Katie's Maverick (Strasburg: The New Generation Book 2)

by Pippa Greathouse

  She leaned her forehead into his chest, and he kissed the top of her head. But as he glanced toward the front of the sanctuary, he saw the wicked glare that Phebe sent her way, and he deliberately put his arms around Katie more tightly. In response, Miss Watson turned and descended the stairs.

  Gleason suddenly caught his attention, rising from his cot and pulling on his overcoat.

  "I'm sending you downstairs, Katie. I have to see what Gleason is up to."

  With a little push to the small of her back, he urged her toward the staircase. "Down you go," he said softly.

  Katie went to the edge of the steps but turned back to see what was happening. Nick had planted himself right in front of Gleason. "Where do you think you're going?"

  Gleason's scowl would have scared the wits out of a lesser man, but Nick stood his ground.

  "There's work to be done, Nick. Out of my way."

  "No. If you're determined to work, I'll let you be in charge of the ladies and keep the fire going. That's all. I can't face Francis Adams and admit I let you back out in this weather after we almost froze you to death yesterday. He'd never forgive me. I'm about to marry his daughter; do you think I want to have him hate me every time I see him, for killing his best man? Help me out here, Gleason, for pity's sake."

  They stood, glaring at each other; for a moment, Katie thought she'd have to get in between them.

  But as she waited, Gleason threw back his head and began to laugh. "All right. You win, this time. But only because someone will have to look after the ladies and keep the fires going. If I thought for a minute—"

  "It's the truth." Nicholas looked around the room, shaking his head at Katie. "Downstairs," he mouthed. She poked out her tongue at him but turned. Taking only a couple of steps down, she stopped to peek back once again. Nick motioned for Gleason to sit down.

  "One other thing I need from you, Gleason. Watch out for Katie? If Miss Watson tries to pull anything and I'm not here, you might be the only one in here she'd listen to."

  "Me? Why me?"

  "Because," Nick retorted, with a grin. "You look like the devil, himself. She'd never believe you have the heart of a lamb inside you."

  Gleason held up a threatening fist, and Nick edged away from him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to insult you." He chuckled.

  Katie was laughing softly as Nick moved toward the door and disappeared.

  Katie waited a second before sneaking back up to the sanctuary and moving to the window. Nick had turned to the right, toward the General Store. A path had been cleared down the walk just wide enough for one man, but he slid a time or two as he navigated his way down. As she turned to go back downstairs, she noticed she'd missed some dishes and moved toward them.

  "So you're the maid?" It was Phebe's voice.

  Katie stopped in her tracks but decided to say nothing at all. Reaching down, she picked up a few more dishes and took them to the lift. One more trip and she had them all.

  "I'll send it down, if you want to go on downstairs, Katie," Father Michael spoke from her right, and she turned to face him.

  "Thank you, Father," she said softly.

  His answering smile of sympathy brought out her own, and she turned. As she did, however, she heard a whistle, as if someone was calling a dog. Turning, she searched for the source of it.

  Phebe was staring at her with narrowed eyes. A second later, she hurled her rolled-up blanket at Katie, who miraculously managed to catch it. "Take it downstairs for me." Phebe snapped. "And make up my cot."

  Katie considered closing the distance and punching Phebe in the face. She paused long enough to have a grip on her emotions. But five seconds later, she turned back toward Phebe and put two fingers in her mouth, sending out her own whistle. When Phebe turned to face her again, she was met in the face by her own blanket, launched at her with the force of an angry Katie.

  "Make up your own damn cot," she said fiercely. As she turned, however, she caught Father Michael's eye and murmured, "Sorry, Father," before starting down the stairs.

  Her grandmother looked up at her curiously as she reached the bottom of the steps.

  "Katie? Are you all right?"

  Her mouth tight, she went into the kitchen. "Yes, ma'am."

  Louisa Graham was on the other side of the room, preparing her cot and putting things away, but when she saw Katie's face, she followed her into the kitchen. "Is it Phebe?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Her mouth was a flat line. "I see. She doesn't listen to me well, but I'll do what I can."

  When Phebe came down carrying her blanket and pillow, Louisa turned to her.

  "Your cot is over there next to mine, Phebe."

  Miss Watson glanced around the room. Her eyes located Katie as she groused. "I asked nicely for her to make it up for me, but she flatly refused. How rude."

  Katie turned away. It was her grandmother, who stood up straight, at all of her five-foot, one-inch height, and said sharply, "Katie is not your slave, Miss Watson. You are quite able-bodied enough to make up your own cot. She doesn't mind helping those who actually need it, but you obviously don't."

  Katie met her eyes quietly. "Grandmother, do you need help with the dishes?"

  "No, sweets. Betsy just about has them done. But I'll send up a pot of coffee for those upstairs if you'll go up and make sure they get it."

  "Yes, ma'am. I'll be glad to."

  Louisa turned toward Phebe, who sat on her unmade cot, pouting. "You see, Phebe, your tricks won't work here."

  Katie kept an eye out the window while she was upstairs. She asked Father Michael if he had a broom on the top level, and he promptly found one and brought it out. The back room on the left side of the sanctuary had a door she'd never noticed before, and he went inside, leaving the door open. She looked at it, and when the men had all departed for the dormitory, she came downstairs. Several of the men volunteered to cook and keep everyone fed. Louisa always kept a well-stocked kitchen, and she'd assured them there was plenty there to fix.

  When Katie returned downstairs, the ladies were clapping, and several joyful shouts went up. Nick had just finished scraping and shoveling away the snow from one of the windows, and the light came in. She moved over and looked up, just as Nick leaned down and grinned at her. Holding a hand at the level of the window, he gave the ladies a wave and Katie a wink, moving to the next window.

  "Our hero," Mrs. Billings said, a few beds away.

  Katie felt a surge of guilt. She'd been so irritated at the arrival of Phebe Watson, she hadn't even checked on Mrs. Billings, this morning. Moving over to her, she sat down on the end of the cot. "How are you feeling this morning, Mrs. Billings?"

  A shaky, veined hand covered hers. "I'm warmer in here than I have been for months, Katie, Thank you. And it's nice to have people nearby. An old lady gets lonely by herself. I used to love to read, but these days I can't see quite well enough."

  "When Nick and I marry, perhaps I can come in once a week and visit you? I could read, too, if you like?"

  "Katie, I would love for you to come. Just tell me when. I must warn you, however, my old house is a bit drafty."

  Katie caught something from the corner of her eye and looked toward the stairway to see Nick. He was motioning her toward him, and he didn't look pleased.

  She hugged the elderly woman and rose. "I'll be back in a little while. Nick is beckoning."

  Mrs. Billings chuckled, but Katie groaned inwardly as she moved toward Nick.

  He took her hand and led her up the stairs and toward the back of the church.

  "Tell me what happened this morning. Gleason told me, but I'd like to hear it from you. What did she say to you?"

  "She called me the maid and threw her blanket at me and told me to go down and make up her cot."

  "And what did you say to her?"

  "I told her to make up her own and threw it back at her."

  "Kaitlynne, is that all you said?"

  She lowered her head. "Actually, I said she could make
up her own damn cot."

  He took her hands in his, frowning. "Katie, I know she's being unreasonable, but I don't want you doing anything to antagonize her, because I don't trust her."

  "She said it again when we got downstairs, and Grandmother told her I was not her slave, and she was able-bodied enough to look after herself."

  "So your grandmother is looking after you."

  She nodded.

  "And you didn't need to curse at her. All you had to do was go downstairs and be near your grandmother."

  She sighed. "I suppose so."

  He pulled her closer and tucked her head under his chin. "Just watch your mouth, Kaitlynne. I've been around her well enough to know she'll dig in her heels if you press. All right?"

  "All right."

  "Good girl."

  She leaned against him, and he lifted her chin and grinned at her. "Would you be so kind as to bring me a mug of coffee? I'm hot and cold at the same time, short stuff."

  A dimple showed on one side of her mouth. "I'll be right back."

  He was standing in Father Michael's office when the lift arrived. The elderly priest grinned. "I had no idea, when we put that in, how much use it would get."

  Nick folded his arms and leaned against the desk. "Do you think we're going to be able to keep Katie and Miss Watson in the same building, Father?"

  "The optimistic answer? I hope so. The truthful answer? I don't know."

  Nick nodded.

  "It wasn't just that Miss Watson called her a maid. The antagonism with which Miss Watson whistled for Katie like a dog and threw the blanket at her while giving orders was ugly. I thought for a moment Katie would lose her balance and fall down the stairs."

  "Whistled?"

  Father Michael nodded. "Exactly."

  "I see."

  "You'd be wise to, Nicholas. Katie deserves your loyalty."

  "I do?" Katie was at the door, glancing from one to the other. "Um, excuse me, please. Your coffee is in the lift. Gleason wants some, too. He's been downstairs stoking the fire. The ladies are loving the light, Nick. Thank you so much." She opened the door and reached inside, pulling out two coffee cups and pouring from the pot into each cup. Handing one to each of them, she poured a third and moved out of the room.

  "You can continue talking about me now." She grinned as she left.

  "Cheeky brat." One side of Nick's mouth quirked upward as she left.

  But she looked back over her shoulder. "If you'll send the lift back down, Father, dinner is almost ready. I'll be back in a few moments."

  "Stay away from Miss Watson, sweetheart."

  "Yes, sir. I will."

  Soup and Skirmishes

  Katie stayed downstairs long enough to help pass out big bowls of chicken soup to the elderly ladies. It was laden heavily with big chunks of chicken, one of Betsy Williams' special creations. Katie had eaten it at the Andrews' several times as a child when she stayed with Cicely and Polly. She wondered if Abel was at home with them and wondered if he had any idea his father was in town at the church.

  The ladies all had been given soup, with the exception of the ones on the last row. She'd avoided that one, and the girls from the dormitory had come and gotten their own, with the exception of Phebe Watson, who was watching her and waiting.

  "Well, Katie? Are you going to ignore me? Or are you going to serve me, as well?"

  Katie sighed. She turned to look at Mrs. Andrews and picked up another bowl.

  "Katie, I can take it to her."

  "Thank you, ma'am, but I can do it. Everyone else is busy, and you've been cooking all morning." She turned and started walking toward Phebe.

  She had just reached the cot when one foot was kicked out from under her and she went down. The bowl went flying through the air and the soup along with it. Katie went down and landed on her side with her right wrist under her, crying out as pain shot up her arm.

  She lay there, between the rows of cots, her eyes closed in pain. Footfalls running toward her registered in the back of her mind, along with gasps and ladies calling her name. She couldn't speak at first, but as it subsided slightly, it occurred to her that she'd lost a whole bowl of soup and some of them might be coming through it.

  "Stop!" she cried out. "The floor might be slippery." She was forced to roll to her back and tried to brace her injured wrist with her good hand but couldn't get up. Staring upward into Phebe's smug face, a red flush crept up her neck.

  "Why did you do that?" she whispered, her voice laced with misery. "If you didn't want it, we could have saved it for someone else!"

  Phebe leaned forward. "Are you suggesting I caused you to fall?" Her voice sounded incredulous.

  "I'm not suggesting it." Katie's anger got the best of her and she shot back, "I'm stating it as fact." She had almost managed to raise up on one elbow and was glaring upward into Phebe's angry eyes.

  Silence fell throughout the room as they stared at each other. Suddenly, Phebe launched forward, landing on top of Katie and pushing her back onto the floor.

  Katie cried out in agony, as something in her wrist made a crunching sound.

  "Stop it, Phebe!" Louisa Graham was trying to pull her backward, off Katie. But she was elbowed in the side and ignored. Grandmother Marilyn shouted, hurrying toward her through the maze of cots.

  Upstairs, Nick heard the commotion, coming up the steps from the basement, and Katie's cry of pain, and he took the stairs four at a time downward. It wasn't until he reached the bottom that he could see two females on the floor, one on top of the other. One was obviously losing the fight.

  He knew, without a doubt, who it was.

  "What's going on here?"

  Everyone in the room turned to stare, at his roar. Phebe suddenly rose and sat backward onto the cot, her eyes wide as he moved quickly forward. Nearly stepping onto the broken bowl and into the contents on the floor, he knelt down toward Katie.

  She was lying on her back, holding one wrist, her eyes closed in pain.

  "Katie? Sweetheart? Are you all right?" His voice was suddenly gentle. His jaw pulsed, and his voice, though not loud, was not to be ignored. He reached under her and lifted her into his arms. When she whimpered, he spoke again, "Katie? Is it your arm?"

  She nodded. "My wrist," she whispered.

  Phebe, eyes wide, leaned back on the cot as far as she could as Nick turned to her. He stood, staring down, first at her, and then at Katie.

  "What happened?"

  "She fell." Phebe spoke first.

  "Katie?"

  "Nick—I-I need to clean up the soup before someone slips."

  "It's all right, Katie." Mrs. Andrews came forward with a towel, holding it out to Phebe. "Miss Watson caused it; she'll clean it up."

  Phebe gasped. "Nick, make them stop. They're being mean to me."

  Nick said nothing. He stood there and looked at the towel, then at her. "We're waiting, Miss Watson."

  Tears spilled down her face, humiliated; she sat there for a long time before finally taking the towel and beginning to mop up the mess on the floor.

  Nick stood there a moment longer. When Miss Watson got down on her hands and knees, he moved toward the stairs with Katie and took her upward. Her eyes were still closed, and her face tortured.

  "Tell me, sweetheart, can you move it?"

  "No." Her voice was a tiny whisper.

  "Open your eyes and look at me, Kaitlynne."

  She obeyed, surprised at the strength of his voice.

  "Tell me what happened."

  Katie lowered her gaze. "I was taking her some soup. She asked me to."

  "She asked you to?"

  She winced. "Well, not exactly, but I was serving the other ladies, and she asked if I was going to serve her, too, or ignore her."

  "Did I not tell you to stay away from her?"

  Her eyes grew wide. "You did, but—"

  He shook his head. "And then what happened?"

  "She kicked my foot out from under me when I brought it, and I fe
ll sideways. And the soup…"

  "Here." He sat down on one of the pews and carefully took hold of her wrist. "It's swollen, I can see that. I'm taking you to see Dr. Bilkey."

  Katie gulped, looking down, Purple bruises were beginning to form. She winced but didn't cry out, when he felt his way slowly up and down it. "Do you hurt anywhere else?"

  She shook her head.

  "Where's your cloak, sweetheart?"

  "Downstairs."

  "Stay put. I'll get it. I'm taking you over there."

  She watched him go, frowning. Her wrist hurt dreadfully all the way up to above her elbow, and her pride hurt almost as much. Why had she even gone near Phebe? It had been a trap, pure and simple. She should have known better.

  Nick was gone for what seemed hours. When he came back up, an unpleasant scowl was plastered across his face, and he carried her cloak in one hand and a blanket in the other. Stepping into Father Michael's office for a few moments before coming back to get her, he glanced toward Gleason. The older gentleman had finished his lunch, set his dishes by him on the pew, and closed his eyes. He opened them as Nick approached, arguing that he could get the carriage.

  Nick flatly refused. "It's not that far. I'll carry her, and we'll be right back. You need to rest," he said firmly.

  When Gleason didn't argue, Katie knew he wasn't feeling well. It was snowing again as she looked out the window but lightly this time.

  "Nick? Perhaps the doctor needs to come and check on Gleason?"

  He glanced down. "That probably is a very good idea. Here, turn around." Wrapping the cloak around her first, he put his own coat on and then wrapped her in the blanket and lifted her into his arms. "Where are your gloves?"

  "I don't know."

  He sighed. "You'll be the death of me." He sat down on the last pew with her in his lap, taking out his gloves and slipping them on her hands, being extremely careful with her right hand. "You look like a little girl wearing her father's gloves."