The Measure of Katie Calloway,: A Novel (26 page)

“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?”

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.