Measure of Katie Calloway, The: A Novel

by Serena B. Miller

  “A Shantyman’s Life”

  —1800s shanty song

  December 11, 1867

  It snowed.

  And it continued to snow. Although there had been smatterings earlier, this snowfall settled in, piling inch after inch against the log buildings. She had seen snow before, but she had never seen quite so much of it.

  The snow was beautiful, smoothing over the pockmarks of stumps, brush, and trash piles, but the winter cold also seeped through every crack and cranny of the cook shanty and her cabin. Not for the first time, she gave thanks for the plentiful firewood and men who cut and split it.

  The cold weather meant that the “road monkeys” who iced the road could now turn it into a glassy sheet so thick that one teamster with a giant sled could pull tons of logs at a time, the runners sliding within deep ruts deliberately cut into the solid sheet of ice.

  These days, she usually found the road crew warming themselves and eating molasses cookies around the banked coals of her stove each morning when she entered the kitchen. They would have already helped themselves to so much of the hot tea that there would only be dregs left, and she would have to make more. After thawing inside and out, they would brave the cold once again, refilling the strange, box-like contraption out of which water drained from multiple holes as they rode upon the tote roads, icing them down with gallons upon gallons of river water every night while the other loggers slept.

  She had to keep the cookies in a large tin container. Mice had become an issue as the rodents sought warmth and food. It was an ongoing battle.

  With her in charge, Jigger had taken to snoozing a little longer in the mornings. Gone were the days when he tried to undermine her. His attitude had shifted the night she and Ned had kept him warm on the raft. She tried not to make too much noise in order not to awaken him. He had been more frail than ever since that night, and he needed his sleep.

  Katie had begun to love these early hours when she had her kitchen all to herself. It gave her time to have a cup of wake-up tea, to jot down a few thoughts about the day’s menu, and to ready the kitchen.

  And she prayed.

  Ever since the fire, her prayers had changed. Instead of nothing more than an almost constant plea for God to protect her from Harlan, she had begun to pray for the loggers. Sometimes when she had a few extra minutes, she would walk around the table, touching each downturned tin plate, breathing a quick prayer for the man who ate there. It was her quiet gift to them. Out in the barn, three of her hens were laying and she had been saving up the eggs. This morning she planned on making a special treat for breakfast, scrambled eggs and sausage. Bowls of canned tomatoes mixed with cubes of leftover bread sweetened with sugar would round out the breakfast quite nicely.

  As she cubed the bread, she found herself humming a hymn from her childhood.

  “Rock of ages, cleft for me.” She sang softly so as not to awaken Jigger. “Let me hide myself in Thee.”

  She became so engrossed in her cooking and her song that she didn’t realize that Robert had entered the cook shanty.

  “You have a pretty voice, Katie.”

  She glanced up, and her heart skipped a beat. He looked so handsome and strong in his heavy coat, stamping the snow off his boots. A welcome sight in the early morning.

  “Hello,” she said. “You’re up early.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” He leaned against the corner of the worktable, watching her work. “I thought I’d check on the road monkeys.”

  Since her hands were occupied with her task, she nodded toward the pot on the stove. “Help yourself.”

  He poured himself a cup and pulled up a chair.

  “How are the children?” she asked.

  “Sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Funny thing—it seemed like they always had coughs and colds back in town, but they’re healthy as horses here. Thomas is growing like a weed, and he’s not as quiet and reserved as he was when he first came. He hardly seems like the same child.”

  “Boys love being around their father.” She wiped her hands off on a towel. “I saw him walking behind you the other day, and he was taking great big steps. From what I can tell, he tries to imitate everything you do.”

  “Guess I’d better be careful, then.”

  “Yes, I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want him to copy.”

  She greased two large iron skillets, set them on the stove, patted out sausage patties, and washed the grease off her hands. The smell of sizzling spicy meat soon filled the air.

  “If it stops snowing, I’ll be sending Sam back to Bay City again this week for more supplies,” he said. “Is there anything you need?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask.” She reached into her apron pocket and handed him a list. “It’s all written down.” She was proud of herself for being ahead of him this time. She was getting more organized. She’d been adding things to a list for a while now, each time she thought of something the men would like.

  He glanced at the list, then at her. “There’s nothing on this except food. Isn’t there anything else you want?”

  “Like what?” She flipped the sausage over. “I already have my cow and chickens. The one piglet we found is fattening up nicely.”

  “I don’t know.” He looked abashed. “I was wondering if there was some woman thing you or Moon Song might like.”

  “Woman thing?”

  “You know, something froufrou. Maybe a lady’s magazine or something. Claire used to love getting her copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book.”

  “Moon Song doesn’t read and I rarely have time.”

  “Well, what about a hair comb or a mirror or something.”

  Her hands flew to her head. “Is something wrong with my hair?”

  “No!” He looked at her miserably. “I’m just trying to be nice here, Katie. You’re living in a camp full of men. There must be something you miss—something you need—just for yourself.”

  Her heart melted. How thoughtful could one man be?

  “You want to get me something nice?” She started flipping the other skillet of sausage. “Something I really want?”

  “I do.”

  “I want a cat.”

  “A cat?”

  She nodded emphatically. “A good mouser.”

  Understanding dawned. “Of course you need a cat.”

  “The mice are driving me crazy. I would absolutely love a nice, hungry cat.”

  “I’ll put it on Sam’s list.”

  The door to Jigger’s room creaked open and the old man peered out at them, squinting at the light. His baby fine gray hair stood straight up. His baggy long johns hung off his bony body.

  “If you two would quit flappin’ your lips about a dad-blamed cat, maybe a feller could get some sleep around here!” He slammed the door.

  The old fellow was so irate and yet had looked so silly that Katie threw her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Robert was struggling too. He grabbed her hand and pulled her outside into the snow, shutting the door behind them.

  He pulled his sock hat off his head, ran his hands through his hair until it stood straight up, and squinted at her, imitating Jigger. Katie was in such a good mood, she started giggling, and that set Robert off, and they laughed until they were leaning against each other and wiping tears from their eyes—even though it really wasn’t all that funny.

  And then the laughter stopped.

  Both of them realized, at the same time, that they were standing alone, under a starry winter sky, with a virtual fairyland of snow falling around them. Katie had become so warm standing over the stove that the momentary cold felt refreshing to her. She watched, fascinated, as giant snowflakes fell on Robert’s hair and lashes.

  She saw his face grow sober, gazing at her in the starlight. He reached to brush a snowflake off her cheek and—just for an instant—she leaned her cheek against the warmth of his hand.

  They stood there, stock-still, gazing with wonder into one another’s eyes.


  “Katie-girl.” Robert’s affection for her was in that word as he bent his head toward hers. She craved the kiss she knew was coming. With everything in her, she wanted to respond to this amazing man who had been so good to her.

  Her mind whirled with rationalizations. Harlan was hundreds of miles away. He was a cruel and vicious man. Robert was loving, kind, and good. No one would know. Ever.

  Except Ned.

  And God.

  And herself.

  And yet—oh how she wrestled with herself! One kiss wouldn’t hurt. Just one. One kiss to warm her memories in her old age.

  At that moment, the smell of scorched sausage struck her nostrils.

  “The meat!” She whirled, flung open the door, and ran to the stove. The way the men ate, she could not afford to burn even one piece.

  She threw water into the skillet and watched it sizzle up around the sausage. Then she pulled both skillets onto the worktable and inspected the sausage patties. They were brown, but not ruined. It had been a very close call, indeed.

  In more ways than one.

  “I suppose I’d better get out of your way.” Robert stood near the stove. He acted as though trying to decide if he should leave or attempt to take up where they left off. He waited for her to make the first move.

  And she couldn’t—not now, not ever. It had, indeed, been a very close call.

  Robert couldn’t get the scene with Katie out of his mind. If only the sausage hadn’t started to burn! It was very confusing. He saw the yearning in her eyes, but she always kept him at arm’s length.

  Maybe it would just take a little more time and patience.

  He watched a load of logs slide away to be deposited at the roll way near the riverbank. The piles, carefully stacked to roll into the Saginaw tributary when the spring rains came, had grown. The weather had been perfect for timbering and the men had responded with enthusiasm. He was certain that a large part of their good cheer came from Katie’s cooking.

  Last night, her big surprise had been custard pies. It was rare to see custard pies in a lumber camp, and they had been hailed as a great delicacy. A fight had broken out over who would get the last piece. Jigger had stopped the near riot by taking the last piece for himself.

  Katie had apologized for not having made more pies.

  As though the girl had anything to apologize for. With her two hands, she had raised the morale of the camp to heights he had never seen before—not even in his own father’s well-run camps. Well-fed, happy men worked well together. And they worked with enthusiasm. It was not unusual to hear a logger whistling as he sawed limbs off a fallen pine, nor was it unusual—even in this cold weather—to hear strains of “The Jolly Shanty Boy” being sung at the top of some axe man’s lungs.

  And Katie had done all this while also keeping an eye on his children while he was in the woods each day. Little Betsy was learning rudimentary cooking skills at Katie’s side. Thomas had been put on the payroll along with Ned and was more confident now that he had chores to do.

  Robert had taken on the responsibility of teaching his children what he could in the bit of time they had between the end of supper and bedtime. It wasn’t as good as a formal schooling, but the children seemed to be enjoying his makeshift lessons well enough.

  Today the men had found a curiosity—an ancient oak so large it must have been growing there for hundreds of years. It was hollow from rot, but the outer wood was still strong. When they found it, Cletus mentioned that it would make a good playhouse.

  That comment stuck with him. During their noon meal, Robert took an axe and widened the rotted-out opening at the base of the tree. The inside of the tree was the size of a small room. Working with his hands, he cleared out the debris from the inside and created a clean, aromatic floor with fresh wood chips and sawdust.

  The men watched what he was doing with interest.

  “You planning on hibernating in that tree this winter, boss?” Tinker teased.

  “No.” Robert laughed. “It’s for the children. I’m thinking it might be good to invite them all out for a winter picnic.”

  Skypilot rose from his seat. With a few well-placed swings of his axe, he turned the doorway into a giant heart.

  “There,” he said with satisfaction. “Christmas is coming up. Let’s give them something to remember.”

  Today, Carrie Sherwood, the wealthy young widow he had been hoping to court, had announced her engagement to Harold Swank, a lowly private who worked as a handyman around her plantation.

  If it weren’t for Katherine, he would probably already be married to the woman and making plans for the use of her money.

  On top of every other indignity he had endured, he had recently learned that Mose, a slave he had once owned, had returned and was living at old Mrs. Hammond’s place. Mose had somehow managed to get himself a wagon and a team of fine horses. He was earning good wages hauling for various sharecroppers in the area while Harlan had nothing.

  He wasn’t stupid. He saw what was happening. He was turning into a laughingstock in his own hometown—and there was only one person to blame. Marrying that Yankee had been the biggest mistake of his life.

  20

  With axes on our shoulders

  we’ll make the woods resound,

  and many a tall and stately tree

  will come tumbling to the ground.

  “Once More A-Lumbering Go”

  —1800s shanty song

  Over the next few days, many of the men, homesick for their families, had added their own touches to the hollow tree.

  Tinker made a small table. From the store back at the camp, Inkslinger donated three wooden boxes that had once held chewing tobacco to be used as seats. The final day, the morning of Christmas Eve, Ernie nailed balsam branches in an arc over the doorway as a sort of rough decoration.

  Far from their families, with only other lonely shanty boys for company, the Christmas season was always hard on the men, a time when frustration was close to the surface and fights could break out over nothing. Somehow, preparing this surprise tempered all of that.

  Robert was surprised to discover, when he entered the ancient tree to deposit the presents he had purchased for the children, that some of the men had already added gifts of their own. Someone had whittled three small wooden plates and cups along with miniature forks and spoons. A new, red handkerchief was spread out as a miniature tablecloth. A tiny doll made of braided straw lay on one of the plates. A colt carved of hickory kicked up its heels on another. A tiny kitten sat beside the doll. A tiny wooden dog, curled up as though asleep, sat on the last.

  The people in town saw the shanty boys at their worst, cut loose from the isolation of the pine, with money in their pockets and mayhem in their hearts. He got to see them at their best.

  The top of the tree had broken off long ago, and as it neared noon and the sun rose overhead, light filtered down through the hole, illuminating the little table with a shaft of sunlight as though God himself was blessing this Christmas offering.

  Robert added the small sacks of candy he had picked up during his last trip to town. Then he backed out of the tree and looked at it with satisfaction. This was the kind of thing he would have loved as a child. He hoped the children’s enthusiasm would match the giving hearts of the shanty boys who had tried to create a Christmas for them out of the little they had.

  “Hello the camp!” Katie called out merrily from beside the lunch sled. Moon Song was beaming inside the heavy, man’s coat he had asked Sam to purchase for her at Katie’s request. The girl also glanced down admiringly at her new thick boots that Sam had added. Jigger, to his surprise, had come along as well.

  Robert had broken the news to Katie that he could not find a cat to buy anywhere. It was true. He had not been able to purchase a cat, but Sam had been offered one for free—a barn cat that the owner had insisted was an excellent mouser.

  The cat was, at this moment, sitting in the bunkhouse rattling the cage Sam had gotten for it
. The thing had quite a fighting spirit. Robert still had the scratches from trying to put it back inside the cage once he found out how wild it was. He hoped this meant it would be a good mouser. If not, his intended Christmas gift to Katie would be a dismal failure.

  The children were rosy-cheeked and glowing from their walk. He glanced around and saw that two burly shanty boys were deliberately blocking the children’s view of the playhouse.

  Betsy ran toward him through the snow and threw herself into his arms. “Katie said you have a surprise for us!”

  “Did she now?” Robert winked at Katie. “Did she tell you what it was?”

  “No.” Betsy pouted. “She said she didn’t know.”

  Robert told all three children to cover their eyes, and then he placed them facing the entrance to the playhouse. They could hardly stand still as Robert motioned the two loggers to stand aside.

  “You can look now.”

  “Oh!” The children’s gasps of wonder were everything he and the other men had hoped for. They rushed toward the tree and clambered inside, exclaiming over each discovery.

  Betsy came running back out with the little doll and headed straight for Katie. “Look!” she said.

  “It’s beautiful, sweetheart.” Katie looked around at the ring of men. “Who made this?”

  “My grandmere teached me,” Henri said. “Long, long time ago in Quebec. I think maybe I forget how—but I remember!”

  “I think you better go thank Henri, honey,” she said.

  Betsy ran to Henri, who stooped down low so she could hug his neck. He smiled happily. Then she ran back inside the tree to see what other wonders it held.

  Ned came out reverently holding the exquisite little horse.

  “I believe that’s Cletus’s work, son,” Robert said.

  “It’s beautiful.” Ned walked over to Cletus, the carving cradled in his hand. “How do you do this?”