The Listening Sky (28 page)

“Get up this instant. I’ve been trying to decide what to do with you. A switching seems to do no good” The long bony hand
reached for the braid that hung over Jane’s shoulder and she hauled her to her feet.

“Oh… oh—” Tears rolled down the small freckled cheeks. “I… forgot. I’m sorry—”

“It seems I’ve heard that before. There may be something wrong with your brain as well as your blood.” The hand moved quickly
from the braid to the earlobe. “I think it’s time the good children of this school knew who is among them—eating the same
food, sleeping in a good bed, just as if she were as good as they were. I’ve shielded you long enough, Miss Jane Bastard Love.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gillis. Please… don’t—”

“Don’t? Don’t you think they have the right to know who is living among them? Answer me” She tugged viciously on the earlobe
when the child remainded silent.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Haven’t I been good to you here, in spite of who you are?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Walking on her toes to take some of the pressure off her ear, Jane was propelled up the stairs to the classroom.
“I’ll be good! Please, Mrs. Gillis. I’ll be good.”

“Of course you will. Every child in this school will despise you. If you make one wrong move, I’ll hear about it.”

A hush fell over the room when Mrs. Gillis arrived, not so much because she had Jane in tow, but because each of them feared
her as if she were the boogyman she often threatened to call forth to punish them.

“Children! Quiet,” the headmistress instructed, although there wasn’t a sound in the room. “It grieves me deeply to have to
inform you that in our midst we have—”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Jane cried out, as she straightened her legs and flung her arms. “Please, ma’am, don’t tell. I’ll
be… good—”

T.C. awoke. His hand caught one of her thrashing arms after she had hit him with her fist. He flung a leg over hers to hold
them firmly, but gently. In the dim light from the lamp tears glistened on her cheeks.

“Wake up, honey.” He bent over her. “Jane, Jane, you’re dreaming.”

Suddenly she was still. Her eyes, large and clear, opened and looked into his with full understanding.

“Nothing will hurt you. You’re safe… with me—”

She didn’t speak, just looked at him.

“Are you awake, sweetheart?” T.C. brushed the tangled deep-red curls back from her cheek with the tips of his fingers. His
bare chest was pressed against her breast, his face just above hers.

“Why… am I here?”

“I brought you here. You were cold and scared. I wanted to keep you warm and safe.”

“Why?”

“Because you mean a great deal to me.”

She looked away from him. “I… shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re exactly where you belong. I hope to sleep with you in my arms every night for the rest of my life. I love you, Jane.”

Her eyes came back to his, but she made no response to his declaration.

“Who found me?”

“Sunday and Mrs. Henderson.”

“Did you see me?” she asked quietly.

“No. Only Sunday and Maude saw you.”

“But you
know.”
It was not a question, but a statement of fact. She was calm and had not moved since she had awakened.

“I know that someone did a cruel thing to you. And I know someone is sending you threats. Maude found the notes in the pocket
of your dress, and I read them.”

She twitched and moved restlessly. Her eyes darted away and then back. She suddenly sighed and her head rolled to the side,
so that he could see only her profile.

“It had to happen, I guess,” she said with resignation.

“I intend to find out who sent them and who did that to you. When I do… God help them!”

“Let it be. I… can’t bear any more. I wish they… they had finished it.”

“Can’t bear what, my love? Share it with me. Let me help you.”

“There is nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do. If I stay here, I might as well be dead. If I go, I will be. It will
be easier if I go and let them do what they want to do”

“You’re not leaving, Jane. Didn’t you hear me when I said that I love you? I’m going to marry you, come hell or high water.
I’ve looked for you all my life. I’ll not let you go now.”

Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her temples and into her hair.

“Thank you for saying that. They’re the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard. But understand, I cannot, will not accept your
generous offer of a few days of happiness knowing what would lie ahead.”

“Jane, Jane—” He lowered his head and kissed her lips gently and reverently. “Trust me. Marry me. There is nothing that can
be so bad that would make me not want you. Together we’ll face whatever comes.”

“I can’t. I can’t bring shame to you.” She rolled her head slowly in denial.

“Honey, I’m far from perfect. You’ll have to accept my faults as I will accept yours.”

“I… can’t—”

“You have feelings for me, don’t you, Jane? You were willing to come to me last night. You let me hold you. You felt safe
with me.”

She was silent, her eyes on his face as he lowered his head to kiss her.

To Jane each kiss, each sigh was unbearably sweet. His touch was exquisitely tender. His warm mouth glided over her cheek
to her eyes. She heard him murmur soft words of love and incredible promises that she would hold in her heart until the day
she died.

He watched the emotions flicker across her face in the lamplight. Utter, complete misery was etched there.

“Jane, sweetheart. Don’t look at me like that. It tears me up.”

“I’m… sorry. I’m… sorry.” Her voice was a ragged whisper so sad that it tore at his heart. They were the same words she’d
said as she was waking from her nightmare.

“Ah… honey—” He lay back and cuddled her in his arms, holding her firmly against him, kissing the top of her head.

She lay against him docile and unmoving, lifeless as a rag doll. She was no longer the spunky, sassy Jane he had met that
first day, nor the one who had ripped into him when Polly had swooned in his office. She was no longer the Jane who had seen
Doc through his last days or sewn up the cut in Murphy’s leg.

The woman he held so lovingly against him was a mere shell of his Jane, and he was determined to get the whole of her back.

M
ORNING
came, and with it T.C.’s deep frustration returned. When he was reasonably sure Jane was sleeping, he eased away from her
and out of the bed. He stood for a moment looking down at her. She murmured something, frowned, and wedged her palm beneath
her cheek.

He didn’t want to stop looking at her. Jane Love was all the woman he hoped he would find to share his life. He not only liked
her because she had a quick, inquisitive mind, but he liked the way she looked… and smelled… and talked. Her dark auburn hair,
tangled from the washing, curled about her face and stuck to cheeks that were slightly flushed. He especially liked her full
expressive mouth, the way the corners tilted up when she smiled. He bent to leave her with a kiss, but straightened for fear
of waking her.

After dressing quietly, T.C. blew out the lamp, which had burned all night and was beginning to flicker from lack of fuel.
With his boots in his hand, he left the room and walked down the hall to the kitchen.

“Morning.” He spoke to Maude, Polly and Herb, who were seated around the table eating flapjacks.

“Mornin’,” they answered him in unison. Maude stood. “Sit down, Mr. Kilkenny. I’ll fix your breakfast.”

“Finish yours. I’ll just have coffee for now.”

T.C. went to the washstand, ladled water from the bucket into the basin, lathered his hands and scrubbed his face. He could
feel his whiskers, but he decided he didn’t have time to shave now. After he dried his face, he took the comb from the combcase
attached to the wall above the washstand and ran it through his hair.

When he returned to the table, a mug of steaming coffee waited for him.

“She’s sleeping,” he said in answer to the inquiring eyes. “She had a bad dream in the night. She’s worn out.”

“Did she come… out of—” Maude searched for a word to describe Jane’s mental state.

“She’s over the shock. That is, she knows what she’s saying and where she is.” T.C. took a sip of the strong coffee. “I don’t
want a word of what happened here last night to leave this house. Where’s Colin?”

“He ain’t goin’ to say nothin’, T.C. He already told us not to.” Herb’s pleasant face was set in stern lines. “It ain’t goin’
down good fer whoever did that to Miss Jane.”

“That’s the God’s truth. Where’s Colin?” he asked again.

Maude answered. “He didn’t wait for breakfast. He said he was going over to see Mr. Wassall. Well”—she smiled—” what he really
said was that he was going over to see the moth-eaten, mouthy old goat.”

T.C. swallowed his coffee and put on his boots.

“Mrs. Henderson, keep an eye on Jane. Don’t let her leave the house, not that I think she’ll try.” He went to the door, then
turned. “Would you put a chamber pot in the room?” The reason for the request was not necessary. They all knew it would be
a while before Jane would want to go back out to the outhouse.

The morning was cool, sunless. T.C. looked at the sky as he stepped off the porch. The leaves on the trees were turning to
gold and would soon be fluttering down. Iron-blue storm clouds rode the northern horizon pushing a chilly wind ahead of them,
another sign that winter was approaching. In another few weeks the snow would fall, and the geese would be passing overhead
on their yearly journey to the south.

Work here had gone well. T.C. had not thought he would enjoy the challenge of rebuilding the town, but he had. Now all he
wanted to do was take Jane and get the hell out of it—but first his very blood demanded revenge on the one who had treated
her so cruelly.

Men were leaving the cookhouse and gathering in groups to start the work day. Jeb had one crew working on the new saloon and
was forming another crew to work on the schoolhouse. The day after T.C. and Jane had taken their evening stroll, Jeb and T.C.
had marked off the building site.

The cookhouse was being converted into Timbertown’s first restaurant. Actually it would be the second. At the end of the town’s
heyday, the only eatery in town had burned to the ground. Bill Wassall wanted no part of the operation other than consenting
to the name of the establishment suggested by Colin: S
WEET
W
ILLIAM
’
S
C
AFE
.

“I ain’t doin’ no fancy cookin’ and that’s that. I can barbecue ya a steer, cook ya up a gallon a beans, or make ya a barrel
a sauerkraut, but I ain’t cookin’ no suck-e-tash and I ain’t bakin’ no jelly roll.”

Having had his say, Bill considered the subject closed. Garrick Rowe was sending two women, who early in the spring had been
widowed by an accident at the mill in Trinity, to operate the cafe. They would be arriving any day.

The dining area of the cookhouse was empty except for two men finishing their breakfast and Bill and Colin, who sat at one
of the long tables near the front. Bill’s helper was cleaning up the kitchen, trying to stay out of the way of Mrs. Winters,
who was frying a batch of bear claws.

“Mornin’.”

T.C. went to the table where the clean dishes were stacked and picked up a heavy china mug. He filled it with coffee from
the pot on the stove and carried it back to the table where Bill and Colin were seated. He had no more than seated himself
when a plate of hot bear claws generously sprinkled with sugar was set down in front of him. The aroma drifted up to him.
He smiled up at the woman who stood expectantly waiting for praise.

“Thanks, Mrs. Winters. They look mighty good. Smell good too.”

She turned her back to Bill, obviously giving him what she considered a cold shoulder.

“Ain’t nothin’ too good fer ya, Mr. Kilkenny,” she said and returned to the kitchen.

“Ain’t nothin’ too good fer ya, Mr. Kilkenny,”
Bill mocked as soon as she was out of earshot. “The sooner
I
see the last a her, the better it’ll be.”

“She likes you, Bill,” Colin teased. “Don’t you think it’s time you settled down and raised a passel of young’uns to take
care of you in your old age?”

Bill began to sputter. “I’d
as
soon tie up with a she-bear.”

“She’ll be out of here tomorrow. Jeb’s got a man setting up her stove. We’re starting her bakery off with a couple cords of
stove wood and supplies from the store.”

“Can’t be soon enough to suit me. Bossy is what she is. Ya ort to do this. Ya ort to do that!” Bill mimicked in a high voice.
“Moody, too. Can’t never tell what’ll raise her hackles.”

Colin grinned, reached over and patted Bill’s ample belly.

“Her complaining hasn’t caused you to miss a meal.”

T.C. waited until Bill left the table before he spoke about what was on his mind.

“Heard anything?”

Colin signaled silence by raising a couple of fingers.

Several minutes and several bear claws later, T.C. stood with the plate in his hand.

“How about a refill, Mrs. Winters?” He dropped a coin on the counter.

She brought a plate heaped with the heavily sugared fried dough. Her thin mouth was spread in a smile as she picked up the
coin.

“It was a fancy send-off ya gave the doctor, Mr. Kilkenny.”

“It
was no more than he deserved.”

“Is another doctor comin’?”

“I expect one soon.” T.C. picked up the plate and headed for the door. “Tell Buddy the new school building will be ready before
the snow flies.”

“I ain’t better tell him that. He might run off to the mountains.”

“Bill says that woman can hear a pin drop a dozen yards away. That’s why I hushed you,” Colin said, as they crossed the street.

“Women like to gossip.”

“Bill’s not used to sharin’ his kitchen. He’s not too happy nowadays.”