“I think you know the answer to that,” Laura said. “He drove out to the ranch the very day he got back from Denver. Asked me what kind to buy. Said he hadn’t listened very well over the years, but he thought I’d know what you’d want.”
“What . . . what did you say?”
“You mean after I told him it was going to take more than a dozen trees to make up for his despicable behavior?” Laura paused, then counted on her fingers and recited, “Oak. Maple. Cottonwood. Hackberry. Black walnut. Heavy on the cottonwood, since we know for sure they’ll thrive. I told him he’d have to water them every day. He said that wouldn’t be a problem.”
“But . . . but . . .” Willa kept staring at the trees. “I thought—”
“I know,” Laura said. “I thought the same thing when Charlie went looking for him, and Willard told him Otto was in Denver. But we were wrong.” Laura reached over and patted Willa on the arm. “He wasn’t giving up on this life and going in search of another. He’s got everyone in town talking, the way he’s tending these trees,” Laura said. “And he planted every single one with those soft banker’s hands of his.” She flicked the reins of the buggy and they headed north to the ranch.
The week after Momma left New York passed in a haze of delightful hard work and unusually long hours. Though she had two horses to manage, Belle was still expected to keep up her commitment to work for Ma Clemmons. As soon as Blaze was transferred to the same stable as Diamond, Belle began to spend as much time as possible simply running her hands over the mare’s body and down her legs, over and over again, trying to root out the old expectations and ingrain new trust. “See there?” she’d say. “You can trust me. I’ll never hurt you.”
While her trust of humans was taking longer than Belle would have liked, Blaze latched on to Diamond like a filly with her dam. Every time Belle took Diamond out to be longed, Blaze carried on to the point that Belle finally took to leading Blaze out first and hitching her to a corral post before going back for Diamond. It worked. Blaze could see Diamond and was content. The wranglers began to tease Belle about the “overgrown weanling with the blaze.” Belle wrote Momma about it all, with studied emphasis on how Blaze never kicked or nipped.
If Momma could trust her in spite of her own fears, the least Belle could do was write more often.
On her way to the stables one morning about a week after Momma had left, Belle detoured by the mail office and found two letters. Daddy had finally written, and from the heft of the envelope, it was a long letter. Resisting her first impulse to tear it open on the spot, Belle decided to wait until after supper, when she would have more time to truly savor Daddy’s news.
She didn’t recognize the handwriting on the other envelope, but it appeared to contain only one sheet of paper, so she opened it and read.
Dear Irma . . . or I suppose I should write “Dear Belle” now. . .
I know we have never been close, but I wanted you to know that you have my profound sympathy. I have always held you and your family in high regard and am grieved every time I drive by the lovely home where my friend Irmagard used to entertain. With its drapes drawn, the dear old place almost seems as if it is mourning its loss. Certainly all of North Platte is deeply saddened by recent events. It is my fondest wish to see restoration accomplished, and I shall pray fervently to that end. I refuse to believe that your parents’ separation is permanent, and I shall always be their defender and yours. If I can be of any encouragement to you, do not hesitate to write. In the meantime, please know that you have my best wishes, both for success in the Wild West, and for reunion between your parents. Do not listen to those who would say otherwise. Your father’s recent return from Denver and new activity at the house in your mother’s absence gives us all hope that healing is at hand and that North Platte will once again look to Mr. and Mrs. Otto Friedrich as the social leaders they have always been. Hope on hope ever.
Your friend,
Edna Hertz
P.S. Please thank Mr. Sterling for the autographed photo. I was so disappointed when my parents were not able to make good on their promise to see the Wild West in St. Louis. Mr. Sterling’s kindness is greatly appreciated.
Belle ran for her tent. With trembling hands she opened Daddy’s letter, but its contents disappointed—or encouraged, depending on how Belle decided to think about it. Daddy said nothing about any difficulties like those Edna Hertz mentioned. Everything in North Platte was just fine according to Daddy. He’d been to Denver on business. The only thing strange about the letter was the absence of any mention of he and Momma having gone to the opera house or visiting the ranch together. Maybe what Edna said was true. Maybe Daddy was trying to spare her feelings.
Daddy’s letter lay in her lap and Edna’s was atop the table when Shep found her.
Shep ducked inside, careful to leave the tent flap up so they were visible to anyone who cared to look. “What’s wrong, honey? Helen said she saw you running for the tent. Said something about a letter and tears.”
Belle motioned to the table, where she’d thrown Edna’s letter.
Shep read the note over twice before setting it back atop the table and, sitting down next to Belle, putting his arm around her. “Do I know Edna Hertz? Name sounds familiar for some reason.” When Belle looked up at him he could see disbelief in her eyes.
“Do you know her? She practically climbed in your lap the day you brought me those roses.”
“Ah.” That one. Ample curves. Nice enough looking. A way of moving that called attention to herself. Trouble just waiting to happen. He’d been more than a little relieved when she didn’t show up in St. Louis. “You know the publicity office sends those autographed photos out when folks request ’em. Right?” He reached for the note and read it a third time. “Anyone who would send a thing like this is no friend of yours. Or mine.”
“I never thought of Edna Hertz as a friend,” Belle said. “But I didn’t realize she hated me enough to do something like this.” She swiped at more tears and blew her nose. “I knew something was wrong when Momma was here. I just had this . . . feeling. All she would say about Daddy was that he was in Denver. ‘On business,’ she said.” Belle shook her head. “And I thought we were finally going to all get along.”
“Now, hold on,” Shep said and pointed to the note. “You don’t know if any of that is true. Other than that your father was in Denver. And your momma told you that.”
“It says the house is closed up. Why would she make that up?”
“If your daddy was gone, and your momma was here, why wouldn’t they close it up for a few days? There’s a reasonable explanation for everything in that letter.”
“If she was planning on leaving Daddy, you can be sure I wouldn’t know anything about it until the deed was done,” Belle said. “That’s how she handles things like that.” She sniffled again. “In fact, her trip here and buying Blaze and all of that was probably part of her plan to—”
“You’re being awful hard on her.” Shep frowned and looked down at her. “Especially when you don’t know—”
“I know,” Belle interrupted him. She told him about being six years old and seeing her mother with another man.
Shep thought for a long while before finally saying, “You never asked her about that?”
“What would have been the point? Daddy came home. Things seemed to be all right.”
“Except you’ve carried the memory, the disappointment, inside you all these years and let it fester without giving your poor mother a chance to defend herself.”
“My poor mother?!”
Shep could feel her stiffen. She moved away from him on the cot. He gentled his voice. “There’s generally two sides to every story, sweetheart. We’re all low down at one time or another.” He paused. “That’s why Sunday Joe has so much to say about forgivin’ every time he gets a chance.” She let him take her hand but kept her distance. “If there’s bad history between your folks, that’s a hurtful thing for a child to have
to witness. But that was a long time ago, and it seems to me that, if you think it through, you’ll realize there’s been a lot of goodness piled into both their lives since. If you ask me, it’d be best for you to just let all that stuff about what you saw or didn’t see go, so it doesn’t taint the present.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Carryin’ around something like that doesn’t do anybody any good. Like I said before . . . it festers. And that’s an ugly thing to have in a life.”
Belle sat quietly for a while. Fresh tears began to course down her cheeks. “Even if I think you’re right, I don’t know how to let go of it,” she said. “I can’t.”
“Maybe Sunday Joe could help you figure out how. Want me to see if I can find him?”
Belle reached for the letter. “My father has always been devoted to her. He’s given her that house and every other thing she’s ever asked for. If this is true—if she’s left him—it’ll kill him.”
“Seems to me there’s two hearts breaking when a marriage has trouble,” Shep said. He offered to go get Sunday Joe again.
“I don’t want Sunday Joe,” Belle said. “Not right now.”
“What then?”
“You,” she said. “I want you to hold me.”
So he did.
“You did great, sweetheart,” Shep said as they walked toward the back lot together after the evening performance. “I’m proud of you.”
“Can’t let a little thing like a life falling apart interfere,” Belle said. “The show must go on and all.” She sighed. “I just wish I knew what I’m supposed to do about it. I mean, do I write Aunt Laura to find out what’s going on? Do I telegraph Daddy? Do I get on a train and head home?”
“No,” Shep said quickly. “You do not get on a train. You stay here and do your job as best you can. Whatever is going on in North Platte, you keep out of it. And when whatever is going on is over, you love them both—warts and all, as they say. If your Momma had wanted to involve you, she had plenty of opportunity to do that when she was here. And besides, for all you know, that letter is pure meanness coming out of what’s-her-name.” He tied Golden Boy’s reins to a hitching post. “And as Sunday Joe would say, this is one of those times when you can do more good prayin’ over it than messin’ with it anyway.”
Belle pulled Rowdy’s saddle off and set it atop an empty rack, then grabbed a brush and began to go over the horse’s sweat-soaked coat. Maybe Shep was right. Today’s performances might not have helped her know what to do, but they’d provided an outlet for her emotions. She was calmer now, and she could see the logic to what Shep was saying. He was right about Sunday Joe’s advice, too. She’d talked to the preacher between performances. He’d been short on outrage at Momma over the past and long on Belle’s need to forgive. He’d even used the word fester and talked about how things kept inside and not given to God ended up hurting people. She needed to forgive the past.
Belle knew he was right. But that didn’t mean she could do what he said.
CHAPTER 24
THE WAY OF A FOOL IS RIGHT IN HIS OWN EYES,
BUT A WISE MAN IS HE WHO LISTENS TO COUNSEL.
Proverbs 12:15 NASB
Two weeks after Willa got back from New York, she was helping Laura can garden tomatoes when she heard the clatter of a buggy or wagon come tearing in. Everyone rushed outside just in time to see Orrin Knox jump down and head for the house. He lost his hat in the process, but he let it lay as he charged up and choked out, “Mr. Friedrich—” he gasped—“slumped over his desk. . . . He’s . . . at Dr. Sheridan’s. . . .”
Willa untied her apron and dropped it on the porch swing. At the bottom of the steps she turned back around. “His horse is worn out,” she said. “It’ll ruin him to run him back to town in this heat. Can someone hitch up Nellie?”
“Yes,” Laura said, “we’ll handle it.” She and Dora headed for the barn.
Minnie came back outside with a glass of water for Orrin. As she held it out she said, “I’ll see to your horse, Mr. Knox, while you help Aunt Willa into town.” Orrin gulped down the water, gasped a thanks, and grabbing his hat, went to help hitch up Nellie.
In moments Willa and Orrin were dashing back toward town. The ride seemed to take hours. Orrin said he knew nothing more, and Willa was left to her own thoughts as she hung on, hoping Nellie wouldn’t trip, a wheel wouldn’t hit a rut and break, and Otto wouldn’t die. Please, God. Not like this. Don’t let it end like this.
The buggy had barely stopped before Willa jumped down and charged through the front doorway of Dr. Sheridan’s office, past his desk, and down a narrow hall to the room he called his hospital. It was really only a row of cots separated by folding screens. Otto was the only patient. He lay pale and motionless, and even when Willa spoke his name and grasped his hand, he didn’t move.
“I told him he was killing himself,” Dr. Sheridan said. “There’s not a man on earth who can keep up the hours that man’s been working and not suffer for it. He wouldn’t listen. Willard found him slumped at his desk when he went in to open the bank this morning.”
Willa sat down beside the bed. “Oh, Otto,” she whispered, and brushed his forehead with her fingertips. He was breathing evenly. As her fingers traced the line of his jaw, she noticed something different about the left side of his face. She touched the edge of his mouth, where his lips seemed to curve downward. “What is it?”
“A brain hemorrhage, I’m afraid.”
“Hemorrhage?” Willa croaked. “Doesn’t that mean bleeding?”
“It does,” Dr. Sheridan explained, “but in this case, the bleeding is inside the brain. Otto has suffered an attack of apoplexy. I won’t know the extent of the damage until he regains consciousness.”
“When will that be?”
“Only God knows. We must wait. And hope. He’s always had the strength of a bull. He doesn’t drink to excess. Those are going to be in his favor now, but the entire left side of his body may be affected and there may be some paralysis.”
Willa turned in the chair to look at the doctor. “He’s paralyzed?” She put her hand to her mouth.
“I said there may be some paralysis. There may be none at all.”
“But it could be serious,” Willa said. “And permanent?”
“That’s impossible to know right now.” The doctor put his hand on her shoulder. “I know you and Otto have had your problems of late, and I am truly sorry. But I also felt certain you’d want to know. And since Mr. Knox knows the family . . . I thought he’d be the one to come for you.”
Willa nodded. “Is it all right if I stay with him for a while?”
“As long as you like.”
She stroked the back of Otto’s hand. “Mr. Knox is probably waiting outside. Would you ask him to come in here?”
“I’ll send him right away,” the doctor said. “I have to mix up some powders for another patient. I’ll be in my office up front. If you notice any change—anything at all—call me right away.”
Willa nodded. Orrin came back. “I know it’s asking a lot,” she said, “but could you possibly take word to Laura and Charlie . . . ? And if I sent a list to Laura, would you bring a few things back into town?”
“Of course,” Orrin said. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Friedrich.”
She wrote the note. Orrin left. Willa cried.
Willa was in the middle of a nightmarish dream involving all her worst fears about Irmagard and the Wild West when a soft moan brought her fully awake. It was the middle of the night, and at first she didn’t know if she should run for the doctor or light the lamp, but as she moved to get up, she realized Otto wasn’t having another attack. He was trying to get up.
“Lay back,” she said, and grasped his arm. “You’ve had an attack of apoplexy. Willard found you, and you’re at the doctor’s clinic. The worst is over. You’ll continue to get better now. But it’s going to take some time, and—”
He wrested his arm free and grabbed her hand, squeezing it so hard it hurt. She pulled free a
nd lit a lamp, then sat back down and recounted every detail of what Dr. Sheridan had done and said in regards to his care. “Speech is often the last to return,” she said. “You must be patient.”
He frowned and looked toward the door and then back at her.
“Shall I get Dr. Sheridan?”
With great effort he shook his head. Tears welled up in his eyes.
“There, there,” Willa said, and patted his shoulder. She took a deep breath. She’d thought about what she would say when he regained consciousness, but as she stared into his eyes, everything she had practiced seemed irrelevant. One thing seemed certain. She’d been asking God to show her what to do about her marriage, and God had answered in undeniable terms—at least for now. She forced a weak smile. It was the best she could do. “As soon as you’re able, I’m going to take you home.”
His tears spilled over. She wiped them away. He grabbed her hand again and tried to raise it to his lips. She resisted. “You need me right now, and I will do my duty.” Her voice wavered. She looked away. “That will have to be enough.” She patted his arm. “Sleep now,” she said as gently as she could. As any nurse would.
Feeling stiff from her night propped up in a chair, Willa walked to the front of the clinic while Dr. Sheridan examined Otto. As soon as he joined her, she asked, “Can you keep Otto here for a day or two while I get things ready at the house? As you know I haven’t been living there, and—”
“Are you certain you want to do that?” Dr. Sheridan said. “Otto’s going to need a great deal of help for the foreseeable future. Maybe even with very basic things for at least a few days. I’m already seeing improvement with his arm and leg this morning, which is a very good sign, but I won’t know to what extent he’s going to recover for quite some time yet. His speech may be the last thing to return—if it returns at all. It’s going to be difficult for him, and Otto’s not a man known for his patience. Which means caring for him will likely also be difficult because he may decide to be difficult. I don’t mean to pry, but if the two of you aren’t on the best of terms, perhaps—”
Unbridled Dreams Page 28
