kindest. Completely swept me off my feet.”

“What happened with your family?”

Ma shrugged. “Oh, they disowned me for a while. Although none of them were very sincere about it. Except for my dear mother—may she rest in peace.”

“Did she ever change her mind?”

Ma sighed. “I hope so. If she did, I never knew about it.”

Belle frowned. “My momma doesn’t approve of my being here.”

“I hope you can work that out,” Ma Clemmons said.

Belle shook her head. “That would take a miracle.”

Ma smiled. “Well then, we’ll just have to pray one up.”

C
HAPTER
15

. . .
PUT ON A HEART OF COMPASSION
,
KINDNESS, HUMILITY, GENTLENESS, AND PATIENCE
.
Colossians 3:12
NASB

Willa had been at the ranch for only a couple of days when Charlie rode in from the range and knocked on the back door to ask if she would “set a spell.” When she came out onto the porch, Charlie motioned her into a chair. He didn’t sit down, but rather looped one leg over the porch railing. Perched there, he took his hat off and set it on his knee before saying in his gravelly voice, “Been workin’ on this speech all mornin’, and I’d appreciate you hearing me out.”

He’s going to tell me to go home.
She and Charlie had never gotten along very well. She resented his encouraging Irmagard, and Charlie knew it. They’d always been polite to each other, but it was a thin veneer, and it was easy to peel away such things when situations changed. She steeled herself against what she was about to hear.

“Fact is, Willa,” Charlie began. “I didn’t really care whether you liked the idea of us having Irmagard out here during the summers or not. I always knew you were only tolerating the idea. But that was good enough for me. She loved it out here, and we love her. I won’t say I’m sorry for those summers because I’m not.” He looked up. “But I’m not proud of the fact that part of the reason I liked her coming so much was because I knew it bothered you.” He cleared his throat. “I had a wrong attitude, Willa. Plain and simple. And I’m askin’ your forgiveness.”

Willa nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”

Charlie cleared his throat. He scratched his head. Took a deep breath and blew it out. “Now about this other. Otto didn’t turn out to be quite what he seems to be.” He twirled his hat nervously in his hands and didn’t look up as he said, “I didn’t know about this situation out Denver way.” He looked up at her. “But I
did
know about that other time way back when. It was me who sent the telegram that brought Philip out here.”

“You?!”

He nodded. “When you sent Philip away, I was plumb amazed. It wasn’t any secret how much you hated it out here.”

“I couldn’t take Irmagard away from her father,” Willa said. “I just couldn’t.”

Charlie nodded again. “So what I need to tell you is that, while I’ve been critical of some things as I saw them over the years, I’ve also learned there’s plenty to respect about you.”

“Thank you,” Willa said.

“I’ve been thinking long and praying hard about what Laura and me are supposed to do about this latest thing. Well, I’ve decided, and that’s mainly what I want to say this mornin’. Wanted you to know that I’m going to ride into town in a bit and have a talk with my brother-in-law. It was wrong for him to sneak off the way he done with our girls. I especially resent his involving Minnie in those doin’s. And then, of course, I’ll have to say somethin’ about this other.” He moistened his lips. “I’m going to tell him that you are with us and you are welcome for as long as you want to stay. And I’m also going to tell him that if it comes to taking sides in this mess he’s created, he’d better not count on Laura or me to choose his side.”

Willa blinked back her tears. She couldn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded.

Charlie glanced across the yard toward the two-room cabin he and Laura had started out in. “Laura thought you might want more privacy than we can give you here at the house. If you want, we’ll clean out the old place, and you can make it your own. That’s only if you want it. Monte’s room is fine, too. We’ll do whatever’s best for you. And I mean that.”

Willa stared at the cabin. Over the years it had been everything from a playhouse for the girls to a storage shed. But they’d kept it in good repair. She began to cry grateful tears. “Thank you,” she croaked. “I’d love the cabin.”

Charlie put his hat on and, with a little nod, stepped down off the porch. “Things’ll work out, Willa. You got to believe they will. The Good Lord’s got a plan. We just have to find out what it is.”

“Aunt Willa?”

Willa looked up from where she crouched on her hands and knees, scrubbing the cabin floor. Minnie looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Yes, Minnie,” she said, and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she stood up.

“You’re scrubbing the floor.”

Willa supposed it was something of a shock for the girls to see her actually keeping house. She’d had a maid for as long as any of them could remember, and she hadn’t exactly pitched in and helped in the kitchen when she and Otto visited over the years—the reason being she was completely inept in the kitchen, but of course the girls didn’t know that. She dropped her scrub brush in the bucket of soapy water and dried her reddened hands on her apron. “Amazing, isn’t it?” She forced a little laugh. “It seems I do remember how to do housework after all.” She motioned toward the wood stove in the far corner of the room. “Although mastering that thing is another story.”

“I can help you,” Minnie blurted out, then bit her lip. “I mean, if you want.” She shrugged. “It’s not that hard.”

“Did you walk over here to give cookstove lessons or to give me that?” Willa pointed to the envelope in Minnie’s hand.

Minnie looked down at it. “It’s from Irma. I thought you might like to read it. To see she’s all right. Happy.” She shrugged. “You know.” She looked off toward the house.

If ever a girl were ready to take flight, Minnie was. She’d been avoiding Willa for most of the week, and Willa was too busy and too overwhelmed to know what to do about it beyond an occasional
Help me know what to say to Minnie
thrown in with her other disorganized prayers.

Apparently God thought it was time for their strained relationship to be restored. If only Willa knew how.

The stove.

“Could you make me some tea? I mean, show me how. On the stove? I’ve never been very good at keeping a fire going long enough to do much.” She forced a little laugh. “Your poor Uncle Otto spent several years eating undercooked oatmeal and half-charred meat. He finally hired a cook.”

Minnie tucked the envelope in her apron pocket and began to build a fire in the stove. “I bet you were relieved,” she said.

“Actually,” Willa said as she set two cups and saucers on the table, “I was more hurt than relieved. It was the first time I’d failed at anything really important to me.” She looked over Minnie’s shoulder as Minnie bent over the stove. “Why are you stacking the kindling that way?”

“I don’t know,” Minnie shrugged. “It’s just the way you do it.” She struck a match and, as the kindling began to smolder, she blew on it, adding more wood as the flames grew until, finally, she put the iron lid over the opening and slid the kettle in place. “It’s easy,” she said. “But if it doesn’t work next time you want tea, just come and get me. I’ll help until you can do it yourself.”

Poor Minnie. So nervous. Self-conscious. And yet, she’d brought the letter. “I think,” Willa finally said, “that you and I need to have a little talk.”

Her hands clenched at her sides, Minnie blurted out an apology. “I’m sorry, Aunt Willa. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d agreed to the trip. Honestly, I did. Please believe me. I didn’t know we were sneaking off like that. I didn’t.”

“Of course I believe you,” Willa said.

“You do?” Minnie seemed surprised.

“I do. And therefore, there is no apology necessary. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all week?” Willa sighed. “And all this time I thought it was because you girls just didn’t want me staying here.”

Minnie frowned. “Why wouldn’t we want you?”

Willa smirked. “Well, let’s see. For starters there’s this nose of mine.” She pointed at her nose. “The one your daddy says I carry too high in the air for his taste.” She lifted her chin and stared down at Minnie.

Minnie blushed, then pulled out the letter and handed it over. “I’ll make the tea while you read.”