Authors: Enduring Light
Trust Mama. “You're just the right size,” she said calmly, taking out another bear sign from the hot grease with tongs. “You're about six weeks from confinement and everyone knows it, and no one looks prettier than an expectant mother. Jules, gone are the days when ladies-in-waiting hide in the back room! Go stand by Paul before I paddle you.”
“Mama was going to paddle me if I didn't stop hiding in the kitchen,” Julia whispered to Paul as they circulated in the parlor, greeting friends.
“Good for her.” He leaned close, his lips near her ear. “I wouldn't
dare
paddle you. There aren't enough cold baths in the universe, since all I get is a handshake at night now.”
“Paul!”
“You know me,” he whispered. “Now let us mingle like experts. Our neighbors came to eat, say howdy to us and each other, and maybe dance a little.” He took a deep breath. “And they don't seem to mind that we're Mormons. I wondered if anyone would come.”
“I did too,” she said. “Guess we're a pair of sillies.”
Julia glanced at their little orchestra: a harmonica courtesy of Max Marlowe, and Allen Cuddy with his guitar were known quantities at many a cow gather. The surprise was the Wheatland farmer Paul had invited who brought along his autoharp. Matt Malloy had a drum he called a bodhran, and Papa embarrassed her only a little bit with his spoons. To her immense gratification, Doc and Elinore were dancing the two-step to “Turkey in the Straw.”
The party started at noon with oyster stew, chicken and dumplings, and roast beef sandwiches, followed by cakes, pies, bear sign, rice pudding, and the surprise hit of the afternoon: pie crust cookies dipped in butter cream frosting. Julia watched her friends eat, a smile on her face.
Miss Fannie Farmer, I wish you could see me now
, she thought.
You probably think people bay at the moon in Wyoming, but they just like to eat too
.
The party spilled over into all the rooms on the bottom floor. Upstairs, the Rudiger's crib was put to use by three little ones in a row. Julia admired two older children napping on her bed, their cheeks still red from the cutting wind they had faced to get to the Double Tipi.
She looked out her bedroom window, wondering if there would be a time when her glance wouldn't first go to the ridge. McAtee was held now in the jail in Cheyenne, mainly because there didn't seem to be any place better for him. It hadn't been hard for her to convince Paul to send a little money to the jail each month for his expenses.
Poor, poor man
, she thought.
Why must people be so land greedy?
She wondered if this would always be a hard place, this land she had come to love because it was Paul Otto's home.
The ridge was quite empty. It delighted her to see more adventuresome children attempting a game of horseshoes in the snow, while others rolled a snowman. Someone had brought a sled and was going in search of a slope.
“Happy, sport?”
“You're so quiet,” she whispered. “I didn't hear you coming.”
“I already know better than to wake up sleeping children,” he whispered back.
“Yes, I'm happy. Think how much fun a party will be this summer, with croquet on the lawn, and maybe badminton,” she said. “I can make summer slush and all kinds of cookies.” She sighed. “I'll have my waist back.”
They walked down the stairs together. Paul stopped halfway down. The dancing had swirled out into the hallway now. “This is so far removed from anything that
ever
happened on the Double Tipi before,” he told her, wonder in his voice. “Julia Darling Otto, you came to cook, and you changed every single thing about my life except the cows.”
She laughed softly. “I like to think they're not cussed at so much!” She winked back tears then. “To think I was on the verge of settling for someone I sort of liked, and then I saw your advertisement. Do you ever just want to pinch yourself?”
“Nah. I just want to pinch you.”
The door opened then, and the Shumways came in. Paul was instantly alert. He reached for her hand, but she shook her head. “I'll take a more sedate pace, cowboy. You go ahead.”
She stayed where she was, watching Paul hurry down the stairs, and James grab him around the waist. They stood together, hard man and frightened boy who had been through so much, and then the boy dashed out the door and joined the others his age in the snow. “Good for you, James,” she whispered. “You're a boy now, too.”
“Thanks for coming, Cora,” Julia said as she hugged her. “It means a lot.”
“You're sure you have room for us?” Cora asked doubtfully, looking at all the people laughing and talking.
“We do. We started the party early so those who live close by can make it home before dark. We have room.” She couldn't help laughing. “You should know. If it hadn't been for the Cheyenne Sunday School, we'd probably be having this party in the tack room!”
She hadn't expected Mr. Kaiser to walk in the door later that afternoon, but there he was, looking around appreciatively, greeting the ranchers he knew, and catching her eye.
He crossed the room to her, and Julia held out her hand. “Mr. Kaiser, you came a long way.”
He took her hand. “I like a party. Mrs. Otto, you look like you're blooming.”
“I am, sir. Things could have been so different, but because of you, they aren't,” she said frankly. “I hope you have a wonderful New Year. Thanks to you, I will.”
He just nodded, squeezed her fingers, then released her hand. In another minute he was talking to Paul. She relaxed, watching the two of them together, friends again. Her pleasure turned to surprise as Paul suddenly stared at Kaiser, then stepped back, his mouth open.
Julia held her breath, apprehensive, and then wondering, as Paul put his arms on Kaiser's shoulders. In another moment, he was gesturing to her.
When she reached Paul's orbit, he took her hand and pulled the two of them into the kitchen, the only empty room downstairs.
“What's the matter?” she asked, concerned.
“I think your husband is at a loss for words,” Kaiser said. “I asked him to baptize me, and now he looks like a trout tossed up on the bank.” He laughed. “And now you do too, Mrs. Otto! I'm serious.” And he was, his expression solemn. “You know a person doesn't joke about a thing like that. Not here and not in Colorado.” He shook his head. “My brothers think I'm crazy, but I don't think you do.”
“No. We don't,” Paul said, when he could speak. “I'd be honored. When?”
“I was thinking maybe when the ice is off that nice little area you dammed up, by your cut bank,” Kaiser said, with a hint of a smile. “Did you build a font on purpose?”
“Maybe I did,” Paul said, wonder still in his voice. He tightened his grip on Julia. “Maybe it's not a scary place anymore, eh, sport?”
“How could it be?” she asked, banishing the last demon completely.
“I'll be back in April then,” Kaiser said. He nodded to them both. “Now I'm off to Gun Barrel and the train. Brother Gillespie said I should visit someone in Denver named President Herrick.”
Paul laughed. “Tell him howdy from me, will you?”
When Kaiser left, Julia just looked at Paul. He put his arms around her, wordless, until Mama came into the kitchen with an empty platter.
“You two!” she declared. “Out there! Circulate!”
They did as she said. Julia looked around at the noisy room, people chatting, dancing, laughing, eating. She took a deep breath and smelled the pungent aroma of hot cider, the subtle nutmeg of egg nog, just a hint of a distant ocean in the oyster stew: winter flavors.
Almost without even knowing how, she had surrounded herself with tender mercies.
Her parents left in early January. Papa had to get back to Zions Bank, where he had just been named senior vice president. Paul urged her mother to stay until after the baby came, but Mama had said no.
“This is your time with your wife,” she told him gently. “From all indications, Dr. McKeel will be fine. Julia tells me he has a pretty good helper in that nice Elinore.”
“You can change your mind,” Paul coaxed.
“I know I can, but I won't. You and Julia have everyone here you need. Mostly each other, I think.” She touched his face. “Dear, dear Paul. Just make sure I get a prompt telegram, even if you have to ride through a blizzard!”
He saluted, and she laughed.
“I love your parents,” he told Julia after he returned from taking them to the train in Gun Barrel. The wind had picked up, and she had started to worry. She had been knitting in his office, getting up every few minutes to look through the swirl of snow for her husband. Julia sighed with relief when she heard his familiar step on the side porch. She listened and was rewarded with “Dear Evalina,” so it must have been a good trip.
Still wrapped in his overcoat with his muffler high around his face, he peeled it back and kissed her, then dropped a frozen letter in what remained of her lap. “Better open this one right now. I'm curious, and I was tempted to open it. Who do you know in Nome, Alaska?”
“No one.” Puzzled, Julia opened the letter, which had no return address. “You could have read it, Paul. I wouldn't have minded.” It was one lined sheet, with laborious printing. She glanced immediately to the signature. “It's from Colby Wagner!”
“No wonder he didn't add a return address,” Paul said, looking grim.
“Don't gripe, cowboy,” she said her voice soft. “Listen to this:
Mrs. Otto, is Nome, Alaska, far enough? Don't you worry. I won't return. I'm cleaning and packing salmon now. I'm so ashamed. Sincerely, Colby Wagner
.” She looked at her husband. “Is it far enough?”
“Not for me,” he said, but he looked less grim. “He broke the most important trust I could ever have given another man.”
“He's a beggar too.”
He smiled and fluffed her hair, newly short again because she had prevailed on Mama to give her a good trim before she left. “It's going to take me a while to agree, but I'll try,” he assured her. He took the letter she handed to him, read it to himself again, then crumpled it into a ball and lobbed it in his trash basket. “Kaiser said you put the fear of death into Wagner, Mrs. Otto.
Nome!
I guess you did.”
He had another piece of news. “Maybe it's just a rumor, but I heard in town that Angus and Laird Clyde are selling out.” He let Julia help him off with his overcoat. “I can't say that wouldn't be an answer to prayer. Probably just gossip, though.”
That blizzard, the first of the blizzards of 1912, tore into southeast Wyoming and hung on like a tick on a cow's neck. Julia spent a lot of days standing at the office window, watching for the men of the Double Tipi, who rode out in pairs to herd the expectant cows closer to home. More and more, she rested her hands on what Paul was calling her shelf now, talking to the baby within. “Papa's out there, and we'll watch for him until he returns,” she said, determined.
Doc made her cry when he told her not to stand so long in one place. This led to a rare scene, when Doc, Matt, Paul's Indian cousins, Kringle even, and both new hands told their boss to stay closer to home himself. “Doctor's orders, Boss,” Doc said finally, which ended the argument. “We can nursemaid in your beeves as well as you can, and Julia's distressed. Fire me. I don't care. Fire us all. Julia will hire us back.”
Paul had the good sense throw up his hands in surrender. “You win, Julia. I'll let my sweethearts do the hard riding this year.” When his mutinous crew returned to the bunkhouse, he cupped her face gently in his hands. “I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just so used to doing this, no matter the weather. You still love your best guy?”
She held him sideways. “I wonder if there will ever be a time when I feel completely easy to have you out of my sight.”
“I feel the same way,” he told her.
“You realize we're fueling an unhealthy addiction to chocolate,” Julia remarked the next day to Charlotte, as she stirred yet another pot of hot chocolate to perfection on the Queen Atlantic.
“It's no worse than their addiction to bear sign and nutmeg doughnuts,” Charlotte said. She beamed at Julia. “Do you think Miss Fannie Farmer would approve of her graduate from Salt Lake City?”
It was food for thought, Julia decided, long after Charlotte had grasped the clothesline strung from the side porch to her own home and disappeared in the swirling snow. Satisfied, she looked around her beautiful kitchen, remembering the mound of dirty clothes, the mice, the bloody calving ropes, and the original Queen Atlantic with the bad foot that had greeted her that September in 1909, when she had stared, horrified, at her workplace.
“Am I actually missing that?” she said out loud, running her hand over the handsome cabinets Karl Rudiger had made. Everywhere she looked was order, from the calendar with a smiling baby representing January 1912, to the sweet potato growing in a mason jar, to the sparkling windows with red and white checked gingham curtains. She breathed deep of the cinnamon-spiced bear sign. Someone was stamping on the porch now, and she knew who it was.
Heavenly Father, I doubt it's legal to feel this happy
, she thought. She never really called them prayers—her running commentary to Heavenly Father—especially since Paul told her that he was certain the Lord Almighty had a special spot in his heart for mothers-to-be.
Paul came into the kitchen, unwinding his muffler, then shaking off his coat outside the door. She knew he would go to the Queen Atlantic first for a look and a sniff, following that with a lopsided embrace and a kiss that always hit the mark.
He sat down so she could serve him bear sign and hot chocolate, even though he had assured her he still possessed the strength to do that himself. She watched him eat, which only made him smile.
“Be extra kind to your doctor,” he said, when he finished. “He told me today that he's written a letter to Indiana, telling Nora McKeel he's tired of waiting for her to decide, and the offer is withdrawn.”
“Do you think he'll take a good look at Elinore now?”
“No idea. I barely understand my own good luck with one particular lady, let along anyone else's attempts.” He held out his cup. “Any more of that?”