The Measure of Katie Calloway,: A Novel (21 page)

“What did Robert shout to Thomas?” Sarah asked. “I couldn’t hear.”

“He said to trust him.”

There was no light of hope in Sarah’s eyes. “Then I guess that’s all we can do.”

Katie put her arms around all three of the children and drew them to her.

Trust me, Robert had said.

Trust him?

If she had ever met a man she thought she could trust, it would be Robert Foster. The problem was, the fire was flying toward them so fast it was hard to even think, let alone trust. As she held the children, she closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance. It was hard to pray, because the crackling of flames was now so distracting, she couldn’t see any way, short of a miracle, that they could survive.

And then she opened her eyes and saw something so beautiful and brave, she could hardly believe what her eyes were telling her. Out in the lake the men who were most skilled at riding the logs were forcing them to come together, one by one.

Ernie rolled his log lengthwise flat against Cletus’s. Then he used his hooked peavey to latch onto the log upon which his brother was standing. Cletus reciprocated by digging his into Ernie’s. This made the two logs beneath them stabilize. Tinker rolled a third log over and secured it flat against Ernie’s. Klaas thunked his against Cletus’s and latched on. Then Henri brought his up against Klaas’s, and O’Neal followed suit.

The moment any two logs came together, the man upon it secured it to the one next to him by digging the curved spike of his peavey into his neighbor’s. Those woodsmen who were not as adept at riding the logs now climbed aboard and stitched the logs more firmly together by using only their sheer muscle and those amazing hooked tools.

A crude raft was materializing right before her eyes.

“An old trick.” Jigger came up beside her. “When the river drivers are riding the river, a couple of ’em will latch onto one another’s log when they get to a straight stretch and make a two-log raft to float down the river for a while. It gives ’em a rest from balancing so they can better handle the rough patches later.”

“You knew this was what they were planning all along?”

“It’s been done before.” He spit, the ever-present wad of chaw tucked into his cheek, even in a crisis. “Forget the cow. She’ll either swim or run. Better get those kids on the raft, and quick.”

A gust of wind blew a leaf of ash against her face. “Come on.” She grabbed Betsy and Thomas and ran toward the lake with Ned and Moon Song right behind her.

Skypilot and Robert were frantically weaving lengths of rope between the logs, stitching them together the best they could. It was hard to accomplish because the logs were so huge. It involved both of them spending much time fumbling around beneath the raft, completely submerged in water, blindly searching for openings. As they worked, other shanty boys started tossing their peaveys onto the logs and climbed on. With their added strength, the raft became more stable.

“We can hold it, boss,” Sam said. “Leave the rope and let’s get out of here.”

“Let’s hope it will hold.” Robert tied a knot in the lengths of rope they had managed to secure. “Jigger—get the women and children down here.”

The logs were wet and rough and nearly impossible to climb upon. The raft bobbed crazily with the shifting weight. Robert and Skypilot stood in waist-deep icy water, ready to help anyone who couldn’t get on by themselves.

Betsy, terrified, clung to her father as he lifted her up.

“Not now, sweetheart.” He forcibly pulled her away from him and shoved her into the arms of Blackie, who stood above to help lift the children to safety. “Come here, Thomas. I told you I was coming for you. Be a brave boy, now.”

Ned and the sack of blankets were handed up next. Ned crouched, holding onto the bundle.

“I shall never forgive you for this, Robert,” Sarah said as she struggled onto the raft with her brother’s help.

“If we don’t get out to the middle quick,” he said, glancing up at the sky, which was now as bright as the sunniest day, “you might not need to.”

Skypilot helped Moon Song up, the baby still securely tied to his mother’s back.

Robert grabbed Katie around the waist and lifted her onto the bobbing raft without bothering to ask permission. She had not realized how strong he was until the moment she felt herself deposited upon a slippery log. Jigger complained that he could climb up on his own, but Skypilot lifted the old man in his arms like an infant and deposited him on the raft as well.

Then Robert leaped up, grabbed a peavey, and helped anchor a log that Sam was straining to control. As those loggers already on the raft helped hold it together, the rest of the men pushed it out into the water. When it became too deep, the powerful men began to thrash their legs, struggling mightily to shove the ungainly thing into the middle of the lake. Finally, they were able to climb on and add their strength to holding the logs together.

Katie hunkered down on a giant log, her knees drawn up beneath her soaked flannel nightgown, clutching Ned to her side. On the other side of her, Jigger was starting to shiver.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

Jigger shook his head, his body trembling from the cold. She scooted closer to him and wrapped both arms around the sodden old man. She was shocked at how thin he felt in her arms. She realized that, in spite of his bluster and boasts, he was more frail than she had ever realized.

“Ned,” she said, “give me a blanket.”

The little boy pulled one out, and she wrapped it around the old man.

“Get on the other side of Jigger, Ned, and help me keep him warm.”

Ned obediently wrapped his arms around Jigger, and together, the three of them held on to one another while the cold, wet logs moved and swayed.

As the fire roared toward them, she could hear trees crashing in the distance. Sarah clutched Thomas and Betsy, her eyes wide with fear. Moon Song sat nearby, her baby in her lap, ignoring its cries as she fashioned a sling she apparently planned to tie high on her back, preparing to attempt to try to swim without drowning the child.

Above Jigger and the women and children, the stalwart woodsmen stood like grim statues, peaveys crisscrossed, straining to keep the heavy logs from drifting apart. Robert’s muscles were set like stone as he stood above Sarah and his children, forcing the logs to stay together.

“Take the other blankets and get them wet, Katie,” he demanded. “Then throw them over you and the others. This is going to be bad.”

Jigger wasn’t shivering quite as hard now. With much difficulty, Katie crawled over the rough logs, bruising and skinning her knees and legs along the way, until she could dip the rest of the blankets in the water. Gathering Moon Song, Sarah, and the children all together around Jigger, she covered everyone with the drenched blankets.

It was a desperate situation. No one said a word. It was as though everyone on the raft was holding their breath as they waited to see if they would live or die.

Katie marveled at the fact that the men were putting their own lives at stake in order to rescue her and the others. She knew that the loggers would be safer in the water, half-submerged, clinging to a log, their heads barely above the water. Instead, they held fast. She had never seen such courage.

There was Henri of the fiddle and merry spirit—now grim-faced and trying to hold on to his end of a log, even though the raft was constantly shifting beneath everyone’s weight. Somehow, even in the midst of the chaos, he had managed to tie his red sash crookedly about his middle. Inkslinger held on to a peavey—his face as solemn as ever. Klaas, his blond hair glinting in the unnaturally bright light, his sturdy legs set far apart, reminded her of a picture of a Viking she had once seen.

Blackie seemed almost cheerful as he added the strength of a blacksmith to the human chain. “Come on, boys—this ain’t nothing,” he shouted, but he was not a young man, and Katie could see the cords of his muscles straining with the effort to hold the raft steady.

Cletus was grinning with childlike wonder at the glowing horizon. His brother Ernie was standing near, watching his brother with concern.

“That’s pretty.” Cletus pointed at the encroaching horizon. “Don’t you think that’s pretty, Ernie?”

“Yes, Cletus,” Ernie said gently. “It’s real pretty.”

Katie saw that there were tears streaming down Ernie’s face.

And yet the man held firm.

These men, these rough, uncouth, tobacco-spitting, lip-smacking, cursing, stinking men—some of whom she had been half-afraid—grew to hero stature in her eyes as they stood their ground against the danger, holding the strange raft together. She wondered how long these men could endure. If they lost their grip, or their courage, she and the others would tumble into the lake with nothing to save themselves with except the spinning logs.

“Don’t you worry none, missus.” Mose was crouched nearby with the spike of a peavey dug into a log. “Anything goes wrong, you and the boy grab aholt of ol’ Mose here. I can hang on to one of these big old logs for a long, long time.”

A lump rose in her throat; she could barely speak. “Thank you, Mose,” she choked out.

The fire sounded like a million howling wolves as it came toward them. Smoke swirled over the water while everyone watched for the fire to appear. Animals began to swim out into the lake. Fearful of being capsized, Skypilot had to shove away a wild-eyed, antlered deer that was trying to climb onto the raft. The deer gave up and swam to shore, where it disappeared into the woods opposite the fire.

And then flames burst out upon the shore. It was a terrifying sight—the giant trees suddenly engulfed in towering, swirling flames.

Katie had heard of forest fires so intense that houses spontaneously combusted from the sheer heat long before the actual flames reached them. She and the others were not safe here. Not by a long shot. Not even in the middle of the lake.

“Father, please,” Katie whispered, gripping Jigger and Ned tighter.

“Sweet Jesus!” Skypilot faced the fire, raised his hand in the air, and shouted, “Have mercy upon these innocent children!”

“Lord of mercy!” Sarah cried. “Save us!”

Henri made the sign of the cross with one hand while gripping the peavey with the other. Hardened shanty boys, men whom Katie would have bet money had never seen the inside of a church, mumbled prayers. Surprisingly enough, so did Jigger.

She glanced at Robert. His eyes were closed, but his lips moved in silent supplication.

Her precious Shorthorn stood at the river’s edge, bawling with fear, but she could do nothing for it. She doubted it would survive. She doubted that any of them would survive.

The heat was blistering against her face now. She could feel it drying out the sodden blanket she had draped around her. No one was cold now. It felt as though a giant, fire-breathing dragon crouched on the edge of the lake, blowing fire at them, licking their faces with its flames. Still the woodsmen stood firm, closing their eyes against the inevitable.

As the heat of the fire began to wash over them, she realized there was no hope unless they all went into the water. She also knew that the loggers would never jump in to save themselves as long as the women and children were still on the raft.

In her opinion, drowning was preferable to being burned alive. She began to crawl toward the edge of the raft, pulling Jigger and Ned with her, planning to plunge beneath the water before the fire could engulf them.

And then she felt the strangest thing.

A welcome coolness caressed her damp nightgown.

She opened her eyes and looked about her. There was a wind—a wind that held the hint of rain—blowing against the fire.

Could it be? The loggers were all staring at the sky, a glimmer of hope in their faces. A thunderclap ripped through the air and lightning shattered the darkness behind them.

Then she felt a drop of rain.

The heavens opened. A downpour drenched the raft. Never in her life had water felt so welcome. Katie could see a visible line of rain as it raced across the lake, blown by the wind, into the trees on the other side—the trees she had watched ignite. She lifted her face to the life-giving rain and drank it in.

The Lord of rain and sky and earth and fire had heard the prayers of the women and children and rough loggers and had chosen to save them.

It took a great deal of effort for the men to maneuver the raft back to shore in the rain, but soon, they were waist deep again. The loggers continued to hold tight while Robert jumped off and he and Skypilot helped lift everyone except the loggers off the raft. Katie was the last, and when Robert reached his arms up to her, she went into them gratefully.

“Are you all right?” Robert whispered into her ear as he lifted her down.

For just a moment, she allowed herself to cling to him, absorbing his strength and courage—and then she let go.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m fine now.”

Even though it had lasted only an instant, Katie knew that she would hold dear the memory of Robert’s arms around her for the rest of her life.

18

Our bodies are as hard as iron;

our hearts are cased with steel;

and hardships of one winter

can never make us yield.

“Michigan I.O.”
—1800s shanty song

By the sheer grace of God, the camp was spared—but Robert knew no one would rest tonight. There was something about narrowly escaping death that kept the body and mind awake and vigilant for hours afterward. He had seen it play out over and over on the battlefield. No matter how exhausted the surviving men were after a battle, most had trouble sleeping.

And they had definitely fought a battle.

The rule about silence at the table was ignored, with Jigger’s blessing, as the men talked about what they had done. The old cook had changed into dry clothes, but his teeth were still chattering. While Jigger huddled in a corner, wrapped in a blanket, trying to get warm, Robert took over the chore of boiling tea and keeping everyone’s mugs filled. The men hunched over the steaming cups as though trying to absorb the warmth into their bodies.

Sarah had taken the children to the cabin to change. She was still madder than a wet setting hen.

Katie, realizing the deep need the men had to congregate together in the cook shanty, tied an apron over her drenched nightgown and went to work—stoking up the fire and turning out one towering stack of flapjacks after another. She instinctively knew the need to fill the men’s chilled stomachs with something sweet and hot. The unending flapjacks and deep puddles of warm sorghum nicely filled the bill.

As the men talked over the night’s events, marveling over the miraculous appearance of the driving rain, Robert watched Katie concentrate on her work at the stove. Her hair hung down her back in one long, unkempt braid. Strands straggled around her face, and occasionally she would push them out of her eyes with the back of her hand. She was so slender that the large apron, made for a man, enveloped her. She had kicked off her sodden shoes and was working barefoot.

There was an angry-looking scrape on her right forearm from the rough bark of the logs upon which he had tossed her. She had been wet, cold, and terrified, but now her only thought was the care and feeding of the hungry men.

Moon Song helped by carrying platters back and forth. Skypilot held the baby, asleep and wrapped in dry swaddling, cradled in one arm while he talked with the men. Henri kindly translated some of the conversation into French so that Moon Song could understand and participate in the conversation.

While everyone was absorbed in the telling and retelling of what they had experienced, Robert refilled the teakettle and walked over to where Katie was working while he waited for it to come to a boil.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said.

“You and the men put your lives at risk to save ours.” Katie poured more batter onto the griddle. “Fixing an early breakfast is the least I can do.”

“You didn’t even take time to change,” he said. “You must be miserable.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Katie brushed another strand of hair out of her eyes. “What matters is that everyone is alive and unharmed.”

“You’ll catch pneumonia.”

“You have obviously never stood close to this stove.” She expertly flipped another flapjack. “I’m plenty warm. I’m surprised steam isn’t rising off me.”

Robert did feel the heat of the stove, but he felt another heat as well, brought on by standing so close to her and remembering the feel of her in his arms when he lifted her off of the raft.

Those life-changing minutes as he had struggled to hold the raft together, praying that they would survive the fire, had forced him to see with absolute clarity that each moment with his children was precious and holy. He had lost enough time with them. He had grieved their mother long enough. He had lived with regrets long enough. For all their sakes, it was time to reenter the land of the living instead of spending his life reliving regrets from the past.

The God-given reprieve from death had also opened his eyes in other ways. As he had watched Katie holding Jigger, shielding the old man as much as possible from the cold, as he had watched her covering his children with the soaked blankets, taking no thought for herself as she made her way over the rough logs trying to care for everyone—he knew he wanted this valiant woman. The fire had burned away any doubts he had about the rightness of bringing Katie into his life.

The problem was convincing Katie of that fact. If he knew anything at all about women, it wouldn’t be wise to announce his intentions to marry her, since, until a short time ago, they had been strangers. Fortunately, he had time on his side. Neither of them were going anywhere for quite a while.

“I hope what happened tonight didn’t make you regret coming to work here,” Robert said.

“I’m being paid a king’s ransom to do a job I enjoy.” Katie poured more batter that sizzled on the griddle. “I work for a man I trust and respect. I regret nothing.”

He stood behind her and lifted his hand, longing to touch her hair, caress her face—but it was not the time or place. He let his hand drop.

“When daylight comes, I’ll be able to see how much of my land has burned,” he said. “If too many acres were destroyed, I won’t be able to keep this camp going.”

“Then you’ll find more trees and build another camp.” Katie grabbed a platter and flipped flapjacks onto it. “You have the tools, you have the knowledge, you have the crew, and”—she gave him a mischievous grin—“you have a great camp cook.”

Robert felt his spirits rise. No matter what the morning brought to light, with enough hard work and this woman by his side, it would be all right.

The morning light was not kind. The fire had come so close to the camp that everything was covered in sodden ashes. The camp, never picturesque, was now an ugly, uniform gray.

Katie slogged out to milk her cow, the hem of her dress stained from the ashy mud. The cow, so frightened last night, amazingly still gave milk this morning. Tinker and Ned had gathered up all the chickens, most of which had roosted in the trees until morning light. One of the piglets had been found. The other one was still lost. Some of the horses and mules were missing. Some had wandered back. It would take a while to sort it all out.

The familiar routine of milking was comforting. As she squirted streams of foaming milk into the pail, she dreamed of all the things she would be able to make if the cow’s milk held. Butter, of course, which she would keep chilled in the cold river out back, and buttermilk, which she knew the men would enjoy after a hard day’s work.

She would also make cottage cheese and there would be fresh cream for their tea. A cow was a wonderful thing—a virtual grocery of culinary possibilities. And this Milking Shorthorn seemed to be giving well. Its placid nature, which had been such an irritation last night when she desperately wanted it to hurry, was now welcome. Unlike her two Jerseys, it hadn’t even once tried to kick her.

She eyed the amount of milk in her bucket when she finished: two and a half gallons. This bode well for the future. A cow that gave five to six gallons of milk a day was a treasure.

Robert was out with the men, surveying the damage, deciding how much the fire had cost him. She prayed he would be able to keep this camp open—moving to another location would put him behind for the winter, and she had no idea if he had the resources to purchase another section of timber.

As she stripped out the final drops of milk, she heard the men returning to camp. There would be no timber cutting today, and it felt odd to have people coming and going all morning. As she started to carry the bucket of milk into the kitchen, she saw Sarah march out of the cabin with both children. The woman was dragging luggage with her, and both of the children were carrying smaller bags.

As Katie watched, Robert came out of the woods, begrimed and weary, and noticed that his sister was preparing to leave.

“What are you doing with my children?” he asked.

“I’ve changed my mind.” Sarah hefted a leather satchel into the wagon with a grunt. “I’m taking them back home with me.”

“No.” He laid a hand on her arm. “You aren’t. They’re staying here. I don’t want them to leave.”

She dumped a valise into the wagon. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I want them with me.”

“Since when?” Sarah stopped and stared at him.

“I’ve always wanted them here.” Robert’s voice was exasperated. “I thought I was giving them a better life by letting them live in town with you, but I don’t believe that anymore. I know this is a rough place, but they need to be with me. And I—well, I need to be with them too.”

From behind the cow, Katie saw the children watching, with wide eyes, this debate between their aunt and their father.

“Go marry your butcher and make a good life for yourself, Sarah. The children should be my responsibility, not yours. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.”

Sarah’s face softened. “Are you sure?”

He glanced down at Thomas and Betsy. “Do you want to stay with me or go back home with your Aunt Sarah?”

“I want to stay with you, Father,” Thomas said solemnly.

“Me too!” Betsy said.

“Where will all of you stay?” Sarah asked. “Betsy can’t sleep in the bunkhouse, and Katie already has a full cabin.”

“I’ll have Tinker build some bunks in the office. It’ll be tight, but I think we can manage.”

“Well,” Sarah said. “I guess it’s settled then.”

Katie thought she heard some regret in Sarah’s voice. Personally, she doubted the butcher was worth the forfeiture of the children, but that was Sarah’s decision, not hers.

“How bad was it out there today, Robert?” Sarah asked. “Will you still have work?”

“Most of my land is to the east. I lost about eighty acres of pine. Maybe twenty acres of hardwood. There’s still enough standing timber to give the men work over the winter and into the spring. I won’t be a rich man when the spring drive is over, but if we have a good, cold winter, I’ll get enough timber out to pay the bills and purchase another tract of pine.” He closed his eyes in weariness.

“You need to rest, little brother,” Sarah said.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done, Sarah.” Robert put his arms around his sister and rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“It’s all right, honey . . .” There were tears in Sarah’s eyes and she patted her brother’s back. “It’s all right.”