On the way back through the quiet forest, T.C. explained the workings of the camps.
“The camp is divided into squads. One group, the teamsters, hauls the logs; another, the choppers, fells the giant trees; a third, the sawyers, saws the trees into logs; a fourth, the swampers, prepares the roads. It’s dangerous work. Rowe Lumber Company makes sure a doctor is available.”
“Bill says you’ve done all those jobs and were the best.”
“I’ve put in more than one winter at a cutting camp. More than one summer at a sawmill.”
“But you want to ranch.”
“Yes, sweetheart, I do.”
Jane cherished every minute of the time she spent with her husband in the vast forests that covered the mountainsides. She learned that he could mimic to perfection the song of any bird. He told her about every cloven-hoofed creature, every predator, rodent or reptile that lived there. When she asked him where he had obtained this vast storehouse of knowledge, he replied that it had been a part of him for so long he was no longer conscious of when or where he had learned his woodland lore.
She told him of her love of music and history. Her world had been books. Having been confined most of her life to one place on a ten-acre plot of ground, she had spread her wings through the writings of authors such as James Fenimore Cooper, Daniel Defoe and Sir Walter Scott.
T.C. came to realize during these shared times that his wife was as bright as she was strong, and he marveled that a person so sensitive could have endured so tragic a childhood.
Two weeks before Christmas Jane became aware of having missed her monthy flow and knew that it was possible she was pregnant. She held the precious secret close to her heart, not wanting to tell T.C. until she was sure. Her dream of having a loving husband and a family was coming true.
Jane genuinely liked Mr. Culbertson, the effeminate schoolmaster. He had surprised everyone with his skill at handling the rowdy boys who tried to disrupt his class.
When he first arrived and laid down the rules that no male would wear his hat inside the schoolhouse, he was challenged by a twelve-year-old whose height was equal to his own. After twice asking the boy to remove his hat and receiving only an insolent grin in return, the schoolmaster whirled, lifted his leg and kicked the hat off the youngster’s head. It happened so fast that the class sat in stunned silence.
“I could have just as easily broken your nose, your neck, or your arm. Don’t challenge my authority again.”
None did.
On hearing the story, T.C. was convinced the schoolmaster would be well able to protect Jane should the need arise; and since no further attempts had been made to frighten or threaten her, he thought it safe for her to spend time at the school helping with the program to be presented at the church on Christmas Eve. Either he or Herb came to walk her home after school, or at times the teacher accompanied her.
A play about Joseph and Mary in the stable in Bethlehem would include most of the children in school. Jane insisted that none be left out. She assigned the older boys the task of building the manger and handling the scenery the night of the event rather than reciting a poem or singing. Stella would be an angel and Buddy a shepherd in the play. Both had speaking parts. In the evenings Jane rehearsed the pair until they knew their lines and their gestures perfectly.
Buddy was excited. He loved trying on the costume Maude had made for him to wear in the play and the praise he received for his acting ability. Herb found a branch and whittled it down to resemble a staff like one Jane has seen illustrated in an book. The boy soaked up information like a sponge and was enthralled by the story of the baby Jesus being born in a manger.
Theda Cruise ordered Mr. Jenson at the store to prepare a sack of candy and an orange to be given to every child in town after the program—her Christmas gift to them. It was one more thing about the flame-haired saloon keeper that surprised Jane.
The day before Christmas Eve, school was let out at noon to allow for one last practice. Mr. Culbertson had a fine voice and rehearsed the children who would sing. In the teacher’s room behind the classroom, Jane listened and advised the ones who were giving recitations. Play practice followed. At dusk when rehearsal was over and the children were bundled up to go home, Jane put on her heavy shearling coat and fur cap and prepared to walk home with Stella and Buddy.
“You don’t need to come with us, Mr. Culbertson. I know my husband told you not to let me walk home alone, but I’m not alone. I have Buddy and Stella. We’ll be home in less than ten minutes. Wrap that scarf around your neck, Buddy. We don’t want you getting a sore throat and being so hoarse you can’t be heard tomorrow night.”
Holding the mittened hand of each child, Jane stepped out into air so cold that it almost took her breath away. The warm air that came from their lungs made puffs of vapor as soon as it left their mouths. They walked out to the road and headed toward town, where lamps were already being lit. During the afternoon another light snow had fallen, and they followed the tracks made by the children who had gone ahead of them. The snow was soft beneath their feet and pristine white. For Jane it was truly a dream Christmas of peace on earth, goodwill to men.
“Let’s sing, Aunt Jane.” Stella skipped along beside her. Buddy stopped to kick snow; soon his britches were powdered with white to his knees.
“It’s too cold to sing, punkin.”
“Next year I’m goin’ to sing,” Buddy announced.
“I thought you liked being in the play.”
“I like it, but I want to sing and recite a poem.”
“It’s wonderful that you like to perform. Maybe you’ll be an orator or an actor when you grow up.”
“I ain’t goin’ to be like that man that killed old Abe.”
“Now aren’t you the smart little boy to remember that?”
Talking with the children, Jane was unaware that a woman had approached them from the side until she called out.
“Buddy! Go home!”
Jane looked around. Mrs. Winters, with only a thin shawl over her shoulders and her head bare, came hurrying toward them.
“Maw? I ain’t done nothin’.”
Jane looked at the stricken little face, then back at his mother. Buddy was terrified!
“Go home!” she shouted again angrily.
Jane stopped. “We were practicing the play, Mrs. Winters. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
The woman reached them and yanked Buddy away, sending him sprawling in the snow. Jane had never seen her in such a state or Buddy so frightened.
“Ya ain’t takin’ my boy!” she screeched. Her eyes were wild; her hair stuck out around her head as if she had been pulling on it.
Suddenly her hand, gripping a knife, came out from under her shawl. She lashed out and only Jane’s heavy coat kept the blade from piercing her skin.
“Mrs. Winters!” Jane backed away, her eyes round with horror.
“Maw!” Buddy cried. “What ya doin’, Maw?”
“Bitch! Spawn of the devil! Ya ain’t gettin’ him! I’m aimin’ to cut out yore black heart.”
Jane backed up again, keeping her eyes on the woman’s distorted face. The insane gleam of hatred that shone in her eyes terrified Jane.
“Run! Run!” Jane yelled, remembering the children. “Run! Run! Go on! Go!” She continued to back away from the advancing knife.
“Maw! Don’t hurt Miss Jane… please—”
Mrs. Winters showed no sign of hearing her son pleading with her. Her hot fevered eyes were fastened on Jane.
“Ya killed my ma and baby sister. I was there when ya rode by and as if she was nothin’ ya made a swipe with yore sword and took her head off. My man killed hisself ‘cause he couldn’t live with what ya made him do. Yo’re the spawn of the devil and yo’re goin’ back to hell, but ya ain’t takin’ my Buddy.”
“I never hurt anyone!” Jane’s eyes flicked to the children, who had frozen in their tracks, then back to the knife. “Run!” she shouted, and held up her arm t
o protect her face from the slashing blade.
As soon as Stella turned to flee, Jane turned to run back toward the school. Her foot bogged down in the soft, deep snow and she fell. Before she could get to her feet, Mrs. Winters was upon her. Jane managed to roll to her knees, but she couldn’t get up. The deranged woman had the strength of a man. She grabbed Jane’s hair when her cap came off and, straddling her, she lifted the knife and stabbed it into Jane’s back again and again.
Through her fear and pain, Jane was aware that young Buddy was on his mother’s back, trying to pull her off. He was crying and screaming.
“Stop, Maw! Please stop!”
Jane’s strength began to leave her. I’m going to die here in the snow. I love you, T.C. Thank you for the happiest days of my life.
Working at his desk, T.C. was nettled that he couldn’t concentrate on the letter he was writing to the banker in Laramie. He found himself looking out the side window toward the road leading to the schoolhouse. The teacher was walking Jane home and she was late. He dipped the pen in the inkwell again and stubbornly wrote another line before he put the pen down.
He sensed that something was wrong about the late afternoon. It was in the very air he breathed. His awareness of danger was as acute and as instinctive as it was when he was stalking a cougar and he felt the animal circling around and attempting to come upon him from the rear.
He put on his coat and his hat and left the house.
I love you, T.C.
The words stopped him. He had heard them as clearly as if Jane had just said them. He stood for an instant on the porch, then stepped out into the street and looked down the road.
Coming around the bend from the schoolhouse, he saw a small figure running. From the red knit cap on her head, he knew it was Stella, and his heart began a painful rise to his throat.
Something had happened to Jane!
T.C. ran as fast as he had ever run in his life. When he reached the child, she was crying hysterically.
“She’s hurtin’ Jane!”
T.C. shook her shoulders. “Go home!”
Halfway between the last house in town and the school-house, T.C. saw two people fighting while another stood beside the form lying in the snow. T.C. shouted his wife’s name as he ran. One of the struggling figures broke away and ran off into the woods.
T.C. was gasping for breath when he reached the scene and threw himself down beside Jane. The teacher was trying to lift her head. Her dark-red hair fanned out ever the snow. She had lost her mitten and her hand was covered with blood. She looked into T.C.’s face.
“I was afraid… I’d not see you… again—”
“You’ll be all right, sweetheart.” He turned on the teacher. “God damn you! I told you not to let her—”
“I’m sorry—”
“It’s not his fault How could he know? How… could any of us know… she was the one?” Her eyes went to Buddy, who was sobbing wildly. “Poor little… boy.”
Jane’s eyes began to drift shut.
“I heard the screams and came running,” the teacher said. “The woman was stabbing Mrs. Kilkenny. The boy was on his mother’s back, trying to pull her away.”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Winters. The boy’s mother. I pulled her off… and she ran off into the woods.”
“God help her when I catch her! Run get the doctor. Get him to the house by the time I get there,” T.C. ordered harshly, as he lifted Jane in his arms. He seemed not to know or care that the teacher was without a coat in the below-zero temperature. The small, wiry young man took off down the road, his arms and his legs pumping.
“You’re going to be all right, honey. Hold on until I can get you to the doctor.”
T.C. staggered along in the snow with his precious burden.
“I love you so much—” He kissed her hair, her face.
Jane’s head moved. She tried to look at him, trying to smile.
“Everything’s all right now, sweetheart” His voice was strained and light, his face blurred.
Buddy, walking along beside him, looked over his shoulder toward the woods. Attracted by the shouts of the teacher, people came out onto the porches of the stores and some came hurrying to meet them.
Colin was first
“What the hell happened?”
“Jane’s been stabbed.”
“Good Lord!”
“See about Buddy.” T.C. never broke stride.
The child had lagged behind, unable to keep up with T.C.’s long steps. Colin picked him up. The boy wrapped his arms around Colin’s neck, his legs about his waist Sobs racked the small body.
T.C. didn’t remember reaching the house or that Maude was waiting anxiously at the door. She held it open, then stepped aside for them to enter. T.C. carried Jane into their room and stopped beside the bed.
“Help me get her coat off—”
“Oh, my God! The blood!” As gently as she could, Maude pulled the coat and a thick sweater from Jane’s blood-soaked back.
Jane was floating in and out of consciousness.
“Timmie, Timmie,” she murmured. “We’ll name him Timmie—”
While T.C. and Maude took off Jane’s clothes, Colin took Buddy out to the kitchen and turned him over to Polly, who sat with Stella on her lap. He returned to open the door for the doctor and showed him into the room where T.C. was easing Jane down on her stomach onto the bed.
Jane had been stabbed not only in the back, but in the buttocks and thighs. The doctor counted sixteen cuts. Some had scarcely broken the skin; others were deeper. Had Jane not been wearing the heavy shearling coat, and had the knife been sharper, she would have died at the scene. The madwoman who had stabbed her had been in a frenzy to kill her.
Maude stood by to assist the doctor. Nearly in shock torn by fear and anger, T.C. listened to what the teacher had to tell about what had happened. Then he met with Colin, Herb and Tennihill in his office. They were getting ready to organize a search for Mrs. Winters. It was snowing again. The large fluffy flakes would soon cover her tracks.
All the men knew that the woman would freeze to death if she were not found soon, not that any of them cared after what she had done to Jane. Those who knew of the attack on Jane at the privy had not even suspected it had been done by a woman.
Now the question was why.
After the doctor finished doing all he could, Maude and Sunday, who had arrived in a panic when she heard the news, carried out the blood-soaked clothes and bloody water. Dr. Bate motioned T.C. away from the bed.
“No doubt the coat saved her life. I don’t believe the knife reached into any vital organs, but she has lost a lot of blood. That, and the miscarriage will weaken her.”
“Miscarriage?”
“She has been carrying for more than two months.”
“A baby?” T.C. asked stupidly.
The doctor smiled. Fathers are usually the last to know. She may have just realized it herself.”
“Will she be all right?”
“It depends on how strong she is and if her body can get along on what blood she has left until it can make more. I’m going to stay here until see whether or not she goes into shock. I’ve given her something to make her sleep. It’s what she needs the most now.”
“The woman was mad. I never suspected it.”
“It happens that way sometimes. People can appear to be perfectly sane, then”—he threw up his hands—”they are suddenly out of control. I understand Mrs. Winters has a boy.”
“He’ll be taken care of.”
“Small communities have their advantages. In Chicago, he’d more than likely be left to the streets if a relative didn’t come forward.”
“That won’t happen to Buddy,” T.C. said firmly. “Mrs. Henderson has supper ready in the kitchen, Doctor.”
Sunday hovered near the door. “How is she?”
“We won’t know for a while. Will you take the doctor to the kitchen and see that he gets some supper? I’ll be with Ja
ne.”
T.C. put a stick of wood in the pot-bellied stove in the corner of the room, then pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. Jane lay on her stomach, her arms outstretched, so still, so white, so quiet. Even the dark-red hair tumbling over the pillow was curiously devoid of life. Not a deeply religious man, T.C. wondered for a long agonizing moment what he had done that would cause God to take her away from him.
He leaned over the quiet figure and kissed her cheek. Her flesh was cool and dry to his lips. He felt suspended, unable to accept this situation. It was unreal—how could it be real? He had promised he would let no harm come to her if she stayed, and now trusting him could cost her her life.
“Jane,” he said, kissing her cheek again. “Jane, darling, can you hear me?”
His words echoed ridiculously in the eerie silence of the room. He took her hand. Her fingers curled around his, or so he imagined. He stroked the limp hand that lay in his.
“You’re not going to leave me, sweetheart. You’re not. I was so sure I could take care of you. I never suspected her at all. I even wondered if it could be Theda, or Murphy, or Parker. I hoped it was Fresno or Callahan. Never did I even guess that it could be Mrs. Winters. Will you ever forgive me?”
We’ll call him Timmie. These had been her last coherent words. Was she trying to tell him about the baby?
“We’ll make other babies, my love,” he said in a thick whisper.
He smoothed her hair and continued to talk to her in a low hoarse voice.
“Poor sweet little woman. You’ve had enough trouble to last two lifetimes. Besides that crazy woman, you had Fresno to contend with. I can’t blame him for wanting you. I blame myself for being so wrapped up in building this town that I failed to see what was going on. If Sunday hadn’t killed him, I would have.
“I’ve never told you how much it means to me to have you for my wife. Can you hear me, sweetheart? I never thought a woman lived who would capture my heart so completely. You did, darlin’. I love you!”
T.C. had not wept since he was a boy, but now tears filled his silver eyes.
Chapter 30
THE searching party returned at midnight, cold and weary, having found no trace of Mrs. Winters.
The Listening Sky Page 36