The Measure of Katie Calloway,: A Novel (23 page)

Today the men had found a curiosity—an ancient oak so large it must have been growing there for hundreds of years. It was hollow from rot, but the outer wood was still strong. When they found it, Cletus mentioned that it would make a good playhouse.

That comment stuck with him. During their noon meal, Robert took an axe and widened the rotted-out opening at the base of the tree. The inside of the tree was the size of a small room. Working with his hands, he cleared out the debris from the inside and created a clean, aromatic floor with fresh wood chips and sawdust.

The men watched what he was doing with interest.

“You planning on hibernating in that tree this winter, boss?” Tinker teased.

“No.” Robert laughed. “It’s for the children. I’m thinking it might be good to invite them all out for a winter picnic.”

Skypilot rose from his seat. With a few well-placed swings of his axe, he turned the doorway into a giant heart.

“There,” he said with satisfaction. “Christmas is coming up. Let’s give them something to remember.”

Today, Carrie Sherwood, the wealthy young widow he had been hoping to court, had announced her engagement to Harold Swank, a lowly private who worked as a handyman around her plantation.

If it weren’t for Katherine, he would probably already be married to the woman and making plans for the use of her money.

On top of every other indignity he had endured, he had recently learned that Mose, a slave he had once owned, had returned and was living at old Mrs. Hammond’s place. Mose had somehow managed to get himself a wagon and a team of fine horses. He was earning good wages hauling for various sharecroppers in the area while Harlan had nothing.

He wasn’t stupid. He saw what was happening. He was turning into a laughingstock in his own hometown—and there was only one person to blame. Marrying that Yankee had been the biggest mistake of his life.

20

With axes on our shoulders

we’ll make the woods resound,

and many a tall and stately tree

will come tumbling to the ground.

“Once More A-Lumbering Go”
—1800s shanty song

Over the next few days, many of the men, homesick for their families, had added their own touches to the hollow tree.

Tinker made a small table. From the store back at the camp, Inkslinger donated three wooden boxes that had once held chewing tobacco to be used as seats. The final day, the morning of Christmas Eve, Ernie nailed balsam branches in an arc over the doorway as a sort of rough decoration.

Far from their families, with only other lonely shanty boys for company, the Christmas season was always hard on the men, a time when frustration was close to the surface and fights could break out over nothing. Somehow, preparing this surprise tempered all of that.

Robert was surprised to discover, when he entered the ancient tree to deposit the presents he had purchased for the children, that some of the men had already added gifts of their own. Someone had whittled three small wooden plates and cups along with miniature forks and spoons. A new, red handkerchief was spread out as a miniature tablecloth. A tiny doll made of braided straw lay on one of the plates. A colt carved of hickory kicked up its heels on another. A tiny kitten sat beside the doll. A tiny wooden dog, curled up as though asleep, sat on the last.

The people in town saw the shanty boys at their worst, cut loose from the isolation of the pine, with money in their pockets and mayhem in their hearts. He got to see them at their best.

The top of the tree had broken off long ago, and as it neared noon and the sun rose overhead, light filtered down through the hole, illuminating the little table with a shaft of sunlight as though God himself was blessing this Christmas offering.

Robert added the small sacks of candy he had picked up during his last trip to town. Then he backed out of the tree and looked at it with satisfaction. This was the kind of thing he would have loved as a child. He hoped the children’s enthusiasm would match the giving hearts of the shanty boys who had tried to create a Christmas for them out of the little they had.

“Hello the camp!” Katie called out merrily from beside the lunch sled. Moon Song was beaming inside the heavy, man’s coat he had asked Sam to purchase for her at Katie’s request. The girl also glanced down admiringly at her new thick boots that Sam had added. Jigger, to his surprise, had come along as well.

Robert had broken the news to Katie that he could not find a cat to buy anywhere. It was true. He had not been able to
purchase
a cat, but Sam had been offered one for
free
—a barn cat that the owner had insisted was an excellent mouser.

The cat was, at this moment, sitting in the bunkhouse rattling the cage Sam had gotten for it. The thing had quite a fighting spirit. Robert still had the scratches from trying to put it back inside the cage once he found out how wild it was. He hoped this meant it would be a good mouser. If not, his intended Christmas gift to Katie would be a dismal failure.

The children were rosy-cheeked and glowing from their walk. He glanced around and saw that two burly shanty boys were deliberately blocking the children’s view of the playhouse.

Betsy ran toward him through the snow and threw herself into his arms. “Katie said you have a surprise for us!”

“Did she now?” Robert winked at Katie. “Did she tell you what it was?”

“No.” Betsy pouted. “She said she didn’t know.”

Robert told all three children to cover their eyes, and then he placed them facing the entrance to the playhouse. They could hardly stand still as Robert motioned the two loggers to stand aside.

“You can look now.”

“Oh!” The children’s gasps of wonder were everything he and the other men had hoped for. They rushed toward the tree and clambered inside, exclaiming over each discovery.

Betsy came running back out with the little doll and headed straight for Katie. “Look!” she said.

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart.” Katie looked around at the ring of men. “Who made this?”

“My grandmere teached me,” Henri said. “Long, long time ago in Quebec. I think maybe I forget how—but I remember!”

“I think you better go thank Henri, honey,” she said.

Betsy ran to Henri, who stooped down low so she could hug his neck. He smiled happily. Then she ran back inside the tree to see what other wonders it held.

Ned came out reverently holding the exquisite little horse.

“I believe that’s Cletus’s work, son,” Robert said.

“It’s beautiful.” Ned walked over to Cletus, the carving cradled in his hand. “How do you do this?”

“His name is Poppy.” Cletus lovingly ran a finger over the tiny colt. “He likes to run.”

Robert knew how hard it must have been for Cletus to give Poppy away, and a lump formed in his throat at the sacrifice.

“Could you teach me?” Ned asked. “I have a pocketknife.”

“Sure!” Cletus’s face lit up. “I can teach you real good.”

Thomas, wearing a worried expression, walked over to his father. Robert got down on one knee so he could be face to face with his boy. “What’s wrong, son?”

The little boy uncurled his hand. He was clutching the tiny dog. “Is this for me?” he said. “To keep?”

“Ask Cletus.”

“His name is Hunter,” Cletus said.

“Thank you.” Thomas was enthralled with the little dog.

Cletus, happy with the boys’ response, ducked his head into the opening of the playhouse and told Betsy, “There’s a kitty in there. Her name is Buttons.”

Robert smiled at the sound of Betsy’s happy squeal.

“I brought somethin’ too.” Jigger produced a worn checker set from a sack he had carried along with him. “I’ll teach you young’uns to play—that’ll be my present.”

Betsy came back out and motioned for her father to bend down. “There’s candy too!” she whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Can I have a piece?”

At that moment, Ernie’s stomach growled. The men laughed as he looked startled and grabbed his offending middle.

“Why don’t you wait until after we have dinner before you eat the candy, sweetie,” Katie said. “I have baked beans, corn bread, and raisin-filled cookies.”

She pulled out tin plates and opened the containers of food while the children ran back inside of their Christmas playhouse. After the men had all dished up lunch and were seated on various stumps and logs around the fire, she called to the children to come get theirs.

Robert loved it when he saw them coming with the little wooden plates and cups he knew Tinker had made.

“Tell Tinker thank you,” he said. “He’s the one who made those for you, and the table too.”

Tinker had to balance his food in one hand while each of the children gave him a hug, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s all right.” He grinned and patted each child’s back in turn. “That’s all right.”

The children’s happy laughter and chatter coming from their playhouse was like music to Robert and the men. He noticed several with quiet smiles on their faces while they ate.

He allowed the dinner break to last a little longer than usual. It was cold today, but it was sunny and clear. The men lounged around, enjoying the hot tea from the kettle hung from the tripod while their food digested. Even Moon Song seemed to relish the camaraderie as she sat on the stump, rocking the baby to sleep and chatting with Henri in French.

Katie was cheerfully making the men guess what she would be serving for Christmas supper tomorrow—traditionally the best meal served all year. She seemed at home in this setting. In spite of the hard work and privations, she, like the children, seemed to be thriving in this rough atmosphere.

This struck him as slightly odd. He knew from observing his own mother and other women who had survived their husbands, that widowhood was not an easy thing. His mother had seemed determined to bring his deceased father into every conversation for years afterward, exalting him to a sainthood he had never enjoyed in life—not even by his wife.

Katie had never mentioned her husband. Not even once.

He had a feeling his lovely, talented cook was hiding something. He just hoped he discovered what it was before he allowed himself to fall any deeper in love with her.

Katie needed to get back to start supper, but the children begged to be allowed to stay longer.

“I’ll keep an eye on ’em,” Jigger promised. “It’s been a long time since I was out in the woods with the men. I’ll keep the fire going so’s they can warm up if they need to.”

“Robert?” she asked. “What do you think?”

“It’s all right with me if they stay.”

Somewhat relieved, Katie left for the camp. She had an enormous amount of work to do before tonight, and having the children gone
would
make things easier.

As she and Moon Song plodded through the snow, dragging the emptied dinner sled behind them, she planned her meal down to the last morsel for tonight. In anticipation of it being Christmas Eve, she had already baked several layers of a cake she planned to stack and decorate with vanilla icing. It would be quite an eye-catcher when she was finished with it—the fanciest thing she had yet attempted in camp. The children would love it.

And, of course, Robert would also be impressed. Which was the main reason she was attempting such a towering confection. His praise for her was becoming an obsession. She hungered for it as much as the shanty boys hungered for her flapjacks every morning. Every kind word Robert had ever uttered to her, every compliment, she turned over and over in her mind like jewels. She was ashamed to admit how starved for kind words she had been.

Yes, tonight, her cake would be a marvel of engineering and beauty, and Robert would be impressed by her expertise. She could hardly wait to get started.

“Timberrrr!”

Robert jerked his axe away from the base of the tree and stepped back, listening to the satisfying cracking sound as the remaining fibers of the tree broke away and the giant pine hovered before it began its long, crashing descent through the surrounding tree limbs. He was the other half of a two-man axe team with Skypilot today.