Carla Kelly (50 page)

“I shouldn't have done that, Darling, but I needed the comfort,” he said finally.

“So did I,” she whispered.

She was almost sorry when he released his grip on her and stood up.

“We'll leave early so we can catch the noon train to Cheyenne. Good night, Darling. Thanks for…” He paused and looked everywhere but at her. “ … what you shared so kindly.”

She thought about his odd statement long after her light was out.

t was a quiet ride to Gun Barrel, James sitting in front of Paul on his saddle and Julia riding beside them. She glanced at them, gratified to see Paul resting his chin on James's head and letting James hold the reins, or at least letting him think he held them.
You'd be a good father,
she thought.
Too bad Katherine never knew. You call me kind, but you are kinder than you know—or let on.

Case in point. He had found her that morning, standing by the window in the kitchen that faced the wagon road and horse corral. Since he went away to the line shack, she had taken to standing there at the window, thinking mostly about Iris and occasionally about how cold and hard life was in a line shack.

There she was, dressed, her hair still in braids, twisting the end of one around her finger and thinking of her dear sister and the enormity of her loss. She noticed her grief was changing from a raw pain to a dull ache, one she could almost ignore as she got used to it. She knew enough about herself and her beliefs to comprehend that Iris was safe from trouble.
I wish my knowledge was more comforting,
Julia thought.
I think it will be. I hope it will be, but right now—

She didn't even hear him come into the kitchen, but that was nothing new. Maybe Indians, even the mixed-blood kind, were just naturally quieter because trouble through the centuries had conditioned them. She should have been more startled when Paul put his hands on her shoulders, but she wasn't. She wanted to lean back, but she didn't. If she noticed anything that startled her, it was that he wasn't so hesitant, not as he had been earlier, the few times he touched her. After his unburdening on the train ride from Salt Lake, he seemed less fearful of her reactions. She smiled to herself. And after last night, when they kissed, well, maybe things had changed.

“You're thinking about Iris,” he said. She could feel his breath on her neck.

She nodded. “I like this quiet moment to do that.”

“I hope I'm not interrupting.”

“Oh, no. I usually reach a point where my thoughts get tangled, and all I want to do is run home and crawl in my mother's lap.”

“You about there?”

She nodded again. “Except this time, I'm thinking about James and Tad and … and maybe even Katherine.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders. “I've been mulling them around too.”

He was silent then, looking out the window with her. The horses across the road were close to the fence rail, their breath coming out in big puffs. And there was Matt, moving among them, patting them and then breaking the ice off the water trough.

“I have to tell you something. Please don't think I'm being flippant.” He chuckled. “I'm reading Ether now. You know, it occurred to me last night that nowhere in Ether—or anywhere else in the Book of Mormon or the Bible, either—is it written, ‘And it came to stay.’ Nowhere.” He kissed the top of her head. “It came to pass. This'll pass, Julia. It really will.”

Before she could say anything, he reached across her shoulder with his forearm against her breastbone and gave a quick hug, like her brothers used to do to her and Iris. Then he ruffled her hair and opened the door without even looking at her. He was whistling before he reached the corral and Matt.

Surprised, she stood there a moment longer. “It doesn't come to stay,” she murmured. “It can't be that simple, Mr. Otto, but maybe it is.”

James enjoyed the ride on the Cheyenne & Northern, going from window to window until Paul firmly advised him to choose the window next to him, or he would pin his ears back with a tent peg. That succinct phrase earned Paul a stare from the lady across the aisle, but James only smiled and did as he was bid. Julia wasn't sure where to look as she tried not to smile.

“You know, your face'll stick like that if you try to hold back a smile,” Paul whispered to her when James was leaning on his other side and staring out the window at pretty much a Wyoming winter nothing.

“You're a trial unlike any I have ever encountered before, Mr. Otto,” she whispered back.

He winced. “Mr. Otto again? My word, that man is persistent.”

When they arrived at the Gillespies, even Sister Gillespie—who knew something about little boys—was astonished at the speed with which James vanished into the pack. The brothers and James thundered upstairs and slammed the door behind them. “My stars,” she said.

“Should we worry?” Paul asked, eyeing the ceiling overhead dubiously.

“No,” Sister Gillespie said. “Heber gave our boys a Meccano set for Christmas. I think they are constructing the Brooklyn Bridge as we speak. Fresh meat and new ideas are always welcome upstairs.” She turned to Julia, taking her face in her hands and touching forehead to forehead. “My dear child. Words fail me, but a hug never does.”

Paul was kind enough to leave them there, closing the front door quietly behind him and starting for the city center, beat-up attaché case in hand. When he returned hours later in Brother Gillespie's car, Julia had made a gooey butter cake and was squeezing out potato florettes using the pastry bag she brought with her. The roast was already in the oven.

After dinner and far too much butter cake, Brother Gillespie and Paul spread out legal documents on the dining room table. Paul pointed to a chair and Julia sat. He held up two documents.

“Just sign these and you can access a special ranch fund.” He grinned at Brother Gillespie. “Heber says I should have set this up years ago. He doesn't understand that I never wanted to encourage Little River to cook even worse than she already did.”

“This covers more than food,” the lawyer pointed out, “and includes any kind of house and yard maintenance. I thought it best to keep your name separate from actual ranch business for tax purposes.”

“Thank you,” Julia said sincerely.

“When Paul's gone on business elsewhere, and you're down here, this is
carte blanche
for expenses.” Brother Gillespie looked over his shoulder at his wife. “Emma, you'd about kill for a deal like this.”

Sister Gillespie just laughed. “At least I don't have to cook for armies! But you specialize in that, don't you, Julia?”

“I like to think I do,” Julia said, “as long as it's not warm liver salad.”

So it went all evening, Paul and Brother Gillespie talking and laughing in the dining room, taking time out for more butter cake, and Julia and Emma enjoying each other's company in the parlor. Julia remembered the chocolate covered cherries in the lima bean can she had brought from the Double Tipi, which reduced Brother Gillespie to tongue-tied ecstasy.

“I don't know, Julia,” Paul said, dipping into the can too. “Maybe he's not the silver-tongued orator I need as an attorney to rescue me from felonious misdeeds.”

Emma nursed her youngest daughter while Julia helped Amanda finish her homework before the weekend. The boys were still constructing the Brooklyn Bridge upstairs, James coming downstairs frequently to look around and make sure she and Paul were still there. Not until she told him gently, “James, we'd never go anywhere without you,” did he stay upstairs and play.

Julia felt the gradual pull of the Gillespie orbit, never more welcome than now as she struggled with her sister's death. Emma Gillespie's serene expression as her baby sucked was balm to her soul. Julia felt herself savoring the family around her. She glanced into the dining room to see Paul watching her. He smiled and mouthed something she understood perfectly. “It came to pass.”

Maybe it would.

James enjoyed Sunday School almost as much as the train ride, especially when the children separated into their own classroom, located in the Odd Fellows Hall cloakroom, once the coats and wraps were shoved to one side. Packed and ready to leave, Paul joined them for dinner. He spent nearly an hour with her in Brother Gillespie's study at home—also known as the laundry room—talking about James and their suspicions.

“I don't doubt you for a minute,” Gillespie said, his face as serious as theirs. “Who will ever know how he made his way to your ranch?” He sighed. “For all that I work with stockmen every day of my career, I do not understand this greed for land and what it does to people who otherwise might be sensible and God-fearing. Present company excepted,” he added hastily.

“Don't apologize on my account,” Paul assured him. “I've had those moments I could chafe about, if I chose to. I think I owe any success I've had to Mosiah chapter four.”

As Brother Gillespie listened, practically open-mouthed, Paul gave him a shortened version of his mother's experience, keeping his eye on the clock. “Darl—uh, Julia can fill you in on the rest,” he concluded, rising. “I have a train to catch.”

He went upstairs to say good-bye to James and came down smiling. “That's an impressive structure,” he told Sister Gillespie as she handed him a packet of sandwiches to hold off starvation between Cheyenne and Denver. “Don't you ever worry that you will wake up some morning, encased in a homemade Meccano banker's vault?”

“Now you're worrying me, Brother Otto,” Emma said. She looked over her shoulder into the parlor. “Heber, let's go upstairs and make an official visit!”