The Listening Sky (15 page)

T.C. went away whistling, pleased with himself that he had blocked any move Jane could make against staying and working in
his house.

“Jane, I was so scared you’d gone.” Polly left Herb in the doorway and went to put her arms around Jane’s waist and hug her.
“Mr. Kilkenny said I can stay here and help you. Ain’t that grand?”

“Yes, grand,” Jane said halfheartedly. “I wouldn’t have gone away without telling you. Besides, my things are still there,
aren’t they?”

Jane’s eyes went from Polly’s flushed happy face to Herb’s. He was grinning like a schoolboy with a frog in his pocket.

“What’s that on your dress?” Polly was looking at the large wet spot just below the waist.

“I fixed a cut on a man’s leg and got blood on it. I soaked it with cold water.”

“Miss Jane’s real good at doctorin’.” Herb’s eyes were filled with admiration. “I ain’t no good a’tall. Even lancin’ a boil
makes me sick.” He failed to see Jane grimace and hurried on. “Doc likes you, Miss Jane. He don’t like many folks.”

Jane had to smile. “Doc’s got you buffaloed. He only browbeats those who let him.”

“T.C. said yo’re makin’ out a list for me to get at the mercantile. He said we’d have meals here now that thar’s somebody
beside me to cook ‘em.”

“I haven’t started the list.” Jane poured the water off the potatoes, added milk and set the pan on the back of the stove.
“I’m making potato soup for Doc when he wakes up. You make out the list, Polly. Herb can show you what’s here and what’s not.
I’m goin’ up to look in on the doctor.”

Jane made her departure before they saw the tears of frustration in her eyes. T.C. Kilkenny was weaving her into a web. He
was doing his best to make it impossible for her to leave. First he had her caring for the doctor, and now taking over in
the surgery. And somehow he sought to lay a blanket of guilt on her if she deserted Polly.

Doc was awake, his eyes on the doorway. “I was getting all set to yell.”

“Why in the world would you do that?”

“You said you’d be here.”

“I can’t stay here every single minute.” Her voice came out on a lower note. “Don’t give me any sass, Dr. Foote. I just sewed
up a deep cut in a man’s leg, and my stomach is not in very stable condition.”

“Call me Nathan. I like hearing you say it. Sewed up a cut, did you? Find what you needed? Tell me what you did.”

Jane sat on the chair beside the bed and told him, step by step, what she had done from the first time she washed her hands
to the last.

“Needle sharp enough?”

Jane nodded.

“I give them a few strokes on the whetstone after I use them.”

“He wanted only some salve and a bandage, but I was afraid he’d get lockjaw or putrid flesh and his leg might have to come
off.”

“You did the right thing.” Doc turned from her and looked out the window. “I’ve filled a wagon with arms and legs. Fifteen
minutes was all the time I could give each of the poor bastards. Many’s the time I wished I’d been a lawyer, a merchant, or
even a politician.”

Jane reached for his hand and held it in hers.

“Think of how many men would have died if you’d become a lawyer, a merchant or a politician. Count the wins, Nathan, not the
losses.”

“Where did you learn these words of wisdom you’re always spouting, girl?” His bony fingers squeezed hers. “Tell me about your
folks.”

Jane felt suddenly weak. She looked at the man on the bed. He had honest eyes, light brown and surrounded by tiny wrinkles.
They looked frankly into hers. Instinct told her that he was not prying, he was genuinely interested.

“My mother died when I was very young. She was beautiful and talented. She played the piano and the organ. My life was never
the same after that. All I had was Aunt Alice, and she was not a relative but a dear friend of my mother’s.”

“Your papa?”

“I only saw him one time. He came to the house after Mamma died. It was nighttime. He wrapped me in a blanket and carried
me out of Aunt Alice’s house to a carriage and took me to an orphanage. I stayed there until a few months ago working for
my bed and board. So you see there is nothing mysterious or unusual about me.”

“I think there is. You’re smart and perceptive. Why did you come here?”

“I didn’t want to work at that orphanage for the rest of my life taking care of someone else’s children. I wanted to see and
feel and experience life outside that place. I read the notice about the jobs for women here in Timbertown. I was too naive
to realize Mr. Kilkenny had other plans for the single women.” She said the last bitterly with a toss of her hair.

The doctor chuckled, then coughed. Jane hurriedly lifted the can beside the bed for him to spit in. Afterward he lay back
exhausted.

“T.C.’s got a job to do. He meant no harm. I’m sure that most of the women knew what they were getting into.”

“I certainly didn’t. Do you think you could eat a spoonful or two of potato soup? You slept through the noon meal.”

“Ah, girl.” The doctor made a face. “I ate that mush you were poking down me. Isn’t that enough for one day?”

Jane tilted her head and wrinkled her brow as if she were studying the matter.

“If I were lying
there
and you were sitting
here,
how would you answer that question?”

There was a twinkle in the eyes that turned to her.

“You’re a pistol, Jane. I’d say, ‘Hush your damn complaining and eat the soup.’”

“Well?”

“Get the damn soup,” he said with resignation.

Jane heard Herb and Polly in the hall seconds before they appeared in the doorway.

“Are ya awake, Doc?”

“I got my eyes open, haven’t I?”

“I want ya to meet someone. This is Miss Polly Wright. She’s goin’ to be stayin’ here with Miss Jane. They’ll be sleepin’
in my room just across—”

“—Wait a minute,” Jane interrupted quickly. “I’ve not heard anything about this. What do you mean we’ll sleep in your room?”

“Good idea,” Doc said, ignoring Jane’s protest. “How do you do, Miss Wright?” He was watching Herb, who had eyes only for
the young girl and the sudden frightened expression that crossed her face when Jane spoke.

“Jane?” Polly asked hesitantly. “Mr. Kilkenny was kind enough to say I could help you here.”

“Mr. Kilkenny takes much for granted where I’m concerned, Polly.”

“Ya mean ya don’t want me?”

“Lord o’mercy, Polly. You know I didn’t mean that at all.”

“Don’t ya like workin’ here? Has Mr. Kilkenny been mean to ya?”

“No. He hasn’t been exactly mean. He just arranges things to suit himself without regard to what others want to do. We can
talk about this later.” She tried to shoo Polly toward the door. “The doctor doesn’t want to hear about…our… my differences
with Mr. Kilkenny.”

“Yes, he does.” Doc’s voice coming from the bed was strong. “The doctor wants to hear about everything going on here. Just
because I’m flat on my back doesn’t mean my brain isn’t working. And I want my soup, Jane. Herb and Miss Wright will keep
me company while you get it.”

Jane turned on him. “You’ve gotten all-fired bossy of a sudden.”

“It’s not sudden. I’ve always been bossy. Ask Herb.”

Jane gave them all a fulminating look and left the room. She paused on the stairway before she reached the bottom and leaned
against the wall. Her hand sought the notes in her pocket. They were real. She brought out the latest one and reread it.
leave here yu be sorry
. Was it only this morning that she had found this last warning?

“Polly, did you find Jane?”

Sunday called and came over to speak to Polly and Herb as they passed on their way to the mercantile.

She was not the only one who noticed the couple. Milo Callahan stopped work to watch them make their way to the porch of the
store, and his dark eyes seethed with anger.

“She’s over at Mr. Kilkenny’s. We’re goin’ to stay there. Jane’s takin’ care of the doctor and I’m goin’ to help her.”

“You two sure took the prize.” Sunday laughed and winked at Herb. “That’ll make the biddies back there at the henhouse crazy.”

“Oh, Sunday!”

“Go along, I’m just teasin’ ya—” She turned to watch a rider who was approaching on a big gray speckled horse. It was the
ugliest-colored horse she’d ever seen, but magnificently built.

Herb called out to him. “T.C. was lookin’ for ya a while ago.”

The rider reined in, tipped his hat to the ladies and swung from the saddle.

“I’ll go see as soon as I stable my horse.” He looked first at Polly, then at Sunday and waited for Herb to make the introductions.

“Me and Miss Polly is goin’ to the store.”

Herb was not well-versed in etiquette. Sunday, on the other hand, had not a bashful bone in her body. She yanked off her glove
and held out her hand.

“Howdy. I’m Miss Sunday Polinski and this is Miss Polly Wright.”

“Colin Tallman.”

He took her strong hand in his and looked into the most startlingly direct blue eyes he’d ever seen. They played up and down
his length and over the gray stallion like live things, missing nothing. She returned her gaze to his face without the slightest
hint of coyness. She was a tall, fine-looking woman with clear golden skin and a great mass of golden-blond curly hair.

Sunday Polinski was not a classic beauty: her mouth was wide, her eyes were large and far apart, and her brown brows were
straight and heavy. The curls looked as if they had never been tamed with a hairbrush. Damp with sweat, her tight ringlets
framed her face. A pouch-like cloth around her waist was weighed down with nails. From her gloved hand hung a hammer.

“Glad to meet ya, Colin Tallman.” Sunday gripped his hand and pumped it up and down. “That’s a damn good horse you got there.”

“The best. We’ve been together a long time.” Colin stroked the big gray’s nose.

Sunday put her hand on the horse’s rump and dipped her head to peer beneath his belly.

“I knowed it right off. He’s still a stallion. I hate it when a good horse is cut. What’s his name?”

“Del Norte.”

“You name him?”

“My grandpa did.” Colin thumbed back his hat. “He came down with a wild herd from the north. Grandpa caught him. I coaxed
him to accept me.”

Sunday loosed a hearty laugh. She walked around admiring the horse.

“I like that. Ya didn’t
break
him, ya coaxed him to take to ya.” She hung the hammer on the cloth belt about her waist and cupped the big gray’s face with
her palms. Except for the inquiring flick of its ears, the stallion stood rooted in his tracks.

“He’s been known to bite,” Colin said quickly.

Sunday glanced at Colin. The warning registered in the barest widening of her vivid blue eyes; then the heavy lashes shuttered
her gaze and she turned back to the horse.

“Ya ain’t goin’ to bite me are ya, big fella? Yo’re a lucky son of a gun to have a master who coaxed ya and didn’t break yore
spirit, ya know that?” Her quick laugh broke with a throaty vibrance when the stallion stamped and switched his tail at the
pesky flies. “Yo’re sayin’ ya know what I’m tellin’ ya.”

“As a rule he doesn’t like ladies.”

“I’m female, but I can’t say I’m a
lady.”
She laughed again. “Nothin’ I like better than a good horse. Nice meetin’ ya, Del Norte. You, too, Colin Tallman.”

“Nice meetin’ you, Miss Polinski.”

“Call me Sunday… Monday and Tuesday, too, if ya want to.” Musical laughter came from her lips; her eyes looked frankly into
his.

Colin smiled and inclined his head in a mock salute. “I’ll give it some thought.”

“Be seein’ ya, Polly.” Sunday began to move away. “I can’t wait to get back to the henhouse and tell Miss Snooty-puss you
and Jane are stayin’ at Kilkenny’s. She’s goin’ to have a conniption fit!”

Polly and Herb went into the mercantile and Colin led his horse to the livery. He had never met a woman who was as free-speaking
or who appeared to be as happy as Sunday Polinski. He had the impression that she would be able to see herself through any
situation. And this puzzled him for the simple reason that she was so obviously feminine.

Colin began to smile as an indescribable feeling of elation came over him.

J
ANE
lay beside Polly, gazing at the soft glow coming through the doorway of Doc’s room. She had given him a few drops of the
laudanum, hoping he would get a few hours of sleep, and had left a lamp burning low. For the first time since morning she
had a little time for herself.

It was a relief, she grudgingly admitted, to be away from the place Sunday called the henhouse—and from her unknown enemy.
Now that she had narrowed the list down to a few of the women, she doubted that she would have closed her eyes all night had
she been there. When she had opened her valise here and spread out the contents, she had had no fear that someone would prowl
through them.

Her most valuable possession, the framed oil painting of her mother, leaned against the wall; two of her dresses—she had only
three besides her good black skirt and white shirtwaist—had been shaken out and hung on a peg beside the door. Not wanting
it to appear that she was settling in permanently, she had left the rest of her things in the case.

So much had happened during this one day. Had she really sewn up a cut in a man’s leg and given an enema to a sick child?
She had tamed the doctor much as she’d had to tame many an unruly child during her years at the orphanage. The poor man was
dying and he was afraid, but the last thing he needed now was sympathy. That would take away his dignity and she didn’t think
the doctor could endure that. Could she leave him if the opportunity came to get back to the station? Of course she could.
Any number of the women in the henhouse would be happy to come in to tend to him if they were asked.

Polly had been asleep when Jane tiptoed into their darkened room, undressed, washed and put on her nightdress. For a long
while she stood beside the uncurtained window brushing her hair, scraping her scalp with the stiff bristles of the brush and
looking down on the street.