The Listening Sky (5 page)

“Were your folks willing for you to leave home at age sixteen?”

“I don’t have any folks, sir.” She kept her eyes on the floor and spoke scarcely above a whisper.

“It says here that you worked in a rooming house.”

“Yes, sir. I worked for my board and I worked for a seamstress too.”

T.C. noticed that she had balled a handkerchief in her hands and was plucking at the lace edge.

“We have plenty of work for a seamstress. There’s a storeroom full of material for shirts, pants and underclothing. We’ve
brought in four of Isaac Singer’s sewing machines. Have you ever used one?”

“No, sir. Mrs. Bartley, the lady I worked for, wouldn’t let me touch hers. I did the hand work. I can tat,” she added, and
looked up hopefully.

“Tat? What’s that?”

“Lace. Real… nice lace.”

“Lace? Oh, well… they tell me it’s no trick to operate a sewing machine.” His silver-colored eyes searched her face. Polly
looked intently at the hands locked in her lap. “We have a large number of single men here, Miss Wright. Have you thought
of getting married?”

She looked up quickly. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “Most women want to marry… sometime. Don’t you?”

“I guess so.” Her voice was so low he barely heard her. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead.

“Are you sick?”

“Just… a little bit. Can I trouble you for… a drink of water?”

“Herb!”

The bellow was so loud that Polly jumped, then burst into tears the instant Herb flung open the door.

“Jesus Christ, T.C.! What’d ya do to her?”

T.C. came around the table. “I didn’t do anything. She wants water.”

“I’ll get it.”

Herb returned seconds later with a dipper brimming full. In his haste water dripped on the floor. He knelt down beside the
chair and offered it to Polly. She took a few sips, keeping her eyes down, not seeing the look of concern in the blue eyes
almost level with her own or the man’s light blond hair that touched the broad shoulders.

“Are you all right now?” Herb asked gently.

“I… think soooo—” Polly’s words trailed as she fell sideways from the chair.

“Holy hell!” Herb dropped the dipper so he could catch her before she crashed to the floor.

“W
HAT
the hell’s the matter with her?”

“She’s swooned.”

“I can see that. Get Doc.”

Herb snorted. “He ain’t in no shape to see nobody, much less a young lady. I ain’t seen him this bad in a long time. He looks
an’ smells somethin’ awful. He’d scare the waddin’ outta her.”

“Then get that woman.”

“What woman?”

“The one who helped her last night. She’s about this high and not a bit bashful about speaking out.” T.C. held his hand even
with his chin. “She’s got a head full of reddish-brown hair and holds her nose up so high you’d think she was the queen. Name’s
Love, I think.”

“Love? Hell! What kind a name is that?”

“Just get her.”

“You goin’ to leave this’n layin’ here?” Herb was supporting Polly’s head and shoulders to keep them off the floor.

“Is the surgery clean?”

“Except for the puke on the floor and a bottle of spilled Indian whiskey. Doc knocked it off the table before he passed out.”

T.C. murmured a few obscenities, then bent and lifted Polly in his arms. He was surprised by how light she was. Hell and high
water! Up close she didn’t look to be much more than a child.

“I’ll put her on my bed. Get that woman. The girl could be dying for all we know.”

“Dyin’? Ah, shit!” Herb bounded out the door like an awkward puppy and ran across the street to where the women were waiting.

*    *    *

Jane went back to the bench and sat down after walking with Polly to the door. After breakfast the poor child had gone behind
the curtain and laced herself in a corset. It was so tight that she could hardly breathe. Being nervous about her meeting
with Mr. Kilkenny had robbed her of her appetite and she’d eaten hardly anything. When her name was called for the interview
she looked as if she would burst into tears. All signs pointed to the fact she was in the family way. When she returned, Jane
was determined to ask her. If so, she was killing herself wearing a tight corset.

Jane was tired of hearing T.C. Kilkenny’s praises sung by Mrs. Winters and Sunday Polinski. They couldn’t say enough nice
things about him.
Nice, my hind leg!
The conniving jackass had brought them here pretending to have jobs when what he really wanted was women for his loggers
so they would stay and work.

Jane studied the faces of the women in the room. Three of them had children. Mrs. Brackey’s little girl was about the same
age as Buddy Winters. She was a sweet, shy child. Jane had seen children like her come to the orphanage; children who were
afraid and confused. Mrs. Bries had a small girl and was expecting another child.

Jane dismissed the possibility that one of the women had written her the threatening notes, but it might be one of the seven
men who had come in on the train from Laramie or one of the four who had been waiting at the stage station.

A cold clammy fear came over her. Had someone followed her here? Why? What had happened had been so long ago and was certainly
no fault of hers, but evidently someone thought to punish her for being closely tied to it.

When Patrice had returned from her meeting with Kilkenny, she had gone to the end of the room, ignoring the questioning glances
of the women who waited. It was as clear to Jane as it was to the others that the woman considered herself above them. Mrs.
Winters hadn’t been able to wait to tell everyone that she was going to open a bakery, and Sunday had repeated every word
that had passed between her and the boss, as she called him, and had laughingly told them she was going to make soap while
she searched for a husband.

“Can ya get ready for that? I can make enough soap in one day to last this town a month. I’d rather be out with a good axe
makin’ shingles. Never did care much for woman’s work.”

Jane’s thoughts raced, and her anger at Kilkenny for his deceptive tactics kept pace. You could bet your boots she’d let him
know what she thought of his bringing her here under false pretenses. Her valise was packed. She’d tell him what he could
do with his
job,
then insist on being taken back to the stage station.

Her main reason for coming here was to escape her past; but if someone here knew who she was, it was just a matter of time
until everyone in town would be looking down their noses at her. If she was going to be blabbed about, it might as well be
in Denver or Laramie as here.

The door was suddenly flung open. The big blond man they called Herb stood there. He looked more like an overgrown boy than
a man.

“Love,” he shouted.

The women lounging on the bench and the bed broke out into a gale of laughter.

“You callin’ me, honey?” the flame-haired woman asked.

“Now why’d he do that?”

“It’s plain to see it’s me he’s callin’.”

“Yore old enough to be his mama!”

“Oh, fiddle!” Sunday’s voice boomed out over the others. “Hush up all of you. Stop teasing the poor man.”

“Miss…
Love!” Herb’s face was brick red. “That young girl, ah… Polly Wright… swooned.”

Jane was on her feet in an instant and headed for the door.

“I’m Miss Love. What did he do to her for heaven’s sake? What did that scheming man do?” She pushed past him and onto the
porch.

“He didn’t do nothin’. She was sittin’ in the chair and just keeled over.”

“He probably told her she had to take one of his timber beasts for a man, and it scared her to death.” Jane rushed down the
steps. She had to trot to keep up with Herb’s long stride as they crossed the rutted road. “The bully,” she muttered under
her breath.

Herb took the three steps to the porch in one giant stride, opened the door and stood aside for Jane to enter a wide hall.
The open doorway on the left was filled with Kilkenny’s broad shoulders. She didn’t recognize him at first without his hat.
His thick hair was blue-black, but not Indian straight as she had thought. It fell down over his ears in deep waves. He was
pushing his forked fingers through the top to rake it from his forehead.

“In here,” he said curtly.

Jane brushed past him to reach the small, pale girl lying on the bed. Her first thought was that Polly had been laid out as
if she were dead. The shawl was still about her shoulders and crossed over her chest, her skirt pulled down to the top of
her high-laced shoes; the soles of each had a large round hole.

“Good heavens!” Jane sputtered.

“What’s the matter with her?”

“How do I know? I just got here.” She frowned up at Kilkenny as if he were a small child asking dumb questions, then, with
a toss of her head, dismissed him. She turned to look for Herb.

“I need a wet cloth.”

Even as she spoke, Herb placed a washbowl on the table beside the bed. Jane wet a cloth and bathed Polly’s face. The girl’s
breath was shallow. Jane threw off the shawl and felt along her ribs and waist. The corset she wore was heavily boned and
much too long for a girl her size. It came up under her small breasts and squeezed her chest like an iron band. She began
to open Polly’s shirtwaist and then realized the two men were still standing beside the bed.

“I’m going to take off her corset. Do you plan to stand here and watch?”

T.C. turned without a word and walked out of the room. Herb started to follow, then turned back.

“I could get the smelling salts.”

“You have some?”

“In the surgery. Doc usually has some around.”

“There’s a doctor here! Why didn’t you say so?”

“Well… yes and no. Doc’s got a tiger on his back. He’s drunk most of the time.”

“Drunk! What a waste.” Jane followed him to the door. “I might not need the salts, I’ll let you know.” She closed the door
behind him and hurried back to the bed.

Working swiftly, she unbuttoned Polly’s dress, pulled it down over her shoulders and worked at the drawstring of her chemise.
The corset beneath was laced so tightly that Jane couldn’t get her fingers under the laces. When she finally found the ends
of the strings, they were tucked underneath and tied in a hard knot.

“Drats!”

She looked around the room for something to cut the strings. On the washstand beside a shaving cup and a comb she found a
straight-edged razor in a leather case. As she was removing the blade there was a knock on the door and then it was opened.

“Is she all right? What—? What the hell are you doing with my razor?” Kilkenny came into the room holding out his hand.

“I’m not going to cut her throat if that’s what you’re thinking.” Jane paused at the foot of the bed. “I’ve got to cut the
strings on her corset”

“Not with my razor you won’t.” He took the razor from her hand, bent and pulled a thin-bladed knife from a pocket on his boot.
“What do you need cut?”

“I can do it.”

“What do you need cut?” he repeated.

“If Polly wakes and finds you bending over her with that knife, she’ll swoon again.”

By the time the words were out of Jane’s mouth, Kilkenny was at the bedside. With a few deft strokes of the knife, the laces
were cut, the corset spread open. Thank goodness Polly wore another chemise beneath it.

Kilkenny stared in dismay.

“Haven’t you ever seen a corset?” Jane asked crossly.

“Why in the name of Satan would a woman put herself in such a contraption?”

“You wouldn’t understand if I told you.” Jane put herself between him and the bed to block his view. She retied the chemise
and pulled Polly’s dress back up over her arms and shoulders. After wetting the cloth again, she rubbed it gently over the
pale face.

“Is she all right?” Herb asked from the doorway.

“I think so. She’s breathing deeply now.” As Jane spoke, Polly stirred. “Polly? Are you awake?”

“Oh… oh—” Polly’s eyes flew open as did her mouth and she sucked in large gulps of air.

“You’re all right,” Jane said firmly. “Lie still and rest”

“What… happened?”

“You swooned is all.”

Polly’s eyes looked frantically up at Kilkenny, then filled with tears. She tugged at Jane’s arm to pull her close.

“Will he… will he send me back?” she whispered.

“Let’s ask him.” Jane stood and looked T.C. in the eye. “Are you sending her back?”

He seemed to be taken aback by the question. He narrowed his eyes and studied the face turned up to his. He should have known
that she’d come right to the point.

“’Cause she’s dumb enough to lace herself in that… that thing?”

“That may not be all.”

“What else could there be?”

Jane held tightly to Polly’s hand. “I… think she’s… expecting.”

“Expecting… what?”

“Good Lord! You’re the dumb one. What do you
think
she’d expect?”

“You mean she’s breeding?”

“That’s a… crude way of saying it.” Jane took a deep breath, refusing to look away from the silver-gray eyes that held hers.
“If you don’t wish to employ her, I’ll take her with me when I leave… today, tomorrow or whenever I can get a ride back to
the train stop.” She heard a whimper from Polly, turned and bent over her, wiping her face with the wet cloth.

“I… don’t have any money—”

“I’ve got enough to get us back to Laramie.”

“I’m not sending you back to Denver. Isn’t that where you came from?”

“What… did you say?”

“I said I’m not sending you back. You signed on to work here. Both of you.”

“You can’t keep us here if we want to leave.”

“No, I can’t. But I paid your way from Denver and put you up in a hotel in Laramie. You can pay me back and walk out of here
anytime you feel like it.”

A flood of anger washed over Jane. It was reflected in the sparkle of her eyes and the color in her cheeks.

“T.C.—” Herb’s voice came from the doorway.

“Stay out of this, Herb.” Kilkenny’s eyes never left Jane’s face. “I have money invested in the two of you. You’ll stay and
work it off.”