Unbridled Dreams (6 page)
The three younger Mason girls—fifteen-year-old Mollie, thirteen-year-old Mamie, and eight-year-old Maggie—came downstairs and, with nervous glances from Willa to Irmagard and mechanical “good mornings,” hurried outside to do the milking and egg-gathering. Minnie, Laura, and Miss Viola all came in at once, and tried to act as if nothing was wrong as they moved through their morning routine.
Willa poured herself a cup of coffee and excused herself, heading onto the back porch where she settled on the porch swing and thanked God for helping her not create another scene just then. In a family of high-strung women, Wilhelmina Ludvik had once been the one most given to fits and fainting. The Ludvik family history included words like
asylum
and
suicide
—words that not only embarrassed Willa, but also, on occasions like yesterday when she gave in to her emotions, terrified her. Convinced that without her faith her own life might have had a tragic end, Willa prayed.
Only you know
how frightened I’ve been, Lord. Help me. Please help me know what to
do now. I don’t want to be an emotional shrew.
When Irmagard finally came out onto the porch and settled uncertainly next to her, Willa waited to speak until she thought she could trust her voice not to wobble. Finally, with a last unspoken plea for help from above, she said, “It would seem that we are at an impasse, you and I. You insist that you cannot be the daughter I want you to be, and I cannot seem to be the mother you want me to be.” She reached for Irmagard’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s not always easy for a mother to stand her ground. But in this, I feel I must.” She was tempted to once and for all spread the ugly cloth of her family’s past before Irmagard, so the child would understand her feelings about the Wild West. But then, with a little shudder and a faint heaving of her chest, Irmagard leaned over and rested her head on Willa’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” she muttered. “I’ll try. I really will. I-I don’t want to go to Brownell. I think—no, I
know
I’ll hate it.” With a deep sigh, she sat up. “But it’s only one year.” She looked away. “It was wrong of me to run off like I did and even more wrong for me to stay away for most of the night.” She gave a little shrug. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but the truth is I-I got lost. And I couldn’t find my way back in the dark.”
“Your father said that Diamond would find his way home even if you couldn’t.” Willa pressed her lips together and tried to rein in her temper. She was trying to be calm, but it wasn’t easy in the face of a willful child’s prevarication. “How can you expect us to trust you and to respect your choices in life when you lie to avoid punishment?”
“I’m not lying. Diamond
did
find his way home. Just not to
this
home.” With studied sincerity, Irmagard explained. “Uncle Charlie got Diamond from Scout’s Rest. So when I lost my way in the dark and gave him his head, the stubborn old goat took me there.” She sighed. “I fell asleep in the saddle, and when I woke up Diamond was standing by the corral over there. It was late and we were both tired. So I put him in the corral, and I slept in a pile of straw in the barn. I woke up a couple of hours ago and headed back.” Her blue-gray eyes pleaded. “I’m so sorry, Momma. I can’t imagine how you must have worried. Or maybe you weren’t so much worried as wishing you could get hold of me and give me a good thrashing. I certainly deserve one.”
“If your father hadn’t been here I don’t know what I would have done.” Forcing herself to sound calm, Willa returned to the topic she had raised with her first sentence. “The truth is, Irmagard, most of the time I feel quite ill-equipped for the task of parenting you.”
Irmagard blinked away tears. “You’d be so much happier with a daughter like Arta Cody.”
“Shush,” Willa said, and patted her daughter’s arm. “You mustn’t talk that way.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. All my life you’ve tried to make me into a lady, and all my life I’ve resisted.” Irmagard fiddled with the tatted fringe on her apron pocket for a moment, and then, taking a deep breath, she said, “Words aren’t enough to make up for what I’ve put you through this time. And I meant it when I said I’d do what you want. And . . . and . . . I’ll try to make you proud of me at Brownell.” She sniffed and put her hand on Willa’s forearm. “Please say you’ll forgive me for yesterday. For scaring you with that stunt in the corral and not seeming to care. And for running off and scaring you even more.” Swallowing, she said, “After the way I’ve behaved I don’t even deserve to go to Scout’s Rest today.” She paused. “But I hope you’ll say I can, because Monte and Ned Bishop are trying out, and with all my heart I want to be there.”
Willa patted her daughter’s hand. The phrase
seventy times seven
came to mind. In spite of her suspicion that she was being manipulated, she could not bring herself to impose a punishment that would deny Irmagard the delights of a day at Scout’s Rest. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Whatever you may think, I do appreciate how difficult it was just now for you to agree to give Brownell a chance.” She cleared her throat. “It would be rude to snub Mr. Cody’s invitation. And even if our absence went unnoticed by Mr. Cody, the entire family would be disappointed if you didn’t go.”
Irma kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Momma. Thank you so much.”
Y
OU HAVE MADE MY HEART BEAT FASTER
WITH A SINGLE GLANCE OF YOUR EYES
.
Song Of Songs 4:9 NASB
“Stooooppppppp,” Irma gasped. She put her hands to her waist and stared into the dressing mirror at Minnie, whose dark brown eyes were just visible behind her.
Minnie stopped tugging and tied off the corset. “There you are. A perfectly breath-defying twenty-one inches. Congratulations. You’re assured the tiniest waist at the hoedown.”
“And likely assured a need for smelling salts before the day is out.”
“Perhaps, but you’re going to look like a fashion page straight out of
Peterson’s Magazine
.” Minnie fingered the teal plaid walking skirt lying on her bed. “You know, if you weren’t so nice to me, I’d have to hate you.” She smiled as she handed over one of three petticoats. “Put these on, and I’ll help you button your new shoes.”
“I can get the shoes,” Irma said from beneath the first petticoat. She pulled it on before asking, “Don’t you have your own dressing to do before we leave?”
“Of course, but it’ll take me all of three minutes to pull on the same old blue calico I wore to church all winter.” Minnie shrugged. “Not that it matters. It’s not like anyone’s going to take a second look at me anyway, with the town girls strutting around like peacocks.” With a look of remorse she added quickly, “Present company excepted, of course. You don’t strut unless you’re out in the corral pretending to acknowledge the adoration of thousands.”
Irma reached for a piece of lace lying on the bed. “How about a new collar for your dress?”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Minnie said and backed away. “You’re not blaming me when Aunt Willa throws a fit about you giving away the trim she paid so much for.”
“She won’t throw a fit.” Irma said. “I wasn’t going to wear it anyway. And with the dark blue from your dress showing up the pattern in the lace, it’ll look really nice.” Inspiration struck. She opened the small velvet box sitting in the tray of her traveling trunk and held up a pair of earrings. “Put these on. The dangles don’t do a thing for my scrawny neck. In fact,” she said, tucking her hands into her armpits and bobbing her head back and forth, “they make me look like a chicken.” She squawked and strutted her way across the room as Minnie held the earrings up to her ears and then joined in the clucking and strutting. Finally, the girls collapsed on the bed in a fit of laughter.
“Now
you
stop,” Minnie gasped, trying to regain her composure. She handed the earrings back, “They’re lovely but I can’t. I don’t want the responsibility. If one fell out at Scout’s Rest we’d never find it, and Aunt Willa
would
throw a fit about that. So would Ma, for that matter.”
“All right,” Irma said and, returning the earrings to her jewelry box. She held up a length of ivory-colored ribbon. “Then we’ll braid this into your hair. Between that and the lace frill, no one will even notice the dress isn’t new.”
“Thanks.” Minnie accepted the ribbon.
“I’ll do a French braid. Orrin Knox won’t be able to take his eyes off you. Of course I expect to get some credit when that happens.”
“Should that miracle occur,” Minnie countered, “there is not a
chance
that I am going to put
your
name in Mr. Knox’s head by telling him you had anything to do with my ensemble.”
“Why not?”
“You know exactly why. Your mother has her own plans for Mr. Knox. It’s going to take more than a bit of lace on last year’s dress to get him to notice
me.
”
Irma reached for her cousin’s hand. “You listen to me, Minnie Mason, and believe what I am about to say—I have
no interest
in Orrin Knox.”
Minnie shrugged. “I do believe you. But Aunt Willa has her ways . . . and any man would be an idiot to choose me over—”
“You stop right there,” Irma said. She glowered at Minnie. “You have everything any man in his right mind would desire in a woman. You’re lovely. You can cook and sew with the best of women. I, on the other hand, hate to cook and sew, and the last thing on earth I want is to settle down and raise a family. A man would have to be crazy to be interested in me right now, and if Orrin Knox doesn’t have enough sense to see that, then I’ll just have to corner him and tell him!”
Minnie’s hand went to her mouth. “You wouldn’t!”
“I won’t have to,” Irma said as she shimmied her way into another one of the petticoats. “Orrin doesn’t care for me a bit.” When Minnie looked doubtful, Irma insisted. “He doesn’t. Momma is always talking about how my dreams are ridiculous. Well, trust me. When it comes to ‘ridiculous,’ Momma’s notions about my future win the prize. I am
not
going to stand for being courted by the likes of Orrin Knox, and that’s that.” She reached into Minnie’s wardrobe and pulled out the blue dress. “Now get thyself primped and proper, Miss Mason. The buggy departs directly.”
Minnie changed while Irma grunted through the process of buttoning her shoes and grimaced as she donned the ridiculous bustle that made her backside wiggle when she walked. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she wondered at the dichotomy between what Momma called a “virtuous reticence of manner” and the reality that dressed in this getup she would be shaking her tail feathers at every man on the ranch today.
With a sigh of resignation, Irma pulled the teal plaid walking skirt over her head, tucked in the ivory waist, then added the plaid jacket cut to suggest a plunging neckline that emphasized the veritable waterfall of ivory lace spilling down her front. The idea that
this
was somehow more demure than a simple denim split skirt was ridiculous. But Minnie was right about one thing. The dressmaker had done a good job of replicating the walking suit Momma had declared “perfect for next spring” when it appeared in last fall’s issue of
Peterson’s Magazine
.
“Do you want the hat before or after you braid my hair?” Minnie asked.
Looking in the mirror and checking the security of her upswept hairdo, Irma made a face, then motioned for Minnie to hand her the hatbox. “Let’s get it over with.” Minnie removed the lid, and Irma reached in and withdrew the hat for which Momma had paid a breathtaking price. It was a complicated arrangement of lace and feathers accented by the latest thing—a dead bird.
“It’s stunning,” Minnie said.
“It’s ridiculous,” Irma countered. “Just look at this.” She turned toward the mirror and held the hat in place. “Once this thing is perched on my head, I’ll hardly dare move.” She jabbed one of the long hatpins into place. “Which is, I suppose, exactly the point. And also the reason Momma loved it so much. It’s the perfect hat for someone whose primary activities of the day will include climbing down from our buggy—with male assistance, of course— sitting at a table having tea, and strolling about the grounds on an escort’s arm.” Irma wondered if what Minnie had said was true. Did Momma have plans to find a son-in-law? Thinking about that possibility made Irma feel as if she were dressed in little more than a plaid cage.
She stared at herself in the mirror. “Can you see me elbowing my way up to the corral or cheering on a bulldogger dressed in this getup? And target shooting is going to be out of the question.” She raised her skirts to inspect her thin dress boots. “They already pinch. Walking out to the shooting range will be agony.” She dropped her skirt. “If only I hadn’t turned my ankle yesterday.”
“I thought you said you weren’t hurt.”
“I’m not. Really. Just a sore ankle.” She shrugged her shoulders. “And my back hurts a little.” She looked over her shoulder at the way the dark teal trim accented her waistline. “My backside is probably going to bruise, but—”
Minnie started to laugh. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”
“Sorry,” Irma apologized. “I’m whining when I ought to be grateful. Especially that Momma is letting me go. I really was disrespectful.” She took up another hatpin and anchored the hat more securely before waving Minnie into a chair and beginning to braid her hair. “I acted like a spoiled brat.”
