Carla Kelly (36 page)

“I believe it,” she replied.

“Why?”

She had no answer right away. All her life she had heard the same scriptures and lessons over and over, and no one had ever asked her why. As she looked at Mr. Otto, seeing again the man so near tears when he heard the tune to “Redeemer of Israel,” Julia didn't think a glib answer would satisfy him. Even more, she didn't think it would satisfy herself, either. Not now. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something had changed in the Odd Fellows Hall.

“I'm not sure,” she said finally. “I just believe it because I've always believed it. And so does everyone around me.”

Mr. Otto looked at her until she felt like squirming. He started to speak once, stopped and then started again. “I'm not sure that's a good enough reason.”

He was right; she couldn't dispute him. Funny, it had never occurred to her before.

hey reached the Double Tipi just after dark, after the snow began falling in earnest. Julia wondered Mr. Otto didn't just stop at the Marlowe ranch, but he seemed intent on reaching his own place. Even in their leather gloves, her hands were cold. She gave up any pretense at form and hung onto the saddle horn.

Mr. Otto rode close to her. She caught him looking at her several times, and more than once he steadied her. He seemed not to mind the weather.

“If we stop at the Marlowes', it might be hard to get out in the morning, the way this snow is,” he said. “Chin up, Darling. We're about to the Rudigers’ cabin, and then it's only a half mile until we turn off.”

It wasn't totally dark yet; she knew where the Rudigers’ cabin should be, except it wasn't there. Mr. Otto reined in, and she also stopped, her horse stepping in delicate circles. He leaned forward and peered into the gloom, sniffing the air. As her eyes accustomed themselves, she saw only a pile of burned logs and smelled the tar paper. No wonder the horses were uneasy.

“Care to bet that Charlie McLemore just couldn't stand the sight of the place? I may have to remind him who owns that property.”

He said it mildly enough, but Julia knew him better now and had to wonder how Mr. McLemore would appreciate the visit probably coming his way.

Mr. Otto sat there a moment more, contemplating the still-smoldering ruin and then spoke to his horse, which had the effect of getting hers moving too. “At least he waited until they left,” was his only comment. He turned in his saddle. “Was this the way Mormons used to be treated? Brother Gillespie said something about the wrongs of Missouri during Sunday School.”

“Yes, it was,” she replied, patting her horse to settle him. “The mobs didn't usually wait until the families were out, though.”

“And what did you Mormons do?”

“Moved on, mostly,” Julia said. “Papa tells a story about his mother leaving Far West, Missouri. Apparently Grandma Darling calmly swept out her house while the mob brandished torches and watched her. She took the house key, went up to the biggest, meanest mobber, and handed it to him.”

“You have tough relatives,” Mr. Otto said. There was no mistaking the admiration in his voice.

“I do, indeed. Mr. Otto, I'm cold. I suggest we move on too.”

“Remind me not to get on your grumpy side,” he said. “Are you suggesting that I not say anything to McLemore?”

“I'd never presume to tell you what to do, Mr. Otto,” she replied, grateful when he took her reins and led her horse so she could hang onto the saddle horn in peace.

“Presume away, Darling.”

“I wouldn't say anything. You don't know for sure, anyway. Kill him with kindness, if you must. It'll aggravate him to no end.” She laughed. “I might even make a gooey butter cake for you to take him.”

“Only if you make two and leave one at home,” Mr. Otto said. “I've discovered a serious weakness for your cakes.”

“Then my job is secure for nine months more?” she teased, even as her teeth chattered.

“At the very least,” he told her, his voice so soft that she might have imagined it.

Nothing in the world looked better to Julia than the Double Tipi that night. Mr. Otto helped her down from her horse and whistled. The bunkhouse door opened and Matt Malloy came out, putting on his coat. He shook his head to see Julia.

“Julia, ye look like an icicle. Can ye even move?”

“Not sure,” she replied, irritated that she had difficulty forming words.

“Malloy, will you give her horse a rubdown and grain him? Take Chief while you're at it, but I'll be out to curry him. Up you go, Darling.”

With less effort than she thought possible—she knew how much she weighed—Mr. Otto picked her up and carried her into the house. James must have heard the whistle because he opened the door, Doc right behind him.

“We thought you might have stayed with the Marlowes,” Doc said a few minutes later after Mr. Otto went to the horse barn. Julia was seated at the kitchen table with a mug of warm canned milk with just that touch of nutmeg she insisted on, even if it meant a painful hobble to the spice shelf.

“Mr. Otto wanted to get home,” she said, her arm around James, who had crowded in close to her. “Did you take good care of Two Bits?”

James nodded and pointed to the rag-lined box by the Queen Atlantic, where the kitten slept. “Sure did. He likes to curl up on Mr. Otto's pillow. I found him in there twice.”

Julia looked at the slumbering kitten. “He's a tenacious little beast. That's a long walk down the hall for something so small.”

“How does he get on the bed?” James asked.

“Take a look at those little claws of his,” Julia suggested.

“We missed you, Julia, even if it was only a day or so,” Doc said.

“You missed my cooking,” she teased.

“That too.” He took her empty mug and put it in the sink. “Paul said something the other day about how you've improved the ambiance here.”

“He couldn't possibly have used that word!” Julia said, pleased.

“Not quite. He said you had decreased the ‘rapscallion quotient’ of the place. He also pointed out that even Kringle doesn't swear in German anymore, perhaps on the off chance that you speak Deutsch.”

Julia's cheeks felt rosy and warm and not from the Queen Atlantic. “I just came to cook.”

Doc put his fingers on her cheek, the physician in him coming out. “Touch of cold there, Julia. I've got a little salve for that.”

The salve was soothing, smelling faintly of vanilla. “I mixed up my winter batch while you were gone and took some liberties in your spice cabinet,” Doc said, dabbing at her cheek. “Always nice to have the men of the Double Tipi smelling sweet.”

Doc handed the salve to Mr. Otto when he came inside. “You could use a dab.”

“Want some coffee?” Julia asked, wincing as she stood up. “I'm not sure who made it.”

Mr. Otto shook his head. He yawned. “Nah. I don't even trust yours after dark anymore. I'm getting old. What did you drink?”

“Some warm milk with just a touch of nutmeg.”

“I'll go for that.”

“I'll add a bit of cinnamon too.”

“You have to tinker, don't you?” he asked with a faint smile.

“That's my job. I do it well.”

She brought him the milk, along with the extra copy of the Book of Mormon that had lain on the shelf in the pantry since September.

“You mentioned this once or twice, and I've been slow,” she said, shy about giving him the book. “If you still want it, that is.”

He took it from her and fanned the pages. “I do. Brother Gillespie wanted to give me a copy, but I knew you had an extra. So somewhere in here is that ‘beggars’ passage.”

“I'm certain.” Julia sat down gingerly, wondering if that salve would help in other areas.

“I know it isn't in the Bible, because I've been through that more times than I can count.”

Julia nodded. “So that's how it is when you don't have too many other books around to read?”

He looked her square in the eye. “No, Darling, that's how it is when you want to find out something.”

She blushed, thinking how her father would say she was coming up short. “I know you've read the scriptures more than I have.”

“I have,” he agreed. “I'm looking for something, and you think you've already found it.” He looked at her again, but his expression was softer. “Have you?”

She stayed on her knees beside her bed longer that night, praying for the Gillespies, who were fighting the good fight in the odorous Odd Fellows Hall, and the Rudigers, who had been directed to a better place by Mr. Otto. She prayed for James, the men of the Double Tipi, and especially for Mr. Otto. She rounded off her prayers with the usual for her mother and father, her brothers in St. George, and Iris and Spencer and the expected baby.

She prayed for herself too, something she seldom did. “Lord, please help me to be a better example,” she asked quietly. “I'm not exactly shining these days.”

By the soft glow of the kerosene lamp, she reached for the Book of Mormon.
I think I know so much—I even get proud about it—but maybe I know so little.

Julia woke up in the middle of the night, listening to a sound in the kitchen. She lay in bed, disinclined to move because she ached and it was cold in her room. Maybe Two Bits was noising about, hungry for a meal. She got up, wincing at the pain in her legs, and put on her robe.

Mr. Otto sat on the floor, his back against the cooling but still-warm Queen Atlantic. She peered closer. Two Bits was in his lap, and he was sucking canned milk from her boss's little finger.

“Mr. Otto, I can do that,” she whispered. “I should have gotten up sooner.”

“No problem,” he whispered back. “Why are we whispering?” he asked in a normal voice. “James sleeps like the dead.” He held up the kitten in his palm. “This little devil has apparently decided that I need his company at night.”

With a groan, Julia sat down on a chair by the Queen, tucking her bare feet close together. “I should have warned you. James said Two Bits seems to have claimed your pillow.”

“He has, indeed.” Mr. Otto gently thumbed a spot under the kitten's chin, which brought out a roaring purr all out of proportion to the size of its owner. “I don't even like cats.”

“You could have fooled me.”

When Two Bits began to exhibit vast disinterest to the milk, Mr. Otto handed the kitten to her. It settled in her lap, eyes closed.

“You could leave your door open and Two Bits might purr in your ear instead of mine,” Mr. Otto suggested.

Julia shook her head. “Face it, Mr. Otto. He's your kitten because you picked him up just after his eyes were open and stuck him in your pocket. My mother had a goose that followed her around forever. She said it became a real trial when she started school.”

He didn't say anything for a while but just sat there, his eyes closed, obviously enjoying the remaining warmth from the Queen Atlantic. Julia was ready to return Two Bits to his box—even though the kitten apparently felt disinclined to stay in it—but she didn't want to wake Mr. Otto.

“Darling, could you sing that song that my mother used to hum to me?”

Julia sat up as Two Bits stretched and dug his needle-sharp claws into her leg. She winced and handed him back to Mr. Otto, who put the kitten in the box. “Now stay there, you little beggar.” He looked up. “Do you know the words?”

“Of course,” Julia said. “I'm not a great singer, though.”