Carla Kelly (28 page)

The wary looks returned; she ignored them. “Tomorrow for breakfast, I'll cook you buckwheat pancakes, with plenty of maple syrup.”

The men nodded, still wary.

“I'm also going to serve you cecils, which you will eat, because that is the deal we made. Remember?”

Doc spoke up finally, amused. “We did, didn't we, boys? Come on now.” He looked at her intently. “What's in a cecil?”

“Your favorite things—beef, only it's minced really small. I roll it in a mix of breadcrumbs, eggs, and flour; then I fry it.”

“Aahh.” It was a collective sigh. “And you can dip them in ketchup,” she concluded, wisely changing the tomato sauce in the recipe without a qualm.

“And if we don't like them?” Willy Bill asked, his expression pugnacious.

“Then I won't serve them again. Mr. Bill, all I ask is that you try everything I cook.” She worked her dimple magic on him. “My mother used to insist that my sister Iris and I at least take two fairy bites.”

Matt Malloy chortled. “Just two fairy bites, Willy Bill!”

“Come now, Mr. Bill, I have to earn a living, same as you,” she coaxed.

“He'll eat them,” Doc said, getting up from the table now. “Willy B, you remind me of a four-year-old.”

“And how many four-year-olds do you know, Doc?” the old German asked.

The others were laughing, but Julia watched Doc's face and sucked in her breath at the pain etched there. There was no mistaking the bleakness.

Does everyone here have a story?
Julia asked herself as she took her time over the dishes. She had never minded doing dishes. There was something soothing about warm water and a task so simple that she could do it blindfolded and still have time to think.

“Need some help?”

Surprised, Julia looked up from her contemplation of greasy bubbles at Doc, who was taking a dishcloth from its hook by the warmth of the Queen Atlantic.

“I can always use help,” she told him.

He dried the plates in silence. “I had a four-year-old,” he said finally. “I saw the look in your eyes.” He reached for another plate.

“I'd … I'd never pry,” she stammered. “It's just that, well, everyone here seems to be a work in progress, as my father would say.”

“Your father would be right.”

Julia started on the tin cups. “How did Mr. Otto come to hire you?”

“I suppose it's not as dramatic as Matt Malloy's story. I wasn't starving and checking out garbage bins in Cheyenne.” He shook his head. “I probably shouldn't even tell you, Julia, because it probably won't reflect well on me or our employer.”

“That bad?”

“Nearly so.” He appraised her. “You're an adult.”

“I'm supposed to be.”

Doc perched himself on the table, one leg dangling. “Hard part first—my only child died of diphtheria when he was four. My wife was certain I could have saved him, if I hadn't been tending other children. I disagree with her, but the point was, I wasn't there.”

Quietly, Julia sat down at the table, the dishes forgotten. “I'm so sorry.”

“She cut me loose, and I ended up in Denver, deep in a bottle. It's not a pretty place.”

Doc sat down, too. “I kept practicing medicine, but it was a shady kind of medicine.” He colored and looked down at the table. “I was the physician of choice in the tenderloin district. I performed a few surgeries I wasn't proud of, but I mostly patched up the girls who got in fights with each other or came up against the wrong side of a … of a client.” He shrugged. “I could work a few days a week and have plenty of time to drink.”

He was silent. Julia asked, “So, how did…?”

“How did Paul Otto find me? He was in town for the Denver stock show. By then, I was working a rougher level of medicine around the sale barns.” He frowned and looked away. “Maybe I shouldn't tell you this.”

“You've already started,” Julia said. “Were you taking care of four-legged patients then?”

“Yeah, I was, and some of the more … uh … some of the coarser women of the profession. They, uh, worked out of the stalls.”

Julia shuddered. “And Mr. Otto?”
I'm not sure I want to know,
she couldn't help thinking.

Her expression must have registered with Doc. He held up his hands. “Oh, no, wait! I think Paul frequented the … um … upscale part of the tenderloin district, you know, around Market Street.” He chuckled. “Oh, my goodness, Jennie Rogers’ and her House of Mirrors, just a short walk from where the state legislature used to meet. Or Mattie Daw's place.”

I shouldn't be surprised,
Julia thought, more amused than disgusted.
After all, Mr. Otto is on a first-name basis with the business girls in Gun Barrel.

Doc smiled and then remembered his audience. “Oh, Julia, I'm a bounder for even mentioning this! Paul had a prize steer that needed some coddling, and I helped him. One thing led to another, and I told him my whole story.” He scratched his head. “I'm not sure how he does it—just a question here and there—but I started talking. He finally asked me if I really liked the life I was leading.” Doc looked at her, his gaze intense. “Julia, in a handful of years, no one had cared enough to ask me that.” He tipped back in the chair to contemplate the ceiling. “He didn't judge me. I thought about his question and decided I didn't much like anything about the life. Then he offered me a job.” Doc set his chair down and looked her in the eyes again. “Right there on the spot. Said he wanted me to keep an eye on his livestock, and maybe patch up a human now and then, if the occasion arose.”

“You said yes?” Julia asked.

“I turned him down flat.”

“But—”

“I'm here, eh? Paul just nodded. He shook my hand, told me to think about it—you know how he is: he doesn't ask, he just tells—then he said the strangest thing.”

I'm not sure anything would surprise me,
Julia thought.

The expression on Doc's face reminded her of Matt Malloy's face when he told her how he came to the Double Tipi: incredulity mixed with something close to humility. “Julia, he looked me in the eye, just like I'm looking at you, and said in the nicest voice, ‘Doctor McKeel, does a boy decide one day, “When I grow up, I'm going to be a physician for fancy women and ailing cattle and make just enough money to drink myself sick?” I don't think so.’ That's what he said.”

Red-faced with the memory, Doc looked at her. “John McKeel. That's my name. I guess he saw it on my black bag. It's the only thing I could never bring myself to pawn.”

“Doc, that's hard,” she whispered.

“It was, but kindly meant. Paul told me he'd be at the depot at six in the morning, if I changed my mind. Then he shook my hand and strolled away.” He interrupted himself. “No. There was one other thing. Something about all of us being beggars. I don't know what he meant.”

Neither did Matt Malloy,
Julia thought, racking her brain again for the quotation. Nothing came to mind. “I guess you saw it his way.”

“Took me all night. I doctored some more cattle, then spent the rest of the night trying to save the life of a young girl—I doubt she was fifteen. I'm sorry, Julia, I shouldn't be telling you this. I held her hand until she died, covered her face, picked up my black bag, and walked to the depot. I didn't even go back to my rooming house. Nothing there I wanted. I always carried my son's photograph in my bag.”

Julia closed her eyes. When she opened them, Doc had a handkerchief for her. She wiped her eyes. “You were living a harsh life, Doc,” she said.

“Not now,” he replied softly. “You know what's funny? I don't think Paul was surprised to see me at the depot. He's a man of firm convictions.” He regarded her. “Why are you here, Julia? I mean, are you the only winner Paul ever picked?”

“Not if we can believe everyone's reaction to my roast beef in an oyster blanket! Or maybe it was the warm liver salad.” Funny, it felt good to laugh about her disasters now.

“The liver, Julia. Trust me on that one.”

Her smile faded as she thought of Ezra Quayle. “I gave back an engagement ring to an excellent man that everyone considered the perfect husband for me.”

“Oof.”

“I just didn't love him. I could have tried, but it seems to me that if you have to try, then it isn't a very good idea.”

“And nobody understood.”

She considered Doc's comment. “My mother did. My father came around to the idea when he saw how Mama felt. He trusts her judgment.” She looked at the man shyly. “I think that's what I want to find: someone who trusts my judgment.”

Doc laughed and stood up. “And you think you'll find someone at the Double Tipi?”

She laughed too. “No! I'm calling this my retrenching year.”

I do need to retrench,
she thought, after Doc left.
There's no one here to help me, and no one who believes what I believe. Maybe it's time I figured out just what it is I do believe.

Mr. Otto's Indian relatives left after the noon meal, setting off at a brisk pace. No wonder; the air turned colder and the wind was louder than usual in the cottonwoods. She looked up. A flock of geese honked overhead, flying in a V formation. She watched them as they seemed to take autumn along for the ride. The wind picked up all afternoon. By sup-pertime, everyone seemed happy to troop indoors and warm up by the Queen Atlantic.

Doc came to her, rubbing his hands. “You need to know there's another mouth to feed.”

“Who might that be?”

“An old Indian,” Matt said. “He lives in the extra tack room by the stable.”

She blinked. “Does Mr. Otto know about him?”

“Sure he does. The old boy shows up like clockwork,” Doc said. “He likes lots of sugar in his coffee. Maybe that's why he doesn't have many teeth.”

Julia shooed the men away from the Queen Atlantic so she could open the oven door. She smiled to herself at the great exhalation all around her.

“Boston baked beans, gentlemen.”

They sat down to eat. After two bites, Doc nodded. “Superior.” He reached for the bread. “There's one thing else you should know about the Indian. It always snows the day after he shows up. Winter's here, Julia.”

oc was right, or maybe the Indian was. Snow covered the ground the next morning. “Well, what do you know?” Julia murmured as she knelt on her bed and peered out of the little window.