The Listening Sky

by Dorothy Garlock

  “When was her last bowel movement?”

  “I ain’t sure. Few days ago maybe.”

  “Stay here and rub her stomach. I’ll go up and talk to the doctor.”

  Jane hurried back up the stairs. The doctor’s eyes were on the door when she entered.

  “I heard a young’un crying.”

  “The child’s about two years old. Her stomach is hard as a rock. She insists on keeping her knees drawn up. The mother isn’t sure when she had a bowel movement.”

  “Constipated.”

  “It’s what I thought. What do I do?”

  “Take the corner of a towel and twist it into a cone shape. Coat it heavily with petroleum jelly and work it like a corkscrew up into the rectum. While you do that hold your hand tight over her lower abdomen. If that doesn’t work put several spoonfuls of warm olive oil up in there with the bulb syringe. It’s been cleaned. After you use it, pour boiling water over and through the tube.”

  “If that doesn’t work, shall I give an enema?”

  “That’s right. Give her an enema using warm water with a spoonful of soda.”

  “Is the soda in the surgery?”

  “In a jar on the top shelf. It’s labeled. Wash your hands before and after with the bar of castile soap on the washstand. Check the stool for worths. If she’s got ‘em tell the mother to bring her back tomorrow.”

  “I’m not a doctor.”

  “I know that. You said you took care of sick kids.”

  “Yes. But—”

  “No buts. Go do it.” He turned his head and closed his eyes.

  Responsibility for the sick child weighed heavily on Jane for the next hour. She first used the petroleum jelly, then the warm olive oil. When nothing passed, she prepared the enema. Finally, with the mother holding the screaming child, Jane was able, after the third attempt, to get enough water in the lower bowel to dislodge the blockage. The defecation came in the form of hard round balls. The exhausted child stopped crying and drooped against her mother.

  Jane checked the stool and found no signs of worms.

  “Don’t let her eat a lot of bread for a while. She should have apples or raisins.”

  By the time they were ready to leave the surgery, the child was sleeping peacefully on the mother’s shoulder.

  “Thank you, Miss Jane. When one of my young’uns is sick, I’m scared plumb silly.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “My man will be around to pay.”

  “There’s no charge. I’m not a doctor.”

  “Ya ort to be. Ya got a knack for it.”

  Jane carried the teakettle from the kichen and scalded the syringe, the bedpan and anything she had used in connection with the child’s visit. She had learned to do that from a young doctor who donated two days’ service a month to the orphanage. Jane had been attracted to him until he refused to come and tend a sick child because he had plans to attend a ball given by one of Denver’s leading citizens.

  While she cleaned the surgery, Jane chided herself for feeling so good about what she had done. She washed her hands again with the castile soap, then took the Bible she found tucked among Doc’s medical books and left the room.

  Chapter 8

  POLLY was worried. Jane had not been beside her when she awoke, nor had she been in the cookhouse when Polly had gone there for breakfast. The valise that held all of Janes’s belongings was still sitting at the foot of the portion of the bed where they slept. Jane would not have left Timbertown without it.

  Where was she?

  When Polly asked Sunday, she shrugged off Jane’s absence by saying she must be around somewhere and that Polly shouldn’t worry. Sunday had been so excited about the activity in town that she had paid scant attention to Polly’s concern. The bubbly, energetic girl had eaten a hasty breakfast and then disappeared after announcing to one and all that she was as good as any man with a saw and a hammer and better than some, especially a lumberjack with two left hands and the space between his ears filled with nothing but hot air.

  Another huge wagon pulled by two teams of mules and loaded with lumber came into town. Polly stood on the porch of the women’s barracks and watched the mule skinner send his whip out over the backs of the dray animals.

  “Gee, Buster! Wo-ah, Dewey! Move on over thar, Big Boy!”

  The orders were punctuated with cracks of the whip. The wicked lash could take a strip of hide from the animals, but as long as the sound was sufficient to make them obey, the mule skinner was careful not to strike the beasts.

  Polly cringed against the wall. The wheels of the huge wagon were higher than her head. But it wasn’t the wagon that frightened her, it was the voice of the mule skinner. It sounded like that of the man who had violated her. The driver was not the same man, of course. She realized that at first glance because she’d never, as long as she lived, for get the whiskered, ferret-like face and cruel hands of Dank Forestal.

  “Hello, little lady.”

  Polly jumped and let out a cry of fright. The voice had come close to her ear. She hadn’t even been aware that the man had come up the side of the building and stepped onto the porch. Her attention had been on the freight wagon.

  Polly moved sideways along the wall.

  “Scare ya, did I?”

  A confident grin showed a large space between the man’s two front teeth, one of which had been broken off. His nose was flat and pushed slightly to the side. He had thick black brows and hair. A heavy mustache covered his upper lip.

  “Yo’re the prettiest woman here. Me an’ you’s goin’ to get acquainted. Name’s Milo. Milo Callahan. Ya ever heard of Callahan Lumber Company over in the Bitterroot?”

  Polly shook her head.

  “I own it. Half anyway. Ya see, I ain’t just no ordinary lumberjack. I could buy and sell these fellers here twice over if I had a mind to,” he bragged. “If yo’re lookin’ for a man ta set ya up in one a them cabins, take care of ya real good, I’m the man.”

  Polly shook her head vigorously. “No.”

  “Ya don’t mean that, honey. Ya want a good man ‘tween your legs. It’s why ya come here, ain’t it?”

  “No! I came to work.”

  He chuckled. His hot dark eyes moved to her breasts and lingered.

  “Ya come to get a man. Girl like you can’t get along in this country without one. Ya got to have somebody to feed ya, look after ya.”

  “I’ll work and take care of myself,” she blurted.

  “If it’s work ya want, sweet thin’, I can give ya plenty a work right on yore pretty little backside, doin’ what women was made to be doin’. Ya’d not have to do a lick a work out-doors, little doll. All ya’d have to do is wait fer me to come pleasure ya.”

  “Go away!”

  “Ya don’t mean that, honey,” he said again.

  “I said… go away!” Polly began to tremble. She looked around for help. The big dray wagon had stopped in the street in front of the building and was blocking the view. She glanced toward the door. She would not be able to get around him to reach it.

  “Name’s Polly, ain’t it? Pretty name for a pretty gal. I’m puttin’ in for ya, Polly. I want ya for my woman. I like ‘em young an’ soft and squealin’—” He reached out a finger to touch her cheek and she jerked away. “Don’t shy away. I’ll be real good to ya. Ya ain’t had no man, have ya?” His hand came out and clasped her wrist.

  “Get away! Let go of me!” Polly tried to pull away, but her strength was nothing against his.

  “Don’t fight it, honeybunch. Ya’ll come to like what a real man does to ya. I’ve done set my sights on ya and I usually gets—”

  “Ya rotten sonofabitch!”

  Herb grasped Milo by the back of the neck with a powerful hand. He jerked him off his feet, off the porch, and threw him to the ground.’Agile as a cat, Milo rolled to his feet with a fist drawn back.

  “Why’d ya do that for? Ya dealin’ in, kid?” he snarled before he looked closely at the hard fa
ce of the man who stood ready to draw his gun. Sudden fear sent a shiver racing over his skin.

  Hellfire! The bastard was set to kill him!

  “I made the first move. What’s yores?”

  Milo’s eyes flicked down to the hand hovering over the six-gun strapped to a thigh the size of a tree trunk. Christamighty! This big overgrown kid was coiled like a ratder ready to strike.

  “I ain’t armed.”

  “Ya got fists, same as me.”

  Milo looked at the size of the man challenging him. Hell, he was outweighed by fifty pounds.

  “Make up yore mind, if ya got one.” Herb’s sarcastic tone added to the insult.

  Milo knew when to stand and when to back down. He grinned and winked.

  “I was just talkin’ to her. Shit, friend, that’s what she’s here for, ain’t it?”

  Herb snorted an obscenity and suppressed the urge to pound the man to a bloody pulp.

  “No, that ain’t what she’s here for. And I ain’t yore friend. I don’t have addle-brained, shit-eatin’ buzzards for friends.”

  “Touchy, ain’t ya? Why’d they brin’ the women in fer if they warn’t to be used?”

  “They wasn’t brought here to be used. My job’s to keep scum like you away from ‘em. Especially this’n.”

  “Ya puttin’ a claim on this baggage?”

  “She’s not baggage to be claimed.” Herb’s face froze into lines of anger.

  Milo shrugged. “She ain’t the only woman here lookin’ for a man.” He eyed. Polly with smiling interest “But she’s the youngest and I do like ‘em young. I’ll give her a day or two. She’ll come ‘round to my way a thinkin’.”

  Milo turned away and forced himself to walk slowly and confidently. Ya snot-nosed sonofabitch! Ya’ll get yore whacker cut off or my name ain’t Milo Callahan.

  Herb watched until Milo joined the crew digging the foundation for another building before he stepped back up onto the porch.

  “He hurt ya, Miss Polly?”

  She shook her head, but she rubbed the spot on her arm where Milo had grabbed her. When she finally looked up at Herb, she was blinking tears from her soft dark eyes.

  “Thank you.” Her quivering voice came out in a whisper.

  “Shoot, Miss Polly. I should’a come over here soon as I couldn’t see ya for the wagon.”

  “I… I can’t find Jane.” Tears overflowed and ran down Polly’s cheeks. The vision of the months ahead filled with fear and uncertainties almost overwhelmed her.

  “Here, now. It’s nothin’ to cry ‘bout. Miss Jane’s over to the house lookin’ after Doc. Here, now—” Herb moved so that his broad shoulders would shield her from the road when he heard the freight wagon moving. “Lordy mercy! Have ya been standin’ over here a ‘frettin’ ‘bout that? I should’a come and eased yore mind.”

  Polly took a cloth from the string purse looped over her arm and dabbed at her eyes.

  “I was afraid she’d gone.”

  “Doc’s mighty sick. Miss Jane made mush and got him to eat some of it. I ain’t knowin’ how she did it. Doc can be stubborn as a army mule when he sets his mind.” Herb’s face was furrowed with concern. “Ya all right now? I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, Miss Polly. I saw ya standin’ here, and was kind’a keepin’ my eye on ya when that dray wagon moved in. I never even saw that mangy polecat come over here.”

  “He came along the building. I didn’t see him or I’d a gone back in.”

  “Ya shouldn’t ought to have to be worryin’. T.C. wants womenfolk to feel safe in this town.”

  He looked down on her soft, shiny light-brown hair. It was parted in the middle with loose braids coiled over each of her ears. She was as sweet and as helpless as a kitten. She had been sorely used by a lowlife passing himself off as a man. Herb made a silent vow that if he ever set eyes on the varmint, he would gun him down the same as he would a rabid dog.

  He didn’t know why he’d had the sudden urge to cross the road. Something had drawn him to come to Polly when she needed him. He was so glad he had. The poor little thing was trembling like a little scared rabbit.

  “If ya want, I’ll take ya over to the house where Miss Jane is.” He spoke softly so as not to frighten her.

  “Mr. Kilkenny wouldn’t care?” She raised large dark eyes to search his face.

  “Naw. He’d not stand for anybody botherin’ ya.”

  “I don’t want to cause trouble.”

  “Miss Polly, that feller just might of been tryin’ to court ya, in a rough way, that is. I can’t blame him for wantin’ to, ‘cause yo’re awful pretty.” Herb was trying to put her at ease. “I don’t want ya to be feelin’ scared.”

  “I… can’t help it. He’s so sure.” She shuddered and looked away from him.

  “Sure a what?”

  “Ah… sure I can’t take care of myself, that I got to take a—” Her voice faded when she found she couldn’t utter the distasteful word.

  “—Ya don’t have to take anybody. Ya don’t have to do nothin’ ya don’t want to.”

  “I think it’s why Jane wants to leave. She says Mr. Kilkenny brought us here to marry with his lumberjacks and mill workers.”

  “T.C.’s job is to build this town. He needs womenfolk to do women’s work. If a woman wants to wed, she can. If she don’t want to, she’ll have work here. He made that plain right off.”

  “Jane don’t like him.”

  “T.C.’s all right. Him and Colin is straight-shootin’ as they come.”

  “She don’t trust him.”

  “Maybe we can change her mind.”

  “Oh, I wish we could.”

  The smile Polly gave him was one of girlish sweetness, warm with the glow of complete trust.

  “We’ll work on it.”

  When they stepped off the porch to cross the road, his hand beneath Polly’s elbow, Herb was walking about two feet off the ground and his heart was like a runaway horse in his chest.

  The tall, slim woman shook the mass of unruly blond hair from her forehead, lifted the end of a plank and playfully jabbed it at the man on the other end. They were transporting the sawed lumber from the wagon to the site where men were erecting the frame of the hotel. She moved freely in her dark split skirt, but the faded red shirt tucked tightly into the waistband clung to her, emphasizing her small waist and full breasts. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbows and she wore a pair of leather gloves.

  Colin had been watching her for some time and listening as her merry laughter rang out. There was nothing coy or pretentious about her. She was enjoying the physical labor and the companionship of her fellow workers.

  Colin was smiling when T.C. stepped up onto the porch.

  “She’s quite a woman.” T.C.’s eyes followed Colin’s.

  “She keeps the fellers unloading that wagon movin’,” Colin said with a chuckle. “They don’t dare slow up and let her outdo them.”

  “Her name is Sunday Polinski. She told me she was damn good at making cedar shingles.”

  “I don’t doubt it. I saw her swing an axe.”

  “Have the men treated her right?”

  “Not a one’s laid a hand on her yet.”

  “She’s a woman who can take care of herself. I don’t know as I’d want to tangle with her if she had an edge. She could hurt a man real bad.”

  Both men noticed Patrice picking her way daintily across the rough road. Her shiny black hair was piled high on her shapely head and secured with a fancy comb. Large silver loops hung from her ears. Even though it was a warm day she wore an elaborately decorated shawl over her shoulders.

  “I think I’ll go check up on Doc.” T.C. headed for the door.

  “Some friend you are.” Colin muttered.

  Patrice came up the steps to the porch. “Morning, Colin.”

  “Mornin’.”

  “The goings-on here are enough to make a person’s head swim. I swear to goodness. Does T.C. really think he can build up this old town?”


  “I guess he does or he wouldn’t have started it.”

  “How long are you staying here, Colin?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “I can’t imagine you liking this place. When are you going back to your ranch?”

  “Sometime.”

  “Go now and take me.” Patrice was undaunted by Colin’s short answers. “Please, Colin. I’ll be a help to you. I swear it.”

  Colin looked at her and shook his head in amazement.

  “I’ve not completely lost my mind. You’re married, Patrice. And if you weren’t, I’d still not take you. Christ on a horse! You’d be about as much help on a ranch as a newborn babe.”

  “I can learn—”

  “No.

  “I heard that you and T.C. brought a big herd of longhorns up from Texas.”

  “We did.” Colin didn’t feel it necessary to tell her that by building this town T.C. was helping to pay for them.

  “I hope they’re there when you get back. Rustlers stole half a herd from Ramon.”

  “They’ll be there.”

  “How can you be sure? Who is watching the herd? Who is watching the men watching the herd?”

  “That is none of your business. Is there anything else you want to know?”

  “Well, my goodness. I was just trying to make conversation. You’re getting to be as rude as T.C.” After a pause, she placed her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Colin. I want to talk to you, be with you, and you… just won’t cooperate.”

  “We have nothing to talk about, Señora Cabeza. I told you that last night. You shouldn’t have come here. You should be at home with your husband.”

  “You’re still bitter about that.”

  “Think what you want.”

  “Ramon threatened to kill me.”

  “Ramon is too tight with a buck to destroy his valuable property. And to Ramon you are like a beautiful piece of furniture to show off and prove how well-off he is. It’s a life you chose.”

  “But he said he’d kill me.”

  “He may give you a beating, but he won’t leave permanent scars.”

  “How can you be so callous after all we’ve been to each other?”