Carla Kelly (34 page)

“What?” he asked, aiming for that frosty tone that used to make her jump.

“Mama tells me that my former fiance is engaged again.”

“That boy didn't let any grass grow under his feet,” Mr. Otto said. “I suppose there are enough ladies here and there in Salt Lake to present opportunity. We're short on opportunity in this state, if you hadn't already noticed.”

“Don't remind me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Here's the droll part: Mama says his new fiancee is wearing the very ring—setting and all—that I gave back.” She looked Mr. Otto square in the eyes. “Would you do that, or would you take a returned ring back to the jewelers and at least get a different setting?”

“Me?” His face flushed again. “The matter never came up.”

Julia sighed. “Mr. Otto, I'm sorry! I shouldn't be reminding you of, well … you know.”

“I know, and don't fret,” he told her, a half smile on his face. “Doesn't hurt to talk about it. My former wife only got a wedding ring from me. Come to think of it, I never got it back.” He shrugged. “Water under the bridge, Darling.” He hesitated. “Would you … did you insist on an engagement ring?”

“No, I never did. Ezra just showed up with a ring one day, after we'd agreed to marry. I didn't even have the fun of picking out my own.”

“That bothered you?”

She nodded, hoping she didn't sound silly and wistful; she was talking to Mr. Otto, after all. “I guess I just wanted a choice. That's not a lot to ask.”

“Nope,” he replied and tipped his Stetson down again. “Any regrets?” he asked from under the brim when she thought he was asleep again.

“Not one,” she said softly.

He tipped up the hat and gave her a long look, and then put it down again. Julia smiled to herself as he started to snore gently after a few minutes.

The Gillespies had received Mr. Otto's telegram only an hour or two before they showed up on the family doorstep, but Sister Gillespie's welcoming smile was heartfelt. She pulled Julia inside the house while her husband shook Mr. Otto's hand and ushered him in with a little more dignity.

Julia couldn't help but notice how even the Gillespies gave her employer that same formal deference that she had noticed from other people.
I will have to ask Sister Gillespie what it is about Mr. Otto that seems to inspire what looks suspiciously like awe,
she thought as the superintendent's wife sat her down and handed her valise to one of several children nearby with orders to take it upstairs.

“After Mr. Otto contacted my husband, we were hoping you'd be able to come,” Sister Gillespie said as she took her baby from an older daughter. “It's not easy to make church meetings in Wyoming, we've discovered.” She shrugged. “Brother Gillespie just tells his far-flung congregation to do the best they can. The nearest branch west from here is Lara-mie or Fort Collins, if you're going south to Colorado. And Denver, of course.”

Brother Gillespie and Mr. Otto remained in the vestibule, talking. Gillespie gestured into the parlor, but Mr. Otto just shook his head. He did step in a few minutes later to tell Julia he'd be back tomorrow morning to escort her to church.

“You're welcome to stay with us, Mr. Otto,” Sister Gillespie said.

“That's been the subject of my remarks too,” Brother Gillespie added. “Mr. Otto says a hotel will suit him fine. I don't think he wants an argument.”

I can assure you he doesn't,
Julia thought, amused. She stood up and went to the vestibule. “You're coming to church, though?” she asked, trying to strike a balance between the eagerness she felt and the proprieties of urging the man who paid her salary.

“Said I would. Mr. Gillespie said he'd pick me up at the hotel at 8:00 a.m. so I could help him sweep out the Odd Fellows Hall first. That'll be a new experience, looking at the hall from the perspective of Sunday, rather than Saturday night.” He tipped his hat to Sister Gillespie. “See you tomorrow, ma'am. Darling, you might prevail on the Gillespies to turn you loose in the kitchen.”

“Good heavens, he calls you Darling?” Sister Gillespie asked after he left.

Julia felt her face turn rosy. “Darling is my cross to bear.”

“He calls everyone by their last name,” Brother Gillespie said to his wife after he closed the front door. He had a smile on his face as he sat down across from Julia. “Except for me, apparently. Imagine. Mr. Otto, the very Mr. Otto, called me
Brother
Gillespie! I would tell someone, but I'm sure they wouldn't believe me!”

Sister Gillespie gasped and hugged her baby to her breast, earning a squeal from the little one. “That's
the
Mr. Otto?” she asked. “Your
employer?”

“Well, yes,” Julia said, confused. She looked from one Gillespie to the other. “Does everyone in Wyoming know everyone else?”

“Just about,” Brother Gillespie said. “His father was one of the first ranchers in the territory. The first Mr. Otto had an Indian wife, apparently, and they kept to themselves. And there were rumors of the current Mr. Otto wounding a man, or maybe killing him, who took too great an interest in his wife.” His expression turned dubious. “Sister Darling, do you feel
safe
at the Double Tipi?”

“Completely,” Julia assured them, aware that Brother Gillespie had no more idea about who was the Indian in the Otto family than most of Wyoming, apparently. “I fear stories about Mr. Otto have been greatly exaggerated. He's a good employer and a fair one.” She had to laugh. “At least, as long as I fry steaks and cook flapjacks and avoid most of what I was taught at cookery school!”

Brother Gillespie beamed at Julia. “You've probably had to learn how to make coffee.”

“I have,” she replied, laughing. “I hear it's good!”

Julia spent most of the evening in the kitchen, visiting with Sister Gillespie and furnishing cooking tips. She was glad she had brought along an extra set of measuring spoons as a gift, touched that the lawyer's wife would be so appreciative.

“Do you really use them?” the woman asked, fingering the little tin spoons.

“All the time,” Julia said. “Accurate measures make foolproof food, or so Miss Farmer taught. Of course, recipe books will have to catch up with modern domestic science. Just think how many of your recipes probably call for a measure the size of a hen's egg, or a thimble of this or that.”

“Most of them,” Sister Gillespie said, “and don't forget the ever popular half a handful!”

“You'll want this, too,” Julia said, handing her a piece of cardboard. “Mr. Otto gave me the cardboard from one of his new shirts. I've translated those hen's eggs, thimbles, and handfuls into tablespoons and teaspoons. You can prop this on your kitchen counter.”

“We do live in a modern age,” Sister Gillespie said.

There were enough Gillespie children for Julia to take over bedtime story detail and give Emma Gillespie more time with her older daughter, Amanda, who was preparing a two-and-a-half minute talk for Sunday School. She read short stories to an appreciative audience of two boys, sitting in their bed and both of them leaning against her. She thought of James, and his one tattered book, and how he leaned against her that same way. Remembering, she put her arms around the Gillespie sons and wondered what James would do with more than one book.

Before she finished, Sister Gillespie was sitting at the foot of their bed. Julia told the brothers and their mother about James, who had no last name and had just showed up one awful winter at the Double Tipi.

“We read the same book over and over,” she said. “The last pages are gone, so we make up new endings all the time.” She looked at Sister Gillespie. “And then we sing ‘Sweet Evalina,’ because that's the only song Mr. Otto says he ever learned. I guess he taught it to James and it stuck.”

“Mr. Otto
sings
to a little boy?” Sister Gillespie asked, her eyes wide. “We've heard stories that make that sound impossible. Not that I doubt you,” she added hastily.

“No worries. His reputation must be more fierce than the reality I see every day.” She yearned to tell Sister Gillespie about the one verse of scripture that her employer used to govern his life.
If only you knew him,
she thought.

She had to sing “Sweet Evalina” for the boys, then. One song led to another, ending with “The Handcart Song,” which made her think of Mr. Otto's mother, lost, starving, and cold, wandering in snowdrifts, to be rescued by kindly people who took her in and cherished her as their own. She struggled with tears while the others sang, “As merrily on our way we go, until we reach the valley-o.” The hopeful words became a terrible mockery of the reality that Mary Anne Hixon had faced, a child no older than these children singing in their warm bed. No wonder Mr. Otto took in James, kept him, and never questioned his benevolence. He was only doing what the Shoshone he loved had done.
Are we not all beggars?
Julia thought as she wiped her eyes on the sheet.

“That song has memories for you, Sister Darling,” the boys’ mother said when they finished. “Do you come from handcart stock?”

Julia was scarcely able to speak. “No, but I know some who came that way.”
Or tried to,
she added in her heart.

Sister Gillespie invited Julia to join them downstairs for family prayers, and she joined the family circle, grateful to the bottom of her heart to be in family communication with Heavenly Father again.
Why did I ever take this for granted?
she asked herself, eyes closed, as she listened to each child pray in turn, and then Brother and Sister Gillespie, their arms entwined, pray for each of their children, the missionaries, and the little congregation in Cheyenne and its environs.

Julia took her turn, barely able to talk because of the love she felt for this family she had only met that afternoon but who shared an exquisite bond with her that made them close. She prayed as she always did, for her parents, her brothers in St. George, and Iris and Spencer on their dairy farm. She was too shy to say anything about the expected child, but she surprised herself by asking the Lord to bless Mr. Otto.
He would be so embarrassed if he knew I prayed for him,
Julia thought as she shepherded the boys back upstairs and tucked them in for Sister Gillespie.

She shared a bed with Amanda, who chatted for a few minutes about school and Christmas coming fast. When Amanda slept, warm at her side, Julia listened to Brother and Sister Gillespie walk down the hall to their own room, talking quietly, one of them laughing softly, the other shushing, as the baby went into her crib in their room. And then the door closed.

Lying there, she thought of the little Otto family, so desperate to stay together that they kept themselves a veritable secret from a world they dreaded might separate them.
I want to love like that someday,
she told herself as she closed her eyes.

hen Sunday School began next morning, Julia thought at first how amused her family would be to hear of the Odd Fellows Hall, still smelly with lingering cigar smoke and with spittoons lined up neatly against the wall. By the time the meeting ended, she had no desire to make fun of what she had been part of.