Measure of Katie Calloway, The: A Novel

by Serena B. Miller

  She lifted the turkeys, one at a time, from the oven. They were crisply browned and would add even more variety to the meal. They were a little skinny but were a special gift from Klaas, who had gone hunting yesterday when he could no longer abide watching Robert work on Skypilot. She made a mental note to talk to Robert about allowing a couple men a little time to hunt. Fresh game on the table was a welcome addition.

  “I’ll carve the turkeys when they cool,” Jigger volunteered. “I got me a system.”

  “Carving meat has never been my strong point,” Katie said.

  “But you got them pastries and sweets down cold,” Jigger said. “The best I ever et.”

  “Thank you.” Katie couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. If Jigger got any more penitent about what had happened yesterday, he’d be singing hymns.

  “Can we put out the place cards now?” Thomas asked. He and Ned had been painstakingly writing each man’s name on a piece of paper and Betsy had been decorating them with a scribbled drawing.

  “Try to put them where everyone’s assigned place is,” she said.

  “I’ll help,” Jigger offered, “if you young’uns can’t remember who goes where.”

  Katie paused momentarily as she sliced pies. Who was this man and where had he been those first days in camp when she’d needed him? Oh well. Better late than never.

  When the remaining items had been placed on the table, there was hardly enough space for the men’s plates. They would be so pleased with the special Christmas supper. She had not attempted anything as fussy as another decorated layer cake. Instead, she had concentrated on variety, and plenty of it.

  She and the children had gone to some trouble to decorate. They had little to work with, but with what scraps of paper they had, they made chains to loop over the windows, laid fresh balsam boughs on the window sills, and punched holes in empty tin cans and stuck candles in. These were placed on the window sills and every other surface that wasn’t already covered with food. Ned had washed and shined the chimneys of all the lamps.

  When everything was in place, she lit the candles, and the children’s faces glowed.

  “Ooh—this is pretty!” Betsy exclaimed.

  Katie gave her a hug. “I think so too.”

  Very deliberately, she took the Gabriel horn off the wall and formally handed it to Jigger.

  “Would you please call the men in to our Christmas supper?”

  “Happy to do it.” Jigger went outside to blow the horn he loved so much.

  They all looked forward to seeing the surprise on the shanty boys’ faces and were not disappointed. The men showed absolute delight with everything—from the boughs on the windowsills, to the candlelight, to Betsy’s little drawings. Many put the little scraps of place cards in their pocket and told the children that they would keep them as keepsakes.

  Robert stood at the head of the table after the men had settled themselves. “I know we don’t usually do this—it’s not traditional in most lumber camps—but I’d like to say a prayer before we eat.”

  The men nodded in agreement. No one objected. They had survived too much together. Several removed knit caps that rarely left their heads.

  Robert bowed his head. “Father—for preserving my daughter’s life, I give thanks.”

  Katie heard several soft amens.

  “For keeping Skypilot alive, I give thanks and ask that you help him heal. For the great bounty of this meal, and the two cooks who prepared it, I give thanks.”

  Katie heard louder amens as though some of the men had just found their voice.

  “Keep my crew and my children safe throughout the rest of the winter, and if it is your will—give us a good timber harvest. Amen.”

  She saw Henri make the sign of the cross right before reaching for the bowl closest to him.

  There was something satisfying about watching people she cared about enjoy the work of her hands. And she did care about these men. Every last one of them.

  The moment would have been perfect had it not been for the battered Skypilot lying in the room next to them. And yet, as she watched little Betsy spooning up mashed potatoes while cuddled close to her father, Katie knew that if the man had it to do over, he would put himself at risk for the child again.

  As soon as he’d helped Betsy fill her plate, Robert went into the bedroom to check on Skypilot. Katie, with her supper successfully on the table, followed close behind.

  Skypilot, although having dozed through most of the day, was now clear-eyed and awake.

  “Was that a trumpet I heard?” He smiled weakly. “Am I in heaven?”

  “Not yet,” Robert said. “Although if any man deserved heaven, it would be you.”

  “The child. She’s well?”

  “With the exception of a few scratches, she’s unharmed, my friend, thanks to you.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Indeed.” Robert pulled the sheet down and inspected the bandages. “How are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty. Sore.”

  “Will you get him some water?” Robert asked Moon Song, who was standing nearby. He made a drinking gesture with his hand.

  The girl rushed back with a glass of water, which Skypilot gulped down. When he finished, he looked at Robert and said, “I don’t remember much.”

  As Robert told Skypilot the story of how he had risked his life for Betsy, Katie went back to the kitchen with a lightened heart. There was so much for which they had to be thankful.

  Inside that warm, candlelit room, filled with the camaraderie of the men and the presence of the precious children—all sated with the good food she had prepared—Katie felt such joy. How could life possibly get any better?

  But it did. As soon as Robert bolted down his food, he rushed out the door and came back with a large cage hidden beneath a blanket. The men all grinned with anticipation as Robert approached her. She could not imagine what this bulky item could be.

  “Merry Christmas, Katie!” With a flourish, he removed the blanket. Inside the cage was the most unhappy-looking feline Katie had ever seen. It was orange, with a spot of white on its nose. For Katie, it was love at first sight. The cat, however, seemed to have a very different opinion.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Katie exclaimed, squatting down to examine it. “I thought you said Sam couldn’t find a cat for sale.”

  “Technically, that was the truth. It was a gift from a farmer I know. Sam said the man said this one was an excellent mouser.”

  She reached for the latch, and the men scrambled to get back.

  “You might want to be careful,” Ernie said. “That thing’s a mite wild. We tried to take it out of the cage, and things didn’t turn out very well.”

  “Oh.” Katie withdrew her hand.

  “It must have lived in the barn most of its life,” Robert said apologetically. “I don’t think this is going to be a lap cat, Katie. At least nothing you can make a pet out of.”

  “I guess we’ll see.” Katie bravely opened the cage. “Maybe it will take to a woman.”

  There was a blur, a rattling of the cage, and an orange streak flew across the floor and crouched in a far corner—hissing. Katie, taken by surprise, fell backward onto her bottom. “A mite wild? I’d say so!” She laughed.

  “Something that fast has to be a good mouser!” Blackie reassured her.

  “Hope it doesn’t have any kittens in it,” another said. “I’d hate to have a whole roomful of those things.”

  “Is it a girl?” Katie asked.

  The men looked at each other. A couple of them shrugged. “None of us ever had the nerve to get close enough to check,” Sam said.

  “Thank you for the gift.” She stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I do appreciate it. Maybe the cat will calm down after I give it a few good feeds of warm milk.”

  “I hope so,” Robert said. “If it gets too bad, we’ll catch it for you and get it out of here.”

  “Let’s see what happens.” Katie poured out a bowl of milk
. With the men watching with rapt interest, she slowly approached the cat. It crouched in the corner, glaring at her, apparently deeply offended by her and everyone else in the room. The moment she stepped across some imaginary line, the thing was up the wall in two leaps. It hunkered on a rafter, looking down at them. It hissed again, just in case no one had gotten the message the first time.

  “Well, I guess it will come down when it gets good and hungry,” Katie said, leaving the bowl of milk in a corner. “I don’t have to pet it. I just hope it’ll hunt mice.”

  Dinner was finished, the show created by the presentation of the cat was over, but the men seemed reluctant to leave.

  “Could I bring my fiddle over here—just for tonight, ma’am?” Henri said. “We could move the table up against the wall and have room for a stag dance—it being Christmas and all.”

  The other men nodded enthusiastically.

  “A stag dance?” Katie asked.

  “Stags are old boots we cut down to wear as slippers,” Robert explained. “A stag dance is where half the shanty boys tie a handkerchief around their arm and dance the women’s part. The other half dance the men’s. Sometimes they’ll switch around halfway through. It isn’t pretty, and it isn’t at all graceful, but the men have a good time and it gets rid of a lot of steam.”

  “Jigger?” she asked. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “It’s Christmas.” Jigger shrugged. “Let ’em do what they want.”

  The men helped Katie clear dishes, and then they moved the table and benches against the wall. Henri came back with his instrument and Tinker pulled a harmonica out of his pocket. Ernie brought out his spoons.

  As the musicians swung into play, the men drew straws, and then some began tying red handkerchiefs around their arms while the children looked on with excitement.

  “I think you’re going to enjoy this.” Robert led her to one of the benches along the wall.

  “Aren’t you going to participate?” Katie pulled Betsy onto her lap just for the sheer joy of cuddling her.

  “No,” Robert replied. “It’s a lot more fun to watch.”

  The music began and Katie couldn’t keep her foot from tapping. The music, which she had heard on other nights from a distance, was fast and furious, and as the woodsmen galloped around the room, she hugged Betsy tight and laughed aloud. These silly, wonderful shanty boys were outdoing themselves showing off for her and the children. It was all such fun!

  Ernie put down his spoons, did a quick dance step over to them, bowed low, swooped Betsy up in his arms, and to her giggling delight, spun her around the room.

  It was hard to sit on a bench with the music playing and all the feet stomping in rhythm on the wooden floor. She had never danced in her life, but her toe tapping escalated into foot stomping as she clapped her hands in time to the music.

  “Can we dance too?” Ned asked.

  “I don’t see why not!” She jumped up, grabbed the two little boys’ hands, and the three of them spun around in a circle. It was Christmas—a time to celebrate—even in the deep woods.

  She glanced up, saw the orange cat glaring down from the rafters as she and the little boys danced, and she threw back her head and laughed, giddy from the sheer fun of it.

  “You go ahead, Katie-girl,” Robert shouted. “Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.”

  She did not hear the door open. It was only when she heard the music slowly die out that she turned to see what had made it stop.

  A tall, blond-haired man, oddly arrayed in the dress uniform of a Confederate officer, stood in the open doorway while the winter wind whistled snow in around him. At first she couldn’t grasp what she was seeing, and then her mind went numb with fear.

  23

  Now, all young men a warning take:

  don’t be in a hurry to wed,

  for you’ll think you’re in clover till the honeymoon’s over,

  and then you’ll wish you were dead.

  “Boys Stay Away from the Girls”

  —1800s shanty song

  “Hello, Katherine.” The man’s voice was heavily accented with the drawl of the Deep South. He kicked the door shut. “I brought you a Christmas present. It’s from your good friend Violet.”

  Robert heard the innocuous words the stranger spoke, and he saw Katie, whose cheeks had been flushed with the glow of happiness, turn as white as a sheet.

  Whoever this man was, Katie was deathly afraid of him. Ned turned a ghastly gray as he stared at the man. With their eyes locked onto the stranger’s, both Ned and Katie seemed to shrink back into their own skin.

  The men, puzzled by Katie’s reaction, shifted from one foot to the other. There had been plenty of strangers pass through the camp in the past three months. Katie had efficiently fed them all without missing a step.

  “We’ve just finished our Christmas dinner.” Robert rose from the bench. “There’s plenty of good food left over. Would you care to share it with us?”

  The man ignored him. His focus was on Katie. His left cheek twitched in a weird sort of dance of its own. “Don’t you want it, Katherine?” His voice was almost a singsong. “Don’t you want your Christmas present from Violet?”

  He pulled an envelope from his pocket and extended it. She edged toward him and snatched it from his hand.

  The man had a look of supreme satisfaction as she ripped open the letter with trembling fingers and scanned it. Robert saw her head droop, and the letter fell from her hand and drifted to the floor.

  “Are you happy now?” The stranger’s cheek was dancing even more uncontrollably. “Are you pleased that you went against my wishes and taught that girl how to read and write?”

  “Where did you get it?” Katie’s voice was low and choked.

  “Don’t you remember?” He sighed dramatically, his right hand resting on the hilt of his dress sword. “My second cousin is a postmaster now. He saw Violet come in with that letter in her hand. When he saw that the letter was addressed to Katie Smith, Foster Lumber Camp, Bay City, Michigan, he thought I might be interested—what with you and Violet being so close and all.”

  Robert had no idea what was going on, but he didn’t like it. The Confederate uniform bothered him as much as Katie’s terrified reaction. The man was either stupid or mad to come into a Michigan lumber camp in that getup. The twitch worried him too. There was something deeply wrong with this man.

  “Do you have a name, sir?” he asked.

  “Harlan Calloway at your service.” The stranger seemed to have noticed him for the first time. “And that woman you are harboring, sir”—he clicked his heels together and gave a mocking salute—“is my wife.”

  Robert felt his stomach grow as heavy as a stone. “Is this true, Katie?”

  She turned toward him, and he knew he would remember that haunted expression for the rest of his life. He had seen hunted animals with the same desperate, cornered expression in their eyes.

  His heart ached as he saw the truth written there. This man with the out-of-place uniform was, indeed, her husband.

  And she was terrified of him. No wonder she had never talked about him.

  “I think you need to sit down, Mr. Calloway,” Robert said. “We need to talk this out. You must be hungry after your long journey.”

  “I don’t want food. I want my money and my wife, and I want them now.”

  Money?

  Harlan jerked his head toward Katie. “She stole all my cash and my best horse.”

  “We’re not going back with you!” Ned cried. “You can’t make us go!”

  “You can keep the boy.” Harlan waved a dismissive hand. “I never wanted him in the first place.”

  Whatever Katie had done, or not done, Robert knew one thing. He would not allow this man to leave with her and Ned. From what he could tell, Harlan Calloway was more than a little deranged.

  “I always knew you had something to do with Mose’s escape, Katherine,” Harlan said. “Now, thanks to Violet’s stupidity,
they’ve both paid you back richly. How many more of my slaves did you help run away before your Yankee government finished ruining me?” He turned the collar of his uniform up, preparing to go out in the cold weather. “Get your wrap. We’re leaving.”

  “Not so fast.” Robert held up a hand. “It doesn’t appear that the lady wants to go.”

  “Since she’s my legal wife, I don’t think she has a choice, now, does she?” Harlan arched an eyebrow. “If she doesn’t come, I’ll have her arrested for theft.”

  “I still have your money.” Katie moved toward the back door. “I’ll go get it now.” She fled out into the night.

  A cold silence fell over the cookhouse. Ernie put a protective hand on Ned’s shoulder. The men watched Harlan narrowly. Robert knew it would only take one spark, one ill-advised remark, to set off a powder keg. These men would willingly stomp Harlan into the dust for Katie—or just for the sheer enjoyment of it. A least six of them had served in the Union army, and that uniform Harlan was wearing was dredging up some bad memories.

  Katie was back within seconds with a small sack of coins.

  “Here.” She tossed the sack toward her husband.

  He caught it with one hand and spilled the coins out onto the table. “This isn’t all of it.”

  “I needed some for the train.”

  Robert heard the disappointment in her voice and knew she had hoped Harlan wouldn’t count it.

  He could tell that the loggers were debating whether or not to intervene. Each was capable of picking Calloway up and throwing him out the door—but getting involved in a domestic quarrel was not part of their code. Still—Katie was the jewel of their camp, a woman a man with any sense would cherish for life. It was a conundrum.

  “I’ll give you the rest of the money,” Robert said. “But Katie stays here.”

  “And who are you?” Harlan methodically dropped the coins back into the bag.

  “I’m Robert Foster, owner of this camp.”

  Harlan turned a hard gaze upon him. “And how is my wife any of your business, Mr. Foster?”