Carla Kelly (37 page)

You don't fight fair, sport,” Paul spoke into her hair that night. “You cry, and you're right.”

That ended the argument. Julia spent the week cooking, her greatest solace, next to Paul and the Lord. She cooked until her mind was clear, and the hands and building crew cried uncle. The bunkhouse went up rapidly, and she marveled at Karl Rudiger's German efficiency.

Paul didn't mind a bit when she cut out a baby nightgown on his desk, but he did draw the line at letting her use his green desk blotter as a pin cushion.

“Don't give me that soft-eyed look. I'm immune,” he declared. “Well, maybe just that corner, but that's all, or I'll banish you to the dining room.” His expression turned serious. “But no further.”

He wanted to keep her in his sight, and she had no objection. She knew he had asked all his hands to do the same thing. Solitary rides to the Cuddy ranch were vetoed, if she had bothered to object. She didn't. When Paul couldn't ride along, he enlisted Colby, who always entertained her with stories about cowography along the Big Horn range, where he used to work.

“How did you end up with the Clyde Brothers?” she asked as they returned to the Double Tipi one afternoon. She had insisted on handling the reins, and Colby was her passenger.

He shrugged. “You drift and winter comes, and you ride the grub line until someone takes you on and lets you ride for their brand, if you're lucky.” His expression turned rueful. “Those stories about the Clydes squeezing a penny until it screams? All true.”

She returned her attention to Maisie.
It's nice to have a champion,
she told herself
, but I'd rather have Paul along
. He had ridden to Wheatland yesterday by himself to arrange for hay deliveries while he and his hands went to the roundup. “I'm glad it's not far as the spring gather,” he had told her yesterday. “I'm uneasy without you in my sight.”

When she and Colby returned, Julia went to the new bunkhouse, enjoying the fragrance of newly sawn wood. Two of Mr. Rudiger's men were glazing windows now as he hung the door. She walked inside, please to see a larger, lighter bunkhouse, with two heating stoves and a bathing room too. The wooden bunks were gone, replaced by iron frame beds with genuine mattresses, and tables and chairs enough for everyone. No more need to turn over Nabisco boxes for additional seating.

“It's mighty fine, Mr. Rudiger,” she said. “Will you still have time to refurbish the old bunkhouse? Charlotte and Matt are so hoping.”

“Ja, Frau, so they have told me. We finish this tonight with the painting and start on the old place tomorrow. Two days more, and then to Fort Collins we return.”

She cleared her throat, wondering if she ought to speak her mind, as executive officer of the corporation. “Mr. Rudiger, you really haven't charged Paul enough for this project.”

He opened and closed the door several times, until he was satisfied with the fit before he answered. “Frau Otto, have you any idea how much I owe your good man for finding me work in Fort Collins?” He gestured toward the other builders at the window. “I have my own business now. In Germany I could never have hoped for such a thing. There is a German proverb: do a good deed and be twice blessed. Herr Otto and you, Frau, are proof of that.” He gave her that courtly bow she remembered from her gift of tar paper to him almost two years ago. “I have been amply paid.”

“Very well. I know better than to argue,” she said simply. “Mr. Rudiger, you're a peach.”

“That is an expression I do not know,” he told her.

“It means you're extra special.”

He bowed again, and she could tell he was pleased.

“Frau Otto, I took the liberty…” He gestured toward the house. “You will find something up the stairs from me and Ursula. I assembled it and showed it to Herr Otto before he left this morning. Go look in the room across the hall from your chamber.”

Curious, Julia did as he said, going upstairs and into the room for the baby, which was still empty.

It was empty no longer. She put her hand to her mouth to see a crib with beautifully turned slats. Her astonished gaze lingered on the hand-carved headboard and footboard, with a smiling wooden cherub at each end that looked remarkably like Danila, Karl and Ursula's older daughter. “Oh, my,” was all she could say.

Ursula had knitted an elaborate afghan. Julia ran her finger over the delicate design, knowing it was far beyond her own competent skills with knitting needles. There was a note in German on it. She took it downstairs and out to the bunkhouse, silently handing it to Mr. Rudiger.

He took it from her, and his own struggle began. “It is from the Gospel of St. Matthias. Matthew, you call him.” He took a deep breath. “So simple, what you did, when you were Fraulein Darling last year.” He cleared his throat and gave her a look so kind that tears started in her eyes even before he began to read. “It's something like this: ‘When I was hungry, ye gave me meat…’ ”

Julia sobbed out loud, her hand to her mouth.

“Frau, you make this difficult,” he said gently. “‘Thirsty and ye gave me drink.’ And then this: ‘If you have done this to one of no account, you have done it to me.’ ” His eyes were kind. “You fed us, when no one else would. How could we ever be out of your debt?”

She could barely wait to show the crib to Doctor McKeel when he came upstairs that afternoon after chores to listen to her baby's heartbeat, something he did every two weeks now. Charlotte or Paul always accompanied him, so Julia would not feel uncomfortable. When he finished, and she sat up again, he dismissed Charlotte.

“Any questions for your physician?” he asked.

“Not this time,” she said. She went to the window. “I have to tell you something, though. Elinore probably wouldn't want me to, but I'm going to, anyway. She wrote that letter to your wife.”

He didn't seem surprised to Julia's relief. “You told me you hadn't, and Elinore is the only other person I could think of who would do that.” He hesitated, looking unsure of himself. “Did she tell you why?”

“I asked, of course. She told me that your wife ought to have another opportunity, since you have changed so much.”

“She's kind.”

“She likes you too,” Julia added, shy. “I wouldn't dream of treading on her feelings, but she's certain you would never give her a second glance.” Julia couldn't help her exasperated sigh. “I wish I could wave a magic wand and give her confidence!”

Doc was silent a long moment. “I'll tell you something private about Elinore, which might help you understand why she is so reluctant to express herself.” He looked around. “Let's go to the parlor,” he said.

“Elinore Cuddy came out here four years ago, about the same time Paul poured me out of a bottle and gave me a job,” Doc began, when she was seated downstairs with her knitting again. “Her brother had invited her out to be his housekeeper. She had taught school for ten years and had no prospects there. I think Allen took a look around, saw all the bachelors, and figured the odds might be better in Wyoming for a woman.” He hesitated again. “Well…”

“She'd be the first person to say she's plain,” Julia said, when his silence lingered. “I see other qualities that mean more, but she doesn't.”

“True.” His expression hardened then. “The Clyde Brothers decided to play a prank.”

“I wish I could say that surprised me,” Julia said.

“Your bay leaf in that sonofagun stew was probably the first time that anyone has dared to tease that trio of bullies.”

Julia sighed. “Paul is too kind to admit it, but I think that little bay leaf led to his near ejection from the Stock Growers Association.”

“I
know
that bay leaf has been the subject of amusement to lots of stockmen from the Powder to the Platte! You have more champions than you know, Julia.”

“The Clyde brothers are not among them.”

“No! It was Malcolm's idea to send Elinore a letter, saying that his younger brother Angus was smitten with her, and asked if she would enjoy corresponding with him.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes. She started writing to Angus, and it went on for some months. Apparently all the brothers took turns writing flowery letters, the kind of letters that would give any woman the notion that marriage was in the cards.” He stood up and took a turn around the room, stopping to straighten up the photograph of the Salt Lake Temple. “In his last letter, Angus arranged to meet her in the restaurant in Gun Barrel. She went there, all expectant, and sat and sat, waiting for him to arrive.”

“And he never did,” Julia finished.

“He never did. When it was late afternoon, she pulled together what shreds of dignity were left to her and walked out of the restaurant. The Clyde brothers were standing across the street, laughing at her and pointing for everyone in Gun Barrel to see. To make it worse, they had placed bets all over town that she would show. Imagine money changing hands over a bet about a lady. I was appalled.”

Julia leaped to her feet and took her own circuit of the parlor. “That is unspeakable!” she declared.

“The Clydes thought it was hilarious. Rumor has it that they collected over one thousand dollars on that awful bet. It was two years before Elinore set foot off Cuddy property. I never saw anyone so whipped looking. I admit I was surprised, to see her at the spring roundup. When I chatted with her, she told me she only came because she wanted to meet you.”

“Doc, how can people be so heartless?”

“It's a mystery.”

They sat down again, both of them silent for a long while.
If you won't speak, I will
, Julia thought. “If I'm not prying too much, have you heard from your former wife?”

“You're not, and I have,” he said. “She's asked me to return to Indiana.”

“Oh, no,” Julia said before she thought. She put her hand to her mouth again. “I mean, well, isn't that nice? No, I don't mean that! I want you to stay here and deliver my baby, and get to know Elinore better and…” She stopped, embarrassed, then doggedly continued. “I would never be as kind as Elinore if I loved you! I'd fight and scrap.”

“I imagine you would,” Doc said, amused. “I pity any female who would ever try to get between you and the boss.”

“It wouldn't be pretty!” Julia declared. “But Elinore is too nice. Well, tell me. I'll hound you if you don't let me know. Did you write her back?”

“Nora? I did, and don't worry! I'm not leaving you without a doctor. I asked her to move out here, because I think I might want to take over old Dr. Beck's practice.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed.

“We were married six years before our son died, and they were good years. I want to give Nora and me another chance, Julia,” he said quietly. “If I owe that to Elinore's kindness, well, I do. If Nora decides not to come, then we'll see.”

Exasperated, Julia thumped her hands into her lap and glared at her doctor. He laughed out loud, then sobered immediately. “Julia, don't pout! Paul will think I've been troubling you, when he returns. Be Elinore's friend, my little friend. All right?”

She nodded, embarrassed at her tantrum, and gathered her own dignity. “I don't usually act so childish, Dr. McKeel. I am going to blame my baby.”

He grinned at her, his own equanimity restored. “You're entitled to do that. Maybe someday scientists will figure out why ladies who are anticipating get a bit, uh, high-strung, at times. I'm sure I don't know. Paul tells me you cry at dominos now.” He put up his hands in selfdefense at the thunderous look she gave him. “He did!”

She laughed. “He's right. Trust my best guy to put it that way.”

After Rudiger and Company left three days later, the new bunkhouse had been painted inside and out, with sturdy shutters over the windows to keep out Wyoming winters. The old bunkhouse had been divided into three rooms and painted. Mr. Rudiger's carpenters had cut out more windows and glazed them. These had curtains, made from extra gingham Julia had brought from home.

Hands folded behind her back, as she had been taught at Indian school, Charlotte just stood in the open door, gazing at her future home.

“I have one too many rugs for my house,” Julia said, standing there with her. “It'll look nice in your parlor. I hope you don't mind such a small kitchen, but I'd like you to keep cooking with me, and the two of you taking your meals with us.”

“We will,” she said.

“When you and Matt return from Wind River as Mr. and Mrs. Malloy, we'll have the furniture in place that Paul ordered.”

Charlotte turned in the doorway to look at Julia. “When my cousin invited me here to cook and keep house for him while you were away, I almost didn't accept. I had just finished being lonely for four years at the Indian school in Kansas, and I didn't want anything more to do with white people.” She ducked her head, embarrassed. “I shouldn't say that.”

“Sounds honest. What changed your mind?” Julia asked, interested.

“Something my father said. He and Paul's mother had been raised together and they were close. He told me to not be afraid to look at people different from me with different eyes.”

“My father told me the same thing when I left for the Double Tipi!”

They looked at each other with complete understanding. “I will always want to cook for you,” Charlotte said, proud. “This is the best kitchen in Wyoming.”

“You may, at least, until you start your own family,” Julia said. “And that's ‘with me,’ not ‘for me.’ ”

“Who will help you cook for all the hands then?” Charlotte asked.

“The Lord provides.”

With Charlotte and Matt gone to Fort Washakie, Paul took Julia with him to finish the work before roundup, so he could use Colby's services. Julia rode in the buckboard, grateful for its springs. September had turned hot again, and she sweltered, knitting doggedly, disliking the discomfort, but determined not to show it, not with Paul anxious for her.

For seven straight days, she kept up with them on the range as they repaired the fences and put up new ones, rising before dawn every morning to cook for the whole day, and load it in the back of the buckboard. There was no privacy for calls of nature, beyond asking the men to look the other way. It embarrassed Julia that her pregnancy made those calls more frequent. The constant wind in her face made her edgier as each day passed. How on earth did Paul stand this?