The Listening Sky (2 page)

“We will rebuild this town. It will have all a well-run town has to offer. In a few years Wyoming Territory will become a
state, and our town will have a chance to become a county seat. We are in the midst of one of the richest pine regions in
the territory. With careful management of these resources, there will be jobs here for many years and this town will naturally
grow and prosper.

“When the river freezes and work at the mill slows down, some of you will find work here in town as we continue to build.
You will have credit to build or to fix up one of the more than a dozen abandoned cabins scattered around. Some are in not
too bad a shape considering they’ve been vacant so long.”

While the man was talking, Jane studied him. He seemed confident and well educated. He had shown compassion for the women
holding their babes and the tired, crying children clinging to their skirts. He looked to be capable of backing up his intention
to deal with anyone who broke the town laws. He was taller than average, with broad shoulders and a wide chest that tapered
down to narrow hips and long, powerful legs. His hair was so black that it glinted blue. His high cheekbones and a wide, thin-lipped
mouth told Jane that he was part-Indian even though Kilkenny was an Irish name and his eyes were a steel gray.

Oh, Lord! Had she made a mistake coming here?

Jane had been searching for just such a chance as this place offered. Maybe here she would be able to start a new life where
her secret could stay hidden forever.

Being entirely on her own for the first time in her life and in Timbertown was the result of her having read a handbill tacked
to the wall of a store back in Denver. The advertisement, dated July 30, 1882, had been printed a week earlier.

Wanted: People to populate the town of

Timbertown, a settlement in the northwest

section of Wyoming Territory.

Jobs available for hardworking timbermen.

Housing provided for families, rooms for

single men and women.

Single women wanted for cooking, sewing,

laundry and nursing.

Male or female schoolteacher needed with knowledge

of bookkeeping.

Backing available for qualified merchants.

Apply Carlson Hotel on Friday.

Buoyed by hope, Jane had applied. The solicitor, a stuffy man with a stiff high collar and small wire-rimmed spectacles, first
asked if she were single, then asked about her health—because, he had said, Timbertown was in an isolated area. He looked
closely at her after she spoke about her qualifications as a teacher and a bookkeeper. She told him that she could sew and
knit and had had considerable experience nursing the sick.

Jane did not feel it necessary to explain that she had lived all her life in a Methodist Church home and that while there
she had done everything from scrubbing the floors to keeping the books and writing to various organizations asking for donations.
She did not mention that she had been expected to stay there and work for her board for the rest of her life, or that when
she left the headmistress had slammed the door behind her after having called her an ungrateful chit and having predicted
that she’d come crawling back within six months.

That had been six weeks ago.

The ride in the lumber wagon from the train stop, which was no more than a shack and a water tank, to the stage station, where
they had spent the night sitting or lying on pallets, had already exhausted the women. And today the driver of the wagon had
seemed to care not a whit for the comfort of his passengers during the thirty-mile drive from the station to Timbertown. His
aim was to deliver this group and head back to the station to drink and play cards.

When the call came to load up, the driver had lifted her up into the last of a string of five wagons. She had taken a seat
on the end of one of the planks that served as a bench. The slamming of the tailgate seemed to signify the end of one life
and the beginning of another. For thirty miles she’d had to endure the stare of the man in the felt hat who rode alongside
the wagon.

The excitement of finally being here in Timbertown was diminished not only by her fatigue but by the knowledge that some unknown
person, who undoubtedly wished to make her life miserable, had been nearby, at least until she had climbed aboard the wagon.
The hateful message left on her valise worried her. It meant that someone knew who she was and hated her for it.

She had not escaped from her shame; it had traveled with her.

Jane straightened her straw hat and with the palms of her hands tried to smooth some of the wrinkles out of her skirt. Her
shoes were covered with dust, so her face must be too. She licked her lips and felt the grit. She cherished cleanliness and
longed for a wet cloth to wipe her face and hands.

When a hand pressed her arm, Jane turned to see the drawn face of the young girl standing beside her. No more than sixteen,
weary and frightened, she was very close to tears.

“What’s the matter, Polly?”

“I’m so tired. And my back—”

“Sit down here on my valise. Honey, are you sick?” Jane asked when tears began to fill the girl’s eyes.

“No. Just… tired.”

Polly Wright had been with the group when Jane arrived in Laramie after having come up from Denver on the stage. They had
shared a room at the hotel before they boarded the train for the middle leg of the journey. Polly had been very careful to
slip the big loose nightdress over her head before she removed her petticoats. Her listlessness and upset stomach made Jane
suspect the girl might be pregnant.

Jane knelt down and tucked her handkerchief into Polly’s hand.

“Wipe your eyes,” she whispered. “We don’t want him to think you’re sickly.”

Polly sniffed back the tears and dabbed at her eyes. “I can’t help… it. Will he send me back?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wish… I was… dead.”

“No you don’t. Nothing is that bad.”

Jane patted the girl’s shoulder and was about to stand when two big dusty boots planted themselves in the ground beside her
skirt. Her eyes traveled up the long legs to the checked shirt and to the lean, sun-browned face with its piercing gray eyes.
The memory of such eyes caused Jane to shiver again.

“What’s the matter with her?”

“She’s tired.”

“Why is she tired? She hasn’t done anything but ride for three days.”

Jane stood. The top of her bead came to the man’s chin. Nevertheless, she looked up unflinchingly into, the eyes narrowed
beneath heavy black brows.

“It was not a ride on a featherbed, mister.”

“It was the best I could provide.”

“I’m not disputing that. She’ll be all right with a bath and a decent night’s sleep.”

“That I
can
provide.”

“Thank God!” Jane murmured under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked, his lips twitching at the corners.

Jane felt her cheeks redden, but she refused to cower beneath his intense stare. Not for the world would she bow her head
with this overbearing man and the entire group staring at her.

“I said, thank God.”

“I thought that was what you said.” He turned and walked away.

“Then why did you ask me?” Jane mouthed at his back.

Her eyes swept the group and caught the look on the face of one of the women who had held herself apart from the others since
she had joined them at the stage station. She had arrived with a Mexican man, who had left immediately. Because the two had
conversed in Spanish, Jane presumed her to be Mexican even though she seemed tall for a Mexican woman. She was large-boned
and stood ramrod straight. Black straight hair hung down her back to her waist. The woman’s gaze lingered on Jane’s face for
several seconds before she turned and watched Kilkenny as he made his way to the front of the crowd.

“Ladies, this way.”

Twelve women followed T.C. Kilkenny. A tall, red-haired woman with green eyes hurried to walk beside him. Then a quiet, dark-haired
woman picked up her valise and trailed along, as did another gripping the hand of a small boy. A slender, obviously pregnant
mother holding the hand of a girl hardly out of diapers and a woman with a shy young daughter were joined by several young,
strong women in their teens. Jane and Polly brought up the rear.

Jane insisted on carrying Polly’s carpetbag as well as her own heavy valise. After going a short distance, she stopped to
shift the heavy load to her other hand. Kilkenny was beside her as she straightened, and he took the valise from her hand,
leaving the lighter bag for her to carry. He walked away without a word, causing Jane to wonder if the man had eyes in the
back of his head.

His action was noted by the Mexican woman and the one with dyed-red hair.

Kilkenny led them to a low log building. The moment Jane entered the newly built building she knew that it was not meant to
be permanent quarters. So many women could not live in harmony for long in such close proximity.

Along the windowless wall was a field bed. It extended the length of the building. Narrow grass-filled mattresses lay along
the wooden slab. Neatly folded blankets had been placed along the foot of the communal bed. On the wall at the far end of
the room was a shelf with several basins and pitchers. A square glass mirror hung above them. Sitting in the middle of the
room was a large Acme heater with a shiny tin chimney going up through the roof. The heat radiating from it was a welcome
antidote to the chill of the late afternoon breeze that came down from the mountains.

A bench stretched along the foot of the long bed. Upon this Kilkenny placed Jane’s valise. Then he went to the far corner
of the room to pull back a curtain and reveal a tin bathtub and two large tin water buckets.

“We have no shortage of water. It comes from a spring and is piped to a reservoir behind the cookhouse. The cook will bring
you the first bucket of hot water, and later you can heat your own on the laundry stove.” He gestured to ward a small two-burner
stove with another shiny tin chimney going out the side of the building.

“How nice,” Jane said, again under her breath.

“The privy out back is strictly for ladies only.”

“Where do we eat?” The question came from a girl with a mass of unruly blond hair, a slender wiry build and a constant smile.
She was young and healthy and seemed to take everything in stride. She had said to Jane, “Call me Sunday. My mama had a young’un
for every day in the week. I’m glad I wasn’t born on Saturday.”

“You’ll eat in the cookhouse. The men will eat first, then cook will send his helper for you. Tomorrow I’ll interview each
of you. There is plenty of work to keep you busy while you’re waiting for the job you were hired to do.”

“Like what?” Jane asked.

Kilkenny’s eyes honed in on Jane’s face and stayed there for a few seconds before he answered. Her heart pounded, but her
expression did not change. A facade of haughty dignity was far more effective, she had learned, than cringing uncertainty.

“Washing, cooking, sewing—”

“—How long do we stay… here?” Jane interrupted. Then before he answered, “Do you not have a rooming house or a hotel?”

“The hotel and rooming house are being repaired. Have you run a hotel?”

“No. But—”

“—But?”

“But it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

“I can’t very well put you up in a hotel or rooming house with a hole in the roof, can I?” He raised dark brows and his eyes
raked over her coolly. Someone tittered. “Any more questions?”

“Not tonight.” Her tone was frosty.

“Very well. I’ll leave you to get settled in.”

He walked the length of the building with quick, purposeful steps. He paused in front of the Mexican woman and tipped his
hat.

“Señora Cabeza.”

“Hola,
T.C.”

He continued toward the door. The flame-haired, green-eyed woman stepped out in front of him.

“Mr. Kilkenny…” The name rolled off her tongue like a caress. “I don’t wish to stay here. I’ll buy one of the completed cabins.”

His stare would have intimidated most women. This one appeared to enjoy it. She tilted her head and flung a mass of loose
red hair over her shoulder. She was not a young innocent and did not pretend to be.

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow when you have your interview.”

He stepped around her and continued on, but as his eyes met Jane’s his steps slowed. Jane’s eyes looked into his, straight
and clean, not boldly, but with assurance and a little amusement. He regarded her with an icy stare, but his expression in
no way detracted from the splendor of his face. He was as handsome a man as Jane had ever seen. No wonder the red-haired woman
was panting after him.

T.C. walked past Jane, taking with him a flashing memory of rich, dark reddish-brown hair framing a fine-boned face, stormy
smoke-blue eyes shot with silver, and a tilted pointed chin.

She was… proud as a peacock. And a lady to boot. Why in hell would such a woman come here? He had not had the time to study
the applications sent by his solicitor, but you could bet your boots he would as soon as he got back to his house.

And… what the hell was Patrice Guzman Cabeza doing here? Was his solicitor out of his mind? Patrice’s husband must still be
alive. No word to the contrary had reached the town. If she figured to be coddled and waited on here, she was in for a surprise.
Everyone carried his own weight in this town. It would be a sight to see Senor Ramon Cabeza’s wife bent over a washtub. And
the redhead—if she had money to buy her own house, why was she here? Hell, at times T.C. wondered at the craziness of sending
for the women.

With a few exceptions Kilkenny was pleased with the newcomers. He had hoped for more big, strong ranch or farm women. He calculated
that even after the arrivals tomorrow, there would still be two single men to every single woman in town. And when the men
came in from the cutting camps, the ratio would be more like four to one. He had hoped to reduce the number of single men;
he didn’t want to resort to bringing in “ladies of the night.”