The Listening Sky (45 page)

The night was cold, the air crisp. Jane was bundled up in one of T.C.’s sheepskin coats. They stood with the group of townsfolk
that surrounded Colin’s and Sunday’s cabin to beat on tin pans and ring cowbells.

Some of the men shouted advice to Colin.

“Hey, Colin. Air ya needin’ help?”

“Did ya take a bath, Colin? Yo’re sure to stink like a hog.”

“Don’t forget to take off yore britches—”

“—And yore boots!”

“Want me to show ya how, Colin?”

The noisy serenade continued with hoots and whistles.

“It’s called a shivaree,” T.C. explained to Jane. “I put out the word you were not well so that they’d not do this when we
were married. Herb was sure such a racket would scare Polly to death. He put the kibosh on it by paying them off ahead of
time. He left money with Theda at the saloon to buy drinks.”

“They do it to get free drinks?”

“It’s a good-natured form of blackmail.”

“How long do we keep this up? My ears hurt.”

The lamp inside the cabin had gone out shortly after the racket began.

“It won’t be long now. Colin will come out and pay us to go away.”

“Why, that’s terrible!” Jane giggled and clung to T.C.’s arm.

He looked down into her smiling face, then dipped his head and kissed her warm lips. She had not had much pleasure in her
life, and so small things were joys to her.

“Let’s go home.” He put his lips to her ear so that she could hear him. “I know of more interesting things to do.”

“Like what?” Her eyes teased him.

“Get you in bed, take off your nightdress—”

“Sir!”

“Kiss your soft breasts—”

“How you talk!”

“Go into that warm, sweet place that’s known only to me,”

“Stop that talk right now!”

“Want me to show you how much I want to go into that special place?” He took her hand and pulled it under his coat. She jerked
it away.

“Don’t you… dare! T.C., someone will see you. I swear to goodness. You’re as randy as a two-peckered goat!” Her hand went
to her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that! I’m picking up Sunday’s expressions.”

His mouth went to her ear again. “You’re… adorable.” He bit her ear lobe. “I’m waiting to hear you say you want me to”—he
pressed his lips closer to her ear and whispered a word.

She gasped. T.C. Kilkenny! I’ll never say…
that!
“

They were laughing into each other’s eyes, completely oblivious to everyone else, when the shot sounded.

BOOM! Colin came to the door with his double-barreled shotgun and fired into the air. The racket stopped.

“Ya done already, Colin?” Murphy yelled.

“What’s the hurry? Ya got the next twenty years.”

“—If a ya don’t wear it out.”

“That you, Murphy? I’m not forgettin’ this!”

“Well, I hope not Wouldn’t be sayin’ much for yore bride if ya forgot yore weddin’ night”

A roar of laughter went up from the crowd. Jane could see Sunday peeking from behind Colin and knew that she was enjoying
this.

Colin took a few steps away from the door and set a cup on the ground. He sprang back to the safety of the cabin when two
lumberjacks made a grab for him. If they were able to separate the bride and groom for an hour or two they would consider
the shivaree highly successful.

“Theda, you out there?”

“I’m here, Colin. Does Sunday need me to tell her what to do?”

Thanks,” Sunday called. “I think I can figure it out.”

Theda, take these brayin’ jackasses to the saloon and buy’em a drink.”

“It’s about time, Tauman. I was thmkm’ I’d have to stand out here all night while ya decided if ya’d rather bed your bride
or part with a com or two,” Murphy yelled.

Colin and Sunday went back into the cabin and dosed the door. Theda picked up the cup of money and the laughing, rowdy men
followed her up the street to the saloon.

Jane and T.C. walked arm in arm back toward their house. “Are you happy, Mrs. Kilkenny?”

“Happier beyond anything I ever imagined.” She looked up at him. “Sometimes I worry that it can’t last.”

“It will, sweetheart. You’re not still concerned about that threat, are you?”

“I think about it. If it was just the notes, I wouldn’t worry so much. But the other. The person who did
that
to me hates me very much. Yet if they had wanted to kill me, they had the chance.”

“Sweetheart, it tears me up that I’ve not been able to take that load off your mind. It’s been a month and a half since the
last note. Whoever it is may have given up and left town.”

“I hope so. Oh, I hope so.”

They reached the porch and stopped to look up at the star-filled sky. He pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his
arms around her.

“You’ll love the sky out at the ranch. The stars are so close you can almost reach out and pluck them out of the sky.”

She turned in his arms. “Do you ever pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming?”

“Sometimes.” He dropped a kiss on her nose.

“I know somewhere I’d rather be… right now.”

“Why, Mrs. Kilkenny, ma’am. You mean you want to take me to bed?”

“That’s exactly what I mean, Mr. Kilkenny, sir.”

B
Y Thanksgiving two feet of snow covered the ground. The branches of the pines and spruce sagged low under the weight of the
snow and ice piled on them. The sharp odor of woodsmoke was strong in the cold, still air that hung over the town.

With Jane seated in front of him on his horse, T.C. took her with him when he visited the cutting camps to the north and to
the south. The men were working thirteen hours a day and would do so as long as the ground was frozen. Swampers had prepared
the roads by using tank sprinklers to ensure a heavy coat of ice in the ruts made by the sleds that carried great loads of
lodgepole pines to the mill.

The men in the camps lived in a forty-foot-long building with side walls scarcely two feet above the ground. The walls were
built of logs, the roof of shakes covered with evergreen boughs. Rowe Lumber Company provided the men in these camps with
the best food that could be had in order to keep up their energy for the hard work.

On the way back through the quiet forest, T.C. explained the workings of the camps.

“The camp is divided into squads. One group, the teamsters, hauls the logs; another, the choppers, fells the giant trees;
a third, the sawyers, saws the trees into logs; a fourth, the swampers, prepares the roads. It’s dangerous work. Rowe Lumber
Company makes sure a doctor is available.”

“Bill says you’ve done all those jobs and were the best.”

“I’ve put in more than one winter at a cutting camp. More than one summer at a sawmill.”

“But you want to ranch.”

“Yes, sweetheart, I do.”

Jane cherished every minute of the time she spent with her husband in the vast forests that covered the mountainsides. She
learned that he could mimic to perfection the song of any bird. He told her about every cloven-hoofed creature, every predator,
rodent or reptile that lived there. When she asked him where he had obtained this vast storehouse of knowledge, he replied
that it had been a part of him for so long he was no longer conscious of when or where he had learned his woodland lore.

She told him of her love of music and history. Her world had been books. Having been confined most of her life to one place
on a ten-acre plot of ground, she had spread her wings through the writings of authors such as James Fenimore Cooper, Daniel
Defoe and Sir Walter Scott.

T.C. came to realize during these shared times that his wife was as bright as she was strong, and he marveled that a person
so sensitive could have endured so tragic a childhood.

Two weeks before Christmas Jane became aware of having missed her monthy flow and knew that it was possible she was pregnant.
She held the precious secret close to her heart, not wanting to tell T.C. until she was sure. Her dream of having a loving
husband and a family was coming true.

Jane genuinely liked Mr. Culbertson, the effeminate schoolmaster. He had surprised everyone with his skill at handling the
rowdy boys who tried to disrupt his class.

When he first arrived and laid down the rules that no male would wear his hat inside the schoolhouse, he was challenged by
a twelve-year-old whose height was equal to his own. After twice asking the boy to remove his hat and receiving only an insolent
grin in return, the schoolmaster whirled, lifted his leg and kicked the hat off the youngster’s head. It happened so fast
that the class sat in stunned silence.

“I could have just as easily broken your nose, your neck, or your arm. Don’t challenge my authority again.”

None did.

On hearing the story, T.C. was convinced the schoolmaster would be well able to protect Jane should the need arise; and since
no further attempts had been made to frighten or threaten her, he thought it safe for her to spend time at the school helping
with the program to be presented at the church on Christmas Eve. Either he or Herb came to walk her home after school, or
at times the teacher accompanied her.

A play about Joseph and Mary in the stable in Bethlehem would include most of the children in school. Jane insisted that none
be left out. She assigned the older boys the task of building the manger and handling the scenery the night of the event rather
than reciting a poem or singing. Stella would be an angel and Buddy a shepherd in the play. Both had speaking parts. In the
evenings Jane rehearsed the pair until they knew their lines and their gestures perfectly.

Buddy was excited. He loved trying on the costume Maude had made for him to wear in the play and the praise he received for
his acting ability. Herb found a branch and whittled it down to resemble a staff like one Jane has seen illustrated in an
book. The boy soaked up information like a sponge and was enthralled by the story of the baby Jesus being born in a manger.

Theda Cruise ordered Mr. Jenson at the store to prepare a sack of candy and an orange to be given to every child in town after
the program—her Christmas gift to them. It was one more thing about the flame-haired saloon keeper that surprised Jane.

The day before Christmas Eve, school was let out at noon to allow for one last practice. Mr. Culbertson had a fine voice and
rehearsed the children who would sing. In the teacher’s room behind the classroom, Jane listened and advised the ones who
were giving recitations. Play practice followed. At dusk when rehearsal was over and the children were bundled up to go home,
Jane put on her heavy shearling coat and fur cap and prepared to walk home with Stella and Buddy.

“You don’t need to come with us, Mr. Culbertson. I know my husband told you not to let me walk home alone, but I’m not alone.
I have Buddy and Stella. We’ll be home in less than ten minutes. Wrap that scarf around your neck, Buddy. We don’t want you
getting a sore throat and being so hoarse you can’t be heard tomorrow night.”

Holding the mittened hand of each child, Jane stepped out into air so cold that it almost took her breath away. The warm air
that came from their lungs made puffs of vapor as soon as it left their mouths. They walked out to the road and headed toward
town, where lamps were already being lit. During the afternoon another light snow had fallen, and they followed the tracks
made by the children who had gone ahead of them. The snow was soft beneath their feet and pristine white. For Jane it was
truly a dream Christmas of peace on earth, goodwill to men.

“Let’s sing, Aunt Jane.” Stella skipped along beside her. Buddy stopped to kick snow; soon his britches were powdered with
white to his knees.

“It’s too cold to sing, punkin.”

“Next year I’m goin’ to sing,” Buddy announced.

“I thought you liked being in the play.”

“I like it, but I want to sing and recite a poem.”

“It’s wonderful that you like to perform. Maybe you’ll be an orator or an actor when you grow up.”

“I ain’t goin’ to be like that man that killed old Abe.”

“Now aren’t you the smart little boy to remember that?”

Talking with the children, Jane was unaware that a woman had approached them from the side until she called out.

“Buddy! Go home!”

Jane looked around. Mrs. Winters, with only a thin shawl over her shoulders and her head bare, came hurrying toward them.

“Maw? I ain’t done nothin’.”

Jane looked at the stricken little face, then back at his mother. Buddy was terrified!

“Go home!” she shouted again angrily.

Jane stopped. “We were practicing the play, Mrs. Winters. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

The woman reached them and yanked Buddy away, sending him sprawling in the snow. Jane had never seen her in such a state or
Buddy so frightened.

“Ya ain’t takin’ my boy!” she screeched. Her eyes were wild; her hair stuck out around her head as if she had been pulling
on it.

Suddenly her hand, gripping a knife, came out from under her shawl. She lashed out and only Jane’s heavy coat kept the blade
from piercing her skin.

“Mrs. Winters!” Jane backed away, her eyes round with horror.

“Maw!” Buddy cried. “What ya doin’, Maw?”

“Bitch! Spawn of the devil! Ya ain’t gettin’
him!
I’m aimin’ to cut out yore black heart.”

Jane backed up again, keeping her eyes on the woman’s distorted face. The insane gleam of hatred that shone in her eyes terrified
Jane.

“Run! Run!” Jane yelled, remembering the children. “Run! Run! Go on! Go!” She continued to back away from the advancing knife.

“Maw! Don’t hurt Miss Jane… please—”

Mrs. Winters showed no sign of hearing her son pleading with her. Her hot fevered eyes were fastened on Jane.

“Ya killed my ma and baby sister. I was there when ya rode by and as if she was nothin’ ya made a swipe with yore sword and
took her head off. My man killed hisself ‘cause he couldn’t live with what ya made him do. Yo’re the spawn of the devil and
yo’re goin’ back to hell, but ya ain’t takin’ my Buddy.”