Carla Kelly (57 page)

He laughed when she thumped his chest. “Paul! Then why … I'm so in the dark.”

He lay down again, taking her hand in his and resting it on his chest. “You're right. It goes back to that first trip to Denver. Knowing the Church is true and doing something about it aren't the same. I don't exactly shine in this narrative, darling. Are you certain you want to hear it?”

“Positive, since you think you're going to build
me
a house on the Double Tipi. I'd like to know what inspired this burst of confidence, especially since I turned you down flat.”

“Flatter than a French-made bed,” he agreed. “All right, Julia. This is it. I go to Denver every year to the stock show. I check into a favorite hotel, one next door to the Cattlemen's Saloon. I go to the bar and ask the keep for his best bottle of single malt Scotch whisky. I buy the whole bottle, and he puts my name on it. Are you impressed yet?”

“Go on. I love you anyway,” she grumbled.

“Well, there I am, darling,” he continued, with only the hint of a quaver in his voice. “I sit in the bar with any number of well-dressed, equally successful stockmen. We drink and describe our year's progress. I know all the big ranchers in eastern Wyoming and on the Colorado and Nebraska plains. We're all drinking out of our own bottles. Typically I stop at the one-third-down spot and take it back to the keep. He puts it on the shelf until I come back, usually the next evening.”

“This is what you did in January?”

“Absolutely. I might add here that before I left Chey-enne—you'll remember Brother Gillespie drove me to the depot—Heber gave me the name, address, and telephone number of President John Herrick, head of the Western States Mission. I thanked him nicely and tucked it in my pocket.”

“And promptly forgot it?”

“Not quite. Julia, I
really
don't look good in this next phase of my Denver odyssey.”

“Keep talking, you smooth-tongued cowboy,” she said.

“If I must.”

“You'd better.”

“I typically stop drinking when I have a nice buzz but am still interested in the next adventure in Denver.” He sighed. “I hate this.”

“You'll hate it more if you don't spill the beans.”

He tucked her back close to his side again. “You're a tough woman! Well, the Cattlemen's is only a block or two this side of Denver's—uh—tenderloin district. I generally visit Mattie Daw's house, and that's where I went, feeling mellow and tuned up.”

He was silent a long while then. Julia knew he hadn't returned to sleep. His arms were around her again. With her good hand, she took his hand and raised it to her lips, kissing it.

There was no overlooking the tears in his voice. “I went in there with the plan of picking out the prettiest girl and sporting with her. It's what I do in Denver. Julia, with God as my witness, I looked around that room full of lovely faces and just could not.”

She tightened her grip on his hand as he struggled to compose himself.

“There I was, half drunk and in a house of considerable ill repute, with temptation less than a hand's span away, and all I wanted to do was be with you. I left.”

Julia turned to look in his face, bathed in moonlight now. “What do you mean, you don't shine in this part of the narrative?” she asked him, her voice soft. “I beg to differ.”

“That's a relief,” he said. “Actually, President Herrick said the same thing, eventually, when I knocked on his door about midnight and insisted on talking to him. I told him all about The Cattlemen's, and Mattie Daw, and then about my mother, and my former wife, and Mosiah and you and Brother Gillespie. He just sat there in his nightshirt and robe and took in the whole jumble without a flinch. I don't think I even surprised him.” He sighed. “And here I thought I was such a sinner.”

“We're all sinners,” Julia said. “Beggars too, my love.”

“Say that again.”

“What? Sinners?”

It was his turn to give her a gentle thump. “I still went to the stock show, but I spent my evenings in the mission home, getting to know some really nice missionaries.” He turned contemplative. “You know, there's a bottle of single malt whisky about two-thirds full at the Cattlemen's. I should write the bartender and tell him to drink it.”

She laughed and let him sleep then because he couldn't keep his eyes open. He pillowed his head this time on her good shoulder. She slept too, and when they woke, dawn was close.

“Why did you come home so unhappy?”

He put a hand over his eyes, a familiar gesture she recognized in him when he didn't want to think about something. Gently, she took his hand away.

“Julia, the last week of the stock show, President Herrick and his missionaries talked to me about Joseph Smith, and the Book of Mormon, and the Atonement. I've always believed in Jesus Christ, in case you're wondering. My father and many of the tribes in North Carolina were good Presbyterians.” He thought a moment. “How to say this? When President Herrick asked if I wanted to be baptized, I turned him down, with almost the same speed you turned me down when I proposed. He asked me why, and I said I just was too big of a sinner, especially when it came to Katherine.”

“Do you still love her?” She had to know.

“I never did, Julia. I know that now. But shouldn't I have figured out she was so unstable? Couldn't I have done better?”

“Paul, you were so young and trusted her parents to deal fairly with you.” It was light enough now for Julia to see his wry expression.

“That's what President Herrick told me too. I assured him God couldn't possibly want me in the Church.” Paul got up, finding relief in movement as he paced the floor. “You should have heard him then. Have you ever seen President Herrick?”

Julia shook her head.

“He is so elegant-looking, a really cultured gentleman. In spite of that, he gave me such a … a …
withering
look. I'll never forget what he said: ‘Paul Otto, what makes you so arrogant to think that Christ's Atonement is for everyone else in the history of the world except you? You have a lot of nerve!’ Oh, he thundered it out. Sister Herrick came running in from another room. I think the neighbors heard him.”

Paul stopped walking and lay down again, gathering Julia close. “I stormed out of there and slammed the door so hard the glass broke. Julia, I've never been so angry. I was halfway to the railroad depot before one of the missionaries came pounding up behind me.”

She saw the disbelief in his eyes, as fresh as if the incident had happened yesterday. “I think he was fresh into the mission field, a scrawny little guy from Wellington, Utah. I could have taken him with one hand, except all he did was hand me a pamphlet and back away really fast.” He looked at her. “Julia, am I that intimidating?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then why did you stay at the Double Tipi? And don't mention that blamed contract! Why did you
stay?”

It was a good question. There was no hurry in her answer because she had to think through a year of life on the Double Tipi. “I think it was because you defended me when I gave that tar paper to the Rudigers and fed them. I knew then that you were a kind man, no matter what others thought.” She kissed his hand again. “And after you told me about your mother, how could I leave?”

“Thank you,” he said simply. The rest of his story came out easier. Julia listened as he told her about nearly using the Joseph Smith pamphlet for tinder in the camp stove at the line shack but then yanking it out at the last moment and reading it. “I stopped on that sentence: ‘So it was with me. I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two personages.’ You know how it goes. And then Joseph wrote, ‘For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew God knew it, and I could not deny it.’ President Herrick told me it was the light of Christ testifying to me because I
knew
those were the words of an honest man. My mother and her family were right.”

“I know they're true too,” she told him.

He smiled at her. “I thought you did.” He started to put his hand over his eyes again but took her hand instead. “Well, you know how fast I went back to Denver that second time. I went right to the mission home, apologized to President Her-rick, and asked that scrawny little elder to baptize me. I've been there a time or two since for priesthood advancement.”

They were both silent then. Paul spoke first. “Now you want to know why I didn't say anything.”

“I do.”

“I knew you were having your struggles. I didn't want my baptism to end your own search. I had a suspicion you were at least a little interested in me.”

“You're a shrewd observer,” she commented. “I think everyone knew that but me.”

“On the off chance that you loved me, I didn't want you to borrow my light and stop looking for your own. It's that simple. Was I wrong?”

It was another good question. “Only a little,” she said honestly. “By then, I had started understanding that I did have a testimony and always had. I just wasn't sure of myself, not the Lord. I wish you had said something. You were so evasive, and you broke my heart.”

He groaned and reached for her.

“But then when you proposed and I told you no, you seemed almost pleased! Paul, why?”

“Because then I knew for certain you were sure enough in your own light to want nothing to do with someone who you thought couldn't take you to the temple. I couldn't have been happier.”

Secure in his arms, Julia thought about what he had said. “Goodness, when I asked you if you could take me to the temple next week or in a month and you said no, it
was
true!”

“Certainly. I can't take you there until March, when I'm a member for a year.”

“Oh, I could thump you again,” Julia said. “
Why
did you stay away all spring? We didn't have a chance to talk! We could have settled this a month ago, or at least, before the range fires started.”

“That's simple, too, Julia, if you'll pardon my blushes. It was a whole lot safer at the line shack, where I didn't have to lie in bed and think about you just a few rooms away. A couple of nights, I got as far as the kitchen. Good thing Two Bits and his midnight feedings were such a good excuse for my presence.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

“Forgive me?” he asked. There was no mistaking the tears in his voice then. “Darling, when I saw what had happened to the ranch house, and looked at how
shallow
that river really is … I could not bear to lose you.”

“I forgive you,” she said softly. “Over and over.”

“Was the fire as scary to you as I think it must have been?”

“Words fail me. I just prayed and hung on and knew you'd come for me.”

“I barely deserve that much trust,” he said when he could speak. “I nearly forgot. I sent a telegram to your father before we left Gun Barrel. He sent a reply, care of Heber Gillespie. He'll be here tomorrow to take you home and…”

“I'm not going.”

“Yes, you are, little darling Darling. I have no home here for you right now, and I'm tired of cold baths in the line shack! I'll visit you often in Salt Lake and marry you in March. And yes, this is my intimidating face.”

She touched his face. “No, it isn't. You're right though. I'll go.”

They kissed. “That's all a man can stand, Julia. There's one more thing your father mentioned in the telegram. My dear, he's going to be accompanied by an old gentleman from Koosharem. I'm going to meet my uncle tomorrow.”

She held him as close as she could until she heard an alarm clock ring in the Gillespies’ bedroom next to hers.

“Now I'm going to give you a chaste peck on the cheek and go back to sleep,” Paul told her. “When the sun gets higher, James will be bounding in here to check on you. I probably should be down the hall on my own chaste cot. Or not. James is not too particular.”

Paul kissed her cheek, and she settled herself into the hollow of his shoulder. He rested his arm carefully on her stomach, composing himself for sleep. “Need a lullaby?” he asked, his words slurring. “Your selections are limited to ‘Sweet Evalina’ or ‘Redeemer.’ “

“Redeemer,” she told him.

He didn't make it past “our only delight” on the first line, which, all things considered, delighted her. She hoped the Lord wouldn't mind if Paul Otto was her only earthly delight, at least until children got swirled into the mix. She opened her eyes long enough to consider his face on her pillow, peaceful now in sleep.

She gave herself to slumber. In a few months, his would be the first face she would see in the morning and the last one at night. Nothing would change that ever again.

“We are all beggars,” she murmured, careful not to wake Paul.
I came to cook,
she reminded herself, cherishing a little girl in the snow, whose parents had stuffed scraps of scriptures in her shoes to keep her feet from freezing.
Thanks to you, Mary Anne Hickman, I came to stay.