Liberty Belle (3 page)

The sheriff’s badge clanked to the floor. She’d forgotten she’d tucked the star inside her sleeve. Through tears, she picked up the worn emblem and placed it on her dresser. Too bad that sheriff hadn’t picked her up and whisked her away.

A sob shook her as the heat of humiliation traveled from her head to her toes. She wasn’t sure which was worse; being left at the altar for the whole town to witness or being duped by her own family. Both stabbed her.

With tears flooding her face, she made sure to lock her door in case Mother chose to come in and
explain.
Libby was in no mood to her another of her mother’s conniving schemes.

With a sob, Libby crawled into bed and under the covers. Tomorrow, she would decide what to do. For now, she hoped slumber would come quickly and erase the day’s agony. She needed her rest before the showdown with her mother.

Chapter 3

The morning light burst through the lacy curtains and heralded a new day. Libby answered with eyes swollen from yesterday’s turmoil and resisted the sun’s call to rise.

Instead, she gazed about her bedroom. She tried to make sense of yesterday’s events. If she’d been asked before the wedding, she’d have said she was happy and had all she’d ever wanted, but now, even the decoration of her room stated otherwise.

She wasn’t particularly fond of yellow, but her curtains, quilt, even her wallpaper screamed of the golden color. She liked blue. Why had she never noticed? Did her room, life, hold nothing of her choosing?

Her eyes lit on the sketch of the thoroughbred mare Thomas had given her as a wedding present. A smile tickled her lips and heart. She loved horses. Despite the fact that Mother forbade her to ride, she’d ridden since she was eight. One conspiracy she and her father owned together.

Libby stared at the drawing of the black mare. “Southern Star is mine.” Her gaze drifted to the cedar box at the end of the bed. “And so is my dowry. I have a prized horse and money to do as I please.”

She arose. Her mind whirled with possibilities until a soft knock on the door sent her dreams crashing to the floor.

“Yes?” Libby listened, sure it was Mother but praying it wasn’t.

“I need to talk with you.”

Libby’s breathing increased. Anger fired her tongue to reply harshly until her gaze rested on the sheriff’s star. For some reason, the badge cooled her ire.

“Please?”

Please was not a word her mother used lightly. Not if she meant it, and the tone of her voice did sound sincere. Still, Libby didn’t move to unlock the door. She held back her response for a lengthy moment. After what she considered an appropriate time, she answered, “I’ll dress and meet you downstairs.”

“I’ll be in the parlor.” Again her mother’s voice possessed the quality of sincerity even to the point of contrition.

Libby rustled through her closet and found a blue dress. One she’d picked out despite Mother’s protest. Not knowing why, she shoved the sheriff’s badge into her pocket. Ready for the day, she braced for the meeting with Mother.

Atop the stairs, she recalled times when Mother had used her influence to change her plans. The yellow room—the first step. Giving up her dream to sail to England—another. A denied visit to a cousin in Virginia—the next. The list went on, and Libby ran out of steps well before instances.

Fortified with the truth of her mother’s controlling nature, Libby was ready to declare her own war for independence. After all, she had been born on the Fourth of July and named Liberty because of the holiday. Determined to set the course for her life, she rounded the corner.

Mother was perched on one of the high-backed chairs in the formal sitting room and looked all too much like a queen on her throne. Uncomfortable, Libby jammed a hand in her pocket and felt the sheriff’s badge. Her uneasiness subsided as thoughts of the tall stranger bolstered her newfound resolve.

Forcing herself to smile, Libby pointed down the hall. “We can talk in the garden room.”

Not waiting for an answer, she made her way into her favorite room. The cheery area greeted her with the scent of lilac. She breathed in the fragrant air and welcomed its calming effect. Her only regret was that she’d missed what she hoped was the shock on Mother’s face. Eleanor Longstreet was not accustomed to having her terms refused.

Libby sat in one of the chairs surrounding a small iron table. Her heart beat rapidly, but she needed and wanted to discover her own likes and dislikes. No longer would she be her mother’s puppet.

After a few minutes, Mother strode into the room and sat in the chair opposite. Prim, proper, and not a hair out of place, she gave a strained smile. “Would you like the maid to bring tea?”

“No. What was it you wanted to say?” Libby was not about to let her mother diffuse the tension. Even though Libby’s insides shook, she refrained from giving in and smiling to appease her mother. This was not to be a time of pleasantries.

Mother cleared her throat, patted her lips with a handkerchief, and stared at the vase of purple flowers decorating the center of the table. “I am sorry for the hurt you suffered. I would never knowingly do anything to harm you.”

“Didn’t you think tricking me into marriage would hurt? You had no right—”

“I wanted Thousand Oaks back … for you.” Her mother’s face softened. “This land is so uncivilized, and Georgia—well—all our family is there. We’d be safe. You’d be safe. You’re so impulsive.”

For a moment, Libby thought she detected an uncharacteristic shadow of fear sweep across her mother’s face.

Mother reached across the table and took hold of her hand. “I truly thought you and Thomas loved one another and just needed a gentle push.”

Libby pulled her hand away. “But to deceive me with your sickness? Did Father know?”

Empty hand still outstretched, Mother glanced away before answering. A tear trailed down her cheek. “Not at first, but when he found out, I forbade him to tell you. I sent you to Atlanta because I thought that being back in Georgia with Thomas’ family and seeing Thousand Oaks again would make you realize how much you missed our home. Don’t be angry with Father, he’s a good man. But I confess that I too easily rule over him.”

Thousand Oaks? Her mother’s old family farm in Georgia meant little to Libby. After losing a bet on a horse race, Father had been forced to sell the place to Thomas’ father. They’d spent the last three years here in Missouri.

Mulling over the information, Libby was about to soften, when a slight change in her mother’s demeanor gave her reason to pause. No longer a wilted rose, Mother sat erect, and her eyes were now absent of tears.

After straightening her own shoulders, Libby regained her nerve and matched her mother’s gaze. “I am still angry. I suggest you let Father decide how to get the farm back,
if
he wants to. We have done quite well since moving to Crimson. As for me, I am going to decide what to do with my own life. The first step will be a trip into town as I have curtains and wallpaper to buy.” Libby rose. “I will be home for dinner.”

As she turned and walked away, Libby had to force herself to continue and not give in to the sudden outburst of sobs behind her.

The closer she got to her room, the more determined she became. Things would not be the same in the Longstreet house. She would always love her parents, but for the first time in her life, she was going after what she wanted. She might well end up a spinster, but she’d not live her life according to her mother’s whims.

Behind her closed door, Libby grabbed her reticule and shoved a few bills from the cedar chest inside the cloth bag. With a snort of disgust, she slapped at the nearest yellow curtain, marched from her room, and out of the house to the porch. She chose not to look back, even though she could feel her mother’s gaze.

The morning air greeted her with the freshness of spring. Libby took in a deep breath and despite yesterday’s trouble felt truly alive. After a glance skyward, she gave a prayer of thanksgiving and breathed a hope that as the Bible promised her humiliation would be turned to good.

Near the barn, her father groomed his horse. She waved to get his attention but had to stop and hold on to her hat to deflect a small gust. The big roan nickered and her father turned and smiled as did her heart. She could always count on his love and encouragement.

After reaching his side, she pointed at the carriage. “I’m going into town.”

“Sorry, I can’t take you, honey. I’ll have George drive you in though.” He paused and rubbed his large hand through his dark hair. “You sure you want to go? Might be rough. I’m afraid I didn’t help things at the church.”

She patted his arm. “I know you only meant to protect me. I believe I need to face the gossip head on and early.”

Her father grinned, relief evident in his eyes. “That’s my girl. Go show them that Longstreet courage. I’ll get the carriage ready.”

The front door creaked.

Libby turned, ready for another showdown with Mother.

Instead, a waving Aunt Flora flounced toward her. “May I ride into town with you? It’s my sewing day.”

An inward groan escaped, but Libby couldn’t say no. Aunt Flora was always so supportive. With her best smile, Libby nodded. “Your company would be appreciated.”

Surprised, Libby realized she really did enjoy her aunt’s companionship and regretted that she and her mother never experienced the same camaraderie.

Settled in the carriage, Libby forced herself to enjoy the fields dotted with wildflowers but as they made their way toward town her courage dwindled.

Aunt Flora didn’t bring up the wedding but did carry on a steady barrage of statements about whatever seemed to cross her mind, from the size of the oak tree on the south lawn to the weather.

Sensing her aunt’s chatter as an attempt to ease the situation, Libby gave her a slight hug. “I’ll be fine, and thank you for coming with me. I’m sure we’ll run into a few curious gossips and having you along will be most comforting.” She ended with a false laugh, hoping she’d have some of that Longstreet courage left when they arrived.

The steady clip-clop of the horses marked the time and added to her anxiety. She twisted a lock of hair on her fingers and gazed at the countryside to take her mind off the nervous flock of bumblebees in her stomach.

A sudden movement ahead caught her eye. A dark bay cantered toward them. She couldn’t see the rider for the shadows, but the animal’s stride looked familiar. Too familiar.

As they neared the crossing, the horse and rider dashed in front of their team, forcing George to pull the carriage to a halt and exclaim a string of not so gentlemanly words.

Libby looked around the driver’s shoulders to see who could be so rude, and her blood pooled to her toes.

Chapter 4

Thomas!

Libby rose from her carriage seat, vaguely aware of a warbler’s song in a nearby tree, but painfully conscious of the anger rising from the center of her being. Shaking, she placed a hand on George’s shoulder to steady herself.

Brows arched, the driver gripped the buggy whip. “Want me to send him away?”

“No. Thomas and I need to talk. Please stay here and wait.”

Aunt Flora opened and closed her pink parasol like a frilly bellows. “Oh dear, Libby, I’m not sure your father would want you to converse with that boy.”

Libby stopped Flora’s flapping umbrella. “You’re going to scare the horses. What I have to say will only take a few minutes.”

Thomas rode up beside her, regret darkening his warm brown eyes. “Would you let me explain?” He reached out to help her onto the back of his horse.

She pushed him away and climbed from the carriage. “We can meet by the big oak on the other side of the road.”

Libby stomped toward the tree. How dare he? She never wanted to see him again. At first furious, she was stunned that by the time she crossed the lane, the deep affections of their long friendship had softened her ire. Confused, she tried to sort out just what she was feeling.

Leading his gelding, Thomas joined her. “My father doesn’t know where I am. You’re the one I needed to see first.”

Not slowing, she passed the oak and went a few steps down a faint trail to escape Flora’s watchful eyes. Libby ducked under one branch and held another. She let it go so that it slapped Thomas in the chest.

Images of the gawking guests at her “not-to-happen” wedding whipped her back into a father-sized anger. Talk? Not apologize? How could Thomas be so inconsiderate? Maybe she should have let George lash him with the whip.

He caught her elbow and turned her to face him.

The man was as handsome as ever. She avoided his eyes but, too, late as his gentle kindness plowed through her defenses. After all, she had been ready to marry him. What had he found so lacking in her?

He let go of her. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Believe me.”

This time she glared, hoping to burn holes through him. “Believe you? After you left me alone at the church? I have never been so—”

His lips covered hers, smothering her words.

Startled, surprised, and not too sure how to respond, Libby suddenly remembered her embarrassment at the altar. She pulled away and slapped him. Hard. “You have no right to kiss me. What do you think you’re doing?”

Rubbing his cheek, Thomas shrugged. “I had to know the truth.”

“What? That I am a woman you can assault but not marry?”

“No.” His eyes caressed her. “You don’t love me, do you?” His voice cracked.

Libby opened her mouth to give a quick retort, but there was none. He was right. She didn’t love him. Not as a wife should love her husband. There’d never been that spark. The fire that she believed would accompany the love she’d have for the man in her dreams. She turned away and leaned against the rough bark.

Thomas grasped her shoulder. “Your mother and my father pushed this wedding from the start. I only agreed because I was led to believe, and hoped, you really loved me.”

Libby faced him and gave him a weak smile. “Sorry for letting that branch hit you. Not sorry for the slap. I will always love you as a friend. Mother had me convinced she was deathly ill. Now I find out, it was so your father would give Thousand Oaks to us as a wedding present. Sometimes I think she loves that farm more than me or father.”