Unbridled Dreams (38 page)

Irmagard nodded. “That’s what he said when he delivered the cart.” She giggled. “And do we ever
like
the management of the Brunswick Hotel!”

Would Bill Cody do this?
Willa couldn’t imagine why. She cast a glance toward the bouquet on the mantel.
What is going on?

Someone knocked lightly on the door and slid an envelope into view. Willa retrieved it, read it over, and smiled. “How thoughtful. Bill reports that Dr. Carter checked in with him early this morning. Monte rested well. He’s back in the cowboy’s domain, and Dr. Carter has rounded up his son and headed back to the city.” She glanced up from the note. “Bill is also suggesting that both of you enjoy an extra day of leisure instead of returning to Erastina today. And Dr. Carter hopes we’ll be able to join him this evening to make up for missing last night’s supper.”

“God bless Bill and Dr. David Carter,” Helen said, saluting as she reached for another pastry.

Irmagard nodded toward where her muddied dress lay draped across a chair. “Do you suppose they have anyone here who could make that presentable?”

Willa picked it up. “We could probably get it cleaned enough to shop for a new ensemble for this evening.” She nodded at Miss Keen. “And I hope you’ll join us.”

Helen looked doubtful. “I don’t know, ma’am. I’m not exactly a Delmonico’s kinda gal—if you know what I mean. All those forks and glasses and the like. I wouldn’t know what to do with ’em.”

“And they wouldn’t know what to do with a longhorn.” Willa smiled. “May I propose, Miss Keen, that you help me with shopping for whatever Irmagard might need between now and the end of the season, and I’ll do my best to cue you when it comes to forks and glasses at the restaurant this evening.”

Helen didn’t have to think long. She shook Willa’s proffered hand. “Agreed.”

Willa turned to Irmagard. “Now, before you protest shopping with me, I have something to say. While I may despair of ever
understanding
it, I have determined to do my best to
accept
the reality embraced by Miss Liberty Belle. You have my word that there will be no bustles or corsets urged upon anyone today. And birds on hats are henceforth and forevermore anathema.”

By that evening one would have thought Helen Keen was Wilhelmina Friedrich’s long-lost niece. Or favored daughter. It started with the shopping in the afternoon. The Brunswick concierge directed them to what he called Ladies’ Mile, several blocks of department stores and emporiums where the women of New York shopped and dined in opulence.

At Macy’s Helen took the lead in appreciating Momma’s taste when she suggested Belle try on a Dutch indigo gored walking skirt. And according to Helen, Momma was right again when she matched the skirt with a tucked shirtwaist with bishop sleeves and a banded collar. And then Momma decided to treat Helen to a complete ensemble, from chemise to drawers and petticoat and right on through to a lovely gored walking skirt and waist similar to Belle’s. Helen drew the line at the hose suspenders, but when she sashayed out of the dressing room, Momma seemed to consider the shopping trip a complete triumph—in spite of the fact that Belle knew the Macy’s prices were horrific. Momma laughed when Helen exaggerated her sashay down Fourteenth Street on their way to the milliner. Both young women emerged with the latest thing in headgear-
sans
fowl-and parasols to boot. Belle couldn’t imagine what Helen Keen was going to do with a parasol after today.

Helen’s Texas accent had all but disappeared by the time the three of them met Dr. Carter at Delmonico’s for a fashionably late supper. And she embarrassed everyone the way she flirted with the doctor. At least Belle felt embarrassed. Momma seemed oblivious to Helen’s bad behavior and even joked about not knowing which fork to use for dessert. Momma seemed to have become a different person overnight.

“She’s
not
a different person,” Helen said when Belle commented on it that night. “You just haven’t been able to see her through that haze of whatever old business you’re refusing to lay aside. I’m not kidding, Belle, if you don’t want her, give her to me, because I wouldn’t care if she
was
a little snooty. I’d
love
to have a momma who’d travel halfway across the country just to see if I was all right. Shoot, honey, any of us would. My ma’s dead, Mabel’s is probably waking up from a two-day hangover in some saloon in Deadwood, and Dora—” Helen bit her lip. “Well, never mind about Dora. You get the point.”

Irma did. It was hard to admit it, even to herself, but she realized Helen hadn’t been anyone but Helen at dinner, and Momma had always been generous, and the only thing wrong with the way anyone was acting was that she, Irmagard Friedrich, was jealous. Fluffing her pillow, she pretended to be too tired to talk any longer.

On Sunday Belle and Helen moved back to the Wild West grounds. Momma came with them, and together with Shep and Dora and Monte, they attended Sunday Joe’s outdoor service, about which Momma had nothing but good to say. By Sunday evening it had been decided that Monte would take Dora with him to Nebraska. It was time she met the family.

“You’ll love them,” Belle encouraged Dora. “Uncle Charlie and Aunt Laura are wonderful people. And they will love you. It won’t be long before the girls will be treating you like a sister.”

Dora bit her lower lip and shrugged.

“Dora,” Belle said, putting her arm across the girl’s shoulders and pulling her aside. “They won’t care about a little stutter.” When she saw Dora glance toward where Mabel stood talking to a couple of cowboys, she gave her a hug. “My cousins are nothing like Mabel. You’ll see.”

Dora forced a smile.

And on Monday morning Bill Cody sent word via Shep that, if she wanted it, Liberty Belle would take Dora Spurgeon’s place for the remainder of the summer season. Dora would be on hand to watch Monday’s shows and review Belle’s performance before leaving town with Monte on Tuesday. Belle would ride Rowdy, Dora’s spotted horse with the ratty tail.

Willa sat looking out on the arena and tried to calm her nerves. Liberty Belle would be in that arena in a few minutes, and then, in less than twenty-four hours, Willa would be headed home. Either event would be reason enough for Willa to feel so distraught. Facing both events within the same twenty-four-hour period was wreaking havoc with her “innards.” Willa forced a smile at the word—a Helen Keen expression. What a delightful—if unpolished—young woman. It was comforting to know that Irmagard had Helen in her life. A good friend like that could make such a difference.

Irmagard would have good friends to help her through the next few weeks. There was no doubt in Willa’s mind that a relationship was brewing between Shep Sterling and Irmagard. Willa had sensed it back in North Platte when he arrived on the Friedrich doorstep with those roses. How angry she had been. Somehow her feelings about all of that had changed, too. She couldn’t quite decide what it was, but she’d become convinced in these few days in New York that there was more to Shep Sterling than met the eye. She wondered what Orrin Knox would have to say about the Wild West after several days of ferreting out new stories. Perhaps he would have insights into Shep Sterling. That would make for interesting conversation on the way home.

Home.
How she dreaded going home. What would happen when Irmagard learned of the separation? Whatever Otto might have done to their marriage, he’d been a good father. Willa was determined to never do anything to threaten the father-daughter relationship. She would never expose Otto’s philandering. Irmagard must never know about the boy in Denver. Would she blame Willa for everything? The idea made her eyes mist over.
Stop worrying over tomorrow. Today
has enough troubles of its own.
Indeed. Today she had to watch her daughter risk life and limb in the Wild West arena.
And of course,
Willa scolded herself,
the dangers of the Wild West are far beyond
God’s ability to handle.
Willa got a grip on her imagination and forced herself to return to the present.

The band was assembling in its box. She glanced over to see what Orrin Knox was sketching and smiled to recognize Liberty Belle riding proudly, the American flag unfurled above her. “I hope you feel you’ve had a successful trip, Orrin,” Willa said.

“Absolutely,” Orrin said. “I . . . ahem . . . with your permission of course, might offer one or two articles to the larger newspapers. I . . . ahem . . . really believe that the Liberty Belle angle will prove quite popular with our Nebraska readers. I’d like to be one of the . . . ahem . . . first to cover it.”

She smiled. “As long as you make certain to send copies to Irmagard and Miss Keen for their scrapbooks.”

The band began to play. Willa clutched the Wild West program to her bosom and tried to calm her nerves. The sun had been shining all day, and the arena was dry. There was no reason to fear an accident. God could protect Irmagard. She knew that. In her head. But her nerves didn’t seem to be listening to logic at the moment.

“Good evening.” An elegantly clad woman moved into place on Willa’s left. She seemed inclined to chat. Her name was Abigail Mortimer. She lived in New York City. Was this Mrs. Friedrich’s first visit to the Wild West?

When Willa introduced Orrin Knox as a visiting journalist, Mrs. Mortimer asked, “Have you been satisfied with your access to the performers? If not, I might be able to offer some assistance.”

“Thank you . . . ahem . . . but I have no complaints. We leave in the morning. I wouldn’t . . . ahem . . . have time for further interviews, in any case.”

“As it happens,” Willa said, “my daughter is one of the performers. She’s been very good to see that Orrin met all the right people during out visit.”

“Your
daughter,
” the woman said, clearly intrigued.

She’s probably formulating a mental image of some tobacco-chewing
cow.

“I can’t imagine the courage it must take for those young women to do the things they do. They are simply stunning, aren’t they? You must be very proud.”

Proud?
“To be quite candid,” Willa said, “I’m still in the throes of being terrified my baby will get hurt. I don’t know if you heard about the accident on Friday—”

“I did. Thank goodness the young man wasn’t seriously hurt.”

“Not seriously,” Willa agreed, “but he’s being sent back to Nebraska to recover.”

“Mr. Cody is very good about taking care of his troupe. The injured wrangler will likely recuperate at Scout’s Rest. Mr. Cody seems to take a personal interest in things like that.”

Willa spoke up. “As it happens, the cowboy, Monte, is my nephew.

He’s accompanying Mr. Knox and me tomorrow. I promised Bill I’d see to getting him home safely.” She shook her head. “But even though Monte is going to be fine, I can’t help worrying when I think of my daughter out there.” She nodded toward the arena.

“I understand exactly what you’re saying,” Mrs. Mortimer agreed. “I don’t come as often as I might for the same reason. It would be hard enough if my Henry were hurt. But to witness it?” She shuddered. “A mother’s worst nightmare. You and I will undoubtedly be scratching our eyebrows at regular intervals this evening.” She demonstrated the gesture, which effectively shielded her eyes from the arena. “If Henry ever catches me doing that, I’ll never hear the end of it.”