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Liberty Belle

By Patricia PacJac Carroll

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Chapter 1


Crimson, Missouri
1859

I can do this. I will. I have to. Liberty Auraria Longstreet stared into the gold-framed mirror hanging in the tiny church dressing room. She hoped to come up with an answer, a secret way to escape her fate. Instead, her image told the facts. She was to be married. Today. To Thomas Garvey. And all because Mother lay so near death that her weakened condition prevented even her attendance at the wedding.
Libby’s groaning sigh stirred the air in the claustrophobic enclosure. Why did Mother’s dying heart have to sentence hers to a life with a man she didn’t love? Libby pulled the lace hanky from her sleeve, fingered the intricately initialed E, and wiped a tear from her cheek.
With eyes squeezed shut, she searched her mind for the man in her dreams—the one she’d imagined on countless long nights. The one she’d dreamed of under sun-filled skies in the garden. The one she desired to come find her, speak life into her heart, and whisk her away to a life of adventure.
She sighed again. He only existed in her dreams. Her hopes had been replaced by Mother’s pale face and gasping desire to know her only child would marry into a prominent family.
Libby reined in her grief and spoke to the mirror. “Any dutiful daughter would grant her mother’s dying request. After all, I am twenty and don’t want to end up a spinster like poor Aunt Flora. I’ll go back to Georgia with Thomas, live at Thousand Oaks, and resume the southern belle existence Mother always wanted for me. Parties, balls, a grand life.”
The tightly pulled corset, a necessity in order to fit into Mother’s wedding gown, squeezed her lungs and cut her breaths into mere puffs.
A sharp rap on the door startled her.
“Libby, honey, the ceremony is about to start.”
Father’s voice, although not gruff, warned he’d no longer be kept waiting. She straightened her shoulders, twisted the key in the lock, and left her temporary hiding place.
He moved to her side and held out his arm. “You’re as beautiful as your mother was on our wedding day. Nervous?”
Nervous. More like trapped. The knot in her stomach rose and formed a noose around her heart. Swallowing hard, she looked up at him and had to choke back her own tears when she noticed the uncharacteristic moisture under his eyes. She patted his forearm to reassure him while longing for some assurance of her own.
“I’m ready.” She winced at the squeak in her voice.
The organ whined out a song that sounded as miserable as she felt. She stood by her father and waited. And waited. The music played on but not the agreed upon wedding march. After several stanzas, the anthem changed to the organist’s favorite hymn, “Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken.”
Libby almost choked at the selection but she couldn’t have chosen a better title to match her mood. A few people on the other side of the doors sang the familiar song. Murmurs soon drowned them out.
Father cleared his throat and pressed his clammy hand to hers.
She just wanted the ordeal to be over.
The afternoon sun peeked through the stained glass window and showered her in a rainbow of colors. Hope fluttered in her heart. Maybe this marriage would work. Maybe she would learn to love Thomas. Maybe—
The doors to the sanctuary creaked open and Aunt Flora eased her thin frame through the opening. With face flushed and eyes bugged large and round behind her spectacles, she tiptoed toward them.
Libby tightened her grip on Father’s arm. Had something happened to Mother?
Her aunt flashed her fan, creating a breeze that rivaled a hurricane. With a conspiratorial glance, she stepped closer to them and whispered, “Oh dear, me. I hate to tell it. The groom has gone missing.”
Jaw muscle twitching, Father balled his free hand into a fist. “Missing!”
The air whooshed from Libby’s lungs. Missing? Heat flooded her face. She tried to breathe, but the confining corset refused to budge.
“Oh my, Thomas’ sister said he gave her a note. Mr. Garvey is questioning his other sons about the boy’s whereabouts. The man is frightfully angry. I’ll tend to Libby if you want to have a little talk with him.”
Thomas is missing? Libby’s mind whirled as relief tangled with remorse.
Father snorted. “I’ll talk to him all right. Talk to him with my knuckles.” With war in his eyes he placed her hand in Aunt Flora’s. He rolled his broad shoulders, threw open the doors, and stomped down the aisle, bellowing like an enraged bull.
Libby peered inside the church and lost what little breath she had left as a hundred sympathetic eyes stared her way. She needed to breathe but her ribs couldn’t move. Panting like their old hound on a hot day, her mind suddenly floundered until a roaring sound crashed over—
“Oh, Libby? Can you hear me?”
After struggling to blink, Libby managed to open her eyes and became all too aware that she’d fallen to the wooden floor. Standing above her, Aunt Flora nervously peered down at her.
“How … please tell me I didn’t faint.”
“Oh dear, me. I would. Except that, well, you did.”
Could the day get any worse? Libby struggled to sit and regain her senses. Riotous crashes and shouts boomed from the sanctuary.
“You take that back or I’ll wallop you.”
Libby’s hands flew to her face. Father.
“Mr. Longstreet, your wife’s daddy always said you were common, and your temper proves him right. Just glad Eleanor is not here to see you act in such a manner.”
Mr. Garvey. Her heart sank.
“My manner? Your son leaves my daughter at the altar and you call us common? Then again, maybe Libby’s the lucky one, spared the embarrassment of being yoked to your irresponsible, limp-brained son.”
Father!
More yells and clatter followed. Women and children streamed out of the church, pausing only the briefest moment to gawk at her. With Aunt Flora’s help, Libby scrambled to her feet in time to step aside so as not to be trampled. Putting a gloved hand to her forehead, she prayed she was in someone else’s bad dream but more of Father’s angry shouts inside the sanctuary proved it was her nightmare. Embarrassment rose all the way up her neck, and she was sure, leaked crimson onto her face. Father has started a brawl in church.
Nose bleeding, Thomas’ uncle burst through the doors, stopped, and glared at her. “Your father’s crazy. I am sorry, Miss, but no man from a respectable family’s going to marry you now.” He plastered his bloodstained handkerchief back onto his face and rushed to catch up with his wife.
Aunt Flora patted her shoulder as if comforting an abandoned puppy. “Oh dear, me. Now don’t you pay him any mind. I’m sure plenty of young men will want to ask for your hand.”
Libby stared into the sanctuary. “I’ve got to stop Father before he hurts someone else.” She shoved through the throng and made her way toward the front. A tug from behind stopped her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw two small boys pulling the large bow of her dress.
Aunt Flora shooed the children away. The boys left but their fingerprints remained. Libby cringed as she could now add the destruction of Mother’s beautiful satin gown to the day.
A loud whack captured her attention. Two men held her father while another held onto Mr. Garvey. The front pew on the bride’s side was overturned. Pastor Dobbs’ lectern rested crazily against the back wall and the old pastor, with his white mane askew, held up the Bible, hollering in his loudest fire-and-brimstone voice for the men to stop.
Eyes wild and shirt torn, her father fought with his captors. “If I see that no-good son of yours, I’ll thrash him. You hear me, Amos?”
Mr. Garvey’s bald head glistened as he wrestled to free himself from his oldest son’s grip. One arm broke free and he jabbed a finger at her father. “I hope he’s far from here. It pains me to think of Thomas related to you in any way. As for Libby, keep her—”
Hot anger overtook her desire to become invisible. “Mr. Garvey!”
She yanked off her veil and marched between the men. She faced Thomas’ father and glared at him through a curtain of fallen curls. “I assure you, I have no intention of ever stepping foot in your house or Georgia again. If you see Thomas, be sure to tell him that I do not want to marry him.”
She pushed the unruly strand from her face, thrust her chin high, and strode to her father. “I believe Mother will be anxiously awaiting us.”
The brutes released her father. With a growl toward Mr. Garvey, Father grabbed her arm and headed for the side entrance, pulling so hard she tripped. After a frantic grab, she caught hold of Pastor Dobb’s black robe, righted herself, and winced at the sound of ripping fabric.
Father didn’t slow. Charging forward he roared, scaring away anyone in their path. Held fast in his grip, Libby staggered blindly behind. Burning tears escaped despite her valiant attempt to keep them corralled. She hadn’t really wanted to marry Thomas, but to be left at the altar?
Aunt Flora caught up to her, pulled the remnant of the pastor’s robe from her free hand, and traded it for a hanky. Grateful, Libby mopped her face and smothered a sob. Thomas could have at least warned her. Although her heart wasn’t broken, her pride was shattered. And then there was Mother to consider.
Finally outside, Father released her. “I’ll get the carriage.” And he was off, parting the crowd as if he were Moses at the Red Sea.
Libby squinted in the bright sunlight and staggered to the shade of the large elm in the churchyard. Now able to see, she could only stare in shock at the wedding guests who murmured and pointed fingers her way.
Humiliation drove her from the church to the boardwalk. Reeling from the madness, she hurriedly climbed the steps to the raised platform. Tears blurred her vision. Glancing back to see if Flora was following, her toe caught on a warped board. Tottering, she pitched forward and bounced off the good-sized matron, Mrs. Filbert.
The woman shouted, swung around, and inadvertently shoved Libby toward the edge of the walk. Libby reached for the post to catch her balance, missed the wooden pole, and fell backward off the high boardwalk. Flailing, she grasped air.
Strong hands grabbed her around the waist and kept her from spilling onto the dirt or worse. Her rescuer released her as soon as she secured her footing. Whirling to face him, she stared but saw only sun. Libby shielded her tear-soaked eyes.
Through a blur, she caught sight of a tall figure. She blinked. His image cleared and revealed a handsome, rugged face framed by wisps of dark hair curling from under a gray, sweat-ringed hat. Then her breath caught as she stared into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
A wry grin added likeability to his good looks. He nodded and stepped aside. “Careful, miss. That’s a high boardwalk. Good thing I was there for you.” His deep voice scattered her thoughts.
“Thank you.” She gave a slight curtsy, surprised as a flickering lightness tumbled with her wedding disappointment.
He put a finger to his hat and nodded.
Flora slipped a gloved hand under Libby’s arm and mumbled something about people watching and they should go.
Intrigued by the stranger, Libby resisted her aunt’s urging. A badge on the man’s chest held her interest. She hadn’t heard of any new lawman. Before she could ask his name, her rescuer stepped away, grabbed the reins to a dusty bay, and swung into the saddle. He rode a few feet, paused, and turned to face her.
Sunlight glinted off his badge and the gun at his side, but it was the attentive look in his sky-colored eyes that took her breath. Their gazes locked. The sounds around her subsided.
A buckboard piled high with goods stopped between them, blocking her view.
Libby stood on tiptoe searching for him, hoping he hadn’t ridden away. The wagon finally moved and she sighed with relief. He was still there, and then her heart tripped. He was no longer looking at her but scowling at a telegram in his hand. Had she only imagined their silent bond?
His horse pawed at the ground and sidestepped toward the crowd. With a jerk, he reined the animal in a tight circle and came to a halt in front of her. His scowl vanished as he stared at her with a longing that she understood only too well.
Libby’s heart stirred. A spark she’d never felt before ignited. Vaguely aware others were watching and talking in a low buzz, she edged toward him. She wanted to meet this man. Had to meet him.
Muttering, Mr. Garvey stomped in front of her, shooting her an expression of pity topped by annoyance. By the time Thomas’ father was gone, the lawman’s attention was again on the paper. This time anger lit his eyes. With a scowl, he tore the badge from his chest and threw it to the ground. Without looking back at her, he spun his horse and rode away at a gallop.
Her connection with the man snapped like a dry twig. Strangely unsettled, she watched him disappear into the dust and afternoon sunlight. Aunt Flora fussed over her, but Libby didn’t move until the squeaky wheels of their buggy signaled her father’s arrival.
“Let’s go.” Father’s brusque voice jarred her back to being the jilted bride.
She stepped toward the carriage but stopped and picked up the tin emblem. Why would a lawman give up his badge?
Aunt Flora touched her arm and peered at her with an empathetic gaze. “Shall we see to your mother?”
Mother. Libby clutched her own chest. How would Mother’s heart react to the disappointment?
Her father drove without speaking to her, only barking at the matched pair of bay coach horses to keep them moving. He didn’t even look at her. Aunt Flora, fanning as if her life depended on it, engaged in a steady barrage of whispered questions that she then herself answered.
Libby fingered the stranger’s badge. His image stayed, burned into her mind, shockingly taking the place of the unknown man in her dreams.
With a start, she returned her focus to the day’s nightmare. Sadness crept over her. Her mother’s dream had been denied. Wiping a tear, Libby tried not to think about the disappointment. She just hoped her bed-ridden mother’s weakened heart could handle the news.
The horses’ steady clip slowed to a clop. Heart dropping, Libby gripped the seat as the buggy turned into the long, tree-lined drive of her home. Heaviness pressed onto her shoulders. Instead of marrying into a prestigious family, she’d live a life of oh dears and frantic fanning.
Father gave her a curious inspection that soon slipped to pity.
Libby was tempted to feel piteous when the door to the house opened.
Mother?
She grasped her father’s arm. “Mother is standing on the porch? Do you think there’s been a miracle?”
He groaned and muttered under his breath.
Flora’s fan stopped. “Oh dear. Oh my.”
The shock on her mother’s face caused Libby to exhale. She needed to breathe in but her corset held her ribs tight, and once again, her ears filled with that roaring sound.
Mother collapsed onto the swing.
With her last bit of air, Libby gasped, “I’ve killed Mother.”

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