The Listening Sky (36 page)

“If I had boards and paint.”

“I want a sign to put over the door of the stage office that says:
ROWE STAGE LINE
. Herb will bring over what you need, and
you can do it right out there on the porch. Will you stay with her, Sunday?”

“I ain’t stickin’ around here all day.”

“Colin won’t be back for one, maybe two weeks.”

“I ain’t carin’ if he
ever
comes back.” Sunday’s face turned a fiery red. She turned and started for the door.

“Sunday, it can be explained. I know it can.” Jane turned pleading eyes to T.C.

“A woman either trusts her man or she don’t, honey.”

That’s askin’ for a lot of trust,” Jane said staunchly.

“I don’t think so. Sunday, Colin said Patrice told you the baby she’s carrying is his. Why didn’t you ask him?”

“It ain’t none a my business if he diddles with ever’ woman in town! I ain’t married to him,” Sunday said an grily.

“Exactly.”

Jane looked at T.C. as if disbelieving what he said. Sunday was her friend and she was hurting.

“We’re getting the stage office ready and Jeb wants me to look at the school building. Thank God, the preacher has taken over
the building of the church. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He dropped a kiss on Jane’s lips. “I’m glad you’re here with her,
Sunday. Don’t let her out of your sight and keep your eyes open,” he said as he went out the door.

Sunday stayed, and as the day wore on, she became less angry and more melancholy. Herb brought the supplies for the signs.
Jane, wearing an old wool coat of Doc’s, painted on the board Herb had nailed temporarily between two porch posts. On the
smaller boards she outlined the letters with a pencil and Sunday filled in with the paint.

In the middle of the afternoon Paralee and Bessie came strolling by and stopped.

“What ya doin’?” Paralee asked.

“We’re suckin’ eggs.” Sunday resisted the urge to fling paint from the brush in their direction. “Stand back or ya’ll get
splattered.”

Bessie giggled, then spoke to Jane.

“We heared Mr. Kilkenny married ya.”

“It’s true,” Jane said, and smiled at both women. “And I married Mr. Kilkenny.”

“How’d ya get him to do it?” Paralee asked, her eyes wide with pretended innocence.

“It was easy. I threatened to pull out his toenails… one at a time. You should try it. It’ll work every time.”

Sunday whooped with laughter.

“Why is your face all scratched? Did ya chase him through a briar patch?” Paralee sniped, angered by Sunday’s laughter.

“That’s exactly what I did. I wasn’t letting him get away.”

“A friend of yours ain’t too happy ‘bout you getting married,” Bessie said smugly.

“I can see that, but you two were not my friends anyway.”

“I ain’t meanin’ us. Bob Fresno. Milo come to see me last night. He said Bob was like a bear with a sore tail.”

Sunday looked at Bessie as if she’d suddenly sprouted horns.

“If yo’re keepin’ company with Milo Callahan, ya ain’t got the brains God gave a crab apple. He’s as crazy as a steer on locoweed.”

“Ya say that ‘cause he’s courtin’ me and not you.”

Sunday lifted her eyes to the sky. “God bless all dung-heads.”

“Where’d Colin Tallman ride off to this mornin’ Paralee asked.

“To the stage station for T.C.” Jane answered quickly.

“Well, we got to be goin’. We’re goin’ to the hotel and call on Patrice. She’s kinda… under the weather.” Paralee waited to
see what that announcement brought forth. What she got was more than she expected.

Sunday had dipped her brush in the paint and now she waved it to flick off the excess. The wind was just right to carry the
drips of black paint toward Paralee and Bessie. One landed on Paralee’s nose, a larger drop on the bosom of her low-necked
dress, and yet another still larger one on her skirt. Bessie was also sprinkled with the drops of paint.

“Oops. I told ya to stand back.”

“Looky… at what ya did!” Paralee gasped. “Ya ruined my dress! Ya ruined it!”

“Mine, too,” Bessie wailed. “Its’ my… good one!”

With the brush held in front of her, her wild blond curls blowing in the breeze, Sunday advanced on the pair, her face creased
in sorrowful lines.

“Oh, gosh! I’m sorry,
dear friends. Let me fix
it. I’ll put a black dab on yore other tittie and folks’ll think they’re yore nipples.”

“Stay away—” Paralee screeched and ran a distance before she turned and shouted. “You’ll be sorry!”

“I’m only sorry I didn’t paint yore flappin’ mouth shut!” Sunday shouted back.

Jane doubled over with laughter. “Oh, Sunday. That was rich! How did you manage for the wind to be just right?”

“God helped me.” Sunday smiled broadly. “I hear he hates thieves, liars and bitchy females. Maybe he’ll send a bolt a lightning
into the Bismark Hotel. Wouldn’t that be grand?”

“I’m so glad I met you, Sunday. I’ve got a feeling that we are going to be friends for many, many years.”

Sunday stayed for supper. Tennihill and Bill Wassall came too. The men talked in T.C.’s office while the women fussed in the
kitchen over the meal.

As they were taking their places around the table, Jane whispered to T.C. and he nodded. After they were all seated, she stood.
All eyes turned to her. With T.C.’s hand held tightly in hers, she bowed her head.

“Thank Thee, dear Lord, for bringing me to this place and giving me Timothy Charles Kilkenny to be my husband. I will love
him and be faithful to him until the end of my days. I thank Thee, too, for these wonderful friends who have become the family
I never had. Please keep them safe and well, and may they be as happy as I am at this moment. Amen.”

Jane looked at each of the faces at the table and her eyes misted.

“This is about as near to heaven as I ever expect to be.” She sat down and turned her face against her husband’s arm for an
instant, then smiled. “You should all thank the Lord for Maude. She’s a much better cook than I.”

“Them biscuits ain’t bad fer bein’ made by a woman,” Bill declared later as he used one to sop gravy from his plate. “But
yore peach cobbler don’t hold a candle to mine.”

“How do you know that? You’ve not eaten my peach cobbler,” Maude retorted.

Bill’s blue eyes twinkled. “’Course I ain’t. Ya ain’t made none. If ya was good at it, ya’da made it.”

“Oh… fiddle-faddle—”

“Mama makes good cherry cobbler. We had—” Stella stopped abruptly after a warning look from her mother.

“Pay him no mind, Mrs. Henderson. Bill is missing Mrs.Winters,” T.C. said and reached for another biscuit.

“Harrumpt! Does a dog miss a flea?”

After the meal and after the supper dishes were cleared away, they all sat around the table and discussed the celebration
they would have the day the stage arrived. Herb and Polly were as excited as two kids, which they were.

“If the weather holds, we can have a street dance in front of the hotel. But then we’ll need to do something about lighting.”
T.C. looked over at Herb. “Do you think we could round up enough lanterns to hang? It’d be a hell of a note if we burned down
the town trying to have a celebration.”

“Store’s got a bunch. Mr. Jenson’d let us use them.”

“Lighting will be your job, Herb.”

“What about music?” Jane asked.

“We got two fiddlers in town—Walter Jenson at the store and Theda Cruise.” T.C. reached for Jane’s hand under the table.

“That red-headed woman at the saloon?” Herb’s boyish face broke into a smile. “I never knowed of a woman fiddler.”

“What’s so strange ‘bout that?” Sunday raised her brows. “A woman can play a fiddle as well as any man. I’d show ya if I had
one.”

“You play?” At least three spoke at the same time.

“Been playin’ all my life. Don’t have a fiddle, though. Papa loved his fiddle better’n he loved me. Do ya have someone to
do the callin’?

T.C.’s eyes went to Tennihill. “Didn’t I hear you bragging about something?”

“Well, now. I don’t know when that’d be. I ain’t one to be shootin’ my mouth off ‘bout what I’m best at.”

“We got a caller.” T.C. said flatly and grinned at the lanky Tennihill, then down at Jane. “And signs. You’re good, honey.
I’m glad I married you. Got me a free sign-maker.”

Sunday pushed back her chair and stood.

“Jane can work for free. I can’t. I need a job if I stay here, Kilkenny. That soap-makin’ job ya give me ain’t lastin’. The
lye and grease they gave me made soap only good for washin’ clothes. The laundry’s got enough to last till Christmas.”

“There’s work for you here. I’d like for you to be here in the house with Jane during the day. In a week or two we’ll move
the surgery out, but as long as it’s here folks will come and I don’t want her in there alone with
anyone.”
His dark face was dead serious. “As soon as we ferret out the bas…person, there’ll be other work. Meanwhile, I’ll be more
at ease knowing that three of you are here.” His glance included Maude and Polly.

“All right, Kilkenny. As long as ya put it that way, I’ll be here in the morning. ‘Night, ever’body.”

“Hold on, little gal.” Tennihill unfolded his long length from the table. “I’ll walk ya back to the roomin’ house. Ain’t no
tellin’ what kind a varmints is pokin’ round out there.”

“Thank ya. I’d a brought my gun, but didn’t think I’d be here after dark.”

“Them was larrapin’ vittles, Miz Henderson.” Tennihill bowed with Old-World charm. “Thanky kindly.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Tennihill.” Maude’s face had turned a rosy pink. It was clear to all that she was not used to compliments.

“I’ll add my thanks on top of his and be leavin’. Herb’s givin’ me dirty looks. He’s waitin’ for me to get out so he can spark
his girl.” Bill rolled to his feet.

“I’m doin’ no such thin’ Bill.”

“If you’re not goin’ to spark her, boy, I will. I’ve done a mite of it in my day, and this’n is pretty as a speckled pup.”

“I know she’s pretty, and I’m goin’ to spark her as soon as you go, but ya don’t… have to go… now.” Herb stumbled around for
the right words.

Bill clapped him on the shoulder and went along as Jane and T.C. followed Tennihill and Sunday to the door.

“Careful of the paint,” Jane called as they crossed the porch. “It should be dry by morning.”

B
OB
Fresno sat before a fire at the mouth of a cave carved into the side of a mountain. The night was cold. Snow covered the
peaks of the mountains around him. The geese had gone south for the winter and the squirrels were storing food. Time was running
short for what he had to do before hard winter set in.

The fire was small because Bob wanted no glow to attract attention to his hideout. He had been brought to the cave a year
or so earlier when he and an outlaw friend had wanted to make themselves scarce for a while. The outlaw who had shown it to
him had proved to be no friend and no longer needed a place to hide out. As far as Bob knew, he was the only one that knew
about it. Callahan knew now, but later…

Timbertown was ten or twelve miles to the north. The nearest cabin was eight or ten miles due east. He had stopped there in
the summer and visited awhile with the two old trappers who lived there. They had not been very friendly. It hadn’t mattered
at the time. But the layout of the place, the supplies, had all been recorded in Fresno’s mind. He would take Jane there to
spend the winter. The cabin was good and tight and would be full of provisions. Best of all, the two old men would be easy
to get rid of.

The night was still, with almost no wind. There was the smell of cedar smoke in the air and of crushed juniper. The coffeepot,
blackened from many fires, stood in the coals on a flat rock. Bob leaned back on his saddle, clasped his hands behind his
head and looked at the sky spangled with a million stars.

When he left Timbertown, he hadn’t wanted Milo with him, but now he was glad he was along. Milo was useful to send to town
for information. Fresno would use him again when he went in to get Jane. Just thinking her name made his pulse race. He’d
not been so coldly rejected by a woman since he wore knee pants back in Kansas City. He fully intended to have her. Some women
needed to be broken like a wild filly. After she’d been taught to take the bit, she’d eat out of his hand.

Fresno indulged himself in his favorite pastime: thinking of how he was going to snatch Jane out of Kilkenny’s hands. The
fact that he had married her, and been sleeping with her, irritated Bob, but it didn’t make him want her any less. In fact,
he wanted her more. Hell! All the women he’d had so far, but for one, had belonged to someone else first. It was part of the
fun to make them give up something for him, be it money or a man.

Bob Fresno was a man with a plan. He would use Callahan to create a commotion to draw off Kilkenny and that kid who was so
deadly with a gun. He had heard of Herb Banks but hadn’t realized he was so young. Most of the gunmen he knew were older,
hard-riding, hard-bitten men. This kid was still wet behind the ears. Still, he’d made a name for himself. Five men had tried
him; five men were six feet under. He’d crippled a few, too. One had ambushed him, shot him in the leg, and gotten killed
for the trouble. After that, it was said around campfires all through the mountains: face Herb Banks head-on and he’ll shoot
you right between the eyes.

Kilkenny, he knew, was tough as nails, meaner than a wild longhorn when he was riled. He’d been over the mountain, down the
river and around the bend. Folks said he’d been across the ocean to one of them foreign places and had been to some fancy
school. Bob knew for a fact Kilkenny had been responsible for cleaning up the town of Bannock a few years back. Lumberjack,
ex-lawman, drover, freighter, and now town-builder.

T.C. Kilkenny was a difficult man to put into a niche. But never mind about that. If he were lucky, Kilkenny or Banks would
kill Callahan, and he wouldn’t have to. If be were
very
lucky, Callahan would get one of
them
before they got him. Then he’d only have to wait for the other one along a shadowy trail.