Carla Kelly (41 page)

“With child?” Owen concluded. “They do keep to themselves, and the women are shy about that. All women are, if my own wife was any indication.”

She nodded, shy herself.

“You did a wonderful thing for the Ahos,” he reminded her. “You'll find a way to gain more of their confidence.”

“I think I have,” she told him. She lowered her voice, even though the nearest listening object was a cat licking its paw on a back porch. “Mari Luoma wants me to sauna with them after we return.”

Owen gave her a sidelong look so arch that she laughed. “I'm not quite sure what that means, except Emil did mention something about rolling in the snow.” She stood on tiptoe, so no one else could hear her. “Um, in broad daylight?”

“Not likely! Do it, Della. I've heard rumors, and you can tell me all about it.”

“I wouldn't breathe a word, you dirty bird,” she said.

“You haven't called me that in a while.”

“You haven't deserved it,” she said, watching Angharad shake out the tablecloth, then skip toward them. “Maybe you don't think large enough, yourself.”

“You'd be surprised,” was all he said, taking her arm again.

Uncle Karl left that evening for Salt Lake City, but not before insisting that she spend Christmas with them. “Your cousins will have stories of Europe, and you'll spare me their chatter,” he said, as she helped him into his overcoat.

“I think you'll enjoy knowing how they spent your money,” she teased, wrapping his muffler tighter. They stood just outside the front door now.

“I have some satisfaction in knowing how
you
spent my money, Della,” he told her. “I do wish you had stayed at the university for a four-year degree, instead of just a one-year teaching certificate.”

“It was all I could afford,” she said, before she thought. Her stomach dropped to her shoes as she watched his expression. “I mean …”

“I told your Aunt Caroline to make all the arrangements,” he said, wary now. “Didn't she?”

“Maybe it skipped her mind,” Della said, her old fears returning. “I could only manage one year there because all I had was my library job.”

He sucked in his breath. “But you volunteered at the library, didn't you? That's what Caroline assured me.”

She shook her head, wanting to end this conversation, because his expression was set now, his eyes troubled. “It doesn't matter, Uncle Karl,” she said hastily. “I'm doing well.”

“In spite of us?” he asked, thoughtful. He put on his hat and walked slowly to Uncle Jesse's waiting carriage, appearing to Della like a man who had aged suddenly. He looked back at her once.

Della went inside and leaned against the closed door. “Please forget you invited me for Christmas, as you have forgotten everything else you should have done,” she said into the wood grain.

“You're talking to yourself.”

Surprised, Della looked closer in the dimly lit hallway to see Owen standing there, hands in pockets. With his dark hair and dark clothing, she hadn't noticed him. She sat by him in one of Aunt Amanda's uncomfortable hall chairs.

“Owen, Uncle Karl had no idea that my aunt never paid my tuition at the university and never invited me to Europe.”

“Do you think he will say something to her about it?” Owen asked.

She shook her head. “I'm beginning to suspect that Uncle Karl is afraid of her too.”

“ ’Tis a sad state of affairs for a marriage,” he told her. “Are you feeling a little sorry for him?”

“I'm not sure what I'm feeling,” she said frankly. “It's nice to know I managed that year at university by myself. As for Europe …” She laughed softly. “What a nightmare that would have been!” She turned to look at him in the low light. “Owen, have you ever felt like you avoided certain disaster, even if you didn't know it at the time?”

He nodded. “Aye, miss! Two years ago, the entire Relief Society Presidency of the Pleasant Valley Ward was certain they had found me the perfect wife. She was English and visiting the Parmleys—lovely to look at, liked my daughter, found miners interesting, and even had a little private income.”

“Sounds good to me,” Della said. “What happened?”

“I didn't love her,” he replied simply. He made a great show of trembling. “The entire Relief Society Presidency told me what they thought. Oh, Butterbean, Welsh can be a nasty language when women are fierce!” He shrugged. “I was right. She married a mine foreman at Castle Gate, and from what I hear, she has been plaguing his life evermore. I got off easy with just a few well-chosen and pithy Welsh curses.”

“The Relief Society would never!” Della declared.

“You're such a wee babe,” he told her. “Let's get Angharad to bed.”

After their prayer, they both sat on Angharad's bed, Owen's hand on his daughter's head like a benediction. “Was it a good day?” he asked her.

Angharad nodded, her eyes sleepy. “I ate turkey and dressing and was satisfied with pumpkin pie.” She reached up and put her hand over her father's. “And you slept late.”

“That's us. What about Miss Anders here? Did she have a good day, do you think?” he teased.

Angharad composed herself for sleep. “Aye, Da. She made you laugh.”

Owen kissed his daughter, murmuring to her in Welsh. “Don't look for logic in the six-year-old mind,” he told Della as they left the room.

“I never do. I teach them, remember?” she pointed out.

Aunt Amanda had Friday planned out like a general on campaign, and she went into action as soon as her husband and Owen left the house. She watched them on the sidewalk, moving slowly, heads together as they talked.

“I so appreciate that nice man distracting him from business today,” she told Della, who joined her at the window. “After they do a deal with the piano tuner, Jesse wants to take him to visit the Bullocks, who are building a new house and need some advice on woodwork.” She clapped her hands together. “And we have some serious shopping.”

“After a stop at the Palace Drug Store,” Della said. “I promised Angharad a cherry phosphate.”

“Only if we can sit at the counter,” Aunt Amanda said.

“Of course! You're aware that most of Provo will think you have taken leave of your senses,” Della joked.

“I might even slurp my straw,” the woman said. “Put on your hat, Della. Duty calls.”

The cherry phosphate, which made Angharad wrinkle her nose at the fizz, was followed by a serious discussion at the counter. Angharad held out her four dollars and fifty cents—fifty cents had already gone to Bishop Parmley as tithing—and her carefully written list, which included a silk cravat for Da, milk chocolate candy for the same, and new shoes for Myfanwy.

“Sister Jones said Myfanwy has outgrown these shoes I'm wearing …”

“And they're lovely,” Aunt Amanda said.

“I think she just said that so I would have new shoes for this trip,” Angharad told her. “Can we find a nice pair for my friend, after I have bought Da's Christmas presents?”

“I am certain of it,” Amanda said with no hesitation.

“I'd also like something for my Aunt Mabli, if there is enough. She likes lemon drops.”

Della pointed Angharad down the street to Taylor Brother's Emporium. “You'll find everything there, and you can hold the door for that nice lady. Go now.” She took her aunt's arm. “They have no idea that they are poor,” she whispered. “I never really knew
I
was poor, until I went to Salt Lake and found out.”

“I feared that, Della, but it was never my place to say anything. Or maybe it was, and I ignored it.” She leaned toward Della. “You've turned out so well, in spite of a great deal, I suspect. And Angharad? She's rich in love.” She took a deep breath and collected herself. “I'll have a word with Brother Taylor. Steer Angharad to the cravats and find a good one.”

Della reached in her purse, but Aunt Amanda put her hand over hers. “No. This is my Christmas present. I won't get a better one, even if Jesse does buy me that gazebo for the backyard I've been hinting about.”

Della found Angharad looking at the cravats, her face serious. “I like them all,” she whispered to Della. “What on earth am I to do?”

“Do what all women do in such a dilemma: we buy the man in our life
two
cravats. I believe there is a sale on. It happens after Thanksgiving,” Della whispered as she peered into the glass case. “Pick your two favorites.”

“Do you have a man in your life, Miss Anders?” Angharad asked.

“No. I'm just telling you what I would do.”

“Da thinks it's Dr. Isgreen,” the child said, persistent. “We could buy him a cravat too.”

Della felt her face grow warm. “He's my friend, but he's not the man in my life. No cravat for Dr. Isgreen.”

Angharad frowned. “I don't understand how a lady knows if she has a man in her life or not. I like Johnny Farish, but he pulls my hair.”

“I don't know either,” Della replied with a laugh. She turned Angharad around to face the glass case again. “Two cravats for the man in your life who will still be there when Johnny cries off!”

When Brother Taylor himself came over to help, he nodded his approval where Angharad pointed and took out the two cravats. He looked over his spectacles at the little girl in front of him, her expression earnest, her hand on her purse.

“My dear, you are in luck. Those very cravats are on sale today and tomorrow.” He leaned closer. “I can let them go for seventy-five cents.”

“My stars,” Angharad said, her eyes wide. “This is my lucky day.”

Della glanced at Aunt Amanda, who was struggling to keep a straight face and failing so monumentally that she had to turn away and stare at a mannequin.

To the amazement of his clerk, Brother Taylor insisted on wrapping the cravats himself as Angharad watched. When he asked for her finger to hold the ribbon so he could tie a knot, she was ready. He handed the package to her with a flourish. Angharad counted out seventy-five cents, her expression intent.

“She looks that way in my classroom over math assignments,” Della whispered.

Della watched as the little girl stood on tiptoe and beckoned the dignified man to bend down. When he did, she kissed his cheek. Amanda looked away again, her struggle different this time. She grasped Della's hand. “How did you get so lucky to teach what I suspect is a whole canyon full of dear children?”

“Some of them are ragamuffins and rascals,” Della whispered back. “I love them all.” She leaned against Amanda for a moment. “Wouldn't you think I was due good luck?”

“Overdue.” She hesitated, opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and opened it again. “While you're at it, take a good look at her father, Della.”

“Maybe I should,” Della murmured.

They found the right shoes next at the Provo Co-operative Mercantile Institution, after Amanda Knight's quick word with Brother Esplin. There were lemon drops too, and then a whispered conference between Amanda and Angharad, which resulted in Della being led away by her aunt to stare at woolen underwear.

“I'm supposed to distract you so she can buy something for you,” Amanda said. “Let us examine the merits of woolen underwear versus jersey.”

“Woolen,” Della said decisively. “You'd be amazed how wind can whistle up your …” She laughed. “It's a cold canyon.”

Shopping done, Amanda sent their purchases home with a delivery boy. By common, unspoken consent, they returned to the drugstore for the dissipation of hot fudge sundaes, even though it was snowing outside.

They walked home in the snow, Angharad skipping ahead, then breaking into a run, hands held out, when she saw Owen and Jesse on the porch, still talking, heads together. Owen picked her up and gave her a whacking kiss that made Della laugh.

“Are they ever apart much?” Amanda asked.

“When he's in the mine, of course,” Della said, her eyes on the Davises. “The Evans family watches her when he's on late shift, but lately, she's been staying with me and Mabli, her aunt.”

Standing there in the lightly falling snow, she told Amanda what Owen had told her about those desperate days after his wife died, how he carried his infant at all hours from breast to breast in the canyon, as other nursing mothers kept his little morsel alive. She told Amanda how Owen had come by that blue scar on his neck and how the others tended him and his child.

In the telling of it, she felt her heart give up more of its callus at the hands of her relatives. As onerous as her life after her father's death, it couldn't possibly come close to the pain Owen must have felt, struggling with death and keeping his child alive in a place so difficult. “I can't imagine how hard that was, Aunt Amanda, and I can imagine a lot,” she said quietly.

Amanda looked at her with the same seriousness. “Until I die, I am going to regret that I did not step in when I thought life was overwhelming you.”

“No need,” Della said. “I think it made me strong. It might even have made me good.” She took a deep breath. “Aunt Amanda, I'm in love, aren't I?”

“I know you are,” her aunt said without batting an eye. “Have you any idea how your eyes follow him? Or how you perk up when he comes into a room? Jesse and I sat up in bed late last night, wondering if you had any idea.”