Liberty Belle (4 page)

Thomas gave her a sad smile. “Seems we’re both victims of well-meaning parents.”

How she wished that she did love him. A catch for any woman, he was tall, with sandy-colored hair, and possessed the kindest disposition.

She touched his face. “I need to discover what I want for myself.”

He fingered one of her stray curls and then ever so gently placed it behind her ear. “Perhaps in time, you’ll come to find that you want me. I’ve always loved you, but I won’t settle for an arranged marriage. I want a woman who desires me as much as I her.”

His touch sent tingly chills up and down her spine. Libby pulled away from him, away from the depth and draw of his emotions, away from temptation. She turned toward the tree to blot his pleading eyes from her sight. If she were to choose, she could have him as her husband this minute.

Searching her heart, she tried to find the love but failed. For an instant, the image of the tall sheriff from the wedding aftermath flashed in her mind, taking her breath.

Thomas had never taken her breath. A yellow butterfly flitted around her.
Yellow.
No longer would she be content to take what others thought best for her. She wanted the sparks.

She looked Thomas in the eye. “Yesterday, you left me. Today, it’s my turn. I’m going into town. I have some changes to make.”

He stepped back. “You’re brave to be facing people. I haven’t decided how to stand up to my father. Toyed with the idea of joining the militia.”

“The militia? You don’t believe any of that war talk?”

“I think it’s a ways off.” He attempted a grin. “Don’t worry, not anything that will happen soon. I’ll be practicing law in Atlanta in case you need me or change your mind.”

“Libby?” Aunt Flora’s voice floated through the brush.

With a sigh, Libby walked toward the road. She stopped and turned. “Southern Star is still mine, isn’t she?”

Thomas came to her side and kissed her forehead. “The mare is yours. Don’t forget me?”

“I will never forget you.” She smiled at him then strode toward the carriage, leaving him standing alone.

A weight lifted from her. Thomas hadn’t really rejected her. He was too good, too honest. A twinge of regret stabbed her. He had been truthful while she had not. He’d known that she didn’t really love him. Why had she been so willing to marry without love? She couldn’t blame everything on Mother.

George helped her into the buggy. She settled beside her aunt and waved at Thomas. He returned the gesture and pressed his horse into a canter.

“Oh my. That does look promising. Should I get the wedding dress cleaned?”

Libby hugged her aunt. “Thomas and I are parting as friends.”

“Oh. I see.” Flora spun the parasol in her hands.

Opening her own umbrella, Libby laughed and continued to enjoy her aunt’s company. After all, at the ripe old age of twenty, it was about time Liberty Auraria Longstreet discovered who she really was and declared her independence. She loved her parents, but she was the one responsible for living her life.

Too quickly, the carriage turned onto Main Street. Relying on her Longstreet courage, she stepped onto the boardwalk. Was it her imagination or did the town do a unified gasp? Nevertheless, she was grateful for Aunt Flora who walked beside her, head up, and parasol twirling.

The woman was only ten years her senior but acted as if she were Mother’s age. Small-boned, thin lipped, and with round glasses perched on her nose, Aunt Flora reminded Libby most of a timid mouse.

At the door to the hotel, Mr. Garvey emerged and promptly grimaced. “I am sorry for you, Miss Longstreet.”

Even though the man sounded sincerely pained on her behalf, his pity only made Libby want to disappear.

Aunt Flora sidled between them. “Oh my. Why that is most kind, Mr. Garvey, but my niece has no need for your pity. Save it for your own house.” She smiled and turned. “Libby, dear, let’s go and sew those blue curtains.”

Shocked, Libby eyed her aunt who was now walking toward Hattie’s Sew and Sew. After hurrying to catch her, she tugged on Aunt Flora’s arm. “How did you know I wanted blue curtains?”

Flora gave a slight smile. “Oh, I’ve spent most of my life unnoticed by others, but I assure you, I notice everything.” With that said, Aunt Flora pulled open the door.

Facing the decisive moment, Libby felt beads of sweat trickle down her back. The town gossips inhabited Hattie’s. Holding her breath, she entered the store.

The place hummed with the patrons deep in conversation. Until they apparently noticed her and all talk ceased. Replaced by a unified intake of air.

Libby gulped. The Pastor’s wife was repairing her husband’s black robe. Embarrassment almost had Libby in retreat when Hattie rose and offered them chairs.

With a face full of false compassion, Hattie looked her straight in the eye. “You dears, please sit down. What kind of sewing are you going to do today?”

Libby sat and locked her gaze with Hattie’s.

Aunt Flora gave Libby a wink. “Oh, we’re looking into blue curtains for a bedroom.”

Mrs. Peaveehouse, the queen of gossip in Crimson, clucked. “Sad about the wedding. Your poor mother must be heartbroken. By the way, how is she feeling?”

A unified gasp from around the large oval sewing table stole the air from the room.

Libby hoped her cheeks weren’t red as Georgia clay, but decided it was time for some more of that Longstreet courage to surface. She sat straight and faced the woman. “Let’s see. I think the last time you visited our home was, what, last week. No, more like last year. In fact, you have never been to our home or asked about my mother—”

Aunt Flora tapped Libby’s hand. “Oh dear. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt. I am sorry, Mrs. Peaveehouse, Libby is only interested in getting the material for her curtains. I will tell Mrs. Longstreet, you asked about her health. I’m sure she’ll have something to say about that.”

Hattie clapped her hands. “Ladies, let’s concentrate on our sewing. Libby, I have a beautiful blue fabric perfect for your curtains.”

Libby grinned. Why had she never seen this side of Aunt Flora before? Hattie brought over the material and the color was exactly what Libby had pictured. After a few moments of awkward silence, the room soon changed to the normal chatter of women and talk of those not present.

After cringing from the third sharp prick of a needle, Libby licked her wound and wished she’d never taken up sewing. Squeezing her stabbed finger, she rose and walked to the window. Everything appeared so different, almost as if she’d been sleeping and suddenly awakened to see a more vibrant side of life.

A boy hawking papers on the corner caught her attention. She suddenly felt the need to see what events might be taking place outside Crimson. Never before intrigued by what happened beyond her small town, she pondered the surprising notion. Determined to engage in a world larger than her room, she reached for her reticule and dug out a coin. “Aunt Flora, I’ll be back. I’m going to buy a newspaper.”

More gasps rose around the table. The custom of refined ladies was to let the men read the news and decide what might be beneficial for them. Women preferred the verbal and more interesting form of news, gossip.

Libby grinned and walked out the door. She pushed her way between two well-dressed men, ignored their sarcastic snickers and ogling eyes, and approached the corner.

“Boy? I want to buy a paper.”

Not more than ten, the child eyed her skeptically, but when she held out the coin, he shrugged and made the exchange.

Seemed even boys had their opinions about women. Libby sat on a bench outside Hattie’s to read the news. Businessmen grumbled as they walked by. Ignoring their rudeness, she tore open the newspaper. She was no longer content to fill her life with sewing, sketching, and the pursuit of a marriage, the latter having failed so badly. She had a life to live, and it wouldn’t be hidden in a house no matter how comfortable.

She relished the feel of the paper in her fingers and the crisp sound it made as she shuffled through the pages. An article buried in the middle told of a new bride, a Julia Holmes, and how she became the first civilized woman to climb Pike’s Peak in the Rocky Mountains. A newlywed, she’d climbed it with her husband.

Libby clutched the paper to her chest and closed her eyes.
How romantic. I am sure she felt the spark when she met her husband.
Reading on, she giggled when the story told how the woman raised eyebrows and caused quite a stir because she wore bloomers.

Libby closed the paper and hoped she wasn’t blushing.
Bloomers
. She’d heard of them but wasn’t quite sure what it would feel like to wear them. The women in Hattie’s frowned with disapproval whenever they were mentioned.

Pike’s Peak was in far western Kansas territory. Her cousin in Auraria, Georgia, told her of a group of men who traveled there to hunt for gold. Even then, tales of mountains covered in snow during the summer months had piqued her curiosity.

Mother loved her home in Georgia and would have never left if Father hadn’t been forced to sell. In contrast, Libby recalled the move to Missouri as an adventurous time. She wouldn’t mind going west to see the mountains.

She turned the paper over and read the full back page.
Stagecoach leaves Leavenworth, Kansas for Denver City and the Pike’s Peak gold fields
.

Her heart danced. She’d never wanted anything more. Independence? What better way than to leave for a faraway land. She would be free to do what she wanted, and Mother would not be able to interfere.

Studying the paper further revealed an ad for a schoolteacher in Auraria, a city next to Denver. The very city her cousin had mentioned. Libby lowered the paper to her lap, her excitement overflowing. She could teach. One good thing Mother had done was to see that she’d had proper instruction. That the city shared her middle name had to be Providence.

With shaking hands, she looked for the stage schedule. If she left Crimson tomorrow, she could be in Leavenworth in time to take the coach west. She had some money, and then there was her dowry and the mare.

She grinned as she wrapped a strand of hair around a finger. She and Father had talked of raising fine horses. With Southern Star, she could start a ranch. The possibilities were endless. Teach school, climb a mountain … find out what it felt like to wear bloomers.

Chapter 5

On the ride home from town, Libby could barely contain her excitement, although she did manage to keep her plans from Flora. Finally, the carriage turned into the drive and stopped in front of the house.

Libby bounded from the buggy, ran up the stairs, and opened the door. She walked down the hall and had to wipe her clammy palms twice before reaching the parlor. At the entrance to the sitting room, she stood silently and waited for her courage to catch up.

She stared at a scene she had witnessed almost every day as if this were the last time. Could she walk away? Did she have the strength to discover her future? The ad weighed heavy in her hand, urging her to begin a new life. If she didn’t break away now, she never would.

She crossed the threshold of the parlor and cleared her throat. Her father puffed on his pipe, sending blue-gray rings into the air while her mother busily worked on a quilt. The thick sweet aroma of her father’s tobacco pulled her forward. The sun winked from the west window, signaling dinner would be called shortly. Heart hammering, she gripped the advertisement from the newspaper.

Father looked up and squinted with warmth. “There’s my lovely daughter. How was your visit in town?”

Mother glanced up, her face softening with a compassion she seldom showed. Then as if catching herself, she held up a yellow square. “I wish you would have waited at least a week before showing yourself.”

“I’m glad, I did go. Aunt Flora helped me immensely.” Libby squeezed the crumpled paper and knelt beside her father. “I had a revelation. A direction for my life.”

Father pulled out his pipe and stared at her. “A revelation? Sounds important.”

“I’m going to Auraria.” She left out the part about it being in the west, thinking it might be easier if they believed she was traveling to Georgia where they had family.

Her father’s brows drew together. Mother put her sewing down. Before they could stop her, Libby pulled out the ad. “I found an advertisement in the paper. They need a schoolteacher. I can do that. I have money for the trip and enough to set myself up until school starts.”

Her mother’s face hardened. “That will not be a possibility. You’re not qualified to teach, and I’ll not allow you to go traipsing off by yourself. You belong here where you’ll be safe. I know what an embarrassment it must have been to be left at the altar, but that is no reason to run. Your impulsive nature is a gateway to trouble.”

Libby placed a hand on her father’s arm and stood. “I’m not running away. Going to town today should be proof of that. I’m running
to
something. To a future and adventure. My mind is made up.”

Her mother stood. “You are not leaving.” She pointed at Father. “Tell her, James.”

“Honey, your mother’s right. We can’t let you—”

“I’m going with or without your blessing. This is my life. I am going.” Tears threatened the resolve of her words as she stepped away from them.

Arms out for a hug, Mother rose and walked toward her. “Now, now, you don’t want to do anything rash. Mr. Garvey promised to talk with Thomas. The marriage may yet take place.”

Libby twisted from her mother’s hold. “I don’t want to marry Thomas. I don’t love him.”

Hands on her hips, Mother stared at her with her angry-eagle gaze. “Sometimes a lady has to do what a lady has to do. The love will come later. Now go to your room and get ready for dinner. You’ll feel differently in the morning. If not, perhaps we can arrange a marriage with Thomas’ elder brother. John is getting older, and I know his parents must be desperate for him to find a wife.” Mother raised her brow, turned, and strode confidently to her chair.

A pleading glance at Father offered Libby little hope of any aid as he’d already returned to his pipe, puffing as if he wished the smoke would hide his presence.