Carla Kelly (3 page)

He left precisely a half hour later, as she knew he would.
Two glances at his watch, and then he will pop in a Sen-Sen and kiss me,
she thought, disgusted with herself.

Sleep eluded her that night. Prayer hadn't helped either. She had stayed on her knees longer than usual, but she knew better than to bother the Lord about Ezra Quayle. “I must be the one wanting, Lord,” she whispered into her sheet. “I'm sorry to be a bother.”

Papa had mentioned that he wanted her special Cecils in Tomato Sauce for breakfast, so Julia dragged herself downstairs at six after an hour's sleep. The thought that by late October she would be cooking in Ezra's kitchen so unnerved her that she had to sit down and rest her forehead on the table.

“My dear, are you well?” And there was Mama, worried.

“I'm a little tired,” she replied. “Mama, Ezra wants to get married on October 20.”

“Julia, that's so soon!” she exclaimed. “Think of all the arrangements.”

“We can do it, Mama,” she said quietly. “I've been engaged for a year already, and Ezra is tired of waiting.”
Mama, please look at me!
she thought, her mind wild with confusion.
Ask me again if I am well, and maybe I will have the courage to speak!

Mama only sighed. “I'll miss you. You were a year in Boston, and now this … ah, well, you'll just be two streets over.”

“That's true,” Julia said. Feeling sixty years old, she went to the range to heat the lard for the Cecils.

Mama came to the range and hugged her. “No wonder you're tired! Marriage is the biggest step a woman takes. Shall we take the trolley downtown this morning and look at material?”

“Whatever you want, Mama.”

The morning held just that tang of fall that sometimes came to the valley in August. Iris used to tease Julia because she enjoyed riding something as ordinary as the trolley. She sat quietly, grateful for the warmth of the sun, because she felt so chilly inside.

With one wedding to her credit now, Mama wasted not a moment. She marched Julia into ZCMI. “I am partial to watered silk, as you know, Julia,” she said as they took the elevator upstairs to fabrics and notions. “What do
you
want?”

“I have no idea, Mama!” She knew she had surprised her mother. “I mean … I'll be happy with whatever you suggest.”

“Let's look at the silk. Perhaps taffeta.”

She led Julia to bolt after bolt of wedding fabric, describing the merits of each with such enthusiasm that Julia only had to nod now and then. She roused herself to smile at Mama's final choice, a watered silk that shimmered as her mother fluffed out the material.

“It's a shade off-white, Julia, but with your dark coloring and green eyes, it should be perfect.”

Julia couldn't deny that it was beautiful. Maybe things would be different when she married Ezra. He knew what he wanted, and her own imperfections would give him ample opportunity to mold her into the perfect wife.
I bought all those wonderful molds in Boston,
she thought as the clerk took the fabric to the cutting table.
Too bad I could not find one for myself.

“Twelve yards,” Mama said decisively.

The clerk measured off the yardage until there was a soft pile mounded on the cutting table. Two young matrons walking by caught Julia's eye and smiled at her.
Everyone loves a bride,
she thought in a panic. The clerk picked up her dressmaker's shears, straightened the bolt, positioned the scissors, and looked at her for a final confirmation.

“No!” Julia was shocked by the harshness of her voice. “I'm not totally sure about that fabric, Mama.”

Mama quickly regained what Papa called her “public serenity.” “Certainly, my dear. You may think about it,” she said, with a nod to the clerk.

It was a quiet ride home. Mama, her face thoughtful, stared out the window. Julia felt relief cover her like a shawl. In a strange way that she knew she could never explain, one cut of those shears would have decided the matter for eternity. Julia felt the tears start in her eyes again, and she dug in her purse for a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes, thankful that Mama found something to occupy her attention outside the trolley window.

Mama went upstairs to change. Julia hurried into the kitchen, tying on her apron. She had left the scalloped turkey in a low oven with the damper closed. She tasted it, pronounced it successful, and took the tomato jelly salad out of the icebox, along with the cucumbers in vinegar water.

Luncheon was ready almost the moment Papa came home. He smiled to see it on the table. “Julia, you will make a good wife for a banker,” he said. He went back to the parlor to pick up the mail that had just fallen through the flap in the door. “Punctuality and precision,” he said over his shoulder.

After Papa took the edge off his hunger and told Mama a little bank news, he picked up the mail he had left on the sideboard. It was his daily ritual to parcel it out at the table.

“Julia, who do you know in Wyoming?”

She froze, her fork suspended over the turkey. “No one, really,” she managed to say. She held out her hand, hoping that it would not tremble.

Her father handed her the letter. “Someone seems to know you there, my dear. Maude, here's that bill from your milliner that you have been dreading.” In silence that almost beat against her eardrums, Julia slit open the envelope with her table knife. She left the money inside, but pulled out a ticket for the Union Pacific and another for the Cheyenne & Northern Railroad. She opened the note. It was written in pencil on lined composition paper. “Miss Darling, I am expecting you Thursday next in Gun Barrel on the noon train. Enclosed are both tickets and a month's advance on your salary. Hire a hack to help you from one depot to the other. Yours sincerely, Paul Otto.”

It was firm printing. She read the note again. Silently, she handed it to her father, who read it, frowned, and then handed it to her mother.

“Julia…” he began.

She interrupted him. “Papa, I saw an advertisement in the newspaper for a cook on a ranch in Wyoming.” The words seemed to tumble out by themselves. “It was the day Iris got married. I supposed I was feeling … oh, I don't know, Papa. I never thought that he would reply. He sounded desperate.”
So do I,
she thought miserably.

She knew she was making no sense because Papa continued to stare at her. Julia looked at her mother, who gazed back, her expression serene. “Mama,” Julia started, but stopped because she had no idea what she was going to say.

To her immense relief, Mama smiled and handed back the letter. “Jed, I'm certain Julia and I will sort this out. Am I right, Julia?”

She nodded as love for her mother showered around her like May rain. “Yes, Mama.” She looked at her father. “It's nothing to worry about, Papa.”

He looked dubious for a moment. “Just a wild hare? Shall I send this back to,” he looked at the signature, “Paul Otto?”

“No,” Mama spoke quietly, her voice firm.

Papa opened his mouth to reply, but she could tell he was stopped by the look in Mama's eyes. “Very well, Maude,” he said finally, his voice as calm as Mama's.

A slight smile on his face, Papa finished eating, winked at Mama, and left. She heard him whistling as he sauntered down the front steps to the Pierce-Arrow. Julia made a move to rise and clear off the dishes, but Mama stopped her.

“Dearest, you don't want to marry Ezra, do you?”

Julia shook her head. In a moment Mama knelt by her side.

“How long have you known, Mama?” she asked.

“A while,” Mama said. “I probably should have noticed sooner, my dear, but with Iris's wedding, I was busy.”

“Oh, Mama, I've been trying to get up the nerve to say something for weeks now.”

“I knew for certain when we rode the trolley downtown,” Mama said. “You were so quiet! And then in ZCMI, I was positive.” She leaned forward. “When I took Iris to pick out her fabric, she almost raced me to the cloth bolts! She was so excited.” Her eyes misted over then. “When your grandmother and I went to pick out my material—nothing so fine as Iris had—I could hardly contain myself. I could tell you weren't feeling that way.”

“No, Mama. Is something the matter with me?”

“Absolutely not. You just don't love Ezra.”

Julia hesitated. “Shouldn't I love him? Everyone says what a good idea it is.”

“If it isn't your idea, then it would be a huge mistake,” Mama replied, “even if he took you to a thousand temples.”

“How will I
know,
Mama?”

Her mother laughed, and the sound lifted Julia's heart. “When I fell in love, I fretted when Jed Darling wasn't around. I suppose I still do, even though he sits all day at Zion's Bank and is perfectly ordinary.”

Julia squeezed her mother's hand. “But he's not ordinary to you, is he?”

“Not at all.”

“I'll find someone like that someday?”

“Without a doubt.” Her mother ran her finger over the return address on the letter. “But I'm not certain this is a good idea, Julia.”

It probably isn't,
Julia thought. “I want to, Mama. I can always come home if it's not a good situation.”

“I doubt it's a place to meet unmarried Mormon men,” Mama said.

“I'm sure you're right!” Julia said, and laughed. “But just think! I can use all those wonderful skills I learned in Boston.” She hesitated. “I want to be on my own.”

Mama was silent a long time. “You'll have to write often, or I'll worry.”

“I will, Mama.”

Mama winked back tears and began gathering the luncheon dishes. “If we hurry up with these, you will have ample time to telephone Ezra and invite him over. It won't be pleasant.” She was thinking now, mentally ticking off her own list. “I suggest we make another trip downtown.” She handed Julia the plates and stacked the cups on top. “I will visit with your father for a few minutes. He may have been whistling when he left, but I'm certain he'll have bitten his nails off to the knuckles by now. Julia, we'll miss you.”

“And I'll miss you,” she said quietly.
If I dwell on it,
she thought,
I'll change my mind.
“Why do you need me along?”

“You'll go to Western Union and send a telegram to this Mr. Otto. Do you realize Thursday is barely a week away? Let's meet at ZCMI again and consider winter underwear.”

“I'm sorry he wasn't desperate in Arizona, Mama, because underthings would be cheaper,” she teased. They laughed together and started for the kitchen.

“Mama, would you have let the clerk cut that fabric?” she asked suddenly.

“I was all ready to stop her, if you didn't.”

“Oh, Mama.”

ulia wasn't sure at first what woke her from the deepest sleep she had enjoyed in weeks. She closed her eyes, ready to be lulled into slumber again by the rhythmic clacking of Union Pacific wheels on Union Pacific tracks. The clever bed, which the porter had pulled down last night, was comfortable in all the right places.

She heard three soft chimes as the porter walked through the train. “Cheyenne in one hour,” he called. “Cheyenne.”
That was what woke me,
she thought, remembering she had forgotten to pack her alarm clock.