by Joyce Armor
“I…was ashamed. And afraid. Elias forbade me and I did not have the courage…” She shook her head, leaving the thought dangling. “Now listen to me.”
“So I’m a bas…”
“No! We were married for a very short time. Now listen.”
“But Mama…”
“No doubt Elias or DeJulius…or the thugs they hire will try to find you and bring you back…or do you harm. They want…your dowry. Once you reach one and twenty they cannot claim it. It will be fully yours.”
“Jackson Butter…
“Butterman.”
“What kind of man is he?”
The edges of Elinora’s lips turned up. “I cannot tell you how he is now. Twenty…years ago he was…handsome, charming and honorable. A fine man.”
“Then why didn’t you stay with him instead of…”
“I was younger than you, only…19, and attracted to bright lights and beautiful clothes and balls and…city life. I was withering away on the ranch. It was a hard life, and I…It’s a complicated story, and we don’t…have time. You must go.”
“Mama, I want to stay here with you until…I don’t want to leave you. Please.”
“Libby…it is too late for me.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “It was…too late for me long ago. You are intelligent and…resourceful. You must save…yourself now and live the life you were meant to live.”
That last phrase struck a chord with her. To live the life she was meant to live. Her real life. Could it be that simple? Was it possible? Probably not. And yet what choice did she have? She was not about to marry a monster. But how could she leave her mother now? Oh, it was too much.
Torn, Libby leaned over and hugged her mother gently, afraid she would break some bones if she squeezed her at all. It was almost as if the woman had no skin but was all bones. “But…you need me.”
“No, I do not.”
That should not have hurt, but it did. And it was true. It had always been true.
“Go,” Elinora said as firmly as her depleted lungs would allow.
Libby stared at her rail-thin mother for a long moment, trying to remember her, but not like this. “Mama…Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes. Tell…Marnie to tell Elias I would like to speak to him. I am going to send him on an errand, and when he leaves, you…are to go. Take just a satchel with a couple of your simpler…gowns and accoutrements. And take my daguerrotype.”
“Are you sure?”
Elinora nodded. Libby crossed to the bureau, opened her mother’s gilded jewelry box and found the daguerrotype among several stunning pieces, including a ruby necklace and lovely sapphire bracelet and ring. It gave her particular pleasure to defy her papa in this matter, although he wasn’t really her papa, was he?
“Go quickly.”
Libby turned. “Oh, Mama, what about you?”
“I have made my peace with my fate. I have failed you, Libby. I thought…I believed…I would have more time. God has decided…otherwise.” She sighed and then directed her gaze unwaveringly at Libby. “I have been selfish.”
“No, Mama,” Libby said quietly, returning to the bedside, even though she knew that, too, was a lie.
“The only way you can help me now is to go. I will…I am sorry for my failures.” She placed a shaky hand on the young girl’s heart. “You must save yourself. Now go…find Marnie to send Elias to me. I’ll make some excuse for why you’re not here when…he returns, if he even notices. That will give you more…time to make your escape.”
Libby hugged her mother as fiercely as she dared. “I love you, Mama,” she said, a lone tear trailing down her cheek.
Even now, on her deathbed, Elinora was uncomfortable with the sentiment. “I…I know you will make me proud,” she said, not noticing the disappointment in her daughter’s eyes.
The young woman gazed at her mother, trying once again to remember her with shining hair. She pictured her dressed in a flowing emerald green gown and laughing, her eyes sparkling. Maybe someday she would meld this image with the newly enlightened, more caring portrait of her dying parent who admitted her failings and called Libby her “darling daughter.” Finally, she smiled weakly and willed her wobbling knees to support her as she left the stifling room, clutching the two envelopes. She looked around to make sure Elias was nowhere in sight before scurrying to her bedroom. How could everything have changed so quickly and so radically?
Chapter 2
Lionhearted Libby made her escape with no impediments. She dressed as unremarkably as she could, in a gray shift, with a black bonnet and shawl. She probably looked like she was in mourning or half-mourning. All the better, she surmised. Maybe fellow travelers would leave her alone. Her journey on the paddle steamer was uneventful except for a brief but torrential thunderstorm and the oily, dandified gambler with a pasty complexion who found too many excuses to “accidentally” bump into Libby and brush against her hips or breasts.
It probably was unseemly for a proper young lady to even think the word “breasts.” How proper was it for her stepfather to slap her? Or to sell her to an evil old goat? If she hadn’t been so concerned with keeping a low profile, she would have slapped the gambler until his ears rang. Even after having that thought, she did not realize then that she was harboring a bit of pent-up hostility.
Once the steamer docked in Council Bluffs, she managed to elude the reprobate and hire a carriage to take her to the train station. There she booked passage through Omaha to Promontory Summit in Utah Territory. It was surprisingly easy. She was beginning to think everything might turn out all right after all.
Throughout the watery portion of her journey, Libby was still reeling from the circumstances of her current condition and the unbelievable revelations. Elias Parminter was not her father. It should have made her shout with joy, except she was still facing the unknown, and she was smart enough to realize her situation could always get worse. At this point, she was far too numb to think much beyond where her next meal would originate. Once she boarded the train, where she would spend several more days, she began to think more deeply as she wallowed in discomfort, self-pity and a healthy dose of fear.
She had more than enough money to book first-class passage on the train, which would have cost $100 and included dining and other comforts, but she never had been frivolous and was trying to make her money last as long as it possibly could, months if need be, until she received her inheritance.
So here she sat in the long, narrow second-class car, crammed onto an uncomfortable wooden seat. She was among about 30 other apparently uncomfortable passengers, mostly rough-looking cowboy and miner types, with some farmers, a few country women and at least one harlot, or a painted woman who looked like she should have been one if she was not already.
The crowded, oh-so-pungent car, with several passengers scratching at God knew what variety of vermin, included a wood-burning iron stove and retiring room at the end of the narrow aisle. However, she would almost rather disgrace herself than walk down the gauntlet past the lounging, squeezed-in and often yammering collection of humanity. Her seatmate was a rather buxom lady in a simple homespun calico dress who obviously did not speak English. She must have been fairly well off, since she was not riding in the emigrant car, which was less expensive but even cruder, although Libby had a hard time envisioning that. The Russian—or was it Polish—woman looked about her mother’s age, somewhere in her 40s. Elinora may not have been very affectionate; she did not look as stern as this woman, though. Libby felt as though the woman wanted to rap her knuckles.
Her mother. She sighed. Elinora had let her down. She knew that, but she could harbor no ill will, or at least not much. For the most part, people did the best they could, she believed, although that did not account for greed or violence or evil. The Russian or Polish woman coughed convulsively, and her elbow jabbed Libby. The seat was so narrow, it didn’t even fit the two of them comfortably, so she had nowhere to go except away in her mind.
She th
ought of Elias. The connection with her father, or the man she had always thought was her father, was tenuous at best. She never could seem to gain his approval or love and now she finally understood why. He must have resented her for her mother’s indiscretion. Or was it an indiscretion? Was she really ever married to Jackson Butterman? Her mother had not been honest with her from the beginning. Maybe she was lying now. Or telling half-truths. It was all so confusing. As much as she wanted to believe Elias was not her father, she would reserve judgment until she met and got to know Jackson Butterman.
Libby Anne Parminter…or was it Libby Anne Butterman…was George North, she decided. Barely 10 days ago, back when life was less confusing, Libby had sat with her friend Glory and approximately 5,000 other spectators enjoying P. T. Barnum’s Grand Traveling Museum, Menagerie, Caravan & Hippodrome, an exciting traveling circus. She could still hear the band playing “The Flying Trapeze” for the highlight of the show, a trapeze exhibition. It was beyond exciting until it ended in a horrific accident when the two daring trapeze artists fell. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for them, they landed on gymnast and tumbler George North, who was the worst injured of the three. One moment he was just minding his own business, and the next minute all hell rained down on him. She knew the feeling. Metaphorically speaking, she was George North, all right.
She wriggled uncomfortably on the ever-harder seat, her light blue day gown, which she had changed into in the train station’s retiring room, plastered to her sweaty skin. Somewhere in Nebraska, staring unseeingly at an ocean of green plains, Libby came to a momentous decision. Her mother had made the journey east alone safely, and she could make the journey west alone without disaster befalling her. From this moment forth, she would stop feeling sorry for herself. She would view her present circumstances not as a predicament but as an adventure and an opportunity. She had to hide from Elias Parminter and Edward DeJulius for one month. How hard could that be in this big, wide, magnificent country? She was Lionhearted Libby, and from this day on, she would live her life, and on her own terms, by God. She would not be bullied or ignored. And she would rise above discomfort.
Had she ever really been happy in St. Louis? Oh, she loved her mother, but until the illness, they had never spent much time together. Mama was always involved in her ladies’ circles and fund-raising endeavors, from supporting orphan homes to advancing gardening pursuits. Libby was often left on her own from a young age, as Papa did not believe in governesses after the age of 6. Even her tutor, who provided her with an excellent formal education, stressed self-reliance and independence. Of course, the woman was probably forever handing out assignments so she would have time to write letters to her beloved Alphonse in New York. In any case, Libby was rather self-reliant, she realized, and just maybe stronger than she thought.
So leaving St. Louis was no tragedy, she reasoned, even if it left her feeling unanchored. And alone. She had to chuckle at that last thought. Being alone was nothing new. But what if Jackson Butterman rejected her? She would be no worse off than she was now, she decided. What if he accepted her but was even more dictatorial than Elias? He might be charming and honorable yet still possessive and controlling. If she didn’t cotton to him or to Montana Territory, she would move on. Maybe to California. Or Oregon Territory. Even after paying for the stagecoach, she would have enough money to last several months at least. Long before then, she could claim her dowry. Mama had never told her how much it was, but she came from a wealthy railroad and steamship family, and she did say that Libby and her husband would never have to work a day in their lives if they did not want to. How much money would that take? She had no idea.
It was a heady experience, this new life. She was free, absolutely free. It was a…a…freeing feeling. Free to make the choice to go or to stay. She could eat what she wanted, say what she wanted, dress any way she chose, stay up as late as she wanted. Speak or not speak. She had her reputation to consider, of course, although perhaps she did not care about that as much as she once had. Plenty of people in St. Louis, including Elias Parminter, took their fine reputations behind closed doors and beat the maid. Or worse.
The first thing she would do when she got to her destination, Libby decided, would be to chuck her corset and breathe again. She had read that Western women were not so fastidious in their dress. It was hard to picture, but even if they were still strict in their dress code in Deer Lodge? If removing her corset ruined her in polite society, so be it. And she was going to say the word “breasts” out loud if she wanted to. Ha! She was free! And she was going to speak and breathe freely. That had never seemed more important since she had watched her mother struggling for every breath. And life had never seemed so precious, so meant to be lived.
Would Edward Capo DeJulius really come after her? Would he kill her to get her dowry? Well, he could not do that until after he married her, which would never happen as long as she lived and breathed. Just the thought of it made the hair on her arms stand up. But her stepfather might kill her if he was so angry about losing out on a share of her dowry. Was Elias furious enough or did he actually hate her enough or was he greedy enough to end her life? If her mother had already passed, he would be next in line if Libby died. No, he could have just waited until her mother died if he was going to kill her; he didn’t have to force her into marriage. He was cruel and uncaring, but she could not believe he would go as far as murdering her. Then she reminded herself she did not really know him. He was not who she thought he was.
Her dowry. It really was all about the money, wasn’t it? Mama had come to Elias with a considerable fortune, and she had tied up a tidy sum in an untouchable dowry for Libby. Libby wondered how much of her mother’s money Jackson had received. She may have been selfish and not very maternal, but Mama was clever. If DeJulius got the dowry, which he probably was intending to share with Elias, they would not need her. It was quite a sobering thought. Undoubtedly, she needed courage for this sojourn, not just the trip to Montana Territory but her life’s journey from this moment on.
“I am intelligent, resourceful and self-sufficient,” she repeated to herself, echoing her mother’s words, “Lionhearted Libby.” She thought about that for a moment. “Or at least Free Libby,” she amended, swallowing that bile of fear that kept trying to surface while Mrs. Russian or Polish lady looked on quizzically.
“Mrs. Bridges?”
Libby sighed as she wiped a spot from the window.
“Mrs. Bridges?
Oh, dear, she had nearly forgotten her fictitious name. That would not do at all.
“Yes, sir?” She hoped she was giving him her serene look.
The conductor, a bewhiskered bear of a man she guessed to be in his late 50s, smiled warmly, reminding her that all men were not like her stepfather or Edward DeJulius. “I thought you might like to know we will be stopping in about 10 minutes if you want to get a bite to eat.”
She smiled. “Thank you, sir, I shall do that.”
He pulled out a silver pocket watch and glanced at it. “We will be stopping for about 20 minutes.”
“Thank you again.”
“It’s unusual for a young woman to be traveling alone,” he said as he wiped the face of the watch on his pant leg and replaced it in his pocket, adjusting the fob so it hung just right. “I know you are not with…He nodded toward her seatmate. “If you need anything…”
“That is most kind of you, sir. I am fine, however. My husband will meet me in Montana Territory, and I am quite capable.”
“I am certain of that, ma’am,” he chuckled, tipping his hat as he headed off to the next car.
Quite capable of going insane, Libby mused morosely and then squelched the negative thought. It had been three days since she ran out of her St. Louis home in a near panic. Was her mother gone? She opened her reticule and took out the small daguerreotype of Elinora, tearing up at the glamorous photo. Why couldn’t the living Elinora have been more like the dying Elinora? She sighed, willing the tears not to
fall. She tucked the little frame back into her reticule, thinking about the two Elinoras and why they could not be one. And why didn’t cows fly?
Then she forced her thoughts to move on to more pressing matters. Did Elias know where she was headed? Most likely, she realized. He had many flaws, but the man was not stupid. There was more than one way to get to Montana Territory, however. Would he tell Edward DeJulius about Montana? She felt the reticule to make sure the little pistol she had taken from Elias’s nightstand was still there. She wasn’t a crack shot, but she could load and fire a pistol if she had to, thanks to a friendly steward who had been kinder to her than Elias ever had been. Even if they found her, they would not take her down easily, she vowed. Her mouth quirked upward. That’s the spirit, Lionhearted Libby.
What if her real father didn’t want anything to do with her? That was a depressing thought. The only definitive thing she knew about Jackson Butterman, though, was his name and how he acted two decades ago. What kind of a man let a woman with child just walk away? Or did he even know Elinora was pregnant? And in all fairness, it sounded as if her mother had not simply walked away; she had sneaked away. It was all so confusing. And terrifying, if she was honest with herself. Well, she could be just as terrified on a full stomach as on an empty one. And no matter how frightened she was, she silently vowed, she would not let it stop her. She was free, and she would live the life she was meant to live if it killed her. She sincerely hoped it wouldn’t.
Once the train slowed, Libby scooted across the wooden seat after her reticent seat-mate and made her way down the aisle as several people eyed her curiously. Remember, this is an adventure. She would not marry Edward DeJulius or anyone else. She was done living under some despotic male’s thumb. In less than one month, she would turn 21 and the dowry would be hers, offering her the financial independence to follow her dreams. Now all she had to do was to figure out what those dreams were.
