Mackinnons #02 For All the Right Reasons (41 page)

Hearing the sounds of the men working to clear the way, she moved back to where Birkham’s arm lay twisted in the dirt, using her hand to feel, since the light was too dim and there was too much blood to see the wound. She found the cut, just above the elbow and her stomach heaved in revolt. A shower of dust fell around her. She prayed the men were getting closer. Her hand felt the wound. There wasn’t more than two or three inches of flesh still connecting the two pieces of his arm. For a moment she thought she might be sick. She felt higher, above the cut, then slipped the ribbon around his arm and drew it tight.

Her arm ached from the position she had to maintain in order to keep the ribbon tight. It seemed like years before she heard a crack overhead, then the scrape of brush and a flood of light washed over her. “We can get him now, Miz Mackinnon.” It was Jumbo’s voice. Close. Comforting. She heard another crack. She could see his worn calked boots. Then she felt the warmth of his body as he moved next to her.

“Let me get at him,” he said.

“You need to hold this,” she whispered, her voice too dry to do more. “Hold it tight to stop the bleeding.”

Jumbo angled around and took the ribbon. “Okay Jake, help her up.”

She was lifted to her feet so fast she felt dizzy, then a strong pair of arms came around her as Jake lifted her, his strong legs climbing over the debris until he had her free. Half-pint met them, throwing her skirts around her.

“I’ll need help pulling him free,” Jumbo called and the men moved away, giving Katherine time to step into her clothes.

When the men carried Birkham free, Katherine went down the hill toward the camp with them. “Bring him to the house. It’s closer and we have a big table in the kitchen. Send someone for Molly.”

Molly was waiting in the kitchen when they arrived, a kettle of water boiling, a stack of clean cloth waiting. They stretched Birkham out on the table and Molly chased most of the men out as they set to work. They did what they could for him, but Katherine feared it was the wounds they couldn’t see that were the worst. Blood seeped from his mouth and nose. There was even a little in his ears. His breathing sounded like a rattle. It had been dark for some time when they had done all they could for him. “It’s up to the Good Lord now,” Molly said.

Katherine looked at her, then at Jumbo. “You’ve done all you can. I’ll stay with him.”

“You’re plumb tuckered out, Miz Mackinnon,” Jumbo said.

“Let me stay with him,” said Molly.

“I’ll send Wong if I need you,” Katherine replied. “You’ve got to be in the cookhouse at four. Your rest is more important.”

Katherine pulled a chair beside the table and sat there, her elbows propped on the table, her chin resting in her palms as she watched Birkham’s face for any signs of change. Dear God! He was so young. Not more than eighteen or twenty. Too young to be away from home. Too young to die.

Molly and Jumbo came at five. Katherine was still awake, standing over Birkham, putting more blankets over him. “He’s so cold,” she said.

Molly came closer and put her hand on Birkham’s forehead, then her head against his chest. She looked at Jumbo and shook her head.

“Nooooo,” Katherine wailed, dropping the blanket, her arms clutched around her middle. “He’s too young to die. He hasn’t even had a chance to live yet.”

Molly’s arms came around her. “I know, but it happens that way sometime. I lost both my boys not more than a year apart. They weren’t much older than him. It’s a hard life. You learn to live with it.”

Katherine stared dry-eyed at the young boy stretched out on her kitchen table. “I won’t ever get used to this,” she said. “Not ever.”

“Maybe not, but you’ll learn to get over it,” Molly said. “Time will see to that. You come on up to your room with me and let Jumbo get some of the men to help him move Birkham.”

Molly put Katherine to bed, drew the covers under her chin, and tiptoed to the door. “Molly?”

She turned back to Katherine. “What?”

“How…how did your sons die?”

A flash of pain crossed Molly’s face. “Peter—he was the youngest.” She stopped and looked at the ceiling as if there she would find the words. “There’s a jack called a Boker that’s used to move large logs. When the lock slips, the levers reverse and the handle spins backward powered by the weight of the log. Many men have had their arms broken when that has happened, but my Peter was hit in the head. He died instantly. Hiram was two years older than Peter. He was killed a few months later when he didn’t get clear of a tree, like Birkham. Only Hiram was dead before they carried him down the mountain. His back was broken.”

“Oh Molly, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know. It was a long time ago, but sometimes, when I let myself think on it, it still hurts.”

Katherine slept until the next morning. She bathed, feeling rested, but the heaviness of Birkham’s death still weighed upon her. She had no hunger, but her body felt weak and she knew she needed food. When she reached the kitchen, Wong came rushing in the door. “Boss back. Wong see. Wong tell Missy. Missy come?”

Katherine smiled. “Thank you, Wong. Missy come.”

Her bandy-legged Mandarin friend was bursting with pleasure, proudly holding the door open for her. The warm weather they had enjoyed was gone, and it was apparent that November had been reminded of what it was about and was settling in. The sun was shining, but a thin veil of gray clouds stole most of its shine. Katherine returned for her cloak, then hurried down the road toward the camp, Wong running ahead and pointing the way, then running back to her, much like a faithful dog.

She saw Alex and Adrian immediately, surrounded by a large number of the men. She knew they were telling them about Birkham, but she had no idea how Alex would feel about what she had done. Right now, he looked grave and solemn, and that, for her, was not a good sign. But then one of the men looked up, and nudged one of his friends. Katherine’s heart froze, her step faltered.
Dear God, they don’t blame me for Birkham’s death, do they?

Hearing the men whisper, Alex looked up and their eyes locked. His gaze was so direct, so penetrating, she was stunned. And then the strangest thing happened. Jumbo pulled his hat off and held it between his hands in front of him, and if it were some sort of signal, the other men began to do the same. Once their hats were removed, they began to move back, opening the circle they had formed around Alex and Adrian. A hush came over them as, down to a man, they bowed their heads as if they were standing before a shrine. Katherine didn’t know what to make of it.

But Alex knew.

They said Katherine had appeared shortly after the accident, that she had worked so hard to save Birkham until they could free him, and once they had, she had insisted he be brought to the house and she had stayed over him throughout the night. They had said she had their gratitude. But there was a feeling here, among these rough, uneducated men, a feeling that went much deeper than mere gratitude. There was regard and a respect for her now that her gender could not claim. It was one thing to receive their thanks, but when timber beasts such as these rugged, raw-boned men with more than their share of rough edges and a blistering vocabulary joined for a unified show of devotion it meant something more had happened than what had been relayed to him. He saw the way his wife gave each man present a tentative look and how they answered with a look of fierce protectiveness. It was something Alex had never seen before, something that humbled a man and brought him to his knees.

For him, it was a magical moment when the brooding clouds parted and the sun came out. The men, sensitive to the moment, began to move away and Alex looked at Katherine and knew his time to resist her had come to an end. He saw she was looking at him like she didn’t know if she would be welcomed or sent on her way. “Hello Katherine.”

She nodded. “Alex…Adrian,” she said, “welcome home.”

“The men tell me we all owe you a debt of gratitude,” Alex said.

Her face looked sad and drawn, making her seem older than she was. “Birkham died,” she said in a raw, aching way. “I couldn’t help him. You owe me nothing.”

“I’ve got to go over some things with Big John,” Adrian said. “I’ll be up at the house later,” He studied Katherine for a moment, seeing her lovely face drained of all color. “Do you feel all right, Katherine?”

“I’m fine.”

To Alex he said, “She’s pale as a ghost, Alex. Why don’t you take her home?”

But Alex had already slipped his arm around her and the two of them started up the hill. A thin little breeze stirred the stillness and the scent of her reached him. It was fresh and sweet and warm, and very, very feminine. It was a smell that penetrated like hundreds of silver drops spilling into his blood, rushing to the tips of his fingers and gushing wildly into his head.

Adrian stood in the center of the camp, watching as they climbed the hill and made the curve that would soon block them from sight. But Katherine and Alex never turned around to see if he was still there. And even after they had gone, he remained in the same spot, feeling an aching void, an emptiness, and a sense of terrible loss. Katherine had never been his, he reminded himself. She had never loved him. But the pain wasn’t from that. It was in knowing that she never would.

Chapter Eighteen

“Are you hungry?” Katherine asked.

“Starved. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.” Alex opened the front door and followed her into the house. “You remember what ship’s food is like.”

“I’d rather not. I’m trying to forget.”

He laughed. “Let me know if you succeed.”

“I will. Why don’t you go wash up. I’ll see what I can do about scaring up some breakfast for you.”

A few minutes later Alex, wearing a clean shirt, his hair combed, came into the kitchen. Katherine handed him a steaming cup of coffee. “Take a load off your feet,” she said. “It won’t be long.”

Alex cupped the coffee with both hands, his elbows resting on the table. It was pleasant here in the kitchen since she had come. The sun shone through the window and the big calico cat that usually bunked down by the cookhouse was sunning herself on the outside ledge. While he drank his coffee, Katherine busied herself at the cupboard, making an occasional comment to herself like she always did when she was preoccupied. She was quick-footed and as energetic with this as everything else she did. He had never noticed before how Katherine was as proper here, in the kitchen, as she was anyplace else, wanting everything to be done in a neat, orderly fashion with as much decorum as possible.

“You might as well stop begging. I’m not going to give you a bite until breakfast is over.”

Alex looked up to see who Katherine was talking to. The calico cat was standing now, watching Katherine through the window. “How long has this been going on?”

“You mean with the cat?”

He nodded. “She seems to have taken up residence here while I was gone.”

“I suppose she has. I made the mistake of feeding her one afternoon. She’s been here ever since.”

“She’ll probably stay, too, as long as you keep feeding her.”

“I hope so. I like her. It’s nice to have animals about. That’s one of the things I miss…” She caught herself, snatching a quick look at him then looking away.

It hadn’t occurred to him before now that Katherine might miss anything about the home and life she’d left behind, but once the thought crossed his mind, he chastised himself once again for being an unfeeling brute. Of course she would miss things she had been around all her life. He suffered bouts of homesickness didn’t he? “What else do you miss?”

Her hands were still busy, her words flowing with her movement as naturally as two rivers coming together. “Just farm life in general, I guess. You know, things like that big old barn with its corncrib and hayloft; my garden, the early morning chores.” She looked wistfully at the ceiling for a moment, then went back to work. “I’d be putting up pumpkins and winter squash right now, and watching Clovis and the milk cow put on winter fat. The cornfield would be drenched in sunlight and yellow as a little girl’s hair. The hay would all be cured and the hayloft filled, the rest stacked in the fields. And the creek…” Her voice broke. “I suppose it would be running full after the fall rains. What I’m trying to say is, I miss the familiarity, the sense of belonging, of knowing the names of all the plants and trees, the wildlife, the history of the land around me.” Her hands had been busy kneading biscuit dough, but they were still now. She gazed out the window, as if the sight that greeted her wasn’t the towering barrier of redwoods, but the gentle rolling hills of Limestone County. “This land,” she was saying, “it’s quite awesome to a farm girl like me. There’s so much to learn. And I’m not sure where to start.”

He stood, the scraping of the chair forlorn, like the distant cry of a coyote. Katherine turned her head to watch him as he walked to the stove and picked up the big enamel pot and poured himself another cup. “I’d say you’ve made a pretty good start already. You haven’t been here two months, yet you’ve gained the respect of every lumberjack around here. And you know a lot more about lumbering in that time than I would’ve thought you could pick up in a year.”

As they stood there, separated by the distance of that great kitchen, he with his coffee cup, she with her hands covered with biscuit dough, the silence seemed to close upon them. Katherine looked at him, thinking he was the only thing familiar about this foreign place, and yet, in a way, he was a stranger too. For the briefest moment another little wave of homesickness came over her. Her eyes misted and she sniffed a time or two. But she reproached herself for giving in to a moment of weakness. She thought of the times when she was a young girl with pigtails that hung below her waist, and how she would sit in the schoolroom, her feet crossed and tucked beneath her bench, her head resting in her hands as she stared at the side of Alexander Mackinnon’s face, the girlish giddiness that swept over her when he turned and, catching her look, gave her a wink. And, like a woman, she remembered the pain of knowing she had lost him to her sister, and how God in his infinite grace and wisdom had given this wonderful man back to her. Not his affections, for she wasn’t fool enough to think she had won that part of him yet.
In due time, Katherine. All in due time
. She felt the moment of retrospection and weakness pass, for there was within her a lust for adventure and a conquering spirit, patiently suppressed during her years of hard work on the farm; a lust for adventure and a conquering spirit that perfectly matched that of the man God had chosen to be her mate. God had given her the opportunity. What she did with it was up to her. She could hear her mother say,
God gives us the milk, Katherine. He doesn’t furnish the pail.