Carla Kelly (11 page)

Julia felt his shoulder tense as she rested against him. “He looked a little uncomfortable, hemmed and hawed a bit, then told me that Mormons weren't invited.”

“It happens,” Papa said to fill the enormous silence.

“Sure did to me,” Paul said ruefully. “I didn't know where to look either, so there we were, looking everywhere but at each other. Comical, I suppose.”

“I'm sorry that happened,” Julia said.

“I am too. These are—or were—my friends of longest standing.”

“What did you say?” Papa asked.

“I didn't want to grovel or plead. What's the point?” Paul nudged Julia. “I gave him my patented ‘look,’ at least that's what the Queen of the Hapsburgs here calls it. So then he asked me, ‘Well, aren't you a’—I'll modify his response for the ladies present—‘aren't you a blamed Mormon?’ ”

He laughed then, and it was genuine, which made Julia let out a slow sigh of relief.

“I got really angry at first, but I bit the inside of my cheek. Jed, I remembered what you told me about our President Smith, and what happened when he was set upon by ruffians, and all his companions scattered.”

“Oh, yes,” Papa said.

“I looked Kaiser right in the eye and said, ‘Yessiree, dyed in the wool, true blue, through and through.’ ”

Everyone laughed, including Paul. His concentration disrupted, James looked around, saw everyone laughing, and laughed too.

“What did Mr. Kaiser do?” Julia asked.

“He gave me
his
patented look and walked away. So it goes.” Paul picked up his mother's biography and thumbed the pages again. “It stings, though. It does.” He looked at Jed. “I gave up drinking and, uh, sporting around. Never did smoke. I still like to play cards and I don't mind the odd gamble or bet. Jed, are betting and gambling not allowed?”

“You're a rancher; you bet and gamble every day.”

Paul laughed, and the tension left the room. “That I do. Now I'm asking your dear child to bet and gamble with me.”

He looked at her and Julia had to tell herself,
keep breathing
. She felt as though everyone had left the room, and they were the only two people in the universe. “It's been a tough year, Darling. I'm not so naïve to think that roses should have sprouted on every clump of rabbit brush after I joined the Church, and that certainly hasn't been the case.”

“It seldom is,” Papa said. “Regrets?”

“Not one,” Paul said softly. “I'm learning to endure, which I suspect Mormons do almost better than anyone else.”

Julia watched the look her parents exchanged, seeing in it all the pain of their own year without Iris and with her own wounds. “I'm learning too,” she said. “I'm sorry it's been so hard for you.”

Paul looked embarrassed again. “I'm no paragon; another P word. I sulked on the train ride from Ogallala to Cheyenne. It happened to be Sunday, so I went to Sunday School, dressed in all my ranching splendor.”

“Oh, horrors,” Julia teased, which earned a tug of her curls.

“Funny thing: I stood there in the door and looked around at my fellow Saints, who've become so dear to me in recent months. All I could think of was that scripture in Alma, when Alma runs into his buddies again after all those years trying to shake up the Lamanites. You know that one yet, Darling?”

“I do indeed,” she said promptly. “Something about rejoicing to see that they were his brothers still.”

“You're on the money. It's true. I felt completely at home, because I was. Darling, we'll go to Denver next year, stay at the Brown Palace Hotel, eat at the Buckhorn Exchange—great elk steaks—and see how much honest trouble we can get into.”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

“Mama, this is the best Christmas of my life,” Julia said later, as they were doing dishes. She peeked into the dining room, where James was intent upon building a drawbridge. She heard Paul and her father laughing about something in the parlor, and smiled.

“Next year will be even better, Jules. You'll be on the Double Tipi and…”

The doorbell rang. Julia wiped her hands on her apron. “Can't be the bishop; he's already visited.” She looked into the hallway as her father opened the door. “Oh, my.”

Spencer Davison, Iris's husband, stood there, hat in hand, as Papa helped him off with his snowy overcoat. He looked at her and nodded a greeting. She smiled back, then went back to the kitchen.

“Mama, it's Spencer.”

She noticed Mama's sudden pause and intake of breath, and hopeful eyes, writhing inside to know that just for one small moment, Mama hoped that Iris would be with him and not lying in the Salt Lake Cemetery, patiently waiting for the resurrection. She touched Mama's arm. “It's all right, Mama.”

“I know. I just didn't expect him.” Her smile was wistful. “For just a second…” She shook her head, then took Julia's hand. “I can bear it, if you're with me.”

“Always, Mama.”

It's my turn to pick up the pieces
, Julia thought as she entered the parlor with Mama. Papa was just standing there, Spencer's coat in his hand. Julia glanced at Paul, who was mystified.

Take a deep breath, Jules
, she told herself.
Iris would expect it
. “Spencer, I'm so glad you came. Let me introduce my fiancé, Paul Otto. Paul, this is Iris's husband. He has a dairy farm in Draper.”

To her relief, Paul didn't miss a beat. He shook hands with Spencer. “I've been wanting to meet you,” he said. “I haven't married into this traveling circus yet, but I suspect we have the best in-laws, don't we, you and I?”

Tears in his eyes, Spencer nodded. Paul gripped his arm and said with all the honesty of his heart that Julia knew so well, “I am so sorry for your loss. If Iris was anything like Julia…” He stopped and swallowed.

“She was,” Spencer said. It was his turn to take Paul's arm. The two of them stood together, then Spencer managed a small laugh. “Pardon my plain speaking, Mr. uh…”

“Make it Paul.”

“Paul, then.” He glanced at Julia, with that little bit of fun in his eyes that Iris always seemed to bring out and her death had not banished. “I don't think Jules ever realized how often she referred to you in her letters to us. You look about like I thought you would.” He stepped closer, his smile growing. “Iris swore that you probably wore a gun.”

“Not recently.” Paul shook his head. “Spencer, did Iris ever confess to you that she and Julia used to read their brothers’ western dime novels?”

The two men laughed together. “Uh, yeah,” Spencer said. “She got really indignant about it when I teased her.”

Julia let out her breath slowly as Mama smiled.

“Oh, you two,” Mama said in her quiet way. “You're starting to remind me of our two sons in St. George.”

“Whom I've yet to meet,” Paul interjected.

“Oh ho, you will, and with a vengeance,” Spencer said. “You can look as fearsome as you like, but they'll take you aside before the wedding—not after—and give you the ‘brother talk,’ both barrels, one on each side of you.”

“Whoa,” Paul said. “I was an only child. What is the brother talk?”

“It's the one where they vow to strike you dead if you do anything—a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g—to disrupt their sister in any way.”

“I've already done that enough,” Paul said. “It's too late.”

“Don't tell them!”

Everyone laughed, and it was easy then for Mama and Papa to sit down with Spencer and chat about the dairy farm and how his life was going. Julia pulled Paul into the kitchen with her, closed the door, and kissed him as hard as she could.

“When was the last time I told you that you are magnificent?” she whispered, her lips close to his ear because he had grabbed her up in his arms.

“Can't recall. Maybe when I bought you that ring that we don't have to hock now, because I found my cattle,” he teased.

“Well, you are magnificent. Set me down now so I can dish up some pie.”

“Kiss me again and then I'll set you down.”

She did, he didn't, so she had to kiss him twice more. She knew her face was still red when she and Paul took dessert into the parlor, dropping off some pie for James in the dining room, who looked up, smiled, and went back to his drawbridge. “It's going to have a pulley to raise the bridge,” he said.

In the parlor, they ate in companionable silence. When Spencer finished, he leaned back and looked at Julia. “You're still some cook.”

“Isn't she just?” Paul said. He winked at Julia. “Sport, how about we gather up the plates and you can tell me in the kitchen how wonderful I am?”

“Just a minute,” Spencer said. He looked at Julia's parents. “I was visiting my parents in Sandy most of the day, and it took me most of that time to get up the courage to visit you.”

“You know you're always welcome here, Spencer,” Mama told him.

“I know. It's just hard,” he replied. He took a deep breath to calm himself and pulled a packet out of his suit coat. “Julia, this is for you.”

Julia took the packet, feeling cloth inside.

“Open it.”

Curious, she put the packet in her lap and untied the twine around the brown paper. She pulled out eight quilt squares and held them up so Mama could see. “You and Iris were the quilters, Mama. What's the pattern?”

Mama took one, running a trembling finger over the colorful design. “My dear, it's the double wedding ring.” She caressed the fabric. “I'd know Iris's little stitches anywhere.”

“They're hers, all right,” Spencer said, taking one of the squares. His eyes were bright with unshed tears when he looked at her. “Julia, she started making this for you last fall.”

Julia stared at him, open-mouthed. “Are you certain?” She stopped, amazed. “Last fall, Paul was trying to eat my warm liver salad and probably toying with firing me!”

Spencer looked at Paul and smiled. “We laughed over that letter.” He returned his attention to Julia and took her hand, after a glance at Paul, who nodded. “You may not have been aware how many times you mentioned Mr. Otto in your letters, but Iris was. She told me right after Thanksgiving that she knew you were going to marry him.” He paused for a long moment, the quilt block tight in his hand. “She even said she'd better hurry up, but she only had eight blocks done when… Well, she only had eight blocks done.” He handed her the note.

Julia could barely read it because the familiar handwriting swam before her eyes. All it said was “For Jules. Surprise!”

“I found these last week when I decided to box up some of her things. I know there's not enough for a quilt yet, but Mother Darling, maybe you could get it done. My mother said she would help.”

He bowed his head over the single quilt block in his hand. Julia took him in her arms and kissed his head, holding him close. “Spencer, you're the best,” she whispered.

He dried his eyes and held out the block. Julia shook her head and pressed it back in his hand. “That's yours, dearest,” she said. “We'll make a wonderful quilt for Iris. I promise.”

Spencer left a few minutes later, shaking hands with Paul first. “I don't think Julia's brothers will give you too hard a time, because I think you could take them in a fair fight. Well, maybe separately.”

“You're optimistic,” Paul said drily. “I doubt brothers fight fair. I'm sure I wouldn't!”

“Be brave,” Spencer joked. He kissed Julia. “Make sure I get an invitation to the wedding.”

He embraced Mama and Papa, standing close to them in a tight circle by the open door. When the front door closed, Paul put his arm around Julia.

“He'll always be your brother-in-law, won't he?” he whispered.

“Always. Nothing changes that.”

“Even if he remarries?”

“We hope he does. But, no, he will always be my brother-in-law.” She turned her face into his shoulder. “I could have wished a longer life on earth for my sister, but as you pointed out yesterday, nothing happens by coincidence.” She chuckled. “Which reminds me: I'm so sorry I whined about… well, you know, a few months ago.”

To her surprise and then her profound gratitude, he looked genuinely puzzled. His expression changed, and he touched her neck. “I'd forgotten.”

“I'm forgetting, but I'm not perfect yet,” she said, kissing his cheek and then detaching herself, because he was getting all too comfortable. “Come on, cowboy, dishes await. We'll wash them in cold water, and you'll keep your hands in the sink.”

He did as she said, and Julia glanced into the dining room as Papa sat with James. In a few minutes, the boy was showing her father how to build an elevator. Paul looked too, when he finished washing the dishes. “It appears we have an engineer on our hands. Two of them, maybe.” He grabbed the dish towel she had draped over her shoulder and snapped her with it. “James and I will talk on the train ride home. He's already said that the bunkhouse isn't a good place for either Meccano set, what with overcrowding. I think I can convince him that the Shumways have plenty of room.”

“It's going to be hard for you.”

“Not as hard as Spencer has it. I can endure a little temporary heartache.” He rested his arm on her shoulder. “Maybe the Shumways will let James spend some time with us on the Double Tipi during summer, when school is out.”

“Maybe they will.” She patted his chest. “And he'll be safe in Cheyenne, no matter what McAtee thinks.”