The Listening Sky Page 4

  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.

  Chapter 3

  “WHAT 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, Her
b 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.”

  “You… you… horse’s ass—”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “I’m not finished, sir! You’re a conniving, sneaky, stony-hearted, slimy toad!”

  “Well… that’s different. I really didn’t mind being called a horse’s ass.”

  Jane was too angry to see the glint of amusement in his eyes or the twitching at the corners of his mouth. Between the fringe of heavy dark lashes her smoke-blue eyes glowered at him like those of a small spitting cat.

  “You may have the rest of these women fooled, Mister Conniver, but not me! You don’t have jobs for us. You cooked up this scheme to get us here for the sole purpose of servicing your timber beasts so they’d be content to stay here and work in your damned old lumber mill.”

  T.C. folded his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels.

  “Miss Lovey—”

  “Love. My name is L-O-V-E.”

  “Miss Love, if and when I hire whores to service my men they will be good-looking, full-bodied women.” His eyes flicked over her slim figure. She wanted to hit him.

  You’d know about that… I’m sure.” The sarcasm in Jane’s voice seemed to irritate him.

  “You’re damn right I would. The women over there”—he jerked his head toward the barracks building—”with the exception of a couple of them, look about as much like whores as I do a preacher.”

  “Oh, I’m certain you’ll have one of those handy too. You’ll tidy it all up with weddings. Count me out! Polly, too! I’ll not marry one of your bully boys in order to have a roof over my head.”

  “You’ll not be forced to marry anyone,” he said angrily.

  “I realize we’ll not be forced. We’ll just twiddle our thumbs doing mundane work until we get so bored and sick of that barracks that we take one of the men to get out of it.”

  She had come so close to the truth that T.C. felt a flash of momentary guilt. It made him say something he instantly regretted.

  “I don’t think you need worry the men will beat a path to your door, Miss… Pickle.”

  Standing in the doorway, Herb took a deep breath and shook his head with dismay. What in holy hell had gotten into T.C.? He could hardly believe what he was hearing. In all the years he had known the man he had never heard him be rude to a woman. In fact he was overly shy around them.

  “That will suit me just fine, Mr. Kilkenny. When I marry it will be to a man whose intelligence equals mine. I’m quite sure that I would not be overwhelmed with choices here in your precious t
own.”

  T.C. had a difficult time keeping the grin off his face.

  “Face the facts. You’re stuck here, Miss Pickle.”

  “You are an obnoxious man, Mr. Kilkenny,” Jane said bitterly with lips so tight they barely moved.

  There was no way he could hold back the grin that spread around his wide mouth and crinkled the corners of his eyes.

  “Miss Love, I’ll try to forget you said that. I suggest that you make the best of things… for now.”

  Jane was so angry that she could hardly tamp down the urge to fling the wet cloth she clutched in her hands as she watched him walk to the door. Before he closed it behind him, he turned.

  “I’ll speak to you later.”

  Polly was crying softly. Jane pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.

  “What’ll I do, Miss Love?”

  Jane pushed her own personal anguish to the back of her mind and tried to give her attention to the young girl.

  “Call me Jane, Polly. You’ll be all right. I don’t have enough money to pay him for both our fares and then pay our way back to Denver.”

  “How did you know… about me?”

  “I guessed. You can’t wear that corset, Polly. It will kill you… and the baby.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t know how I can take care of it anyway.”

  “There’s always a way. Did the father not want to marry you?”

  “You know I’m not married?”

  “I guessed that too.”

  “I’m… so ashamed—”

  “We all do things we regret. Some mistakes have more devastating effects than others.”

  “I was so scared. I had to let him—”

  Polly’s story came out in bits and pieces. Her mother had died when she was ten. At age twelve she was left by her father at a rooming house in Laramie; he never returned. The landlord and his wife had been kind to her. She stayed with them for three years and worked for her keep. She earned a few dollars each month working for a seamstress. When the landlord died, his wife sold the rooming house and went to live with her daughter.

  The new owner was not as selective with his boarders as her former employers had been. One night she awoke to find one of the men in her room, a teamster who hauled freight out to the fort. He told her that if she refused his advances, he’d spread it all over town that she was a whore, then set her up in a shack and bring in soldiers, scouts and wagoneers for her to service. Frightened half out of her mind, Polly endured the painful experience twice a week until her monthy flow failed to arrive.