The Listening Sky

by Dorothy Garlock

  “You would, huh?” He rolled her on her back and leaned over her. “As Doc would say, you’re a pistol. I wish we could stay here all day, but I’ve got to get up.”

  “I’ll cook your breakfast.”

  He gave her a quick kiss. “Someone has beaten you to it. I heard noises in the kitchen.”

  “Morning.”

  “Moulin’, Mrs. T.C. Kilkenny.” Colin sprang up from the table, grabbed her and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. He sat back down and grinned at T.C.

  “Keep your hands off my wife!” T.C. pretended to be angry, but his eyes shone with pride. “Go get your own woman.”

  “Don’t get all riled up and go on the warpath, Chief Thunder Cloud,” Colin said good-naturedly. “I didn’t get to kiss her yesterday.”

  To hide her confusion, Jane took a square cloth, folded it to make three corners and tied it about her waist.

  “What’s to be done, Maude?” she asked.

  “It’s done.” Maude put a platter of eggs on the table. “Sit down by your man and eat.”

  Colin didn’t speak again. He ate his breakfast, excused himself and left.

  “He’s not hisself,” Maude said sadly. “He was this way yesterday the little I saw of him.”

  Herb came in to breakfast and then Polly. The people who shared this house as much family as Jane had ever had. Each one of them was concerned for her. She wondered if they would feel the same if they knew who she was. She reached under the table and placed her hand on her husband’s thigh. As if he knew what she was thinking, his hard hand covered hers, giving silent assurance.

  By mid-morning Jane’s meager belongings had been put away in the room she would share with T.C., and she was busy at the cluttered table that served as his desk. He had already made three trips back to the house to make sure she was all right. Each time she looked at him her heart did strange things that made her dizzy with happiness.

  She stopped her work and listened to the singing coming from the kitchen. Maude and Stella were singing together. Their voices blended in a sad ballad Jane had never heard before, which was no surprise to her because only hymns had been allowed at the school.

  In the world’s mighty gallery of pictures,

  hang the scenes that are painted from life.

  Pictures of youth and of passion. Pictures of

  grief and of strife.

  A picture of love and of beauty, old age and a

  blushing young bride,

  All hang on the wall, but the saddest of all,

  is the picture of life’s other side.

  The mother and daughter sang several verses of the song: one about a gambler, another about the mother who waited for her son to come home. Jane hated for the singing to end. She waited, but heard Maude telling Stella to do her sums.

  Not once had Maude mentioned where she and Stella had lived before. They never mentioned a husband or father. It was as if they had been dropped out of the sky. Maude had been pretty at one time. Jane couldn’t help but wonder what had caused the scars on her face and why both she and Stella had acted so skittish when they first arrived.

  Whatever had happened to them was over now. Maude sang as she worked or helped her daughter with her schooling. She was also helping Polly to read.

  Jane returned to her ledger and was making an entry in the book when she heard the front door open. She looked up, expecting to see T.C. again, but it was Sunday who stood in the doorway.

  “Ya don’t look no different.”

  “Come in, Sunday. Why would I look different?” Pleased to see her friend, Jane rose to go to her, then hesitated. It was rare to see an unsmiling Sunday. “Herb said you were sick. Are you feeling better?”

  “I’m not sick.” Sunday came into the room and flopped down in the chair in front of the table. Jane sat down again. “I told Mrs. Miller to tell him that. I didn’t want to come over here last night and see him I was ‘fraid I’d poke his damned eyes out.”

  “Him? If you mean Colin, he wasn’t here either.”

  “I can guess where he was.” Sunday rolled her eyes. “The only reason I’m here now is ‘cause I saw him on that big horse headin’ out of town. And I wanted to see if yo’re doin’ all right.”

  “I’m all right. Thank you for what you did for me. You found me, didn’t you?”

  “Me and Maude. Is Maude mad ‘cause I didn’t show up for the big to-do?”

  “I doubt that she is, but you’ll have to ask her.”

  “Yo’re lookin’ chipper. Ya ain’t sorry ya married that big, ugly, ramroddin’ mick?”

  Jane smiled. This was the Sunday she knew.

  “Sorry? Oh, my no! Yesterday was the best day of my life. And he isn’t ugly! He’s beautiful.”

  “Lord help me! Ya’ve thrown away yore brains.”

  “Sunday… I’ve never had friends like you and Maude… and Polly. I can’t imagine what you thought when… you saw me.”

  “Well… the first thing I thought was… phew! Then, after I got a look at you, I thought, if I could get a hold of the one who done it, I’d cut his damn throat with a dull knife.”

  “I was so scared that I think I went out of my head. I don’t remember much after you found me. I was in a fog. I couldn’t think and didn’t want to.”

  “I never saw anybody in such a lather as that Irishman you wed. He was red-hot, do-do-stompin’ mad.”

  “T.C. said that no one knows what happened but those of us who were here.”

  “Maude and I read the notes ya had in the pocket of yore dress. Somebody ‘round here don’t like ya much. I suppose ya told Kilkenny who it is.”

  “I don’t know who it is. But I told him why. Someday, maybe, I can tell you.”

  Sunday got abruptly to her feet and went to the window.

  “If ya was still wantin’ to leave here, I was goin’ to go with ya.”

  “What’s happened, Sunday? Did something happen between you and Colin?”

  Sunday spun around. “Nothin’ happened atween me and Colin. Plenty happened atween him and Mrs. Patrice Guzman Cabeza,” she said bitterly.

  “My goodness! Don’t tell me that Colin would… that he… She’s married!”

  “Shore she is, but she’s havin’ his babe!” Sunday blurted the words and then burst into tears. She placed her bent arm against the wall and hid her face against it

  “Oh, no!” Jane went to her and put her hand on her back. “Who told you that?”

  “She did.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “Why not? She’s a snooty bitch, but she ort to know who’s been atween her legs.”

  “Why would she run away from her husband? Won’t he think the baby’s his?”

  “She says he ain’t got nothin’ in his balls to make a babe and he’d know it ain’t his.”

  “Land o’ livin’. Why did she tell you that?”

  “Paralee and Bessie is spreadin’ the story all over town. So I asked her. She said Colin’s the papa.”

  “You like him a lot, don’t you?”

  “I did! Now I hate his rotten guts.” Sunday ended her words with a wail. “It makes me so damn mad that I was fooled by a bird-turd like him!”

  “I was sure that he was smitten with you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you the day we buried Doc.”

  “He honeyed up to me. And me bein’ dumb as a stump I got all starry-eyed. But he ain’t the only man in this town. There’s others been givin’ me the once-over. I’ll go find me one and marry him.”

  “Don’t do something hasty you’ll regret,” Jane warned. “From what I’ve seen of Colin, I’m sure he’s an honorable man. I can’t believe he’d carry on with another man’s wife.”

  “Ha! All men is pretty proud a what they got in their britches. The other night he hinted for me to invite him to my bed, and I told him plain out that without his name tacked onto the end of mine, he’d not sleep with me.” Sunday bent over and wiped her eyes on the hem of her dress. “At the time I
thought he was funnin’, but I guess he wasn’t.”

  “Why don’t you wait and see what Colin has to say. I don’t think I’d take Mrs. Cabeza’s word.”

  “I sure ain’t goin’ to ask him!”

  “Ask who what?”

  Jane and Sunday turned to see T.C. in the doorway.

  “You’re so quiet. I didn’t hear you.” Jane’s eyes shone as she watched him walk toward her.

  “It’s my Indian blood, honey. It helps me sneak up on helpless females.” He put his hand possessively on her shoulder. “Hello, Sunday. I saw you come in. We missed you last night at the wedding supper.”

  “Well, I was busy sewin’ ruffles on my ball gown gettin’ it ready for the big hoopla.” She tossed her blond head and stared at him defiantly as if daring him to contradict her.

  “Do you think you could squeeze out the time to help dress up the town?”

  “What for? It ain’t the Fourth of July.”

  “The first stage coach will arrive in a few days”

  “—That’s good. When does it leave? I’ll be on it.”

  “Oh, Sunday—” Jane murmured sadly.

  T.C. ignored Sunday’s remark about leaving.

  “I was thinking we could get a bolt of red cloth and stretch it across the street in front of the hotel where the stage will stop. Honey,” he said to Jane, “do you think you could make us some welcome signs?”

  “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.”