The Listening Sky (30 page)

She looked up at him with tired, dull eyes. It had not yet registered with her that she had just made a lifetime commitment
to this man.

A
FTER
the ceremony Jane suffered the hugs from the women, the handshakes from the men, and the kiss on the cheek from T.C. She
went along with the women back to the kitchen and sat down at the table. Maude poured her a cup of coffee. She felt as if
she were out of her body, above, and looking down on what was going on. None of it was real. None of it was happening to her.

“I wish we had a doctor to look at that bump on her head.” Maude was talking about her but not to her. Jane moved her tired
eyes to Maude and noted the worried look on her face.

“It’s all right.”

“Do you want to go lie down, Jane?” Sunday asked.

“Oh, no. I’ve got too much to do.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I’ve… got to clean and do the washing—”

“Oh, Lord.” Maude turned away and put the back of her hand to her mouth.

“That’ll get done. Come lie down.”

Jane rose obediently from the chair. Sunday led her down the hall to T.C.’s room. Once inside, she closed the door.

“Take off yore dress. Yo’re not wearin’ a corset are ya? Jane shook her head carefully. She removed her dress and sat down
on the side of the bed in her shift. Sunday took off her shoes.

“I’m… awfully tired.”

“Just lie down. I’ll put this cover over ya. Nobody will bother you and you can sleep.”

When Sunday left the room she went back to the kitchen.

“She’s sleepin’. She’s just wore out.”

“I wonder if she knows what she did,” Maude said.

“She answered when the peacher asked her. I think she knows, but it hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Where?” T.C. appeared in the doorway and spoke the one word.

“She went back to bed. She’s not herself,” Sunday said.

“I know that. Could the blow on her head have cracked her skull?”

“It bled a lot, but it wasn’t that bad,” Sunday said slowly. “She’s worried herself sick is what she’s done. Tryin’ to go
on like nothin’ was wrong and then bein’ shut up in the privy and that other—Her mind’s just kinda shut down.”

“Mr. Kilkenny, do you think she knows what she just did?” Maude asked hesitantly.

“Marrying me? She knows. I admit I hurried her into it, but I’ll not take advantage of her. When she
really
becomes my wife, I promise you she’ll know exactly what she’s doing.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I understand what you mean, and I thank you for your concern for my wife.” T.C. felt good saying the word for the first time.
“I wanted her before this happened and I said my vows sincerely. She’ll be loved and respected. Whoever did this thing to
her will answer to me.”

“It’s just a shame she can’t enjoy her wedding day.”

“I hope to make it up to her someday.”

“Stella and I think a heap of her—”

“So do I.” T.C.’s voice was firm. “I want everyone in town to know that we’re married. The sooner the better. It’ll either
ferret out the one who hurt her, or they’ll back off. Can you see to that, Sunday?”

“I always did like spreadin’ good news.”

The news that T.C. Kilkenny had married Jane Love was all over town by mid-morning, exactly as T.C. wanted. If whoever had
attacked Jane was in town, that person knew now that it would mean dealing with him if anything further happened to her.

Paralee Jenkins, Bessie Miller and Minnie Perkins were the only women left in the henhouse. Patrice Guzman Cabeza had moved
into the best room at the hotel a few days earlier: Grace Schwab and Bertha Phillips had gone to share a mom at the rooming
house.

Sunday had been delighted to break the news to Paralee.

“He what?
Married
that old maid? She’s twenty-five years old if she’s a day.”

“Yup, he married her, and they’re as happy as a pair of bear cubs in a honey tree.”

“He could’a had any woman in town without havin’ to
marry her”
Paralee’s pouty face was creased in an expression of disbelief.

“Ya mean he could’a had any
whore
in town. There’s a mite a difference ‘tween a whore and a lady, Paralee. But guess you’d not be knowin’ about that.”

“And you would?”

“I know
yo’re
no lady.”

Paralee’s mouth tightened and her eyes sparkled with anger. She would like nothing more than to jump on the blond bitch and
scratch her eyes out. But there was no need for that. She had another weapon.

“Ya think yo’re so all-fired smart! Ever’body in town knows ya’ve set yore sights on Colin Tallman. I’m here to tell ya that
ya’ve got ‘bout as much chance a gettin’
him
as ya’ve gota gettin’ Abe Lincoln.”

Sunday laughed. “Lincoln’s dead! Ya dummy. Didn’t ya know that?”

“He… is?”

Bessie laughed.

Minnie snickered.

Paralee’s face reddened as her blood rose to the boiling point.

“Patrice’s been pukin’ her guts out ever’ mornin’ since she come here. Go ask her whose kid she’s carryin’.”

“Now why’d it matter to me whose kid Miss Snooty-puss is carryin’?”

“Oh, it’d matter when she tells ya why she come lookin’ for Colin Tallman and why she’s so scared her husband’s goin’ to find
her.”

“Me and Miss Snooty-puss ain’t been to no tea parties together… lately. And ain’t had no chance to share confidences.”

“Ain’t ya sharin’ the same man?”

“Are ya diggin’ for dirt to spread?”

“I don’t have to dig. Patrice come right out and told me. She’s scared her
Ramon’ll fly off
the handle and kill her when she tells him it… ain’t… his… kid!” Paralee finished with a smirk on her face.

“So it ain’t his kid. It’s no business of mine, or yores, whose kid it is.”

“It’ll be Colin Tallman’s business unless he’s got ‘em sprinkled about like raindrops and one more ain’t going to make no
never mind.” Paralee waved her arms.

Sunday’s desire to slap the girl was so strong that she clenched her fists and buried them in the pockets of her skirt. She
would have died before she would let the jealous bitches know that just the hint that Patrice’s child was Colin’s had cut
her to the quick. So she laughed… again.

“Got to hand it to ya. That tongue a yores is hooked in the middle so it can wag at both ends. But I didn’t come to listen
to yore gossip. Mr. Kilkenny sent me to tell ya three bright, upstanding
ladies
to pack up and get yore butts out of here.” Sunday knew how to use her voice in an insulting way. She did that now.

“Why’s he sendin’ word by you? Why didn’t he come hisself?” This came from Bessie, who usually let Paralee do the talking.

“He’s busy… with his new wife.”

“Doin’ what? Cuddlin’ up with that prissy old maid’d be like lovin’ up to a sack a turnips that’s been in the cellar all winter.
And”—she cast a knowing glance at Paralee—”a man that’s needin’ lovin’ ain’t wantin’ no sack a turnips. I can tell ya that.”
Both girls giggled.

“I ain’t doubtin’ that. Ya’ve hugged up to ever’ horny lumberjack within a mile of ya. Now let me tell ya somethin’. If I
hear of ya dirtyin’ Jane’s name, I’ll find ya and I’ll beat the tar out of both of ya!” By the time Sunday had finished she
was shouting. Her patience was stretched almost to the limit.

The threat sobered both girls. Sunday continued in a calmer voice.

“Mr. Kilkenny said for you to move into the room behind the kitchen at the hotel today. You can work there, earnin’ yore keep.
He’s goin’ to turn this place into a bunkhouse for men who can’t afford the hotel. Maybe he’ll rent you the corner behind
the curtain and ya can earn ya a nickel or two lyin’ flat on yore back. It ain’t smart to give it away even if it ain’t worth
much,” she added the insults calmly.

Sunday was so hurt and angry that she hardly knew what she was saying. She glanced at the dark-haired Minnie, who had worked
as a laundress at the army camp. Minnie never took part in Bessie’s and Paralee’s jealous attacks on Jane. She had lowered
her head and appeared to be embarrassed.

“Minnie, I didn’t mean any of that for you, but you keep trailin’ with these two and ya’ll be painted with the same brush
they are.”

“Ya want to explain that?” Paralee asked.

“Wouldn’t do no good. The two of ya ain’t got the sense God gave one of them turnips yo’re so fond of.”

Sunday left the henhouse feeling as if she had been kicked in the gut by a mule. Was Paralee trying to get her goat, or was
what she said true? Last night she had been sure Colin liked her as much as she liked him.

Not one to dally around and stew over a bit of news tossed out by the likes of Paralee and Bessie, Sunday headed down the
street, scarcely noticing the people she passed. If Colin Tallman was the kind of man to take another man’s wife to bed, she
had to know it now, and the only way to find out was straight from the horse’s mouth.

She reached the hotel and walked quickly up the steps and onto the porch. The man sent to run the hotel was short, bald, and
very businesslike. Sunday had met him the day he arrived. He was in the lobby rolling out a small piece of carpet when Sunday
entered:

“What room is Mrs. Cabeza in?”

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “That’s easy. We only have four guests at the present time. She’s in room three. Top of
the stairs on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Sunday went up the stairs. Three weeks of work on the building had put it in good shape. The work was continuing. She’d heard
Jeb say that eight of the ten rooms were ready for guests. It was grand, Sunday thought, what money could do, but she’d not
heard of it fixin’ broken dreams.

She rapped on the door of room three, rapped again and waited.

“Who is it?”

“Sunday Polinski. Open the door.”

“What do you want?”

“Open it and find out.”

Sunday heard the key in the lock and the door opened a crack. She pushed it open and came into the room. Patrice was wearing
a dressing gown. Her hair was down about her shoulders. Her face was pale and she had dark circles under her
eyes.
The chamber pot was by the bed and the room smelled of vomit.

“What do you want?”

“You been pukin’?”

“I doubt you came to inquire about my health, so say what you came to say and get out.” Patrice sank down on the edge of the
bed.

“Who’s kid ya carryin’?” Sunday demanded.

Startled, Patrice looked up. Her large dark eyes took in the misery on Sunday’s usually cheerful face. She began to smile
and brushed the heavy black hair back from her face.

“The little farm filly is not quite as stupid as I thought she was. But I guess the situation has to be made plain to her.”
Patrice stood and adjusted the belt on her dressing gown so that the folds fell open to partially reveal the globes of her
swollen breasts.

“Why do you think I left a home where I was waited on hand and foot to come to this godforsaken place? Even
you
should have been able to figure it out. I came to find Colin Tallman, my one and only love.”

“Is the kid his?”

“We were together a couple of months ago. Do you think he could have resisted the temptation?”

“Yore husband ain’t carin’ that ya get in another man’s bed?”

“I’ve not slept with Ramon for months and months. Anyway, he’s worthless as far as fatherhood is concerned or he’d have brats
scattered all over New Mexico. He’ll know it isn’t his.”

“Then why’er ya scared he’ll find out?”

“Pride. He’ll be duty-bound to try to kill Colin. I’m not in the least worried about that. Colin can take care of himself.”

“Is Colin the pa?”

“Who else? Certainly not T.C. Kilkenny!” Patrice lifted her brows and smiled.

It was all Sunday needed to know. Her dreams died a sudden death. Her heart felt empty. It was as if she had lost some part
of herself. Misery was eating her alive! She had to get out fast before she made more of a fool of herself. In her anxiety
to leave, she never even noticed the satisfied smirk on Patrice’s face.

When she left the room, she slammed the door and walked quickly down the stairs and out onto the boardwalk. Her eyes were
bright and dry. Singlemindely heading for the rooming house and the privacy of her room, she never heard Colin call her name.
He had come out of the store and was crossing the street to intercept her.

“Sunday… wait—”

She heard him when he called the second time, and she slammed to a halt and turned. At the sight of his smiling face, she
took a deep breath. When she released it, anger boiled up.

“Where ya goin’? Mrs. Henderson’s makin’ a weddin’ cake. I’m gettin’ the stuff from the store.”

“I’m surprised ya got time.”

“I am in sort of a yank.”

“In too big a yank to go get yore rocks hauled by that Mexican whore up at the hotel?”

At first Colin thought she was teasing, but these were pretty raw words. Then the look on her face told him that she was not
teasing. She was angry, very angry. She glared at him with deep-rooted dislike on her face. It was a face he had not seen
before. It was one without a smile.

“What put a bee in yore bonnet?”

Sunday took another deep breath to steady herself and spoke in a low, controlled voice, as she balled her fist and prepared
to hit him if he came an inch closer.

“What put a bee in my bonnet, Mr. Colin Tallman, was you makin’ up to me last night when ya been playin’ around in Mrs. Cabeza’s
drawers.”

“What?” Colin was stunned into silence for a second. “What in holy blazes are you talkin’ about?” He reached for her arm,
but she drew back and made another fist. He stepped back, sure she meant to strike him.

“Touch me and I’ll… bust you in the mouth! Get the hell away from me and stay away, or I swear I’ll shoot yore blamed head
off and save her husband the trouble.”

With head up, back ramrod-straight, Sunday marched on down the street, leaving Colin shocked and perplexed. He stood for a
moment, then went back across the street to the store.