The Measure of Katie Calloway,: A Novel (18 page)

The kindness in his eyes made her stop. He wasn’t angry. In fact, Robert was smiling at her—an understanding smile, as though he could see right through to her heart.

“It’s hardly worth taking your time to read, Katie.” His smile faded, and his expression grew grim. “You say you’ve only read the beginning?”

“Yes.”

“I was quite full of myself during those first pages. It sickens me to read them now. In fact, I intended to burn the thing and just never got around to it. I look back and see myself leaving a pregnant wife and child when I didn’t have to.”

“You did what was necessary.”

“No, I did what I wanted to do. The life of being a small town doctor wasn’t enough. I thought I was cut out for bigger things. I actually felt like a hero, marching off to war to save my fellow man. By the end of the war, I felt like the worst kind of butcher, removing bullets, stitching together wounds with unsterilized catgut, and amputating men’s limbs for hours at a time without proper sanitation or anesthesia. Another doctor and I operated in one private house near a battlefield until the floor was so saturated with blood that a river of it ran down the staircase and out the door. I knew how to save them—many of them—but I didn’t have the tools, or the help, or the stamina to do all that I knew to do. I watched men die of gangrene for lack of the proper care. I watched other doctors moistening stitching thread with their own saliva and sharpening surgical knives on the soles of their boots—and there was nothing I could do. While I amputated limbs and handed out plugs of opium to keep the men from dying of dysentery, my wife died giving birth to my daughter—and I know that she never would have gotten ill had I been there. You have my permission to read the rest of it, but I promise you, my journal is not something you will enjoy.”

“I’m so sorry you went through all that, Robert. But why cut timber?”

“Because it isn’t medicine. Because I don’t have to hold a scalpel in my hand. Because I have to make a living and the only other thing I know is timber. I grew up working in the camps with my father. Lumber put me through medical school.”

“You still have your surgical kit, though.”

“You
are
a curious little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “My father bought me that kit when I graduated from medical school. It’s a good one. He had it shipped all the way from England. I guess I keep it because of that reason alone.”

“Will you ever practice medicine again?”

He looked out at the lake and the trees and was silent for a very long time. “I wish I knew the answer to that, Katie. All I know now is that I am no longer capable of surgery.” He held his hands out in front of him. They were strong and steady. “These hands can swing an axe or bridle a horse or do practically anything except hold a scalpel anymore. When I try, they shake as if I had palsy. I have no idea how to make it stop—but if I were to attempt to do surgery now, the patient would not live. Like most of the men out here, I’m just doing the best I can to survive.”

With a few greenbacks borrowed from a cousin, Harlan decided to head north. It had occurred to him that Katherine, timid mouse that she was, would no doubt flee to what was left of her family still living up in Pennsylvania. He knew he would have no trouble ferreting her out. He chuckled as he headed north. It would be good to see Katherine again. He was already savoring the fear he knew he would see in her eyes when he found her.

16

For I don’t care for rich or poor,

I’m not for strife and grief;

I’m ragged, fat, and lousy, and

as tough as Spanish beef.

“The Jolly Shanty Boy”
—1800s shanty song

October 18, 1867

It had been five days since Robert and the two teamsters had gone to town. With him in camp, she felt secure and safe. With him gone, she felt threatened and unsettled. There were too many men. Big men. Rough men. Loud men. It felt as though there were always hungry eyes staring at her while she went about her work. Without Robert there, she felt exposed and vulnerable.

She wondered what was taking him so long. Then there was a shout and the glorious sound of a wagon and horses drawing into camp. She ran to the door. Mose and Robert had returned, bringing with them—it couldn’t be! Were her eyes deceiving her? No wonder it had taken them so long to come back!

Robert was tired and cranky and angry at himself for being such a dolt. He had been on the road two long days trying to get this blamed cow back to the camp. He couldn’t make her go any faster than a slow amble for fear she would go dry. Add to that the milking twice a day and the time to graze whatever clump of grass they happened upon along the way, and he was fit to be tied.

And then there were the chickens. He had no idea if they would ever lay again after being carted around in those cages for so long. The constant squawking at each bump in the road had practically driven him to distraction. He was not cut out to be a farmer.

At least the two piglets hadn’t been much trouble. They had happily slurped up all the cow’s milk Robert had provided. He was hoping to fatten them up enough to butcher right before the spring drive when the men would need all the meat they could get.

He knew that it had only been wishful thinking on Katie’s part when she mentioned him bringing back livestock, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. If the cow stayed fresh, the milk would be a welcome addition to the table, and fresh eggs had all sorts of possibilities.

He and Mose had gone to Saginaw where, in addition to picking up other supplies, he knew a farmer who might be willing to part with some of his animals. He’d sent Sam on in to Bay City to pick up some boxes of tobacco late in being delivered to his house, and more feed for the mules and horses. It had all seemed like a good, common-sense plan.

Now, however, he felt foolish coming into camp with a cow tied behind his wagon, her full udder swinging, the bell around her neck clanging, the chickens clucking, and the piglets grunting. Unfortunately, he’d managed to time his arrival just as the men were coming out of the woods for supper. They stood around, avidly watching, grinning with amusement. He knew that tonight, he would be hearing plenty of humorous comments about his arrival.

He had a Harvard education, was a skilled and experienced surgeon, and knew how to run a fairly successful lumber camp, but at the moment he felt as nervous as a green boy as he wondered how Katie would react to his gifts.

And then he saw her bolt out of the cookhouse, petticoats flying, running toward him with a look of ecstasy on her face. For a moment he thought she was simply happy to see him, until she passed him by without so much as a glance and threw her arms around the cow he had tied onto the back of his wagon.

“Hello, you beautiful thing!” She buried her face in the cow’s neck. “What’s her breed?”

“The farmer I bought her from called her a Milking Shorthorn.”

“I’m going to take such good care of you, Miss Shorthorn!”

Then she rushed up to inspect the chickens. At her approach, they set up a flurry of protests and flapping of wings. Robert watched as she reached into a cage and drew out a hen, tucked the biddy beneath her arm, and began to stroke its head as she walked toward him.

“I can’t believe you did this!” Her eyes were shining with happiness. “I’ve missed having animals to care for so much.”

“That’s not all.” Robert was suddenly feeling much better about having dragged livestock all the way from Saginaw. He pulled one of the piglets out of the basket at his feet. “I brought you two of these.”

“Oh!” Katie stuffed the squawking chicken back into the cage and reached out her arms for the piglet. “Let me have it!”

The piglet was still small enough to be cute, and she kissed it on the top of its head. “You say you brought me two of these?”

“I did.” He grinned, savoring her happiness. He had seen Katie concentrating on her work, he had seen her awestruck by the beauty of the lake and pine, he had watched her compassionate and tender with Ned and Moon Song, and he had seen her, many times, annoyed with Jigger—but he had not yet seen her happy. And to think, all it had taken was a cow, a few chickens, and some pigs.

“What will I name them?” She cuddled the piglet like a baby as the men gathered around.

“How about Dinner and Supper?” Tinker suggested, winking at the other men.

Katie made a face. “Try again.”

Tinker scratched his chin and pretended to think. “I know! Bacon and Sausage?”

“I’ll come up with something, but not that. Which of you men are going to build me a pen to keep them in?”

All raised their hands.

“And I’ll need a chicken coop. These biddies will need a good place to shelter before it gets any colder.”

“That coop’ll have to be strong,” Blackie said. “Else panthers’ll get ’em or bears.”

“Tinker will see to it,” Robert said. “Katie, I think these men would like to be fed and I know I would.”

“Oh, my goodness. I forgot what I was doing.” She handed the piglet back to him, standing on her tiptoes to reach up to the wagon seat. “Thank you,” she whispered as the men wandered into the cook shanty. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” Her eyes were shining but filled with yearning. An instant later she was gone—back to her work. Leaving him dumbfounded by what he had seen written on her face. That was the way a woman looked at a man she loved—not at a camp boss who had just brought her a few chickens.

“You never brought me a cow,” Jigger complained when Robert entered the dining room.

“You never asked for one.”

“If I’d a’ had a cow and some chickens, I coulda made some fancier stuff last winter.”

“Your meals were fine.” Robert sat down and reached for a bowl of fluffy mashed potatoes. “Let it go, man.”

Jigger’s jealousy over Katie’s skill still appeared to be simmering, but unlike Mainer, Robert couldn’t just send him away. There was a loyalty factor to be considered. Jigger had worked for his father thirty-odd years and sometimes dredged up old stories about him—stories Robert treasured.

Dealing with people was messy. Relationships in a lumber camp could be a headache. He hoped Jigger’s latest snit would pass soon.

He had just taken a forkful of raisin pie when the door of the cook shanty flew open so hard it bounced against the wall. A woman stood there, framed against the setting sun, her fists firmly placed on her hips.

“Robert Rutherford Foster! I want to talk to you.”

It was his sister.

The men all turned and inspected the tall, thin woman with great interest. He didn’t blame them. His sister, Sarah, favored shiny black material for her clothing. Combined with her severely pulled-back black hair and her slightly beaked nose, she reminded him of a crow. Her voice even had a sort of caw to it when she was upset—and she was definitely upset.

Behind her stood Sam, looking a little wild-eyed. Evidently, she had decided to catch a ride to camp with the poor man. The big question was why on earth was she here? And who was caring for his children back in Bay City?

“Sam.” He stood up from the table. “After you take care of the mules, come have some supper.”

Before Sarah could say anything else, Robert took her elbow and firmly escorted his sister outside and pulled the door shut behind them.

“What in the world is the matter?” he asked. “Are the children all right?”

“The children are in the wagon,” she answered. “Along with their possessions and their clothing. It is time they lived with their father.”

He felt like she had hit him with a two-by-four. “They can’t stay here,” he said. “There’s no school and no one to care for them while I work.”

“That is no longer my concern.” She sniffed. “I have other things to occupy my time now.”

“What other things?”

“I have a beau,” Sarah said with pride. “He has proposed marriage. But he thinks it best we start our life together without the children.”

Robert was dumbfounded. His sister had been so humorless and unbending her entire life, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry her.

“I was waiting,” she said, “for you to come in for supplies—and then I planned to send the children back with you.”

“I went to Saginaw with my other teamster.”

“It would have saved me a very difficult trip.” She sniffed, then looked at him closely for the first time. “What happened to your face?”

“You oughta see the other fellow,” he joked.

As usual, Sarah saw nothing funny.

“Have you been brawling again, Robert?”

No matter how old he got or how successful he might become, his older sister had a way of making him feel like an unruly boy.

“I fired a logger, but he didn’t want to go.”

“Well, no matter.” She waved a hand. “You can have your teamster take me back tomorrow morning, although I must say, he’s certainly no conversationalist.”

Robert wondered if Sarah’s refined sensibilities could withstand Sam’s idea of conversation, and he gave the man credit for keeping his mouth closed.

“Have you thought this over?” Robert asked. “Are you sure you want to marry this man?”

Her face softened. “I’m forty-three years old, Robert. When am I going to get another offer?”

“Do you love him?”

“He’s clean. He has a respectable job—as a butcher. We get along all right. That’s enough for me.”

“Papa!” Five-year-old Betsy, growing impatient, climbed out of the wagon and came running into his outstretched arms.

“Hello, sugar!” He swooped her up and nuzzled her neck. She smelled so good. His seven-year-old son came and stood near.

“Thomas.” With Betsy on his arm, he ruffled his son’s hair. In spite of the circumstances under which they had come, it was good to see his children again. He’d missed them, even more than he had realized.

“Father.” Thomas stood ramrod straight before him, already a little man.

“I shall need overnight accommodations,” Sarah pointed out.

“You can have my bed.” Neither of them had seen Katie come outside. “Ned and Moon Song and I can sleep on the floor of the cook shanty.”

“That’s very accommodating, dear, but who in the world are
you
?” Sarah asked.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Katie apologized. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I just saw that another woman had come into camp and I wanted to welcome you.”

“This is my sister, Miss Sarah Foster, and my children, Betsy and Thomas,” Robert said. “Sarah, children—this is Katie Smith, our cook.”

Sarah looked Katie over with interest. “I’ll be grateful for the use of your bed for one night. I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.” She glanced at Robert. “Without the children.”