Carla Kelly (30 page)

Julia couldn't help her wide-eyed amazement. The last time Paul held now bigger-sister Mabel, it had been a toss-up to decide who looked more wary. Julia glanced at Emma, who nodded, her eyes lively. She handed Paul the infant. “Now keep your hand under his head,” she cautioned. “Up on your shoulder.”

Paul's look of extreme caution faded as the little one nestled close in that compact way of babies and turned his head into her husband's neck. His hand gentle on the baby's back, he walked toward the parlor, where Heber was standing.

“Julia, I think you have something to tell me,” Emma whispered, her eyes on Paul. “Don't be shy. That looks suspiciously like early practice. I must say, he's doing well, for Mr. Otto.”

Julia nodded. “I didn't know he'd do that,” she whispered back.

“What? Get you in the family way?”

“No! Hold your baby like a professional.”

“Come in the kitchen and tell all. And while you're at it, show me where I went wrong with this angel food cake.”

“Looks like some stray yolk got away. Just turn it into trifle,” Julia said as she surveyed a lethargic angel food cake in the kitchen. “Break it up in little pieces, and add fruit. I can make a pudding, and maybe you have heavy cream?” She folded her hands in her lap. “Oh, Emma, I've never been so sick and happy at the same time. I never thought cooking would be so trying. Please tell me it passes.”

“By the time you get to four months, you'll feel like conquering the universe,” Emma assured her, then chuckled. “Of course, it starts getting hard to bend in the middle, so maybe the universe can wait.” Her face grew serious. “What are you going to do about a doctor?”

“We've been having a mild argument about that,” Julia said, mixing the ingredients for vanilla pudding. She set the pan on the stove and started to whisk. “Paul says I should go back to Salt Lake City, or Cheyenne, or even Gun Barrel, but I can tell his heart is not in that. Mine, either.”

Emma took the spoon from her and pointed to the chair again. “Sit! You're looking a bit green. There's something about cooking smells… No, you need to stay on the Double Tipi. Brother Otto was miserable all winter, and I still remember how you wouldn't turn loose of him when they brought you to my house. No, you need to stay there.”

“We've both been thinking about Doctor McKeel, who works for him, but it's hard to say whether Doc will agree.” Julia sighed and started breaking the angel food into smaller bits. “Having a baby shouldn't be so… so daunting!”

Julia heard the men laugh in the parlor. “I shouldn't worry. On the train, Paul pointed out that passage in the Doctrine and Covenant where the Lord says, ‘Doubt not, fear not, little flock.’ That would be us too.”

“Counsel from the Lord was never just for Joseph and our grandparents, Julia,” Emma reminded her. She set the pudding aside to cool and started slicing bananas, handing her half of one. “Eat it, my dear. Any questions, or should I mind my own business?”

Julia had some, which Emma answered as they put the trifle together.

“And I'm wondering—hmm, how to ask this: is it written any place that we can't… Oh, my…”

Emma shook her head and leaned closer, whispering. “My doctor tells me that by the time you get to the seventh month, you make Romeo settle for a peck on the cheek after the lights are out.”

“The lights have to be out?” Julia asked innocently and then laughed at the expression on Emma's face.

“Sister Otto, you're an advanced beginner,” she teased.

“You two are having way too much fun in there,” Heber said from the parlor, which made Emma put her hand over her mouth.

The women looked at each other. And there was Paul in the doorway now, watching her, the Gillespies’ baby sleeping so peacefully against his shoulder.

“I am a lucky woman,” she said to him. Paul's only response was that edgy smile of his that she knew by now meant a pleasant evening at the Plainsman Hotel, lights on or off.

The sweetness continued the next day at Sunday School, with James hurtling himself into her arms, a reminder how much she had missed him too. He was taller, even since her last glimpse of him, and he seemed more confident somehow. As much as she wanted James close by her side, she couldn't help her relief that he went, as a matter of course, to sit with Sister Shumway. Julia noticed the disappointment on Paul's face and took his hand.

“You know it's better if he sits with them,” she whispered.

“I know. Still…”

She looked at Sister Shumway, who was whispering to James now, her arm around him protectively. To Julia's pleasure, James glanced over at them on their bench and patted the spot next to him. Paul took Julia's hand and they moved.

“Never think we won't share,” Sister Shumway said. “We owe you a debt we can never repay.”

That sounds so decided
, Julia thought, startled. She leaned closer to Paul and looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“Tell you later, sport,” he whispered as the chorister stood up to lead the opening song.

He didn't need to tell her anything, she realized, as they held the hymnbook and sang. He had already given James away to them.

There wasn't time to talk about it, not with Paul joining the other men, hands on each other's right shoulder, as they all held the Gillespies’ infant and added their priesthood support to President Gillespie's blessing. Then there was the sacrament, and Sunday School, and a rush for the train, after hugs and kisses.

“Have they adopted James?” she asked finally as the Cheyenne and Northern began their return trip. “You've given them permission, haven't you?”

Paul nodded. “I had to. I watched them all winter, forming a tight bond. I did it just before I came to marry you.”

“Even before we knew we could have children.”

“It felt right, Julia. I hope you don't mind that I didn't ask you first.”

“I don't mind. Not at all. It wasn't my decision to make. How did you arrange it?”

“Heber and I sat down with the governor and told him as much as we felt was safe to tell.” He chuckled. “Sometimes it's nice to lean on my status as one of the first ranchers in Wyoming. There wasn't any argument. Governor Carey listened and placed a call to his attorney general. Done. Thaddeus Pulaski James Otto is now James Eugene Shumway. The Eugene was James's idea and tickled Brother Shumway no end.”

Paul leaned his head back against the cushion and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Julia tucked her hand in his vest.

“Getting proprietary?” he asked finally. His voice sounded ragged, but she overlooked it.

“Yes, I am, cowboy. You're my hero.”

He sighed. “Remind me now and then.”

They spent the night in Gun Barrel, debating whether to visit old Doctor Beck in the morning, and finally decided against it.

“He's delivered many a baby, but there is simply no guarantee we could ever get him to the Double Tipi in time in mid-winter,” Paul said as he finished breakfast. “Oh, these eggs, Darling. You've ruined me.”

Julia looked at her dry toast and swallowed a few times.

“Need to make a quick exit?” Paul asked, his eyes kind.

“No. It's mind over matter,” she said. She took a sip of water. “We need to ask Doc, don't we?”

“We do,” Paul pushed away his plate. “He assured me years ago that he'd always doctor my crew. And you probably saw him at the cow gather, tending to everything from broken bones to hangover.” He shook his head. “A baby is a different matter. I don't know what he'll say. It's far more private and you're the patient, not me or my men.”

“If he won't?”

He took her hand and looked into her eyes. “My father delivered me. That work for you, sport, if need be?”

She nodded. “There's no one I trust more.”

Doc didn't seem surprised when Paul asked him to sit with them in the parlor after supper. Without blushing this time, Malloy volunteered to help Charlotte with the dishes. Julia nodded, keeping a straight face.

Paul sat a moment, looking at Doc. “I'm certain you know what we want to ask,” he said finally.

“I wondered when you would,” Doc replied. “I'm out of practice, Julia. You know that.”

“I know. If… if you're afraid I'll be embarrassed, I won't be.”

“Hard to say about that. You see me every day, the Boss's hand. Taking care of you during a pregnancy is something entirely different. It's far more intimate, and I'm still a ranch hand.” He looked down. “I know you both think I should be more, but I'm safe from myself here.”

“If you'd rather not, I have no hard feelings,” Julia said, after a glance at Paul. “I will insist you teach Paul everything he needs to know to birth our baby. There won't be any calving ropes!” she joked, and the men chuckled as she hoped they would.

This is hard,
she thought, thinking of Iris and how her mother would worry, if her only living daughter had no physician except a willing husband. Julia couldn't help her sudden tears at a time when she wanted them both to know how determined she was. “I
refuse
to go back to Salt Lake City, or Cheyenne, or Gun Barrel. I can't be that far away from my husband. It would kill my soul.”

“Steady, Julia. Tears come easier when you're expecting. I would never suggest you and Paul be separated during this time. I don't think either of you could survive it.”

Doc's voice was calm. As she listened to him, holding tight to Paul's hand, she heard a difference. Doc was never one to intrude. She blew her nose, remembering how he had calmed her in the dreadful days after the telegram came from home, telling of Iris's death. Maybe he was just a ranch hand now, but he would always be more. She could hear it in his voice, even if he couldn't.

“We'll be all right, Doc,” she said simply.

Doc stood up and went to the window, looking out at the waning sunlight. “I love this place,” he said, speaking to the window. “Physician, heal thyself. Well, this physician healed himself here, with considerable help from Mr. Otto. You too, Julia. I never did properly thank you for your Christmas gift of Gray's
Anatomy
. It put the heart back in my chest.”

He rocked back and forth on his heels for a few moments, then turned around and clapped his hands together. “I owe both of you. I'll do it.” He was all business. “I'll go get my bag. Boss, escort this little mother upstairs and help her into her nightgown. You lovebirds can give me some estimates on when this blessed event could, uh, conceivably have taken place. I'll provide my best guess after an exam, and dimes to doughnuts, your child will probably arrive when it feels like it. Welcome to the exact science of childbirth. It's no wonder they call it a medical practice. All we do is practice! Go on, now, before I change my mind.”

With some pondering, the three of them decided on February 15, 1912. “We'll be ready for anything after January, for certain,” Doc said as he put away his calipers. “Boss, mid February is generally when we start calving. Don't you two know that farmers and ranchers have their babies in August and September? I even remember that from Indiana.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Julia asked.

Paul and Doc looked at each other and grinned. “I can answer that one, sport. November and December are slow months for ranchers. Nothing much to do on the place except make a little more whoopee than usual. I can't speak for farmers, but
I
was born in August.”

“You two!” Julia exclaimed. “Maybe I
should
go back to Salt Lake City.”

“Don't even think it,” Paul said quickly, as serious as she had ever seen him.

“I was teasing,” she said softly. “I won't say that again.”

After much crossing out and crumpling of paper, Julia sat at Paul's desk that night and tried to write a letter to her parents. “Why is this hard?” she grumbled to Paul, who sat in a straight chair with his feet on the desk, going over a ledger.

“It's hard because of Iris.”

She nodded and folded her hands together across her latest bungled attempt at correspondence. “I could wait until I'm farther along, and then write.”

“You could,” he agreed. “I'm probably going to Gun Barrel later in the week to inquire about a buckboard. I'll mail any letters you feel like sending.” He smiled at her. “I think you should tell them.”

She yawned and frowned at the letter again. Paul stood up and looked over her shoulder.

“How about this? You lie down, and I'll write the letter. You've been yawning for an hour, and I know I'm not
that
boring. They're my parents too, now.”

“You're on. I'll just rest my eyes for a little bit. That's all I need.”

She stood up, and he sat down. “Better put on your nightgown before you ‘just rest your eyes.’ Last time you said that, I had to wake you up in the morning to fix breakfast.”

“Am I already a trial?”

“Yep. Go to bed.”

Julia rested her eyes until morning, coming awake easily. Lying beside her husband, she edged a little closer, not wanting to wake him but liking his warmth. She watched the lace curtains flutter in the early-morning breeze, as cheerful as her mother's curtains in Salt Lake City, a brave symbol of civilization. Trust ladies to know how to make a house a home.

Still, she couldn't overlook that Mr. Otto's original ranch house, with all its eccentricities, had become home to her quickly enough last year. She carefully turned sideways to admire her sleeping husband. “You're what makes this my home,” she whispered, barely moving her lips. “And maybe this.” She put her hands on her abdomen, pushing in gently where Doc had pushed. There was only the barest indication of a baby, a small gift no one would notice yet. It was their child to grow in peace and quiet on the Double Tipi, surrounded by people who cared deeply about them both.
This is my job
, she thought, her hands gentle on her belly.
I doubt I'll have a better one
.

She got up quietly, pleased not to disturb Paul. He had come to bed late last night, so she suspected the letter to her folks hadn't been any easier for him. She carried her clothes downstairs and dressed in the bathing room, happy not to disturb Charlotte, either.

Julia didn't need her cooking book for cinnamon rolls. She sat at the kitchen table eating soda crackers until her stomach settled. When it did, she worked quickly, and soon had rolls rising in the warming oven. Quietly, she padded on bare feet down the hall to the office, where Paul's letter lay on the desk.