The Listening Sky

by Dorothy Garlock

  An hour later, maybe two, because there was no measure of the time Jane and Herb sat beside him, Doc breathed his last. T.C. came in before the end and stood like a tall, silent sentinel beside the window.

  Dr. Nathan Foote did not die alone and unloved.

  Maude proved to be a blessing. While Stella stayed with Polly, she and Jane washed the doctor and dressed him in a black suit, a white shirt and high celluloid collar. T.C. and Colin brought the burial box and set it up on two sawhorses in T.C.’s office. Herb carried Doc’s body down the stairs and placed him in it after Jane had lined it with the blanket Herb had brought from the store.

  Jane and Herb looked in the surgery for a memento of his life’s work to place beside him. T.C. came in, unlocked a drawer in Doc’s desk and took out a box. In it was a medal inscribed: Nathan Foote, Doctor of Medicine, for bravery on the battlefield. It had been presented by President Ulysses S. Grant. Also in the box were newspaper clippings extolling the young doctor who had braved the fire from his own Confederate soldiers to treat men on the Union side. He was described as a true American hero, who tended the Blue, the Gray, and the fighting freed slaves with the same devotion whenever the need arose.

  “He was quite a man,” T.C. said softly and handed the medal to Herb to pin on the doctor’s dark suit.

  Word spread quickly of the doctor’s death, and all afternoon women came to the back door with covered dishes, their faces solemn in respect for the dead. By sundown the table was laden with a variety of food including pies, canned beets and pickles, loaves of bread and even pickled eggs. The merchant at the store sent down a block of cheese and, not to be outdone, Sweet William made his famous peach cobbler.

  “What will we do with all this?” Polly asked in bewilderment.

  Jane looked at Maude. “What do you suggest?”

  “You might ask Mr. Kilkenny if, after the burial tomorrow, we can put tables out on the porch and folks could come by and eat.”

  “Doc didn’t know many people here. Maybe no one will come to the burying.”

  “The whole town will turn out,” Maude said with a small smile. “I see you’ve not lived in a town this small. In such a little place weddings and burials are sort of a social event.”

  “Social event,” Jane echoed the words and thought of the burials at the school orphanage. An hour was set aside for a brief service in the church and burial in the church cemetery with only the clergy and one or two of the teachers attending.

  “People will come who have never set eyes on the doctor,” Maude said. “We must prepare for them.”

  Maude Henderson had changed from the cowed woman she had been when she arrived three weeks earlier. Stella had changed too. She still clung close to her mother, but was no longer her shadow. Maude never talked about herself or where she and Stella had lived before coming to Timbertown. Jane knew no more about the pair than she had learned that first day, but she liked Maude very much. It was evident that the woman had had a painful past and was trying to put it behind her to make a better life for herself and her daughter.

  “Will you speak to Mr. Kilkenny?” Jane asked. “I think I’ll go up and lie down. I’ve got a splitting headache.”

  “It ain’t no wonder. Why’d that logger that come here shut the door? Did he say somethin’ nasty to ya?” Polly turned a worried face to Jane. “He was mad as a hornet when he left. He just stomped out.”

  Jane waved her hand as if to dismiss the matter. She had been too busy to think about Bob Fresno, but now it all came back. Had she been wrong about its being one of the women who sent the notes? If he was the one, how could he have gotten into the women’s bunkhouse to put the paper in her shoe? Maybe he was using one of the women as his messenger.

  These thoughts raced through her head as she went up to the room she shared with Polly. After taking her precious few hairpins out of her hair and placing them on the top of her valise, she took off her shoes and lay down on the bed. She was tired in body, but more so in her mind. Tears slid down her cheeks, but she was too weary to wipe them away.

  T.C., when he knew that the end was near for Doc, had asked Jeb to have one of his best carpenters build a burial box. It brought to T.C.’s mind the need to have the funerary repaired. With a population of more than a hundred people in town alone and a hundred more in the surrounding area, there were bound to be more deaths before long.

  Work would stop until noon the next day to allow time for those who wished to to pay their respects to Doc. The saloon and most of the businesses would close, as was the custom when a prominent person such as the town doctor passed away.

  It was the golden time of the evening. In the mountains the time between sundown and dark was short. Lights were flickering on all over town. T.C. stood on the porch with Colin.

  “I haven’t seen Jane for a while.”

  “Mrs. Henderson said she went upstairs.” T.C. was still mulling over what Polly had told him about the man who had gone into the surgery with Jane and shut the door. She said that Jane had been angry when she came out. It could mean something or it could mean nothing. He didn’t think any of the men were foolish enough to insult Jane here in his house. If that were the case, the man, whoever he was, was in for a sound thrashing.

  Sunday came from across the street. Her cloud of blond hair was in disarray as usual.

  “Howdy. Sorry about the doc.”

  “Howdy, Sunday. Come on up and sit.” Colin indicated the bench next to the wall.

  “I come to ask Jane if there was anythin’ I could do.”

  “Jane’s worn out. I think she’s sleeping. Polly and Herb are sitting with Doc. Go in if you want to.” T.C. watched Colin’s interchange with the girl, who still had not come up onto the porch.

  “I don’t want to bother her. Tell her I called.”

  When she turned away, Colin stepped down off the porch.

  “Have ya got anythin’ more important to do than walk with me to the livery? I’m goin’ to take a look-see at Del Norte.”

  A smile flicked across Sunday’s face, but she didn’t laugh.

  “I reckon the queen can wait while I walk with you,” she said with mock haughtiness.

  Colin’s chuckle was low and warm. They walked away with their shoulders almost touching, Colin’s head slightly bent toward her.

  T.C. stood on the porch and finished smoking his cigarette. Then he stepped down and carefully ground the butt into the dirt with the toe of his boot. A lifetime of being in the woods and seeing whole sections of forests go up in flames had left him with a healthy respect for fire.

  Inside the house, he paused in the doorway of his office. Beside Doc’s casket in the candlelit room, Polly and Herb sat on straight-backed chairs brought from the kitchen. It was a godsend that Polly was here and that Herb had taken to her. She hold onto his hand, giving silent comfort to the grieving boy. Doc had been like a father to him, and he was feeling the loss deeply.

  In the kitchen Mrs. Henderson was busy picking the pinfeathers from a fowl.

  “I hope that’s Bill’s rooster that’s been waking me every morning.”

  “It isn’t.” She gave him a pleasant smile. “Mr. Tallman brought in six pheasants—all shot in the head. It’s a pleasure to clean one that isn’t shot to pieces.”

  “That’s Colin. He’s good with a knife, too. I’ve seen him hit a fly speck on the wall. When you’re ready to go back to the bunkhouse, I’ll carry Stella for you.” He glanced at the young girl asleep on a pallet.

  “No! But thank you. It would scare her to death to wake up bein’ carr—” Maude’s voice trailed to a halt. A shadow of fright darkened her eyes, and she drew her lower lip between her teeth.

  Another time T.C. would have noticed, but his mind was on Jane.

  “Has Jane come down for something to eat?”

  “I haven’t seen her. Poor girl’s frazzled to the bone. I didn’t want to bother her, so I went ahead and brought down all the bedding and… things from the doctor�
�s room.”

  T.C. nodded his approval and left the kitchen. He stood at the foot of the stairs for a long minute. The house was quiet except for the occasional rattle of tin on the roof as a gust of wind rippled over it. Someday he would buy Jane a mantel clock. She would like the pleasant sound of ticking in a quiet house. The thought brought him up short. Kilkenny, you don’t know any such thing.

  As if drawn by invisible strings, T.C. went slowly up the stairs. Halfway up he paused. It had been a long while since anyone had seen Jane. She might have picked up her things and left the house. She had promised to stay only until Doc was gone. Fear clouded his reasoning, and he took the remainder of the steps two at a time.

  At the door to her room, he paused again to listen, then shoved open the door and went in. His fear drained away, and relief washed over him like a warm summer rain.

  In the dim light he could see Jane lying on the bed. She was asleep.

  T.C. took a deep breath. He was so relieved that he was shaking. Moving quietly, he struck a match and lit the lamp on the washstand. He heard a whimper and turned, thinking he had awakened her. Jane lay on her side, her palms tucked beneath her cheek. Thick waves of dark-red hair spread out over the pillow. Lashes, long and tear-spiked, lay on her cheeks.

  On the floor beside the bed, one of her shoes stood upright; the other had fallen over, the laces trailing. T.C. bent down and picked up the shoes. He held them in his hand. They were small and narrow, the sole on one of them was worn almost through and the back seam had been repaired with heavy black thread. He held them for a minute or two before he returned them to the floor.

  He stood beside her. He had never before observed a woman sleep. As he watched, she sucked in her lower lip and a frown brought her brows together. A whimper sighed from her parted lips. It tore at T.C.’s heart.

  He squatted down beside the bed and smoothed the hair back from her face with a trembling hand.

  “Shhh—Don’t cry,” he whispered. “You’re all right. You’re just worn out.”

  “It’s not… fair—” she murmured.

  “What’s not fair, Jane? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” His arm curved up around her head and his lips pressed a kiss on her forehead. His touch awakened her.

  “Oh! Oh—” Her eyes flew open. “T.C., ah… Mr. Kilkenny.” She looked as if she would burst into tears again.

  He smoothed the hair back from her face and wiped her wet cheeks with the ball of his thumb. Their faces were close. He put his hand into her hair, feeling the soft, silky tresses.

  “I’ve… got to get up.” She moved and made another soft little whimpering sound.

  “You were crying in your sleep.”

  “No. I seldom cry.”

  He lowered his lips to her cheek. “Then what’s this on your cheeks? You needn’t be ashamed of crying.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Jane, love,”—he paused between the two words—”someday you’ll tell me why you’re always on the defensive.”

  “I’ve got to get up,” she said again. “There’s a lot to do.”

  “It’s being done. Have you eaten since morning?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  He moved back, and she sat up on the bed. She reached for her shoes, but he had them in his hand. With a firm grip on her ankles, he guided her feet, first into one shoe and then the other. Jane looked down on his dark head as he tied the laces. She would give almost anything to slide her fingers through that shiny dark hair, but she didn’t dare.

  Jane stood, trembling and feeling like an utter fool.

  Not knowing what else to do, she began to braid her hair.

  “Do you have to put it up? Can’t you tie it back with a string?”

  “No. I’ve got to put it up. I can’t go traipsing downstairs like this. What’ll people think?”

  With his hands on her shoulders, he shook her gently. “I don’t care what folks think.”

  “Folks think badly enough of me as it is.”

  “Why?”

  “Because… I’m here, and—”

  “I don’t see how we could have managed without you.” He stroked her hair back from her temples. Reluctantly he dropped his hand and went to the door. “Go ahead and do up your hair. Now that I think about it, I’d rather no man but me ever see it like that.”

  “Would you mind going on ahead? I don’t want Mrs. Henderson to think that I… you… were doing something improper.”

  “I’ll wait in the kitchen, then we’ll sit on the porch awhile. Bring your shawl.” He left before she had a chance to refuse.

  Jane stood for a moment reliving the wonder of his stroking her hair, kissing her wet cheeks and putting on her shoes. She had had practically no experience with men, but she knew that he was an unusual one, hard as a rock one moment and so gentle the next. She was glad she had come here, otherwise she might never have known the joy of being held close in a man’s arms nor have felt the tender touch of his lips.

  It would be heaven to be free to love him and have him love her in return. If he were hers to love, she would put all her toil, her thoughts and her affection into making a home for him and their children.

  Fate had dealt her a cruel blow. Her dreams would never come true, but she would now have some sweet memories to hold in her heart.

  Chapter 14

  IT was a spectacle, Jane thought. Never had she seen such a sight.

  Shortly after the open casket had been carried to the porch and sprays of freshly cut evergreens and bunches of wildflowers, which she later learned had been gathered by Sunday and Colin, had been placed around it, people began arriving to pay their respects.

  The men came with freshly shaven faces and slicked-down hair, wearing clean shirts. They paused beside the casket with their hats in their hands. Families came. Women carried babies in their arms. Older children led their young siblings by the hand. After they had viewed the body, they stood along the street and talked in hushed tones. Some of the mothers, trying to visit with friends, scolded the excited children, shushing them.

  Jane wore her good black skirt and white shirtwaist. She had a short black cape she would wear to the burial ground. At dawn Herb and T.C. had gone to the knoll outside of town that had been designated as the cemetery during the town’s heyday. It was already occupied by more than a dozen souls who had come to Timbertown during the silver strike and had never left. After choosing Doc’s final resting place, T.C. and Herb had cleared the area of brush and weeds and had dug the grave.

  Standing at the end of the porch with Maude, Jane noticed a tall, whiplash-thin man as he approached the casket. His long-handled mustache curved down on each side of his mouth. Thin sandy hair that reached almost to his shoulders was stirred by the morning breeze. He was neatly dressed in a clean shirt, with a black string tie, and duck pants. He carried a wide-brimmed Texas-style hat.

  What drew Jane’s attention was that he lingered so long, gazing down at Doc’s body. When he looked up, sharp blue eyes met hers. He moved around to the end of the porch, his hat beneath his arm.

  “Mornin’, ma’am. I wish I’d knowed he was here.” He spoke in a slow drawl.

  “Did you know him?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I could’a picked him out of a million. Forest Tennihill’s my name, but mostly I’m just called Tennihill.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Tennihill. I’m Miss Jane Love and this is Mrs. Henderson.”

  “Glad to make yore acquaintances.” He dipped his head to each of them, then looked back down into the casket. “We called him Little Doc. He wam’t much bigger and not much older than a bugle boy, but he had enough grit fer ten men.”

  “Were you in the War? Is that where you met him?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It was durin’ the battle of Middle Creek in eastern Kentucky when I first met him. Wasn’t no big battle as battles go, but the enemy had us pinned down in a dry creek bed. For hours we’d been hearin’ this blue-belly cryin’ an’ ca
llin’ for help. Night come, and he started callin’ for his maw. It was pure pitiful.

  “I was layin’ on my belly and felt somethin’ crawlin’ over me. It was Little Doc. He was goin’ to help that boy. I tried to hold him back, an’ he let loose with a streak of cuss words that’d burn the ears off a mule.”

  Jane smiled for the first time that morning. It was enough encouragement for Tennihill to continue with his story.

  “Couldn’t let the little feller go by hisself. He’d be sure to get his head shot off. ‘Sides, I figured I might be needin’ his help myself. After tellin’ him how many different kinds of a fool he was, which he didn’t pay no heed to a’ tall, we wiggled on down that creek bed and up through the Northern lines, Little Doc hangin’ tight to my heels.

  “We had a couple tight squeezes before we found the boy. His foot was smashed all to pieces. Little Doc gagged him so he’d make no noise and told me to carry him back through the lines to his hospital tent. I almost swallered my tongue when he said that. Never thought we’d make it, but we did. That was in ‘62. I’d a give ya odds then that Little Doc’d wouldn’t a outlasted the War.”

  “He got a medal from President Grant, you know,” Jane said.

  “I ain’t a bit surprised at it. Tales ‘bout Little Doc spread from Chickamauga to Pea Ridge. Wish I’d a knowed he was here.”

  “How long have you been here, Mr. Tennihill?”

  “Week. Little more, maybe.”

  “Doc took to his bed several weeks ago.”

  “I heaved there was a woman doin’ the doctorin’.”

  The woman you heard about was probably me, but I’m no more a doctor than this porch post. I bandage a few cuts and that’s all.”

  T.C. stepped up onto the porch. He came directly to Jane and in a possessive manner cupped her elbow with his palm.

  “Howdy, Tennihill.”

  “Kilkenny. I been tellin’ the ladies I met the doctor durin’ the war.”

  “You’ve never mentioned knowing Doc Foote.”

  “Never heard him called anythin’ but Little Doc. I knew him right off.” The tall man’s eyes went from Jane to Maude Henderson. He backed away. “Nice meetin’ ya, ladies. Thanky for listenin’ to my tales.”