Carla Kelly (23 page)

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I just held his hand.”

He was silent, and Julia caressed his face.

“Darling, when I saw you at the river's edge, I thought of my father.” He took a deep breath. “Here's the difference: I held the priesthood. I knew there was something I could do.”

God comfort this good man
, Julia thought.
I am the lucky one. He will never take the priesthood for granted
. “Thank you for what you did. I'm not sure I ever told you.”

“You did. I'm not surprised you don't remember. What a horrible afternoon.” She knew better than to fill his silence with chatter. “Before my father died, he motioned me to put my ear close to his lips. He kissed me—blood on his lips, blood on my ear—and he told me the place was mine. Then he grabbed my hand and told me to be the brave man he knew I was. When I say no fears, Julia, I mean it. You're part of me now. You're Mr. Otto's woman. He's tough and you have to be too, or this country will devour you. It will chew you up and spit you out.”

“And when I'm afraid?” she asked, her voice small.

“You lean on me and the Lord. I had no one to lean on, once Pa died. Now I do—you and the Lord. I'm rich in support, and so are you. Don't ever forget that. You're Julia Otto now, and Ottos don't blink.”

Her sigh was audible, and he chuckled. “Heavy doings tonight, Julia. We make love and I show you the deepest part of my heart. You all right with that, sport?”

“I'm more than all right.”

“I'll go another level deeper then. I know this is a sacred subject, but funny thing is, our home seems like a sacred place now. It never was before. When you and I were kneeling across that altar, and the officiator was sealing blessing after blessing on us, I guess the businessman in me surfaced for a moment.”

“Businessman?” she asked in surprise. “Paul, are you always going to keep me a little bit off balance?”

“I hope so. You know what I heard? Potential. Together, we have endless potential, where before I had land and cattle, which amounts to absolutely nothing. When I look at you, I see eternal worlds now.”

Julia closed her eyes and didn't try to stop her tears, not with her best man so close and well aware of the deepest part of her heart too. “I simply don't know what to say, Paul.”

“You already did, sport, when you said yes across the altar. Go to sleep now.” She woke him up later in the middle of the night, wanting him, and he was ever so obliging.

The men rode out every day the rest of the week, checking fences and watching for cattle that all winter had been drifting around through fences weakened by the fire. Kringle stayed behind, but Julia noticed that he sat outside while he mended harness, his eyes going now and then to the ridge. She made sure he had his favorite ginger snaps.

Julia thought of what Paul had said as she went about her tasks.
Our home is a sacred place
, she thought as she and Charlotte put up curtains and pictures. Mama had sent along a photograph of the Salt Lake Temple. Julia had thought of putting it in a private place upstairs, where only they could see it, but after Paul's words, she hung it right in the parlor. When Charlotte had questions, she answered them.

Charlotte exclaimed over the wedding presents, then gave Julia a knowing smile when most of them went into the storage space in the office or in the sideboard.

“Your people have never been to Wyoming, have they?” Charlotte asked, after counting all the grapefruit spoons.

“Their parents crossed Wyoming, but nobody came back and settled here,” Julia said. She held up a spoon. “Maybe I could use these to plant flowers.”

Charlotte exclaimed over the lovely dresses Julia hung in the wardrobe. Julia just shook her head, wondering where she would ever find a use for most of them. Thank goodness she had insisted on more plain shirtwaists, skirts, and divided skirts for riding.

She started keeping Paul company in the bathing room in the morning while he shaved. It became their substitute for “Walk with me, Darling,” where he told her of his plans for the day, and she shared the menu for the evening meal.

When he finished shaving this morning, he gave her an appraising look. “I have an idea, sport. I've been mulling it around. Tell me what you think.”

“I think you're awfully handsome.”

“That too. The Clyde brothers are expecting you on the cow gather. I don't like them and I don't trust them, and I know they don't like me. You'll be helping Cookie, but you'll be the amateur and fair game for jokers.”

“Ooh, I thought being Mrs. Paul Otto would keep me safe.”

“It'll help,” he agreed as he patted on some bay rum. “So will the fact that you're pretty, and you have a reputation for courage and good cooking.”

“Thank you, Mr. Otto. What kind of jokes?”

He pulled up his garments and shirt and started tying and buttoning. “Does Fannie Farmer have a recipe for Rocky Mountain oysters?”

“Oysters?
Here
?”

He rolled his eyes. “That's what I was afraid of! Sport, you have a lot to learn. Tomorrow after breakfast, put on your riding clothes and I'll saddle your horse. We're going to hunt the elusive Rocky Mountain oyster, and you're going to learn how to cook'um. Believe me, it'll save you from disaster at the roundup.”

“I'm taking you to work with me today,” Paul said the next morning as he twined his gloved hands together. She put her booted foot into them. “Up you get. This is a better horse than Millie. I named her Suzie Q, and she is a well-bred lady. Sort of like you.”

Julia looked down dubiously. “I'm up pretty high. I can't ride Millie?”

“Nope.” Paul swung himself on Chief. “Mr. Otto's woman rides blooded stock. Besides, I want you to keep up with me better. Suzie Q knows what to do.”

They rode north out of the valley. The air was brisk for late April.

“I've never been this way,” she said. “Come to think of it, I've never actually seen you at work, have I?”

“No. It's high time you discovered what a competent stockman you married. Race you, sport.”

With no discernible command, Chief sprang forward. Suzie Q didn't hang back, which pleased Julia. Her father had never allowed her to race whatever horse her brothers set her on, when she went to the ranch. Julia laughed out loud as her hat fell off and dangled from its strings down her back.

“How do you keep your hat on?” she asked when Paul reined in by a small herd milling around in a corral.

“Practice. What else?”

She set her hat back on. Doc set two irons in the fire and waved her closer.

“Stay in the saddle, Julia,” Paul said. “I'll tell you when it's safe to dismount.”

She watched as Paul spoke to Chief in Shoshone and left her side, cutting smoothly through the cattle, dodging and weaving until the calves were in the pen with their mothers bellowing outside.

“Pretty impressive man, your husband,” Doc said.

“Poetry,” she said, her eyes on Paul. “Doc, what on earth is a Rocky Mountain oyster? I know Paul must be joking.”

“No. Don't let this embarrass you, Julia, but the boss is going to save you from a whole lot of ribbing. In a stab at gentility, let's call them bull's private parts. Paul wants to brand a few of these calves and castrate them. Then he'll show you how to pop out the oyster, because they're a range delicacy. Since you're going to be
the
greenhorn, the gents will bring you a pan full of oysters in their handy dandy carrying pouch and watch you throw up.”

“My word, but I have led a sheltered life,” Julia said finally, when she could speak. She pointed at Paul. “That scoundrel over there on his smart horse asked me last night if there was a recipe for Rocky Mountain oysters in my cookery book.” She started to laugh. “Do they… do they taste good?”

“I like'um. Watch your old man now.”

She did, and what she saw took her breath away. He had cut out one good-sized calf and followed it with his rope swinging. With a backhanded twist of his wrist, the lariat snaked out and snagged the young bull around the hind legs as neatly as if the animal had calmly stepped into the loop. It all happened so fast, she wasn't sure what she had seen.

“Wow,” she said under her breath as the calf went down.

“He'll take a dally to allow some play,” Doc explained, “and drag him toward the branding fire. Watch Matt now,” Doc told her. “Since it's a smallish calf, he'll just sit on his neck. Otherwise, Matt would rope the front feet, and they'd stretch out that yearling. There! Come inside the corral.”

She followed Doc, watching Chief clamp down as though he was a statue, stretching out the bawling calf, trapped now by Matt's leg on his neck.

“Paul will dismount and Chief will not budge an inch. I've wondered how long it took Boss to train him. Come on. My turn now. You won't like this.”

Julia followed Doc to the fire, where he selected an iron. She recognized the Double Tipi TTP brand. Doc branded the protesting calf, as its mother bawled, maybe in sympathy.

Julia recoiled from the odor of burning hair and flesh. She backed toward the fence, then leaned over and retched. She hoped the calf was making enough noise to cover the sound as she retched until she threw up, but Paul watched her. He blew her a kiss.

“Better now than at the cow gather,” she murmured, wiping her mouth. He motioned to the canteen hanging from the fence post. She took a long pull.

Paul motioned her closer, and she obliged. “Sorry. You'll be smelling that all day at the gather, so get used to it. Watch now. Or not.”

He flashed down with his knife across the tip of the bag. Julia gasped as he reached his fingers inside and pulled out one testicle attached to a cord, which he stretched taut, then severed. Working fast, he repeated the operation and the knife flashed again. The calf set up a louder racket, joined in volume by his anxious mother. Julia put her hands over her ears, but she couldn't help a look, surprised at how relatively bloodless the swift work was. The calf noise made her flinch.

“Who can blame him?” she murmured, repelled and fascinated at the same time. She felt the gorge rise in her throat again, but she subdued it this time, especially since she had nothing left to offer the range gods. “Why do that?”

“Makes'um easier to handle on the range and gives us better meat.” He grinned at her. “You know, so I can keep you in flour, lard and sugar. Hand me that tin cup, sport.”

She handed it to him, and he plopped in the pink-tinged handful and gave back the cup. “Stand back now, and we'll let up this former bull.”

She retreated to the fence as Paul loosed his rope and Matt stood up and away. He nudged the calf and he rose, still bawling, looking for his mother. Doc opened the fence, and the much-put-upon calf scurried through to sanctuary from knives and irons. Both mother and son took one last look as they hightailed it away.

Julia stared at the cup in her hand. “Rocky Mountain oysters,” she said. “Miss Farmer, I'll never be able to write you about this.”

Julia watched Paul cut out another calf as neatly as before. He repeated the process again, and then again, until three calves were bawling and battle scarred. Each time, Julia held out the tin cup for its offering.

When they finished, Matt and Doc swatted away the remaining cattle with their lariats. Paul draped his arm around Julia.

“You did pretty well, sport,” he said, and his eyes were kind. “Sorry you lost your breakfast, but better now than at the cow gather, eh?”

She nodded and surprised him by kissing his cheek. He chuckled and took the cup from her. “Come on over here now, and the lesson continues.”

She followed him to the shady side of the wagon, trying to squat down like he did, but ended up poking herself with her spur. “That looks easier than it is,” she grumbled.

“Just sit cross legged,” he advised. “Can't have you hurting your tender parts, sport.”

She laughed. “Paul, do you realize how many things have happened on the Double Tipi that I can never, ever tell my folks? What now?”

He took a bull part from the tin cup. “We could take these back home to fix them, but you'll be out on the range next week, and this is what you'll face. Watch closely.”

Julia stared at his bloody hands as he took one testicle, held it tight with two fingers and cut a slit across the top. “They're slippery as all get out, so you have to be careful not to cut your fingers,” he said. “Make that slit a little larger, then work your thumbs inside and pop out the oyster.”

He did it easily, and the gleaming white testicle popped out. “Take off that gristle and cut the cord. What do think? Want to try?”

She nodded, swallowing a few times before picking up the testicle. After several tries, she draped it between two fingers. “Wish my hands were bigger,” she muttered. She took another deep breath and cut a slit. She couldn't help smiling as she put her thumbs in the right place and popped out the oyster.

“That's my girl,” Paul said, and she felt that same glow of pride she always did at a compliment from the boss. “Do the rest of them now.”

She wasn't fast, and her incisions weren't as practiced as Paul's, but she skinned the oysters and added them to the others in a piece of waxed paper. Paul twisted it shut and tucked it in her front pocket, patting her.

“Ordinarily, we'd just cook them on a flat stone next to the branding iron fire.”

“That's it?” she asked dubiously.

“You could add salt, if you're particular,” he said.

“You eat these?” she asked, skepticism high in her voice.

“Whenever we can. Come here and hold out your hands.”

He poured water on her hands from his canteen, and she did the same for him. “What'll probably happen, unless Cookie has gotten really mellow since the last cow gather, is that the boys will be grinning from ear to ear as they bring you a few of these.” He smiled. “I remember a few years ago when Allen Cuddy's sister was new to the range. She fainted dead away.”

“Mr. Otto's woman won't do that,” Julia said proudly.

“I didn't think so. Let's go home, sport, and I'll cook them for you.”

She washed her hands for a long time at the pump in the kitchen while Paul took care of the horses. By the time he finished, she had changed clothes and found her most enveloping apron. She took the glistening, slippery oysters from the waxed paper twist and washed them.