Carla Kelly (30 page)

Julia laughed. “And?”

“I was right. I stopped in on Heber Gillespie, except his wife called him
Brother
Gillespie when they invited me to dinner. He's a lawyer and superintendent of Cheyenne's Deseret Sunday School Union. Says they're too small to be a branch yet, which he told me was what you call a really small congregation. They meet on Sundays in the Odd Fellows Hall, once they sweep out the cigar butts and empty the cuspidors.” He set his chair down. “I suppose you'll want to go, now and then.”

“I'd like to,” she told him. “Would it be possible?”

“Don't know why not. Doc tells me you can ride. You can catch the train at Gun Barrel and leave your horse in the livery there. Mrs. Gillespie—she told me to call her Sister Gillespie, but I'm not so sure about that—anyway, she said you could spend Saturday night with them and then catch the Sunday train. If the weather's good, you can be home by dark. It's doable, Darling, if you don't mind some Gulliver-ing yourself.”

“I don't mind.”

He nodded and then yawned. “Plan on it. I'll go with you the first time, just to make sure you're the rider Doc swears you are. Besides, the weather can turn up here. If it works, and the winter isn't too harsh, why not?” He got up. “It might be onerous more than once a month, but that's better than nothing. G'night.”

She turned her attention to the kitten and James, but still Mr. Otto stood in the doorway, watching them, a smile on his face. He wagged a finger at her. “Just remember, you two: I got the kitten, but he's your responsibility. I'm not much for night feedings.” He thought a moment. “Which reminds me. Did Blue Corn ever show up?”

“So that's his name. He came, and it snowed the next day.”

“Don't know how he does that,” Mr. Otto told her. “He like your cooking?”

“Seems to. He smacked his lips. He has a lot to say to me, but I don't know what he's saying. Doc said maybe you might understand him.”

“I don't speak much Cheyenne, but I sign, and so does he. I'll come with you for breakfast tomorrow. He'll sign to me.”

He still didn't leave. “What does he like for breakfast?”

“Cream of Wheat, mainly.” Julia laughed. “Oh, he likes my cecils, and so does your crew.”

“I haven't had those yet, have I?” he asked.

Julia laughed inside at the wariness in his voice. “You will, Mr. Otto.”

Julia was up twice in the night to feed Two Bits, cuddling with him on the floor, her back against the still-warm Queen Atlantic. The eyedropper worked well enough, but she found Two Bits also enjoyed sucking her little finger, after she dipped it in the milk.

“I think you might relish some Cream of Wheat for breakfast tomorrow,” she whispered. When he finished, Julia wiped his fur with a clean rag dipped in the Queen's reservoir. Gently she rubbed Two Bits’ fur and was rewarded with purring so loud that it shook the kitten's small body. “Back to bed now,” she said. “I'm tired.”

She fed Two Bits again early in the morning before the men came to breakfast, adding just enough Cream of Wheat to thicken the evaporated milk and still get through the eye dropper. She turned the chore over to James, who made himself comfortable a short distance away from the Queen, now that the stove was warming. Julia smiled to hear him whispering to the kitten.

Breakfast was oatmeal and flapjacks, tempered with ham. The men ate silently, as usual. She caught Mr. Otto glancing at her now and then, a satisfied look on his face. He nodded to her once, and she felt pleased beyond all bounds at such a slight gesture of approval.
Just keeping the hands happy, Mr. Otto,
she thought.
You too.

Mr. Otto gave his orders for the day as she set the dishes to soak and ladled oatmeal into the pail for Blue Corn. Two flapjacks subdued with maple syrup went onto a tin plate. Mr. Otto carried the pail and bowl for her across the yard, the spoon sticking out of his pocket.

“I'll be going to the Rudigers later in the afternoon to see what kind of help they need to move,” he told her as they came to the tack room. “If you want to prepare any food, I'll take that too.”

“I was thinking about dried apple pie for dessert tonight. One more is no trouble.”

Blue Corn ate the oatmeal first, smacking his lips and beaming at her. He exclaimed over the sweetness of the maple syrup and made short work of the flapjacks. Julia stood by the door, her arms folded in front of her, while Mr. Otto squatted on his haunches by Blue Corn's sleeping platform. They exchanged signs that made the rancher laugh.

“What's he saying?” Julia asked.

“He approves of your cooking,” Mr. Otto said. “See where he gestures with his hand to his heart and then extended to the side? And then see how he cups his fingers to his lips? That means ‘good food.’ “

“How can I tell him thank you?”

Mr. Otto showed her, and she repeated the gesture. Blue Corn nodded his approval and made several more signs in rapid succession.

“What's he saying now?”

“Darling, he wants to know if you're my wife.”

“My goodness, why would he think that?”

“Beats me. I just told him that you're here to cook.” He watched Blue Corn through another series of signs and then grinned at Julia. “He tells me, ‘Too bad for you.’ “

The room began to feel too warm and small. Julia gathered up the empty plate and bowl, picked up the pail, and then opened the door, saying something about kitchen work. Apparently unperturbed by Blue Corn's questions, Mr. Otto nodded to her and returned his attention to the Indian.

She didn't see Mr. Otto again until hours later, when she sent James to call the men to the noon meal, a substantial roast with small potatoes clustered around, soaking in the meat juices, canned green beans liberally seasoned with bacon left over from breakfast, and sour milk biscuits. Dessert was prune whip, served cold with custard sauce. Mr. Otto looked around the table as his hands ate it without a quibble and sampled his portion gingerly before digging in. She laughed when he made the sign for “good food” at her.

He decided to take James with him for afternoon chores as she sat down with Two Bits on her lap, nosing about for his dinner.

“If you have something for the Rudigers, I'll leave in two hours or so.”

She nodded, her eyes on the kitten, who had latched onto her finger, wet with milk.

“Persistent little beggar, isn't he?” Mr. Otto commented, coming back to sit beside her.

“Everyone has to eat,” she said, dipping her finger in the milk again. She looked at her employer.
Mr. Otto takes in strays,
she thought. “How did the Indian come here?”

Mr. Otto rubbed Two Bits between his ears. “He just showed up one day. He hung around the house. Pa tried to shoo him away, but he wouldn't go. Pa opened up a can of peaches and gave him a loaf of bread. Don't know how he ended up in the tack room, but he did.”

“Where did he come from?”

“Hard to say. I think he was one of the old Fort Laramie coffee coolers. That's what the soldiers called the old Indians who hung around the fort doing odd jobs and begging.” He shrugged. “When they closed the fort and sold the buildings at auction, the elders mostly wandered away.”

“Does he do anything useful for you?” she asked, curious.

Mr. Otto laughed under his breath. “Well, he lets me know when the first snowfall is coming. And just wait, when the weather is cold and the snow never seems to leave, he'll just vanish. A Chinook wind will blow through that night, and spring will come the next day.”

Two Bits was asleep now, still gumming her little finger. Gently she removed her finger from his mouth. “Mr. Otto, I've noticed that people do what you say, and you don't have to do anything to exert your influence,” she said candidly. “Do they have any idea how kind you are?”

She knew she had embarrassed him because he didn't look at her. “That's our little secret, Darling,” he told her and then changed the subject. “Any surprises for supper?”

“No. Apple pie and roast beef sandwiches with lots of onion in them tonight. Maybe hot chocolate, if I'm in the mood.”

“I hope you are,” he replied as he took his Stetson from its peg and left her in the kitchen with the slumbering Two Bits.

She sent him and Matt Malloy off to the Rudigers with a tin of food, which Mr. Otto balanced in front of him in the saddle. The day was warm, and Julia was content to finish her chores inside and then sit under a cottonwood tree in a canvas-backed chair. The only sound on the place was the stirring of the leaves, an occasional whinny from the horse corral, and geese high overhead, heading south now.

It was a far cry from the noise and hustle of Boston or Salt Lake. As she sat there, a smile on her face, she slowly became aware of a new sensation, one she had not felt in months.

She was content.

he Rudigers were packed and gone in two days, thanks to the efficiency of the men of the Double Tipi. Julia accompanied the wagon on horseback as far as the Marlowe Ranch, where she spent the afternoon, enjoying their company and telling Alice of her disastrous dinner.

“You were right, Alice. I was an idiot,” she admitted.

“I'm hearing nothing but good reports now, so I think you weathered it,”

Alice said as she sorted eggs into a salt-filled carton. “Need any more?”

“As many as you can spare,” Julia said. “I'm thinking an angel food cake with cream maple sugar frosting drizzled on it will maintain my job security.” She laughed. “These are trying times, after all!”

Mr. Otto was right. The ride back to the Double Tipi was just enough time on horseback to create a twinge.
I should ride every day, if I intend to actually make it all the way to Gun Barrel to catch a train for Cheyenne and church,
Julia told herself.

She shivered and looked at the sky—sharp blue, with geese in excellent formation now. Matt was carrying her letter home to the post office in Gun Barrel, the one to her parents asking for a warmer coat and a divided skirt for riding. No sense in using the former Mrs. Otto's clothing one moment longer than necessary. Hopefully, Iris would catch the vision from her comments and write a little more. She smiled to think of talkative Iris on the dairy farm, out in the middle of nowhere.

Since Matt and Mr. Otto were still in Gun Barrel with the Rudigers, she invited Doc into the parlor.

“What happens around here in the winter?” she asked, picking up a half-completed dishcloth and her crochet hook.

“Not much. We take turns riding the fence line to make sure it's tight. There's a lineman's shack about ten miles from here, and we use that.”

“That's you, Matt, and Willy Bill?”

He shook his head. “Paul. Willy Bill is probably too old for it, anyway.”

“Mr. Otto doesn't turn him off for the winter?” Julia asked. “Alice Marlowe said they let go of most of their hands until the spring roundup.”

“Mr. Otto wouldn't do that to ol’ Willy Bill. Who on earth would hire him in town? Nah, he sets Willy Bill to odd jobs here. And Kringle fixes harnesses.” He sat back, comfortable. “It's kinda slow here, Julia. I hope you don't bore easily.”

“When I have all of you sweethearts with delicate stomachs to cook for? Not a chance.”

After Mr. Otto and Matt came back from Gun Barrel the next afternoon, an itinerant preacher accompanied them. He changed everything.