The Listening Sky Read Online Free

wall.
    Jane set the basin on the floor and slipped her tired, aching feet into the warm water. It felt so good. She vowed to take
     a full bath and wash her hair at the first opportunity.
    “Go to bed!”
    “Hush yore mouth. Ya make more noise than she does.” Jane recognized the cheerful voice of Sunday.
    “She can pretty herself up in the mornin’.”
    “She’d not have to wash this late if you’d not hogged the tub,” Sunday replied.
    “Hogged the tub? Who the hell is talkin’?”
    “If she’s got her eye on the boss man, it’ll do her no good.” This voice had the slurry accent of the South.
    “Who ain’t got a eye on him? Lordy mercy. He’s the best-lookin’ thin’ I’ve seen in all my born days. And the cook says he
     ain’t got no wife.”
    “Bet he’s wild as a turpentined cat in bed.”
    This brought a gaggle of giggles.
    “He’s gonna
interview
us tomorrow. What’s that mean? Whatever it is, I’m glad I brought my rose toilet water.”
    “Did ya bring pads for yore bosom?”
    “I ain’t needin’ ‘em. I’d put my tits up against yores any-day.”
    “Not against mine, you won’t!”
    This brought a gale of laughter.
    Jane opened the back door and threw out her wash water. After blowing out the lamp she undressed in the dark, slipped her
     nightdress over her head and lay down beside Polly.
    Something wasn’t right here. She had known it the minute the wagon arrived in Timbertown. This wasn’t even a town… yet. No
     more than ten buildings lined the main street.
    Jane was puzzled as to where the women were going to live and work. The hotel and what could be the rooming house were badly
     in need of repair. She had seen nothing that could be called a bake shop, laundry or eating place. Kilkenny had built a saloon,
     but not a church or school, even though she had seen a goodly number of children.
    The solicitor had mentioned a need for women to make shirts and other clothing. Was the great Mr. Kilkenny going to put
all
of them to work sewing? Or was he of a mind to use them as saloon girls?
    Anger quickened her heartbeat.
    The building where they had eaten their supper was a new one. Bill Wassall, the cook, a man of about sixty years with a limp
     and a crooked arm, had told her the building would be a restaurant when the hotel was opened.
    Jane and Polly, the last to go for supper, had lingered after the others had gone back to the barracks. Jane offered to help
     with the cleanup. Bill had declined the offer, saying he had a “bull cook” who would clean during the night and have a fire
     ready for the breakfast mess. He was fond of talking and was delighted to have found an interested listener. He explained
     that in a lumber camp the cook was “king bee” and his helper was “bull cook” or “cookie.”
    The cutting camps, several miles from town, would soon be going full blast. Most of the men in the camps worked by the season.
     Work would slack off at the mill when the river froze. Some of the men would spend the winter here in town repairing stores
     and other business places along Main Street. Sites for a tonsorial parlor, a laundry, a jail, a school and a church had been
     picked out. Another saloon would go up if someone came to run it.
    Bill Wassall was enthusiastic about the town, and evidently considered T.C. Kilkenny a gift from heaven. He included the man’s
     name in almost every sentence he uttered.
    According to Bill, T.C. Kilkenny was a smart, fair-minded man. She learned that he was a cattleman, but that he was also the
     best all-around lumberjack in the territory. He was the top high-climber, river pig, peeler, topper, trimmer and all-around
     “bull of the woods.” Bill explained that was another term for camp foreman. According to the cook, Kilkenny was also an outstanding
     bare-knuckle fighter and would take on all challengers once the work slackened.
    By the time Bill finished singing Kilkenny’s praises, Jane wanted to gag. She wondered why