The Listening Sky (22 page)

In the dim light he could see Jane lying on the bed. She was asleep.

T.C. took a deep breath. He was so relieved that he was shaking. Moving quietly, he struck a match and lit the lamp on the
washstand. He heard a whimper and turned, thinking he had awakened her. Jane lay on her side, her palms tucked beneath her
cheek. Thick waves of dark-red hair spread out over the pillow. Lashes, long and tear-spiked, lay on her cheeks.

On the floor beside the bed, one of her shoes stood upright; the other had fallen over, the laces trailing. T.C. bent down
and picked up the shoes. He held them in his hand. They were small and narrow, the sole on one of them was worn almost through
and the back seam had been repaired with heavy black thread. He held them for a minute or two before he returned them to the
floor.

He stood beside her. He had never before observed a woman sleep. As he watched, she sucked in her lower lip and a frown brought
her brows together. A whimper sighed from her parted lips. It tore at T.C.’s heart.

He squatted down beside the bed and smoothed the hair back from her face with a trembling hand.

“Shhh—Don’t cry,” he whispered. “You’re all right. You’re just worn out.”

“It’s not… fair—” she murmured.

“What’s not fair, Jane? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” His arm curved up around her head and his lips
pressed a kiss on her forehead. His touch awakened her.

“Oh! Oh—” Her eyes flew open. “T.C., ah… Mr. Kilkenny.” She looked as if she would burst into tears again.

He smoothed the hair back from her face and wiped her wet cheeks with the ball of his thumb. Their faces were close. He put
his hand into her hair, feeling the soft, silky tresses.

“I’ve… got to get up.” She moved and made another soft little whimpering sound.

“You were crying in your sleep.”

“No. I seldom cry.”

He lowered his lips to her cheek. “Then what’s this on your cheeks? You needn’t be ashamed of crying.”

“I’m not—”

“Jane, love,”—he paused between the two words—”someday you’ll tell me why you’re always on the defensive.”

“I’ve got to get up,” she said again. “There’s a lot to do.”

“It’s being done. Have you eaten since morning?”

“I don’t remember.”

He moved back, and she sat up on the bed. She reached for her shoes, but he had them in his hand. With a firm grip on her
ankles, he guided her feet, first into one shoe and then the other. Jane looked down on his dark head as he tied the laces.
She would give almost anything to slide her fingers through that shiny dark hair, but she didn’t dare.

Jane stood, trembling and feeling like an utter fool.

Not knowing what else to do, she began to braid her hair.

“Do you have to put it up? Can’t you tie it back with a string?”

“No. I’ve got to put it up. I can’t go traipsing downstairs like this. What’ll people think?”

With his hands on her shoulders, he shook her gently. “I don’t care what folks think.”

“Folks think badly enough of me as it is.”

“Why?”

“Because… I’m here, and—”

“I don’t see how we could have managed without you.” He stroked her hair back from her temples. Reluctantly he dropped his
hand and went to the door. “Go ahead and do up your hair. Now that I think about it, I’d rather no man but me ever see it
like that.”

“Would you mind going on ahead? I don’t want Mrs. Henderson to think that I… you… were doing something improper.”

“I’ll wait in the kitchen, then we’ll sit on the porch awhile. Bring your shawl.” He left before she had a chance to refuse.

Jane stood for a moment reliving the wonder of his stroking her hair, kissing her wet cheeks and putting on her shoes. She
had had practically no experience with men, but she knew that he was an unusual one, hard as a rock one moment and so gentle
the next. She was glad she had come here, otherwise she might never have known the joy
of
being held close in a man’s arms nor have felt the tender touch of his lips.

It would be heaven to be free to love him and have him love her in return. If he were hers to love, she would put all her
toil, her thoughts and her affection into making a home for him and their children.

Fate had dealt her a cruel blow. Her dreams would never come true, but she would now have some sweet memories to hold in her
heart.

I
T
was a spectacle, Jane thought. Never had she seen such a sight.

Shortly after the open casket had been carried to the porch and sprays of freshly cut evergreens and bunches of wildflowers,
which she later learned had been gathered by Sunday and Colin, had been placed around it, people began arriving to pay their
respects.

The men came with freshly shaven faces and slicked-down hair, wearing clean shirts. They paused beside the casket with their
hats in their hands. Families came. Women carried babies in their arms. Older children led their young siblings by the hand.
After they had viewed the body, they stood along the street and talked in hushed tones. Some of the mothers, trying to visit
with friends, scolded the excited children, shushing them.

Jane wore her good black skirt and white shirtwaist. She had a short black cape she would wear to the burial ground. At dawn
Herb and T.C. had gone to the knoll outside of town that had been designated as the cemetery during the town’s heyday. It
was already occupied by more than a dozen souls who had come to Timbertown during the silver strike and had never left. After
choosing Doc’s final resting place, T.C. and Herb had cleared the area of brush and weeds and had dug the grave.

Standing at the end of the porch with Maude, Jane noticed a tall, whiplash-thin man as he approached the casket. His long-handled
mustache curved down on each side of his mouth. Thin sandy hair that reached almost to his shoulders was stirred by the morning
breeze. He was neatly dressed in a clean shirt, with a black string tie, and duck pants. He carried a wide-brimmed Texas-style
hat.

What drew Jane’s attention was that he lingered so long, gazing down at Doc’s body. When he looked up, sharp blue eyes met
hers. He moved around to the end of the porch, his hat beneath his arm.

“Mornin’, ma’am. I wish I’d knowed he was here.” He spoke in a slow drawl.

“Did you know him?”

“Yes, ma’am. I could’a picked him out of a million. Forest Tennihill’s my name, but mostly I’m just called Tennihill.”

“How do you do, Mr. Tennihill. I’m Miss Jane Love and this is Mrs. Henderson.”

“Glad to make yore acquaintances.” He dipped his head to each of them, then looked back down into the casket. “We called him
Little Doc. He wam’t much bigger and not much older than a bugle boy, but he had enough grit fer ten men.”

“Were you in the War? Is that where you met him?”

“Yes, ma’am. It was durin’ the battle of Middle Creek in eastern Kentucky when I first met him. Wasn’t no big battle as battles
go, but the enemy had us pinned down in a dry creek bed. For hours we’d been hearin’ this blue-belly cryin’ an’ callin’ for
help. Night come, and he started callin’ for his maw. It was pure pitiful.

“I was layin’ on my belly and felt somethin’ crawlin’ over me. It was Little Doc. He was goin’ to help that boy. I tried to
hold him back, an’ he let loose with a streak of cuss words that’d burn the ears off a mule.”

Jane smiled for the first time that morning. It was enough encouragement for Tennihill to continue with his story.

“Couldn’t let the little feller go by hisself. He’d be sure to get his head shot off. ‘Sides, I figured I might be needin’
his help myself. After tellin’ him how many different kinds of a fool he was, which he didn’t pay no heed to a’ tall, we wiggled
on down that creek bed and up through the Northern lines, Little Doc hangin’ tight to my heels.

“We had a couple tight squeezes before we found the boy. His foot was smashed all to pieces. Little Doc gagged him so he’d
make no noise and told me to carry him back through the lines to his hospital tent. I almost swallered my tongue when he said
that. Never thought we’d make it, but we did. That was in ‘62. I’d a give ya odds then that Little Doc’d wouldn’t a outlasted
the War.”

“He got a medal from President Grant, you know,” Jane said.

“I ain’t a bit surprised at it. Tales ‘bout Little Doc spread from Chickamauga to Pea Ridge. Wish I’d a knowed he was here.”

“How long have you been here, Mr. Tennihill?”

“Week. Little more, maybe.”

“Doc took to his bed several weeks ago.”

“I heaved there was a woman doin’ the doctorin’.”

The woman you heard about was probably me, but I’m no more a doctor than this porch post. I bandage a few cuts and that’s
all.”

T.C. stepped up onto the porch. He came directly to Jane and in a possessive manner cupped her elbow with his palm.

“Howdy, Tennihill.”

“Kilkenny. I been tellin’ the ladies I met the doctor durin’ the war.”

“You’ve never mentioned knowing Doc Foote.”

“Never heard him called anythin’ but Little Doc. I knew him right off.” The tall man’s eyes went from Jane to Maude Henderson.
He backed away. “Nice meetin’ ya, ladies. Thanky for listenin’ to my tales.”

“It was our pleasure, Mr. Tennihill. Thank you for sharing them.”

“Tennihill, I’d be obliged if you’d step in and help carry Doc to his final resting place. Not many here knew him.”

“I’d be plumb proud to, T.C. The kind a man Little Doc was don’t come by but oncet in a coon’s age.”

Jane watched the tall, lanky man walk away. She tried to disengage her elbow from T.C.’s hand, but he refused to let it go.
Holding tightly, he spoke to Maude.

“Where’s Herb and Polly?”

“They walked up to the store. Polly decided Herb needed a tie. Stella went with them.”

“Stella went with them?” Jane echoed. “Maude, she usually won’t let you out of her sight.”

“She likes Polly.” Maude smiled broadly. “It’s been good for her to be around Herb too. He’s such a gentle boy.”

“I need Jane for a while, Mrs. Henderson. If you
need
anything Colin will be here in a minute.”

T.C. ushered Jane into the house and into his office.

“Polly said you’ve packed your bag,” he said the instant he had closed the door. A note of impatience tinged his words. He
went to his desk, sat on the edge and folded his arms over his chest.

“Of course I have. You must know I can’t stay here now. And… you’ve no business picking Polly about my affairs.”

“Why is now any different from yesterday or the day before?”

“You are dense, Mr. Kilkenny, if you don’t know the answer to that. Polly and I can’t stay in this house with three single
men just to be staying here. We had a reason while I was nursing Doc. Polly was here to help me. That was acceptable. Doc
is no longer here for me to nurse.”

“You’re leaving because Doc’s gone?” Silver eyes battled with blue ones.

“You promised to take me… or send me to the stage station if I stayed with him to the end.”

“Things have come up that change that.”

“You’re going back on your word! I should have known you have no honor,” Jane said coolly.

“Don’t get in a snit, love. As I said, things have come up. You and Polly will stay right here. I’ll have Mrs. Henderson move
in if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Don’t you care that my reputation is already in shreds? Minnie Perkins and Grace Schwab are having the time of their lives
talking about the
fallen
woman in your house. Paralee fans the flames as much as she can. The only friends I have in town are Sunday and Polly.”

“Mrs. Henderson?”

“Of course. Maude has more brains that the lot of them put together.”

“Then I don’t understand why you care what they say.”

“I won’t care when I’m gone. They can say what they want then, and they’ll say plenty.”

“Jane—love,” he paused between her name and the endearment so she’d not mistake his intent. “Stay here. I’ll have Mrs. Henderson
and Stella move into Doc’s room. We’ll talk more about this in a day or so.”

“You… promised.”

He hardened his heart and refused to acknowledge the whispered words or the strained, worried look on her face.

“A preacher came in last night. He’s coming over as soon as he gets spruced up. He’ll conduct a service for Doc.”

“You knew he was coming?”

“No. Garrick Rowe said he’d see what he could do about a preacher coming to start a church, but I didn’t know he’d be here
this soon.”

“What is he?” Jane asked tightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Is he a Catholic? Baptist? Methodist? Mormon?” A vision of a black-bearded man flashed before her eyes.

“I didn’t ask him what he was. Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” Her shoulders slumped wearily.

T.C. stood, walked over to her and put his hands on her upper arms. He wanted to hold her, protect her. In such a short time
she had crept into his heart and wrapped herself firmly around it. His father, the wisest man he had ever known, had told
him that love and hate were the two strongest ties in the world. He hadn’t really understood then, but he did now. It was
agony to think of her leaving, of never seeing her again.

“Jane, let me help you. Tell me why you feel you must leave here.”

“Because I don’t like a backwoods town. I’m used to the city.”

“That’s not true. What about your mountains and your listening sky? They know your secrets. Won’t you share them with me?”
He put his arms around her and for just an instant Jane closed her eyes, leaned against him, savored his warmth and his protecting
strength.

A knock sounded on the door. T.C. reluctantly dropped his arms from around Jane and went to open it. Maude stood back to allow
a man wearing a dark suit and small round spectacles to enter. He was young, slightly built and about T.C.’s age. His ruddy
cheeks were clean-shaven.

“Come in, Reverend Davis. I want you to meet Miss Jane Love.”

Jane held out her hand. “How do you do?”