The Listening Sky (3 page)

Men without women for long stretches of time, especially during the winter months, became quarrelsome. Unhappy, restless men
were unproductive workers. Families built towns, families with children, churches, schools and law and order.

Kilkenny had deliberately furnished the women’s barracks with only the bare necessities. He was counting on their nesting
instincts to take over. After a week crowded in with other women, a place of one’s own and a man to do for would become very
appealing.

He had caught disappointment in the faces of some. The town did look like a flash-mining town, which it had been ten years
earlier. Tents and make-do shelters stood along the street among the weatherbeaten empty buildings. But in a month or two
all of that would be changed.

Kilkenny had no scruples about his matchmaking. After all, God took a rib from Adam and made Eve. Women were created to mate
with men to ensure the continuance of the human race. As the weaker of the sexes, women sought to be provided for and protected.
And what better way to accomplish that than as wives and mothers?

He approached the group of new men waiting to speak to the foreman.

“Hey, boss man,” one called. “That’s a fine-lookin’ herd a mares ya brought in.”

“And I’m a rarin’ to mount me one,” said another.

T.C. tamped down the anger that boiled up in him. He looked at the face of each man before he spoke. It had long been a habit
of his to look a man in the eyes and study him. He knew immediately that what he had here were two men showing off for a dozen
others.

He folded his arms across his chest, spread his booted feet, rocked back on his heels and suppressed the desire to plant his
fist in the man’s face. He waited so long to speak that the men grew restless.

“You’re going to get away with those remarks this time because there may be something wrong with your hearing and you didn’t
hear me the first time around. So I’m telling you again that if I hear of any of you referring to a woman in this town as
a
mare
and being anxious to
mount
her, that man will spend the rest of his life eating without teeth, and he will ride out of here with his ass kicked up between
his shoulders. Do I make myself clear?”

The last man to speak hung his head. “Ah… Milo said they was here for… that.”

The man called Milo Callahan grinned inanely, showing a wide space between his two front teeth, one of which had been broken
in half. He had a broad face and a cockiness that immediately rubbed Kilkenny the wrong way. He appeared to Kilkenny to be
a braggart and a bully, tough in body and weak in mind. T.C. wondered vaguely if he were related to the Callahan who had a
lumber business over in the Bitterroot Range.

“The ladies answered the advertisement the same as you did. I will provide jobs for them if they do not choose to marry. They
are not whores.”

“If’n they ain’t, why’d they come?” Milo asked. “Ain’t no
decent
woman comin’ way out here thinkin’ to find work ‘cepts on her back.”

“Their reasons are no business of yours. Three of them are widow ladies. One has a babe on the way. They will be treated with
respect or you’ll answer to me.”

“I knowed right off what ya meant when I saw the bill nailed to the wall. What was we to think?
Single
women for cookin’, washin’. Hell, men cook and wash.
Single
women mean jist one thin’ to
single
men.”

“Who gets first chance to court ‘em?” The question came from a heavy-shouldered lumberjack with a scarred face. “It ain’t
fair fer the fellers already here to get first go at ‘em.”

Kilkenny’s eyes honed in on the man with no betrayal of the disgust swirling through him. But there was a stillness about
him that suggested a cougar poised to leap on prey.

“The ladies will do the choosing. If your attention is unwelcome, that’s all there is to it. If you act in any way disrespectful
toward any of them, you’ll answer to me. Understand?” He looked at each of the men, then added, “You’ve been warned. After
we get these buildings ready for winter we’ll have some kind of shindig. There’ll be games and a dance. You can pay your respects
to the women then; but, like I said, if your attention is not wanted, back off.”

In the answering stillness Kilkenny heard his name called. He looked toward his own house; the two-storied structure was the
last building on the street and sat across from the cookhouse and the new building put up for the women. A man stood on the
porch beckoning.

Kilkenny turned back to the group of new men. “Have. you talked to the foreman?”

“We’re waitin’ fer him.”

“Go on over to the cookhouse and eat. You can talk to him after supper.”

He could feel the eyes of the men on his back as he crossed the street and went up the steps to his porch. Of the dozen new
men, the two he’d needed to warn could very well be troublemakers. Another, the one with the felt hat and leather vest, had
watched the exchange with a smirk on his face. Kilkenny mentally went over the list of the men and came up with the name Bob
Fresno. He was smarter than the others. He had let Milo do the talking for him. Kilkenny could read a man just as he could
read a good stand of timber. This one and Milo were the ones to watch.

The young man who met him on the porch and followed him into the house was as tall as Kilkenny but heavier. His hair was light,
baby-fine, and hung over his ears. He had a thin sprinkling of light fuzz on his face. He wore a belt and a gun that lay snugly
against his thigh.

“It’s Doc again.”

“Drunk?”

“As a skunk.”

“Where did he get the whiskey?”

“Stole it from the saloon while Parker was in the back room, I reckon. He knows better than to give him any.”

“Is he out cold?”

“As cold as a well-digger’s ass.”

“Let him sleep it off.”

“Yeah? Well, a peeler from the north camp came in with a carbuncle boil under his arm.”

“Bad one?”

“Big as a teacup.”

“Can you lance it?”

“Hellfire, T.C., ya know I ain’t got no stomach for doctorin’.”

Kilkenny shook his head. “Guess I’ll have to do it. Where’s the man?”

“Sittin’ back there, holdin’ his arm over his head and cussin’ Doc.”

“Doc still spitting up blood?”

“Saw a spattering in the spittoon.”

“Damn fool is killing himself. Let’s take care of the peeler, Herb. Hell of a job to do before supper.”

Herb made a gagging sound. “Why’d ya have to go and say that for?”

Kilkenny hung his hat on a peg and went down the center hallway to the room that served as the surgery.

“P
UT
out the lamp and go to bed!”

Raw irritation edged the voice that came from the far end of the communal bed. Jane continued washing her arms and shoulders.
The bathtub had been in constant use. Some of the women had taken as long as half an hour to bathe, then had left the water
to be emptied by the next person who wished to use clean water. Knowing it would be midnight before they could use the tub,
Jane had built a fire in the laundry stove and had heated a bucket of water for herself and Polly. They had washed in one
of the large tin washbasins. The young girl now lay at the end of the bed, her face to the wall.

Jane set the basin on the floor and slipped her tired, aching feet into the warm water. It felt so good. She vowed to take
a full bath and wash her hair at the first opportunity.

“Go to bed!”

“Hush yore mouth. Ya make more noise than she does.” Jane recognized the cheerful voice of Sunday.

“She can pretty herself up in the mornin’.”

“She’d not have to wash this late if you’d not hogged the tub,” Sunday replied.

“Hogged the tub? Who the hell is talkin’?”

“If she’s got her eye on the boss man, it’ll do her no good.” This voice had the slurry accent of the South.

“Who ain’t got a eye on him? Lordy mercy. He’s the best-lookin’ thin’ I’ve seen in all my born days. And the cook says he
ain’t got no wife.”

“Bet he’s wild as a turpentined cat in bed.”

This brought a gaggle of giggles.

“He’s gonna
interview
us tomorrow. What’s that mean? Whatever it is, I’m glad I brought my rose toilet water.”

“Did ya bring pads for yore bosom?”

“I ain’t needin’ ‘em. I’d put my tits up against yores any-day.”

“Not against mine, you won’t!”

This brought a gale of laughter.

Jane opened the back door and threw out her wash water. After blowing out the lamp she undressed in the dark, slipped her
nightdress over her head and lay down beside Polly.

Something wasn’t right here. She had known it the minute the wagon arrived in Timbertown. This wasn’t even a town… yet. No
more than ten buildings lined the main street.

Jane was puzzled as to where the women were going to live and work. The hotel and what could be the rooming house were badly
in need of repair. She had seen nothing that could be called a bake shop, laundry or eating place. Kilkenny had built a saloon,
but not a church or school, even though she had seen a goodly number of children.

The solicitor had mentioned a need for women to make shirts and other clothing. Was the great Mr. Kilkenny going to put
all
of them to work sewing? Or was he of a mind to use them as saloon girls?

Anger quickened her heartbeat.

The building where they had eaten their supper was a new one. Bill Wassall, the cook, a man of about sixty years with a limp
and a crooked arm, had told her the building would be a restaurant when the hotel was opened.

Jane and Polly, the last to go for supper, had lingered after the others had gone back to the barracks. Jane offered to help
with the cleanup. Bill had declined the offer, saying he had a “bull cook” who would clean during the night and have a fire
ready for the breakfast mess. He was fond of talking and was delighted to have found an interested listener. He explained
that in a lumber camp the cook was “king bee” and his helper was “bull cook” or “cookie.”

The cutting camps, several miles from town, would soon be going full blast. Most of the men in the camps worked by the season.
Work would slack off at the mill when the river froze. Some of the men would spend the winter here in town repairing stores
and other business places along Main Street. Sites for a tonsorial parlor, a laundry, a jail, a school and a church had been
picked out. Another saloon would go up if someone came to run it.

Bill Wassall was enthusiastic about the town, and evidently considered T.C. Kilkenny a gift from heaven. He included the man’s
name in almost every sentence he uttered.

According to Bill, T.C. Kilkenny was a smart, fair-minded man. She learned that he was a cattleman, but that he was also the
best all-around lumberjack in the territory. He was the top high-climber, river pig, peeler, topper, trimmer and all-around
“bull of the woods.” Bill explained that was another term for camp foreman. According to the cook, Kilkenny was also an outstanding
bare-knuckle fighter and would take on all challengers once the work slackened.

By the time Bill finished singing Kilkenny’s praises, Jane wanted to gag. She wondered why God had allowed such a perfect
man to descend to earth.

“Known T.C. since he was a pup. Knowed Colin too. Colin’ll be in in a day or two.”

“Is he one of the owners?” Jane asked.

“Naw. Colin’s a cattleman. His pa is John Tallman; guess ya heard a him.”

Jane had not heard of the man, but gave no indication. She listened to the cook tell about how he first met Colin Tallman.
He was cook for John Tallman’s freight outfit crossing Indian Territory.

“Smart as a whip an’ soaked up ever’thin’ John taught him. Turned out to be ‘bout as good a scout as his pa and grandpa, Rain
Tallman.

“Lumber company’s owned by a feller named Rowe over at Trinity. Colin and T.C.’s got a interest. T.C.’s logged most a his
life but he’d rather ranch. Gonna do it soon’s he gets the town goin’ again.”

Now, as she lay in the dark listening to the snores, it became clear in her mind. After mulling over the events of the day
she came to the conclusion that Kilkenny would not immediately, perhaps would never, have full employment for
all
the women he had brought here.

The conniving jackass!

He had brought them here as prospective wives for the single men. That was the reason why the street back of the town had
been marked off, and building sites prepared. A dozen cabins had already been built, cabins that with additions could house
large families.

To advertise for brides was not unusual. Notices were routinely placed in public places. The women who answered the advertisements
went into the arrangement with their eyes wide open. Not so here!
The honorable Mister Kilkenny had brought them here on the pretext of giving them jobs.
The jobs were waiting on and servicing some of his dirty, foul-mouthed lumberjacks.

Well, she had news for him!

She would give him an earful and demand to be sent back to Denver at once. She would rather be in Denver with hundreds of
people who hated her than be here in this small place with one who was determined to make her life miserable, that is if he
allowed her to keep it.

Thank God she had carefully hung onto the pitifully small hoard of money her Aunt Alice had left her five years earlier. The
poke and the painting of her mother were securely locked in her valise.

Jane would
never
forget the day her curiosity had prodded her to remove the wooden back of the picture frame; she had hoped to find a date
on the back of the canvas that would tell her mother’s age at the time of the painting. What she had found hidden between
the canvas and the back of the frame had changed her life forever.

At age ten it had been hard to understand all Mrs. Gillis had told her on that summer day long ago. From that day on, she
had not been allowed to forget who she was, why she was there, and why more than any of the others she must study and work
to redeem herself.