The Listening Sky (11 page)

Jane and Colin followed T.C. to the kitchen, where he placed the plate of food on the table and hung his hat on the knob of
a kitchen chair.

Herb was vigorously stirring something in an iron pot.

“What’s that?”

Herb ignored the question, looked over his shoulder and spoke to Jane.

“Mornin’, ma’am.”

“Morning.” Jane stood beside the table, still holding the cup of milk and the plate of biscuits.

“You cooking mush?” T.C. peered into the iron pot.

“What’s it look like?” Herb growled.

“Whatever it is, it’s burning.”

“Horse-hockey!” Herb muttered as he grabbed a rag, wrapped it around the bail on the pot and lifted it. Flames shot up out
of the round hole on the iron surface of the stove. T.C. moved quickly to cover the hole with a round iron lid.

“You fixin’ to plaster the walls with that mess, Herb?” Colin, a grin on his wide mouth, eyed the spoon stuck in the thick
mush.

“I wasn’t plannin’ on it.” Herb spoke irritably. His eyes were bloodshot as if he’d gone for days without sleep. “That for
Doc?” He jerked his head toward the plate piled high with flapjacks and fried meat.

“Yeah. I thought Miss Love might have better luck getting him to eat.”

“I don’t know.” Herb shook his shaggy blond head and rubbed the stubble of whiskers on his chin. “He had a hell of a night
and he ain’t in a very good mood.”

“He’s got to eat, Herb. If you wait for Doc to be in a good mood—”

“—You’ll wait forever,” Colin added.

“If he don’t eat, he’ll die. How long’s it been since he had a solid meal?” T.C. asked.

“Long time.” The bottom of the iron pot rasped against the range top as Herb pushed it farther back on the stove.

“May I say something?” Like a musical note, Jane’s voice broke into the male chatter.

As if suddenly remembering she was there, the three men turned to look at her. It was T.C. who finally spoke.

“You’ve not been bashful about speaking up before. Why now?”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Jane took her time and placed the milk and the plate of biscuits on the table.

“If the doctor hasn’t eaten solid food for a week, his stomach certainly will not welcome this.” She moved the plate of flapjacks
and meat they had brought from the cookhouse across the table toward Herb. “You eat it, Mr.… ah, Herb, and I’ll make the mush
to go with this milk.”

“Herb, ma’am. Ya don’t need to be addin’ a mister to it.” He took a step closer to the table. “That milk for Doc? He’ll puke!”

“I doubt it. From what you say there’s nothing in him to come up.”

“I’d be obliged, ma’am, if ya made the mush. What I got here is a thick, lumpy mess. But I’ll tell ya right now, Doc ain’t
goin’ to drink that milk.”

“Want to bet?”

“N
OW
that that’s settled, I’ve things to do.” T.C. snatched his hat off the chair post. “Coming, Colin?” At the door he turned.
“We’ve not had a chance to fully discuss your employment, Miss Love. Work here today. We’ll discuss the pay later. God knows
there’s plenty to do. This house hasn’t been cleaned since we moved in.”

“You’re either ignoring or have forgotten what I’ve told you repeatedly. I’m not—”

“I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t have time to deal with it right now. I’ve got fifty men out there waiting to be told what
to do.” By the time he had finished speaking he was in the hallway.

Colin lifted his shoulders, grinned at Jane and left the kitchen.

In the quiet that followed, Herb spoke softly and sincerely.

“I’m purdee sorry ya ain’t stayin’.”

“I expected the town to be more… settled.”

“It’ll be more lawful than most towns. T.C.’ll see to it.”

“That’s a big job for one man.” Jane took the spoon from the mush in the pot and decided that what was there could not be
salvaged.

“He can do it,” Herb said confidently. “Once he sets his mind, he won’t back down.”

“I’ve noticed that.”

“He made a deal with Garrick Rowe to get the town going so that men who work for his lumber company can bring their families
here and have a place to live.”

“Who’s Garrick Rowe?” Jane had scraped the thick mush from the pot and now was washing it.

“He owns the lumber mills over at Trinity. Ya see, T.C. and Colin had filed on the land here that included the town, but they
want to ranch the part east a here. T.C. don’t want any part of the lumber business even if he has been lumberjacicin’ most
a his life. They sold the timber to Rowe. In the bargain T.C. agreed to stay a year and get the town goin’ again.”

Jane poured water into the pot from the teakettle and set it over the hole in the top of the range.

“Where’s the meal?”

Herb lifted a cloth sack up on the counter.

“I opened it this mornin’,” he said when Jane dipped some of it out into a bowl and looked carefully for weevils.

“It should be in a tin with a tight lid.”

“Miss Jane, will Miss Polly be goin’ with ya?”

“No.”

“She’s in the family way, ain’t she?”

“yes.”

“Where’s her man?”

“She doesn’t have one.” Jane turned and looked at the boyish face of the big man. “She was… forced.”

Herb’s mouth opened in surprise, then snapped shut.

“Gawdamighty!” The word exploded from him. “A man who’d do that to a young girl ain’t fit to live.”

“I agree.” Jane took the salt box to the stove and sprinkled salt in the boiling water. “Mr. Kilkenny and Sunday Polinski
and now you know Polly’s situation. I’m telling you this because Polly will need friends, understanding friends, in the months
ahead.”

“Ya can count on it, Miss Jane. I’ll see to it nobody hurts her.”

Jane’s gaze flicked up to the youth’s face. It was cold and void of expression, but the skin at the corners of his eyes tightened
ever so slightly, narrowing his gaze. It occurred to her that this man, scarcely old enough to grow a beard, had a deep-seated
sense of moral obligation, but a hard life and strong survival instincts had left their mark.
He could be deadly if crossed
.

“It eases my mind to know that you’ll be around if she… if something should come up.”

“I’ll be here.” Herb shook his head. “It’s a shame… ya ain’t stayin’, Miss Jane.”

“We can’t always do what we want to do. You’ve probably discovered that.”

“Ya mean ya don’t want to go?”

“No. No, I didn’t mean that,” Jane said quickly, and while stirring with a wooden spoon, began to sprinkle the cornmeal into
the boiling water. She’d let her mouth run away with her and it was best to drop the subject.

When the gruel had thickened to her satisfaction, Jane removed it from the stove. On a shelf above a work bench were several
bowls. Choosing the one with the fewest chips, she wiped it with a cloth, and poured some of the gruel into it.

“Ain’t it a wonder what a little know-how will do? I put a cup a meal in all at once.”

“I’ve made mush hundreds, maybe thousands, of times. It’s thin now, but in a few minutes it will set up.” Jane spooned onto
the gruel some of the syrup from the flapjacks they had brought from the cookhouse. “You better eat these before they get
any colder I’ll take this up to the doctor?”

“Ya best let me take it, Miss Jane. Doc’s not been in his right mind lately.”

“I’ve dealt with sick children—”

“—He ain’t no young’un, ma’am. He’s got a nasty mouth when he’s feelin’ poorly.”

“At least he won’t ignore me.”

“But, Miss Jane—”

“I promise I won’t be offended no matter what he says. Show me the way, Herb, then come back down here and eat. Before we
go, set the biscuits in the oven to keep warm.”

“Won’t they burn?”

“Not if you leave the oven door down.”

Jane looked around for something to serve as a tray, but could find nothing. The kitchen was in need not only of a good cleaning,
but of decent dishes as well as cooking pots, She placed the bowl on a tin plate, handed the milk to Herb and followed him
out of the kitchen.

In the upper hall Herb stopped and spoke to Jane.

“Ma’am, I wish ya wouldn’t go in. I ain’t wantin’ ya to see Doc like this. He’s a good man. He just can’t forget ‘bout all
them arms and legs he took off during the war and all them that died ‘cause he didn’t have time to help ‘em. He ain’t never
been like this before. He’s sick, too. And scared.”

“Drink has ruined many good men.”

“But… it stinks in there.”

“No worse than what I’ve smelled before.”

Herb’s shoulders slumped in resignation and he opened the door.

Jane noticed the odor first. Her next impression was that the room was sparsely furnished: a narrow bed, a chair and a washstand.
The morning light coming in the curtainless window revealed a startling sight. A man, who appeared to be not much larger than
a child and who was spidery thin, lay on his back. A cloth rope bound his skinny ankles to the end of the wrought-iron bedstead
and a wide cloth, reaching from his knees to his chest, was stretched tightly and tucked beneath the mattress on each side
of the bed.

“What in the world!”

“I had to, ma’am. He’d get up an’ hurt hisself.”

“You sonofabitch!” The feverish sunken eyes glared up at Herb. “I despise the day I kept that outlaw from killing you.”

“Doc… it’s for yore own good—”

“If you had a ounce a gratitude for what I’ve done for you, you’d not have taken my whiskey.” The weak, raspy voice rose to
a screech. “What’s this slut doin’ here? I don’t need a whore. Get her outta here! And get me my whiskey!”

“Hush up that kind a talk, Doc.” Herb said sharply. “Miss Jane’s brought ya some breakfast.”

“My guts are on fire and you bring me a prissy-ass woman with…
breakfast!
You stupid, backwoods bastard! Get my bottle or, by holy hell, I’ll cut off your damned pecker when I get up from here!”

Herb winced. The doctor’s cruel words hurt. Jane set the bowl of gruel on the washstand and took the cup of milk from Herb’s
hand.

“Go on downstairs,” she said, ignoring the man on the bed, then added when she turned to look down at him, “I’ll see to it
that he eats.”

“You’ll do nothing, you pig-ugly old spinster!”

“Doc! For God’s sake! Ma’am, he don’t mean it.”

“I know. He’s lashing out like a spoiled little boy. Go eat your breakfast.”

“Get… her out… of here.” The doctor coughed, leaned over the edge of the bed and spit on the floor. He made no attempt to
use the can beside the bed. Jane saw flicks of blood in the spittle and on his lips.

She shoved Herb gently out the door, but left it open. Then she went to the window, raised it and propped it up with a stick
that lay on the sill.

“Herb!” The doctor tried to shout but his voice was weak. “Get back in here, you sorry piece a horseshit!”

“Phew!” Jane waved her hand before her nose. “It smells like a privy in here.”

“It is a privy, you stupid whore! Touch me and I’ll piss all over you.”

At that Jane turned on him.

“Keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll slap you so hard your teeth will rattle.” Her face was rigid with impatience and
anger.

“You do and I’ll spit in your face.”

“You’re a poor excuse for a human being, lying there wallowing in self-pity. Look at yourself; a whiskey-soaked sot wasting
the brains and talent God gave you.”

“I don’t need a nasty-nice little heifer telling me what I am. If you’re so much why’d you have to come to this godforsaken
place to get a man? I know why T.C. sent out that bill wanting women to
work.”

“So do I… now. But bear this in mind, Doctor, I’m on my feet and you’re not. However, that’s got nothing to do with the pitiful
condition you’re in now.” Jane spoke as if to an unruly child. “Let’s get something straight right now. I’ll not suffer your
insults in silence. I do not feel sorry for you; therefore, I will give you back as good as you give.”

“The thieving son of a bitch stole my whiskey.”

“Your brain is so pickled you don’t realize what that young man is doing for you. You don’t deserve such loyalty.”

“Loyalty, my ass! He stole my whiskey!”

“Shut up whining!” Jane was surprised by her own words. She poured water from the pitcher on the washstand into a bowl and
wet the end of a towel.

“Wash your face and hands. Heaven knows they need it.”

“Loose the damn sheet. I can’t move.”

Jane pulled on one side of the sheet, giving it some slack, but left it stretched over him. While he rubbed the wet towel
over his face and hands, Jane studied him. His breathing was labored. The skin on his face and neck was like yellow parchment.
His eyes were deep-set in their sockets and his whiskered cheeks sunken. The thin hands that lay on his bony chest were long
and slender.

He wiped his hands with the wet cloth, then laid it over his face for a moment as if enjoying the cool dampness. He removed
the cloth and left it to lie on his chest.

“Don’t spit on the floor again. It was a childish act of defiance.”

“Untie my feet.”

“No.”

“I’ll do it myself.” He leaned forward on one elbow, his shaking hand reaching for his ankles. Unable to reach past the calf
of his leg, he sank back down on the pillows. Weak tears filled his eyes.

“You’ll feel better after you eat,” Jane said. “I’ve made cornmeal mush. It’s easy on the stomach.”

“You a doctor?” he asked sarcastically.

“Heavens, no. But I’ve taken care of many sick children and carried out the orders the doctors gave me. After you’ve eaten
you’ll drink the milk. It’ll coat the lining of your stomach and keep it from burning.”

“Milk! Christ almighty. I’m not drinking any dad-blasted milk!”

“Yes, you are.”

“I won’t.”

“You’ll eat and you’ll drink the milk, or I’ll pour this pitcher of water on you, shut the door and leave you alone all day.”

“Herb will come.”

“Not if I tell him you’ve gone to sleep.”

“I’ll yell.”

“Not with a gag in your mouth,” Jane said calmly. “Now open it. And, I’m warning you—spit it out and I’ll smear the whole
bowlful on your face and walk out.”