Carla Kelly (45 page)

“I think in a month or two. Mama, you'll have to start right away, even if it's hard.”

The front door opened. Papa was talking to Mr. Otto. After looking in the parlor and blowing a kiss to Mama, he took their guest upstairs to show him his room. At the top of the landing, Papa leaned over the banister.

“Julia, I have a supper request. Welsh rarebit.”

They listened to the men continue upstairs. Mama nodded. “I've never been able to cook that as well as you do.” She took Julia's arm. “You know, I bought a lot of diaper flannel. I could get some of the Relief Society sisters to help me sew.”

“Mama, that would be so kind. The Rudigers have nothing.”

“It's time that ended,” Mama said, sounding more like the woman who had marched Julia to ZCMI last fall to buy long underwear and aprons for Wyoming. “I probably have enough scraps to outfit a baby. And didn't you say there was another child? A little girl?”

“I did.”

Mama tugged her arm. “Don't just sit there! Papa wants Welsh rarebit, and I have to find that flannel. Can you recall the little girl's dimensions too? Isn't her name Danila? I have patterns. Lots of them.”

elsh rarebit, everyone? Mr. Otto, this one will ruin you forever for boring old fried steak.”

“I doubt it, but go ahead.”

A half-hour later, he cried uncle after four helpings.

“What? Only four?” Julia teased. “Do you think your little sweethearts at the Double Tipi would scorn this?”

“I hope they do, then I can eat it all, Miss Darling,” he said. “I need a nap now.”

“Nothing doing! You need to think of as many variations of your mother's name as you can,” Papa said, putting aside the empty plates.

“Her name was Mary Anne.”

“Two words, or Marian?” Papa asked.

Mr. Otto thought a moment. “I'm not sure. And her last name, as near as we could figure out, was Hixon.”

“Could it have been Dixon? Hickham? Hickman?”

“Possibly.” Mr. Otto frowned. “I'm not much help.”

“It won't be as hard as you think,” Papa said. “Church offices are closed this week between Christmas and New Year's, but when they're open, I'll ask the Church historian to help me. We're friends. I do know this: the Willie and Martin handcart companies were caught in the snows not too far from present-day Casper.”

“That's the outer edge for the Shoshone range, but it would have been a bad winter for them too.” Mr. Otto said. “They'd have been searching for food.” He looked at Julia. “And they found my mother instead. Another mouth to feed.”

“It's simple,” Mama said. “They came to love her.”

Mr. Otto nodded. “And she them, I know.” He leaned back in his chair. “It's not so hard to imagine. She was a little girl and helpless. You get to know people, and you love them.” He set his chair down, hastily, his face ruddy again. “I mean, I'm sure that's what happened. They didn't want to lose her, so they stayed away from whites.” He looked at Julia. “That's what we did, at the Double Tipi, as long as she was alive.”

The story seemed too big for him to discuss sitting down. He stood up and walked back and forth, stopping by the Majestic, warming his hands over the hot water reservoir.

“Did she ever mention the Book of Mormon?” Papa asked.

“Not to me. Her family—her Indian family, understand—found scraps of paper in her shoes. Someone in her other family must have put them there to keep the cold out,” Mr. Otto said. “Talk about harsh times. It wasn't until later that she realized the scraps had scriptures on them.”

They were all silent. Mr. Otto looked away and ran his fingers across his eyes. “She was a good mother, Darling,” he said, his eyes on Julia. “The best.”

“I don't doubt that for a minute,” Mama said quietly. “She raised a fine son.”

“I wish I were as fine as you think I am,” he said, his voice unsure. “Good night all.” He turned and left the kitchen.

Papa spoke first, after they heard Mr. Otto's steps on the stairs. “Deep waters there, Julia. Be careful.”

She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant, but too shy to say anything.

Elbows on the table, poring over an old newspaper, Mr. Otto was sitting at the kitchen table when Julia came downstairs in the morning. She knew he was an early riser, so he did not surprise her. She finished twining her hair into a knot and stuck a skewer through it.

“Don't gussy up on my account,” he teased her.

“I can look however I want when I lay the fire,” she retorted. “I don't usually have company.”

“No. I'm usually out in the horse barn by now, stirring up trouble there.” He folded the paper and looked at her. “When can we leave, Darling?”

Too many people here? Did we press you too hard last night?
All sorts of questions came to her mind. “How about tomorrow morning? I'd like another day at home.”

“Fair enough. I could go ahead and you could come later, if you've a mind to stay longer. I'm not your jailer.”

She shook her head. “Then I'd still be going back alone.” She looked him in the eyes. “And so would you.”

He looked away. “You're going to make me tell you what happened in Chicago, aren't you?”

“You don't have to tell me anything, Mr. Otto,” she said frankly, “but you might feel better.”

“And you might feel worse,” he countered.

She laid the fire for breakfast silently, efficiently, and then sat down beside him. “Mr. Otto, nothing you can tell me will ever change what Mama said about you last night. Your mother did raise you well. I'm not someone to intimidate, like the other ranchers around you, because you want people to stay away or just leave you alone on all those acres. I like to think I'm your friend.”

Maybe it was more than she should have said. Heaven knows she had tossed and turned enough last night, wondering what else she could possibly learn about her employer that would ever make her like him less. No one else had seen his heart as she had seen it in his dealings with the Rudigers, with James and the all-too-human men of the Double Tipi, and then with her own parents, firm in their own principles and faith, but needing to borrow another's strength until they could stand upright again.

“My friend?” he asked softly. “Then you'd better call me Paul.”

“And you'd better call me Julia,” she answered, her voice gentle.

“I can do that.” He smiled then, and she could have sighed with relief to see the bleakness leave his eyes. “Of course, Darling might slip out now and then. Old habits. You know how they are.”

Paul went for a long walk after breakfast. “He's not used to being cooped up in a house,” Julia said to her parents. “On a typical day, he'd be out right after sunrise, tending to cattle or fences. He's hardly ever inside, even in winter.”

“Hard life,” Papa said. “I prefer banker's hours.” He hesitated, almost as if he didn't want to ask. “When are you leaving, Jules?”

“Tomorrow. He said this morning he's been away too long.”

Mama dabbed at her eyes but offered no objection. Julia took her hand. “I'll be back in September to stay. You can count on that.”

Mama nodded. She handed a skein of yarn to Julia. “You wind this. I think I'll—I'll make my bed.” She left the room quietly.

“Papa, it's all so hard,” Julia said as she began to twine the yarn.

“I couldn't bear it if I didn't know Iris would be waiting for me when I die,” he said finally.

“I'd rather she were here.”

“So would I, Jules. So would I. I don't pretend to understand what's happened.” Papa took the yarn from her, covering her hands with his. “Julia, when I interrupted you and Mr. Otto last night, you were expressing a lot of doubts.”

Here it was. She swallowed and looked at him. “I have a lot of doubts, Papa.”

“I realized as I stood there that I've done you a great disservice, daughter. I've assumed you always knew the Church was true.”

“Oh, Papa…” she began, tears in her eyes.

“Hear me out, my dear. I wonder how many parents assume that very thing? Iris … Iris always seemed to know, and maybe I figured you did too.”

“Papa, Mr. Otto has read more of the Book of Mormon than I have,” she admitted. “I don't know why I never read it before. I've been busy in church and Mutual, and I always go to my meetings.”

The room was suddenly too small. She had to stand up and move about as Mr. Otto had done last night. “Papa, I think if I had married Ezra, I'd have gone on as I have, just living on someone else's light. I need to know for myself!”

He stood up and held her gently by the shoulders. “So you do, Julia. Can you do that in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming?”

“I have to try.” She let him gather her close. “Papa, can I borrow your light a little longer?”

“As long as you need it, dear.”

She was in tears now, thinking of Iris, thinking of lonely days ahead for her parents and her so far away in Wyoming. “I miss her, Papa,” she said through her tears. “There's this huge hole in my heart.”

“Mine too, Jules. You were the best big sister to Iris.” Papa took the corner of her apron and dabbed her eyes. “Always watching out for her. Maybe now it's Iris's turn to watch out for you.”

She blew her nose. “Papa, remember when I wrote you about that silly contract? Mr. Otto asked me if I'd ever marry a Wyoming cowboy, and I told him no, that Mormons marry in temples. He asked me why, and I was evasive. He didn't ask me anything else about the Church until he told me about his mother.”

Papa nodded. “Are you getting a glimpse why we marry in temples?”