Measure of Katie Calloway, The: A Novel

by Serena B. Miller

  Robert found himself looking into the coldest, most calculating eyes he had ever seen. He didn’t really care. No matter what, this man was not leaving with Katie.

  “She signed on for a full season as camp cook,” Robert said. “I’m holding her to it. She can return to you after the spring river drive—if she so desires.”

  “And just what other jobs does she do for you, Mr. Foster?” Harlan’s voice dripped with innuendo as he grabbed Katie by the wrist. “Besides cook?”

  Robert’s fists clenched. The utter arrogance of this man was astonishing.

  He was ready to fight Calloway right then and there, but just at that moment, Ned threw himself in front of his sister, his little pocketknife open in his hand. It was only a boy’s toy, but he slashed at Harlan’s hand and drew blood.

  Harlan dropped Katie’s wrist and put the small wound to his mouth. “When I get you home, I’ll—”

  “You’ll do nothing.” Robert stepped forward. “You will leave my camp immediately. You will not take your wife or the boy.”

  “And who’s going to stop me?”

  “I am,” Robert said.

  Harlan looked him up and down. “Were you in the war, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I inquire as to your position?”

  “I was a surgeon.”

  Harlan snorted with contempt. “I ate men like you for breakfast.”

  That was all it took. Robert rushed him, but Harlan had other plans. He threw open his coat, and as fast as lightning, drew out two Kerr’s revolvers, aiming one at Robert’s heart and the other at Katie’s.

  Robert had seen those distinctive five-shot weapons before. They were a favorite among Southern cavalrymen, and he knew that at this close range they would be deadly.

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Harlan said. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to put a bullet into you—and the woman.” His voice was strangely disembodied. A voice that was not attached to any normal human emotion.

  Klaas moved to intervene, and Harlan turned a gun on him.

  “You all might want to reconsider,” Harlan said. “I can take out ten of you before I have to reload. Katherine, if you want your friends to live, come with me. We’re leaving.”

  Katie looked at the guns, and at Harlan, and then at the men. Her eyes sought Robert’s, and there was defeat in them. “I’ll go,” she said. “Just let me get my cape. It’s hanging on the wall.” She sidled away. “Don’t get trigger-happy, Harlan. I’ll leave with you. Don’t hurt anyone.”

  “Be quick about it,” Harlan snarled.

  She glanced at Robert and her eyes were pleading. “Will you take care of Ned?”

  “Of course I will.”

  Harlan once again brought his hand up to his mouth and sucked on the small wound Ned had inflicted. “Hurry up, Katherine.”

  Katie pulled the wool cape down from the peg and wrapped herself in it. Harlan began to back slowly toward the door, still holding the revolvers trained on the men.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Robert saw that Moon Song had managed to creep out of Skypilot’s room without Harlan knowing. She now crawled along the floor, next to the wall, hidden by the men and the deep, flickering shadows cast by the lamps and candles. She was so small compared to the men, and Harlan was so preoccupied, he didn’t see her.

  Robert stared straight at Harlan so as to not give away her presence. Everyone else did the same.

  “I’m sorry I ran away, Harlan.” Katie walked slowly toward him, deliberately distracting him with her chatter. “I should never have done that. I’m so sorry about taking your horse too.”

  “I got Rebel back,” Harlan said. “No thanks to you.”

  “Really? How?” Katie was taking her time tying a wool scarf over her head. She fussed with the knot.

  Moon Song was crouched behind him now.

  “People know Rebel, and word got back to me. Let’s just say that the man who bought him saw the error of his ways.”

  “I miss Rebel’s Pride.” Katie pulled on a pair of woolen mittens. “Is he outside?”

  “Of course not—Rebel’s at Fallen Oaks where he belongs. I came by train and hired a hack from the stable in town.”

  At that moment, Moon Song turned into a blur. She leaped onto Harlan’s back and went for his eyes. Two shots rang out as Harlan bent backwards. The bullets buried themselves in the ceiling before Harlan dropped the weapons on the floor and scrabbled to remove Moon Song’s clawing hands from his eyes. From high above, the orange cat, startled by the shots, dropped from the rafters directly onto Harlan’s chest with a yowl.

  With Moon Song sticking like a burr to his back, Harlan flailed about, upsetting the cat even further. It clawed deep gashes into his face and neck. The men didn’t intervene. All were thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of the battle between the cat, Harlan, and Moon Song. He was a big man, and Moon Song was not a large woman. It took only seconds for Harlan to fling the cat off, then grab Moon Song and drag her off of his back. But the damage had been done. His weapons were on the floor, and the men were no longer avoiding a domestic dispute—they had been threatened. And they were ready to kill.

  Klaas lifted Moon Song up out of the fray and sat her to the side. Harlan was felled by one blow from Blackie’s fist.

  Then the stomping began.

  Robert had seen this sort of scene more times than he could count. It was the way a logger fought. It always had been. It was called “putting the boots” to a man, and it involved jumping on an enemy with caulked boots—boots with spikes in them—the kind that loggers wore to ride the logs. Most shanty boys who liked to brawl had felt the sting of an opponent’s caulked boots. The pockmarked scars they left behind were called “Logger’s Small Pox.” Jigger’s back and chest were covered with them from all the brawls he had been in.

  The men weren’t wearing caulked boots tonight since no one was working on the river. But they stomped all the same. Harlan was curled in a ball, trying to cover his face.

  Part of Robert wanted the man dead—the other part of him, the part that was the doctor who had sworn an oath to save lives, knew he needed to stop the carnage. He had just opened his mouth to call the men off when he heard Katie’s voice.

  “That’s enough!” she said. “Stop it!”

  He was surprised. She, of all people, must want this man permanently gone from her life.

  The men stopped, surprised at the command in Katie’s voice.

  “The children.” Katie nodded at a far corner.

  Everyone looked at the three children huddled together. They had their arms around each other and were more frightened than Robert had ever seen them.

  They were watching men they looked up to, men who had lovingly created a playhouse for them, men who had carried them on their shoulders—now single-mindedly beating a man to death.

  The men backed away, leaving Harlan lying on the floor. He was bruised and battered but able to sit up.

  “I’ll come back,” he growled between split and bleeding lips. “And I’ll kill all of you.”

  Robert picked up the Kerr revolvers from where they were lying on the floor. “You’ve outstayed your welcome, Mr. Calloway.”

  Harlan started to reach for the bag of coins, still sitting on the table.

  “Leave the money. I’m sure your wife earned it many times over.”

  As Harlan flung himself out the door and rode away, Tinker walked over to the window and watched the departing soldier.

  “I seen that man before,” Tinker told them. “Wished I hadn’t, but I seen him, all right.”

  “Where?” Robert asked.

  “At the battle of Spotsylvania. I fought under General right.” Tinker sank down on the bench. “I’m sorry to say this, Miss Katie, but I watched that man walk through the battlefield after the Confederates beat us. He was finishing off Northern wounded like it was nothing. Never saw anything like it before or since. I managed to crawl behind a tree before he
saw me.”

  “You got away?” Katie asked.

  “No. Some other Johnny Reb found me and toted me on over to Camp Sumter.”

  “The POW camp at Andersonville?” Robert asked. “They let soldiers starve to death in there.”

  “Around thirteen thousand of them. I helped bury some of them.”

  “How in the world did you survive, man?”

  Tinker’s snow white hair crowning a young face was vivid in the lamplight. “Who says I did?”

  “He’d better never show his face around here again,” Blackie said. “We’ll be ready for him if he comes again. Won’t be no offer of food and drink, neither.”

  “Tryin’ to take our Katie away from us,” Jigger said indignantly. “Who’s he think he is?”

  “And talking about Ned thataway.” Ernie said. “Any man with half a brain would want to call that boy his son!”

  “And what Tinker saw him do.” Sam stared out the window. “That’s lower than a snake’s belly.”

  Moon Song came out of Skypilot’s room, cooing over the baby in her arms. It was hard for Katie to equate this loving young mother with the wild woman who had leaped onto Harlan’s back.

  She touched Moon Song’s arm. “Thank you.”

  Moon Song shrugged as though it was of no importance. Or perhaps it was because she didn’t understand the English words. Katie didn’t know.

  “Are you all right, Katie?” Robert rested the flat of his hand against her back as the other men’s voices faded into the background.

  “I never intended to lie to you.” She turned around to face him. “But I had to get away from him. I thought this camp would be far enough away that he would never find me. I was wrong.”

  “I wish I had known.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference.”

  “Oh, Katie-girl.” Robert’s voice was choked with emotion. “Couldn’t you have just divorced him?”

  “Harlan is a war hero and a Calloway. His relatives practically own his county. The local courts would never have listened to me.”

  Robert ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I have no idea what to do except try to keep you safe. I’ll post a guard tonight.”

  “No,” Katie said. “Not this time.”

  “Why not?”

  “This isn’t your fight, and you need every man you’ve got to harvest the timber.” She grabbed the two revolvers off the table where Robert had placed them. “These belong to my husband, and I’m claiming them. He’ll never be able to force his way through that heavy lock Blackie made me, and if he tries to come through the window—I’ll be ready for him.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “I’m sick and tired of being afraid. I’m weary of carrying fear around in the pit of my stomach. It was hard seeing Harlan again. For a few moments I fell back into that old terror—but no more. Show me how to use one of these things, Robert, because I’m never, ever going to allow that man to lay a hand on me again.”

  24

  He would not drink and he would not chew;

  he would not even smoke.

  But he swung his axe with the best of us,

  with a firm and even stroke.

  “The Greenhorn”

  —1800s shanty song

  December 26, 1867

  Katie had decided to make cinnamon rolls this morning—great fluffy clouds of them drizzled with vanilla-flavored icing—as a special treat. It would take extra time for the dough to rise, so she needed to get to the kitchen even earlier than usual. She wanted to give everyone a special breakfast this morning. It was the only way she could think of to show how sorry she was for what Harlan had put them all through.

  Regrettably, things would be awkward between her and Robert from this point on. There was simply no way to get around it. She had lied to him and been humiliated in front of him. She was also, unfortunately, in love with him. All she could do was finish out the year with as much dignity as possible.

  She entered the darkened kitchen, lit a couple lamps, and began the ritual of stirring up the embers from last night into a blaze that would heat the oven.

  And then she heard the whisper of a slow, steady crunching coming from the darkened side of the cook shanty. It sounded like a man’s footsteps breaking through the hard crust of snow. She crept to the window, but there was nothing there except unbroken snow stretching out into the forest.

  She was puzzling about where the sound was coming from until she heard a loud hiss near her feet and saw that the crunching sound was the orange cat, consuming a mouse, bones and all.

  Well, at least her Christmas present was, indeed, a mouser. No more chasing rodents around the kitchen with a broom!

  Still, even though the crunching sound was only the cat having a snack, she was on edge. She did not believe for a minute that Harlan would meekly go back to Georgia. Her guess was that he was biding his time, waiting his chance to accost her when she wasn’t surrounded by a battalion of loggers.

  Because of that, she knew she couldn’t let down her guard for an instant. She could not and would not expect any of Robert’s men to stay behind to protect her—things were already too precarious for him financially because of the fire. Even Blackie and Tinker were doing double duty by going out in the woods when they weren’t needed in camp.

  If Harlan came while the men were out working, there would be only her, the children, Moon Song, the injured Skypilot, and Jigger. Two women, three children, an invalid, a baby, and an old man. Odds that Harlan would love.

  She had lain awake thinking up ways to protect both herself and the vulnerable people who had fallen to her care. If Harlan came back, she was determined to fight.

  After last night, she no longer saw the kitchen as only a place to fix food. This was where she spent most of her time, and it was filled with potential weapons. As she kneaded the dough, Katie took inventory. One meat cleaver. A heavy rolling pin. Several cast-iron skillets. Ten razor-sharp knives. A kettle of boiling water. In addition, she carried Harlan’s loaded revolvers secreted within the pockets of her voluminous skirt.

  Although she was not a large woman, she was determined to stand her ground. Orange cat wasn’t very large, either, but loggers backed away every time it hissed and took swipes with its claws.

  Like orange cat, she intended to scratch and claw and bite and let Harlan know that he was dealing with a different woman—a woman who would never again cower in fear from him.

  She was bent over, placing another length of firewood in the stove’s firebox, when she heard the door swing open. Every muscle in her body tensed.

  “Hello, Katherine,” a familiar voice drawled. “You’re alone. What a pity.”

  Katie sighed in resignation. The confrontation had come even sooner than she had expected. Harlan must have been out in the woods for the past few hours, waiting for this moment. The man must be practically frozen.

  “Aren’t you going to call for help?” Harlan’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You seem to have collected so many men friends.”

  “No.” She closed the firebox and stood to face him. “This is between you and me. I won’t be calling for help.”

  Harlan looked bad. For the first time, she noticed that his uniform was frayed. The beating he had received from the loggers had taken quite a toll as well. But it was more than the bruises she saw on his face. He looked haggard and hollow-eyed, nearly unrecognizable from the glorious young man she had once followed into the Deep South.

  “What about your Indian friend?” He glanced around as though half-afraid Moon Song would drop from the ceiling.

  “She’s sleeping.”

  Now that he was here, Harlan seemed unsure as to what to do next. Katie stood absolutely still.

  The Scripture with which she had comforted Ned their first night in camp—about God not giving her the spirit of fear—rose to mind and gave her strength. She stiffened her resolve not to back down.

  Harlan took a step toward h
er, and her hand closed around a meat cleaver.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Harlan.” Their eyes met and hers didn’t blink. “There has been enough pain between us.”

  He laughed, but his laugh sounded hollow. “You think you can hurt me?”

  “Yes, Harlan.” Her voice was steady. “I know I can.”

  Once again, he seemed slightly unsure of himself. He was used to her cowering and pleading. The unwritten rules between them had shifted, and he wasn’t ready for the change.

  She decided to take advantage of his hesitation, to try to talk some sense into him. “I understand what you lost, Harlan. I was there. I suffered too. What Sherman did to the people in Georgia was unforgivable. I saw it. I watched the war strip you of everything you had—your wealth, your home, the only life you had ever known. But Harlan, other people have endured great losses and still found ways to live decent, good lives.”

  “You Yankees destroyed everything.”

  “I had no hand in it.”

  “You could have tried harder to save our home. My grandfather built that mansion.”

  “Your grandfather didn’t build it, Harlan. His slaves built it while he sipped sweet tea and watched.” She shook her head in disbelief at his attitude. “I stood no chance against that horde of Sherman’s soldiers. All I did was survive the best I could. The slaves had all left. I was alone. I nearly starved after his troops went through. I hated Sherman every bit as much as you.”

  “You helped Mose escape.” He dismissed her attempt to reason with him and took another step forward as his cheek began to twitch. “Didn’t you. Don’t lie to me. I know you did.”

  So that was that. It was not possible to reason with Harlan. It never had been. She didn’t know why she had even tried. His bitterness was too great.

  “Yes,” she said. “I helped Mose. My only regret is that I didn’t help more of your slaves escape from you sooner.”

  His eyes blazed. They stared at each other, and she knew that the gulf between them was something she could never bridge.