Carla Kelly (4 page)

Paul was far better looking, but Julia already knew that. Still, it was nice to stand at the Majestic next morning, keeping an eye on the French toast Paul had requested and another eye on him. There hadn't been anything wrong with her former fiancé’s appearance, but Ezra had never made her look twice and then look again.

There he sat, leaning back in his chair, smiling at her with that twinkle in his eye that made the heat rise from somewhere in her stomach to turn her face rosy—and she knew she couldn't blame the cooking range. She looked away, thinking of the times he hadn't looked so self-assured, and then looked back. He winked a slow wink that made her wish for their wedding day to come quickly.

“I think it's done, Jules,” Mama said. Julia returned her attention to the French toast.

Everyone had their slices, and Papa had just finished the blessing when the doorbell rang. Mama excused herself. When she returned, she had a little box, which she handed to Paul.

“They were quick,” he said, opening the package and taking out a little box.

Julia held her breath, thinking one last time of all the reasons why none of this was reasonable, and rejected every one. If she had foolishly wanted to be forever beautiful for the man she loved, she knew, looking into his eyes, that she already was. And if Paul, with his own doubts and remorse for things in the past, felt for one second that he should not move ahead, she would have seen it in his eyes. All she saw was love, and it calmed her as nothing else could. It must have been a powerful look she gave Paul, because Papa stood up and took Mama's hand. “Maude, I think we need to take a little walk to the end of the block. Let's see if the houses on the next street are still standing,” he said.

“Let's do that, Jed,” Mama said. “I've been worried about those houses.”

Papa clapped Paul on the shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Someday, you'll have to tell me how you got J. Fred Daynes—I know him well—to set a stone on such short notice. What did you say?”

Paul shrugged. “I just asked. Nothing special.”

“He has a way, Papa,” Julia said, surprised at how feeble her voice sounded just then. “I've decided to accept it.”

“A ring or my way?” Paul teased.

“Both, to spare you any possible disappointment,” she replied calmly. “Please pass the maple syrup. I want it to be good and soaked in.”

He smiled that slow, edgy smile and handed over the maple syrup. His hand was rock steady, but hers was already shaking. With a chuckle, he helped her pour on the maple syrup, then set it down and took her hand. “Sticky,” he said, then licked her finger, which did nothing to calm the jitters in her stomach.

Then she was in his arms. “I would have done this without a ring, you know,” she said as her hands went to his face.

He kissed the palms of her hands. “Still sticky. I know. You'd have done it if I had lost every cow, the ranch, and if the bank blew up. And I'd still have asked you.”

“Better get about it then,” she said, her voice soft. “Don't bother to kneel, please. I think that's silly.”

With another smile that made her heart stand still, he opened the little box and took out her ruby ring. “Marry me, Julia,” he said, and there was no question. “Marry me forever.”

“I will, Paul. Forever might be long enough.” She leaned her forehead against his chest and gathered him close. “We'll have to wait and see, I guess.”

“Actually, I need your hand right now,” he told her.

She obliged, holding her left hand close. He slid on the beautiful ring. “Definitely rubies,” he said. “You have excellent taste in men and jewelry.”

He kissed her then, his hand gentle on her wounded neck, and then he just held her. She let him, her arms tight around him too.

There was nothing to fear in church this time, not with Paul beside her in the pew. She wore her stylish little hat and held her head high, unconcerned about her short hair. She didn't think about her scars until they started to itch and there was no discreet way to scratch them.

She couldn't avoid looking at Ezra Quayle and his wife sitting two pews closer to the front. Funny she hadn't noticed last week that he was getting pudgy. Julia glanced at Paul's lean stomach and smiled to herself. She knew she had a prettier engagement ring than Sister Quayle (even Mama couldn't remember her first name. “She's just not memorable,” Mama had told her), because she had worn that same ring a year ago.

She liked the way Paul just rested his arm across the back of the pew behind her shoulders, barely touching her, unlike Ezra, who had a real grip on his wife.
Maybe he's afraid she'll bolt the room if he lets go
, Julia thought.
He always was a bit of a manager.
Julia noticed her father's amused glance as he sat next to her and decided she had better concentrate on the bishop's talk. She wouldn't put it past Papa to quiz her about the talk, once they had returned home as he used to do when she was ten and not paying attention.

But maybe Papa wasn't going to scold. He whispered, “Happy, Jules?”

She nodded.

He leaned closer. “Then pay attention!”

She couldn't help it that her shoulders started shaking. She pressed her lips together. Paul leaned closer from her other side and whispered to them both “Do I have to sit between you two?”—which made Papa's shoulder's start to shake. Mama glared at them all.

Dinner was Welsh rarebit and duchess potatoes, with a tomato aspic, and loaf cake with opera caramel crème frosting to round out the meal—all of Paul's favorite things packed into one sitting, because he was leaving early the next morning. Fannie Farmer would never have approved of that mealtime combination, but Miss Farmer wasn't in love, Julia reasoned.

Maybe if we eat slower, it will drag out the hours
, Julia thought, dreading tomorrow. She and Papa would have to wave good-bye at the depot, when she wanted to leap on the train and go home to the Double Tipi.

After the last bite, Paul stood up and held out his hand for her. “Dear Darlings, I have a house call to make with my fiancée,” he told her parents. “I probably should have paid this call sooner, but I think my time was better spent right here.”

Julia looked at him, a question in her eyes, but put her hand in his.

“There was a letter from my Uncle Albert Hickman, along with that letter from you, which we will promptly forget,” he said. “He's visiting his son Thomas—that makes Thomas my cousin—who lives only three blocks over. I think he plans to winter there, and he wanted me to know about it.”

“Thomas Hickman,” Papa said and shook his head. “Oh, the irony of life. I've known Ed—he goes by his middle name—for years. He's in the nearest ward to the east. Right there, all this time.”

Paul nodded. “I thought Julia and I would pay a call. Walk with me, Darling.”

The familiar fear returned, and he saw it in her eyes. “Hey, now. Uncle Albert saw you when you looked pretty finely drawn, a few months ago.”

“I suppose he did,” she said. “I don't remember him.”

“I doubt you remember anything about that ride on the Overland Express,” Papa said, his eyes kind too.

“It's like this, Julia,” Paul said as they strolled the three blocks to Ed Hickman's home. “I'm hoping you will visit with Uncle Albert between now and Christmas. Your choice, though. I can't say I recall too much about my first meeting with him, either, mainly because I was so worried about you.” He stopped. “Still, there was something in his eyes that I can't get out of my mind. I think he has a lot of regrets about what happened all those years ago.”

“Maybe you should have stopped by sooner,” Julia chided.

“I did, or sort of. I dropped in on them before I invaded your house three days ago.” He clapped his arm around her shoulder. “I said hello, told him I had to see my gal, and said I'd be back Sunday afternoon.” He shook his head. “I know I startled them by showing up out of the blue, and so early in the morning. Cousin Ed said something about one of the Three Nephites as I left. Any idea what he meant?”

Julia patted his chest. “I'll explain it to you later!”

She remembered Albert Hickman vaguely as one of the heads that seemed to be perched on stalks, looming far above the bed in the Gillespies’ house, the morning Papa arrived to take her home. It was good to see him now as a dignified man with a full head of white hair and a smile that reminded her a little of Paul's smile.

“It's nice to see you upright and conscious, Sister Darling,” the old gentleman told her as he shook her hand.

“It's nice to be that way, sir,” she replied, shy. She reached behind her and took Paul's hand. “I apologize that we have to be reintroduced, but I don't recall much about our first meeting.”

“Just as well,” he said and showed them into the parlor. “If you don't mind some plain-speaking, fish bait looked better than you did.”

Julia burst out laughing and glanced at Paul, who was grinning. “You're kind, my love, but Brother Hickman,
you're
honest!”

The old man took her other hand. “Those are Hickman traits: kindness and honesty. Hopefully your future husband inherited both.”

“He did, Brother Hickman.”
My future husband
, she thought, transfixed. No one had actually said that before now. Hearing it made the matter somehow official in her mind.

“But please, I'm Uncle Al to you,” he was saying. He looked at his son. “Ed tells me that the soon-to-be Darling branch of our family will give us amazing respectability in Utah circles.”

“Respectable?” she teased in turn. “Papa would assure you that the Darlings have their share of road agents and irrigation water cheats.”

Uncle Al had the most wonderful combination of British Isles brogue and southern Utah twang, Julia decided.
I could listen to you for hours
, she told herself as they sat in the parlor and she let the talk between uncle and long-lost nephew swirl around her.

Julia observed the Hickman men in the room, looking for more resemblance than just a smile. Maybe it was the thin lips, she decided, and certainly the elegant length of their fingers. She had first noticed Paul's hands back when he was still Mr. Otto. Each man was tall and lean, as well.

She spoke up during a lull in the conversation. “Uncle Al, do you have a picture or maybe a tintype of Mary Anne?”

If she had known the old man's blue eyes would suddenly tear up, she never would have said anything. “Sir, I'm sorry to mention her.”

“No, no, my dear,” he was quick to say. “I've been doing the same thing: looking for a resemblance to my sister. I have a daguerreotype taken before we left Plymouth. We were from Devonshire. Such a lovely place.” His voice turned wistful. “So green. And here we are in a desert. Ah, well.” He made a visible effort. “May I call you Julia?”

“Certainly.”

“Julia, I'll have my daughter in Koosharem send the image to me here, and you can see for yourself.” He looked at his nephew. “Paul, you can see it when you return.” He bowed his head. “I have so many regrets…”

Paul took his hand. “Discard this regret, Uncle: your older sister had a very good life in Wyoming. We all wish it had been longer, but she and my father were happy. You'll have to meet her Shoshone family some day. You'll like them. I know I do.”

After a long pause, Uncle Al nodded. “That's something.”

“It's everything,” Paul said firmly. “I, for one, am glad the way things happened. I wouldn't be here if they hadn't.” He touched Julia's cheek. “Maybe you and Julia can get together this fall. Might you tell her what you remember about my mother?”

Julia nodded. “I'll visit.” She felt suddenly shy. “If you want me to, Uncle Al.”

“More than anything,” he said.

They strolled home in the gathering dusk, Paul saying nothing until they were climbing the steps to her front porch. He took her hand and steered her toward the porch swing. Papa had been meaning to put it away for the winter, but it was still there, moving slowly in the slight breeze that had come up.

He tucked her close to him, his arm around her good shoulder, and just pushed the swing with his foot, saying nothing. He didn't have to; she knew what he was thinking.

“It'll pass quickly enough,” she told him, when she had noticed him swallow several times. “You'll be back for Christmas. Please bring James too.”

He nodded, still unable to speak.

“Relatives do that to me too, sometimes,” she said, her hand resting inside his vest, just over his heart.

“There's some real sadness in him,” Paul said, his hand over hers. “Find out what you can, Darling.” He kissed her. “I'll be counting the days until I see you again. Maybe I can find a respectable calendar somewhere in Wyoming. I doubt it, though.”

“I'll send you one!” she said, trying to lighten the mood, even as she wished time would stand still. They sat in the swing until the streetlights came on. Papa came out finally, looked at his watch, and harrumphed a few times.

“I know, I know,” Paul said as he stopped the swing. “I'm a desperate rancher, and you're not going to let a desperate rancher stay out too late with your daughter.”

“You read my mind, son. Don't forget to put out the cat and lock the door when you come in, Julia.”

“Papa, we have never had a cat.”

She could still hear her father laughing as he climbed the stairs.

“
We
have a cat,” Paul said, amused. “And a burned house, and a pile of lumber now.” He sighed. “Julia, when I get home, I'll saddle up and keep hunting for my cattle. I'm going north through Niobrara County this time. My neighbors and I are all taking different directions.”

She knew what he was trying to say. “If there's only a one-room house in March—”

“Friday, March 17,” Paul interrupted.

“—I don't mind. I draw the line at moving into the bunkhouse, however.”

“Horrors,” he said. “I'll evict Blue Corn from the tack room, if I have to.”

“You won't. One room's enough.”

An hour later, she locked the front door, after looking around elaborately for the cat. Paul laughed when she called, “Here, Kitty, Kitty.” That only led to another kiss on the stairs and then a long moment holding him.