The Measure of Katie Calloway,: A Novel (25 page)

“He’ll rip out his stitches if we can’t hold him down,” Robert shouted.

Even wounded, the former preacher, fueled by pain, was a match for all of them. It felt like trying to hold back a large, bucking horse. She clung to his undamaged foot, expecting to get kicked across the room at any minute, certain that Skypilot was going to scatter them all.

And then Moon Song intervened.

“No!” The Indian girl grabbed a handful of Skypilot’s hair, jerked it down toward the table, and shoved her face directly in front of his. Digging into her small store of English, she said, “No! You hurt!”

Skypilot seemed startled to find this raven-haired beauty’s face so close to his. He stopped struggling and stared at her.

“W-what?”

“You.” Moon Song gave another tug on his hair for emphasis. “Hurt.”

At that, Skypilot’s eyes began to focus, and he took in the ring of people holding him down. His body relaxed against the table as, once again in his right mind, he assessed the situation.

“What happened?”

“You got in the way of a falling tree,” Robert said.

Skypilot attempted a feeble joke. “Is the tree hurt?”

The men laughed a little too heartily. Once again, Skypilot scanned the circle of tense faces.

“How bad am I?”

“You might make it, with a lot of care,” Robert said. “But I still have to set this broken leg.”

“Feels like there’s a fire in my gut.”

“You have a stomach wound.”

“Is it bad?”

Robert hesitated. “Not as bad as when we first brought you in here.”

Skypilot lifted his head and looked down at the bandages covering his stomach. “Somebody operated?”

“I stitched you up,” Robert said.

“You?”

“I used to be a doctor.”

“Used to be? That isn’t very encouraging.” Skypilot grimaced from the pain. “Go ahead and set the leg, but give me something to bite on.”

Cletus had a partially whittled woodchuck in his pocket. He drew it out, gave it a long look, and then lodged it between Skypilot’s teeth.

“Too bad we don’t have any whiskey in camp!” Jiggers said. “That would be real handy right now. Too bad our boss won’t let us have any!”

“Ether would come in handier.” Robert positioned two loggers to hold the top half of Skypilot’s leg as he grasped the calf. “Are you ready, my friend?”

“Do it!” Skypilot spoke around the piece of wood clenched between his teeth.

Robert jerked Skypilot’s leg and Katie heard the bone scrape as it slid into place. Skypilot turned white, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the woodchuck fell out of his mouth. Cletus picked it up and checked it for damage.

“We need to get this splinted,” Robert said, “his head wound closed, and put him to bed before he regains consciousness.”

He washed the cut on Skypilot’s forehead, stitched it closed, and finally it was over.

“Thanks for the help, men.” Robert looked exhausted after he set the last stitch. “I hope we’ve avoided infection. A suppurated stomach wound is a cruel way to die.”

“It’s all my fault.” Jigger shook his head.

“That’s true,” Robert said. “If you had watched over the children like you promised, none of this would have happened.”

“I deserve to be fired.”

“You deserved to be fired a long time ago.”

The old man looked so miserable, Katie pitied him.

“What can I do?” Jigger said. “I’ll do anything.”

“Then go pack your turkey.”

Katie’s heart lurched. As ornery as Jigger had been, she didn’t want him to go.

“And move it over to the bunkhouse. Skypilot needs your room to recuperate in.”

Jigger didn’t argue about giving up his beloved room. If anything, he seemed relieved to stay on under any circumstances. She wondered if he had no place else to go.

“Anything you say, boss,” Jigger said.

“We should get him moved before he wakes up,” Robert told the remaining woodsmen. “Katie, go spread that other clean sheet over Jigger’s bed.”

Jigger’s room, to her surprise, was remarkably tidy. She would never have expected it. She almost wondered if the old cook had been raised on a ship.

It was five o’clock by the time they got Skypilot settled and the table scrubbed and set to rights again. Moon Song was keeping watch over Skypilot.

“Do you have anything you can fix for supper, Katie?” Robert asked. “I know we interrupted you.”

“I was making oyster soup before you came in. The oysters and onions are already fried up in butter. All that’s left is to pour the cream and milk in and heat it. I have bread sliced.”

“Let’s get the men fed, then,” Robert said.

Ernie came through the back door with a bucket of milk in his hand. “I figured you didn’t have the time to do this and I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Thank you.” Katie was astonished she had forgotten such an important chore. “Tell the men I’ll have supper ready for them shortly.”

“A little hot food would be real welcome right about now,” Ernie said.

“What’s the temperature?” She could feel the cold seeping through the cracks in the cookhouse. “Have you checked the thermometer?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ernie blew on his hands. “It’s about two feet below zero.”

“That cold, huh?”

Katie strained the fresh milk into the kettle of soup and banked the fire so the milk wouldn’t separate. The entire time, she was intensely aware of Robert as he carefully dried each one of his surgical instruments and put them away.

She ran down to the cellar, brought up a wheel of cheese, and began to slice it into thick wedges. Soup, cheese, and bread should keep the men from getting too hungry until tomorrow morning.

And then there was her cake—her froth of a cake that she had been so proud of. Her vanity over it seemed so silly now. Life and death had a way of putting things into perspective. Still, it was the only thing she had for the men’s dessert tonight, so she placed it back into the middle of the table.

Robert seemed to notice the cake for the first time. “Your dessert is beautiful, Katie. I’m sorry we ruined your surprise.”

“A fancy cake is small potatoes compared to what Skypilot’s just been through.”

“I never should have allowed the children to come out to the lumbering grounds. It’s no place for them.”

“The children loved it. You couldn’t have known Betsy would come looking for you . . . or that Jigger and the boys would get so involved in a game of checkers none of them would notice.”

“She’s my daughter.” Robert ran his hand through his hair. “I should have looked after her.”

“Regardless of what anyone should or shouldn’t have done,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder, “thanks to your skill, Skypilot is still alive.”

He grasped both of her hands, brought them to his lips, and kissed them. She caught her breath at the intimacy.

“If it weren’t for the strength in these hands and your prayers, I could not have done this tonight.”

She stared down at her feet, fearful that her eyes would betray the strong feelings she had for him. “You’re an excellent surgeon, Robert.”

“Thank you, Katie-girl. I’m glad you have such a high opinion of me.” He kissed her forehead and stood back, a wry smile on his face. “Now, if only there was a way to carry you around in my pocket every time I performed surgery, I could start practicing medicine again.”

22

They jump and sing and dance and shout,

to pass away the time,

to pass away the lonely hours

while working in the pine.

“Shanty Boys in the Pine”
—1800s shanty song

December 25, 1867

Christmas Day was always the saddest day of the year in a lumber camp. Robert had seen it time and again. No matter what pains the cook took to provide a special meal—and Katie and Jigger were apparently in the process of outdoing themselves—homesickness ran deep. Unable to go home, even the hardiest woodsman grew nostalgic and pined for loved ones—real or imagined.

The men never worked on Christmas Day. They spent it like they spent their Sundays—washing clothes, smoking pipes, telling tales, and reading the
Police Gazette
or various dog-eared dime paperbacks.

“Want to see a picture of my girl?” Ernie handed Robert a tintype of a narrow-faced woman with a stern expression. She did have a bow in her hair, which Robert hoped indicated a more fun-loving disposition than what he saw in her face.

“She’s very pretty,” Robert said politely.

“Naw, she’s not pretty, but she is a hard worker,” Ernie said. “And she’s not against Cletus living with us when we get married. A man could do worse.” He sighed and slipped the picture back into his pocket. “You suppose Skypilot is gonna pull through?”

“I hope so.”

“That was something—what he did.” Ernie pulled out his nose warmer and stuffed tobacco into the little pipe. “I never thought he’d make it to your little girl in time. I didn’t know a man could run so fast.”

“I didn’t see her until it was too late,” Robert said. “I wish it had been me who got hurt instead of him.”

“But Skypilot couldn’t have operated on
you
.” Ernie lit his pipe with a coal from the bunkhouse stove. “How come you ain’t a doctor no more?”

“I was a surgeon during the war. After about the thousandth amputated leg, I just couldn’t make my hands operate anymore.”

“Ain’t none of us come out of that war the same as we went in.” Ernie drew hard on his pipe. “Me and Cletus was at Antietam. He ain’t been right ever since. Cletus was never all that bright, but it was after that battle he started talking to those little wood creatures he carved.”

A long look of understanding passed between the two men. Antietam had been one of the bloodiest battles of the war. Nothing more needed to be said.

“Say.” Ernie knocked the ashes out of his pipe and returned to everyone’s favorite subject. “I wonder what Katie’s cooking tonight?”

“Last time I checked on Skypilot, Katie told me to stay out and not let anyone else in.”

“Well, that weren’t very polite.”

Robert laughed. “I think she and the children might be cooking up a surprise for us. Ned and Thomas looked like a couple of cats who’d swallowed a canary.”

Ernie’s face lit up. “Wonder what they’re up to?”

“With Katie, who knows?”

“Speaking of cats.” Ernie nodded toward the corner. “You certain that’s what that animal in there is?”

The large orange cat glowered in its cage, mortally offended by the fact that it was incarcerated. Robert and the men had faithfully fed it scraps and tried to tame it—but it had razor-sharp claws and an ugly disposition. He was afraid that the surprise he had asked Sam to bring from Bay City for Katie’s Christmas was
not
going to be a success.

The amount of dishes on the dining table was staggering. It was everything she could think of to make and more. Jigger had surprisingly added the “more.” He had worked beside her all day without complaint, and she had gotten to see firsthand that the man truly knew how to cook.

“Stew’s done.” He speared a small chunk of venison from the bubbling vat. Henri had killed, cleaned, and proudly brought in the fresh meat early that morning. “I’m makin’ the dumplings now.”

He whipped together the dumpling dough and began dropping spoonfuls into the aromatic brown liquid.

“If you’ll move to the side, I’ll take the turkeys out of the oven,” she said. “They should be finished.”

Jigger obediently stepped aside. All was harmony in the kitchen as the two cooks prepared a feast.

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.