The Measure of Katie Calloway,: A Novel (27 page)

“That’s enough!” she said. “Stop it!”

He was surprised. She, of all people, must want this man permanently gone from her life.

The men stopped, surprised at the command in Katie’s voice.

“The children.” Katie nodded at a far corner.

Everyone looked at the three children huddled together. They had their arms around each other and were more frightened than Robert had ever seen them.

They were watching men they looked up to, men who had lovingly created a playhouse for them, men who had carried them on their shoulders—now single-mindedly beating a man to death.

The men backed away, leaving Harlan lying on the floor. He was bruised and battered but able to sit up.

“I’ll come back,” he growled between split and bleeding lips. “And I’ll kill all of you.”

Robert picked up the Kerr revolvers from where they were lying on the floor. “You’ve outstayed your welcome, Mr. Calloway.”

Harlan started to reach for the bag of coins, still sitting on the table.

“Leave the money. I’m sure your wife earned it many times over.”

As Harlan flung himself out the door and rode away, Tinker walked over to the window and watched the departing soldier.

“I seen that man before,” Tinker told them. “Wished I hadn’t, but I seen him, all right.”

“Where?” Robert asked.

“At the battle of Spotsylvania. I fought under General right.” Tinker sank down on the bench. “I’m sorry to say this, Miss Katie, but I watched that man walk through the battlefield after the Confederates beat us. He was finishing off Northern wounded like it was nothing. Never saw anything like it before or since. I managed to crawl behind a tree before he saw me.”

“You got away?” Katie asked.

“No. Some other Johnny Reb found me and toted me on over to Camp Sumter.”

“The POW camp at Andersonville?” Robert asked. “They let soldiers starve to death in there.”

“Around thirteen thousand of them. I helped bury some of them.”

“How in the world did you survive, man?”

Tinker’s snow white hair crowning a young face was vivid in the lamplight. “Who says I did?”

“He’d better never show his face around here again,” Blackie said. “We’ll be ready for him if he comes again. Won’t be no offer of food and drink, neither.”

“Tryin’ to take our Katie away from us,” Jigger said indignantly. “Who’s he think he is?”

“And talking about Ned thataway.” Ernie said. “Any man with half a brain would want to call that boy his son!”

“And what Tinker saw him do.” Sam stared out the window. “That’s lower than a snake’s belly.”

Moon Song came out of Skypilot’s room, cooing over the baby in her arms. It was hard for Katie to equate this loving young mother with the wild woman who had leaped onto Harlan’s back.

She touched Moon Song’s arm. “Thank you.”

Moon Song shrugged as though it was of no importance. Or perhaps it was because she didn’t understand the English words. Katie didn’t know.

“Are you all right, Katie?” Robert rested the flat of his hand against her back as the other men’s voices faded into the background.

“I never intended to lie to you.” She turned around to face him. “But I had to get away from him. I thought this camp would be far enough away that he would never find me. I was wrong.”

“I wish I had known.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference.”

“Oh, Katie-girl.” Robert’s voice was choked with emotion. “Couldn’t you have just divorced him?”

“Harlan is a war hero and a Calloway. His relatives practically own his county. The local courts would never have listened to me.”

Robert ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I have no idea what to do except try to keep you safe. I’ll post a guard tonight.”

“No,” Katie said. “Not this time.”

“Why not?”

“This isn’t your fight, and you need every man you’ve got to harvest the timber.” She grabbed the two revolvers off the table where Robert had placed them. “These belong to my husband, and I’m claiming them. He’ll never be able to force his way through that heavy lock Blackie made me, and if he tries to come through the window—I’ll be ready for him.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sick and tired of being afraid. I’m weary of carrying fear around in the pit of my stomach. It was hard seeing Harlan again. For a few moments I fell back into that old terror—but no more. Show me how to use one of these things, Robert, because I’m never,
ever
going to allow that man to lay a hand on me again.”

24

He would not drink and he would not chew;

he would not even smoke.

But he swung his axe with the best of us,

with a firm and even stroke.

“The Greenhorn”
—1800s shanty song

December 26, 1867

Katie had decided to make cinnamon rolls this morning—great fluffy clouds of them drizzled with vanilla-flavored icing—as a special treat. It would take extra time for the dough to rise, so she needed to get to the kitchen even earlier than usual. She wanted to give everyone a special breakfast this morning. It was the only way she could think of to show how sorry she was for what Harlan had put them all through.

Regrettably, things would be awkward between her and Robert from this point on. There was simply no way to get around it. She had lied to him and been humiliated in front of him. She was also, unfortunately, in love with him. All she could do was finish out the year with as much dignity as possible.

She entered the darkened kitchen, lit a couple lamps, and began the ritual of stirring up the embers from last night into a blaze that would heat the oven.

And then she heard the whisper of a slow, steady crunching coming from the darkened side of the cook shanty. It sounded like a man’s footsteps breaking through the hard crust of snow. She crept to the window, but there was nothing there except unbroken snow stretching out into the forest.

She was puzzling about where the sound was coming from until she heard a loud hiss near her feet and saw that the crunching sound was the orange cat, consuming a mouse, bones and all.

Well, at least her Christmas present was, indeed, a mouser. No more chasing rodents around the kitchen with a broom!

Still, even though the crunching sound was only the cat having a snack, she was on edge. She did not believe for a minute that Harlan would meekly go back to Georgia. Her guess was that he was biding his time, waiting his chance to accost her when she wasn’t surrounded by a battalion of loggers.

Because of that, she knew she couldn’t let down her guard for an instant. She could not and would not expect any of Robert’s men to stay behind to protect her—things were already too precarious for him financially because of the fire. Even Blackie and Tinker were doing double duty by going out in the woods when they weren’t needed in camp.

If Harlan came while the men were out working, there would be only her, the children, Moon Song, the injured Skypilot, and Jigger. Two women, three children, an invalid, a baby, and an old man. Odds that Harlan would love.

She had lain awake thinking up ways to protect both herself and the vulnerable people who had fallen to her care. If Harlan came back, she was determined to fight.

After last night, she no longer saw the kitchen as only a place to fix food. This was where she spent most of her time, and it was filled with potential weapons. As she kneaded the dough, Katie took inventory. One meat cleaver. A heavy rolling pin. Several cast-iron skillets. Ten razor-sharp knives. A kettle of boiling water. In addition, she carried Harlan’s loaded revolvers secreted within the pockets of her voluminous skirt.

Although she was not a large woman, she was determined to stand her ground. Orange cat wasn’t very large, either, but loggers backed away every time it hissed and took swipes with its claws.

Like orange cat, she intended to scratch and claw and bite and let Harlan know that he was dealing with a different woman—a woman who would never again cower in fear from him.

She was bent over, placing another length of firewood in the stove’s firebox, when she heard the door swing open. Every muscle in her body tensed.

“Hello, Katherine,” a familiar voice drawled. “You’re alone. What a pity.”

Katie sighed in resignation. The confrontation had come even sooner than she had expected. Harlan must have been out in the woods for the past few hours, waiting for this moment. The man must be practically frozen.

“Aren’t you going to call for help?” Harlan’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You seem to have collected so many men friends.”

“No.” She closed the firebox and stood to face him. “This is between you and me. I won’t be calling for help.”

Harlan looked bad. For the first time, she noticed that his uniform was frayed. The beating he had received from the loggers had taken quite a toll as well. But it was more than the bruises she saw on his face. He looked haggard and hollow-eyed, nearly unrecognizable from the glorious young man she had once followed into the Deep South.

“What about your Indian friend?” He glanced around as though half-afraid Moon Song would drop from the ceiling.

“She’s sleeping.”

Now that he was here, Harlan seemed unsure as to what to do next. Katie stood absolutely still.

The Scripture with which she had comforted Ned their first night in camp—about God not giving her the spirit of fear—rose to mind and gave her strength. She stiffened her resolve not to back down.

Harlan took a step toward her, and her hand closed around a meat cleaver.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Harlan.” Their eyes met and hers didn’t blink. “There has been enough pain between us.”

He laughed, but his laugh sounded hollow. “You think you can hurt me?”

“Yes, Harlan.” Her voice was steady. “I know I can.”

Once again, he seemed slightly unsure of himself. He was used to her cowering and pleading. The unwritten rules between them had shifted, and he wasn’t ready for the change.

She decided to take advantage of his hesitation, to try to talk some sense into him. “I understand what you lost, Harlan. I was there. I suffered too. What Sherman did to the people in Georgia was unforgivable. I saw it. I watched the war strip you of everything you had—your wealth, your home, the only life you had ever known. But Harlan, other people have endured great losses and still found ways to live decent, good lives.”

“You Yankees destroyed everything.”

“I had no hand in it.”

“You could have tried harder to save our home. My grandfather built that mansion.”

“Your grandfather didn’t build it, Harlan. His slaves built it while he sipped sweet tea and watched.” She shook her head in disbelief at his attitude. “I stood no chance against that horde of Sherman’s soldiers. All I did was survive the best I could. The slaves had all left. I was alone. I nearly starved after his troops went through. I hated Sherman every bit as much as you.”

“You helped Mose escape.” He dismissed her attempt to reason with him and took another step forward as his cheek began to twitch. “Didn’t you. Don’t lie to me. I know you did.”

So that was that. It was not possible to reason with Harlan. It never had been. She didn’t know why she had even tried. His bitterness was too great.

“Yes,” she said. “I helped Mose. My only regret is that I didn’t help more of your slaves escape from you sooner.”

His eyes blazed. They stared at each other, and she knew that the gulf between them was something she could never bridge.

Strangely enough, she felt no fear. She looked at the dark hollows beneath his eyes, saw the ragged hair and dirty fingernails, noticed the worn and scuffed boots, and felt nothing but sadness. This man was so broken compared to the dazzling young officer she had once known, that in that split second—regardless of all that Harlan had done—her heart broke for the man he could have been. Out of that sudden burst of compassion, she said the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re hungry. Let me fix you something to eat.”

“What?” He looked at her as though she had slapped him.

“The men won’t be awake for another three hours,” she said. “You’re safe here until then. You’re hurt and you’re hungry. Let me get you something to eat.”

He seemed bewildered by her words.

“Sit down, Harlan. Let me take care of you.”

His anger seemed to evaporate. He sank down onto one of the benches.

The stove top was red hot, and it took only seconds to crack six eggs into a skillet of butter and scramble them. In the meantime she toasted two thick slices of bread, but not once did she turn her back on her husband.

She scooted the plate toward him and then stood back and watched him eat.

His good manners were gone. He reminded her of a starving dog, a mean one, who had seen too many fights and bore the still-fresh wounds.

“Why did you try to kill me?” she asked. “I would have helped you rebuild.”

“I needed money,” he said simply. “Not you.” He took a bite of bread, chewed, and then spoke with a nonchalance that was chilling. “With you dead, Carrie Sherwood would have married me and her resources would have come under my control. I could have rebuilt Fallen Oaks exactly as it was.”

Katie was not shocked. She had suspected something along those lines.

“Did Carrie know what you were planning?”

“Of course not.” He shoveled in another spoonful of eggs. “She’s a respectable woman. I would have to be a widower in truth before she would even allow me to court her.”

Everything made sense now.

The only thing that had ever been holy in Harlan’s eyes was his beloved Fallen Oaks. The plantation was what he worshiped. It was his god and his sanctuary. In his twisted mind, it would make perfect sense to eliminate her in order to save it.

“Is Carrie still single?”

“Engaged to be married in four months.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Plenty of time to change her mind and get her to marry me. As you know, I can be quite charming.”

Although she had been momentarily lulled by his beaten appearance into pitying him, she was aware that Harlan was still dangerous. She had tried to appeal to his better nature, but he was too far gone.

And yet, God was not only the God of power and a sound mind—he was also the God of love.

Still keeping an eye on Harlan, she went back to her kitchen.

“Here’s something I’ve packed for your journey.” She laid a parcel of food on the dining table. “It’s a long way back to Bay City.” From her left pocket, she withdrew the pouch of silver coins she had carried with her just in case he came back. She dropped it onto the table. “This was from the sale of your land—it doesn’t belong to me.”

He hefted it in his hand.

“Forget about gaining control of Carrie’s money. You could use this money to buy seed when you get home. You could hire some help and start over again. But you really need to quit feeling so sorry for yourself, Harlan.”

His hand struck out before she could see it coming and curled itself around her left wrist. His grip was as strong as steel. “You’re coming home with me, Katherine.”

“No.” Her right hand dove into a pocket. She withdrew the gun and pointed the muzzle straight at him. “I’m not going to do that.”

Harlan’s eyes were calculating as he stared down the barrel of his own gun. She knew he was weighing the chances of whether or not she had the nerve to pull the trigger.

“You’d better listen to her,” Skypilot said. “I believe the lady’s had enough.”

Skypilot’s splinted leg was hidden behind the doorjamb and his impressive bulk filled the doorway of Jigger’s bedroom. In his hand was a steel-tipped jam-pike that Jigger had once used during his glory days when he had ridden the logs. In the right hands, it would be a formidable weapon.

Close beside Skypilot stood Moon Song, no doubt standing there to help keep Skypilot from falling down—but Harlan didn’t know that.

Katie couldn’t imagine what strength of will Skypilot had to draw on in order to pull himself out of bed and come to her aid.

“Va t’en!”
Moon Song said.

Katie had no idea what the girl had said, but it sounded ominous. Harlan slowly released his grip. She snatched her hand away from his grasp.

“You’ve outstayed your welcome, Harlan.” She kept the gun trained on him. There was no way she was going to let him hurt Moon Song or Skypilot. She would shoot if she had to, and that determination was in her voice. “It’s time for you to go home.”