Carla Kelly by Borrowed Light

when he climbed up beside her again and took the reins.
    “Mr. Otto, I don't want to know!”
    He only laughed.
    Julia found herself staring down into the darkness. Every time the horses slipped, she sucked in her breath, closed her eyes, and waited to die.
    Nothing happened, except that the rain pelted, and mercy, was Mr. Otto humming under his breath? Even though he was nothing more now than an outline, she turned toward him. “See here, Mr. Otto,” she demanded. “Am I the only one who is scared to death?”
    He looked around elaborately. “Unless we picked up a drunk or two or a sporting lady in Gun Barrel, you probably are,” he replied, his voice as mild as though they discussed a weekly menu. “It's a waste of time to worry over stuff you can't do anything about. Save it for the really bad times. And by then, it probably still doesn't matter.”
    It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to let her know when things were at their worst, but he was tugging back on the reins now. “We'll be at the Marlowes in a few minutes,” he said as he turned the team. The horses quickened their pace without any command, and she cautiously allowed herself to relax.
    “The Marlowes?”
    “My nearest neighbors. The Double Tipi is not quite an hour away, but I think you've had enough.”
    More than enough, Julia thought. “Are you sure they won't mind?”
    “Of course they won't mind. We never turn away strangers or wet people up here. Do you do that in Salt Lake City?”
    “Well, Papa doesn't take in drunks or sporting ladies.” She tried to think when anyone had ever come begging to the house or needed a ride anywhere, but she couldn't.
    My employer must be convinced that I'm an idiot, she thought as Mr. Otto drove his team with some assurance down a road she couldn't see, toward a house that didn't seem to be there. She tried to peer through the rain and the gloom but saw nothing.
    “The Marlowes have been here since aught five,” he said. “Marlowe was a sergeant of artillery at Fort Russell. He decided to stay.”
    “Does he have a first name?” she asked, wondering if Mr. Otto would get the message.
    “Max. His wife's name is Alice.”
    Julia wanted to ask him if he called her Marlowe Number 2, but she refrained. She squinted into the darkness. Nothing. She sighed and pulled the slicker closer about her. This has been the most miserable day of my life, she thought.
    “Alice will be glad to see you,” Mr. Otto said. He was pulling back on the reins now. “Do you smell the oats, boys?” he asked his horses as he set the brake. “Here we are.”
    She looked around. She smelled barn odors, but there was no sign of anything. “I thought I had good eyes,” she said out loud, but more to herself than to her employer, who was coming around to her side now. She held out her arms to him, and he helped her down.
    He took her arm, and she could tell they were on a path now. “I'll introduce you and then take care of my team,” he told her. “I think Marlowe heard us.”
    Over this downpour? she thought, and then watched as a door swung open. “There is a house here,” she said, feeling stupid when Mr. Otto looked at her in surprise. “Well, I couldn't see it.”
    The man in the doorway spoke over his shoulder. “Alice, he went and did it! Come on in, miss. Alice! Bring a towel! Bring two!”
    Julia needed no urging to come in out of the rain, even though she knew she had never looked worse in her life. The room was lit with the soft glow of kerosene lamps, but she squinted anyway. When her eyes adjusted, she looked around.
    The room was not much larger than her bedroom at home, with a horsehair sofa crammed up under the one window and a Victrola next to it. Mr. Otto was even now brushing against a dining table, which filled much of the remaining space. Through an open door, she could see into a lean-to. Pans hung on the wall, so she knew it must be the kitchen. A shelf with books and a china shepherdess