The Measure of Katie Calloway,: A Novel (13 page)

“Some guy named Borden invented it before the war,” Robert explained. “The Union soldiers had it. The Southern soldiers didn’t.”

“Oh.” She hoped he didn’t realize what he had just said. Presumably, if she were from Ohio and the widow of a soldier, she should have known about this new thing.

Jigger returned with a squat tin can in his hand.

“Dilute it with water that’s been boiled,” Robert told him. “It needs to be thinned down so it won’t give the baby belly cramps.”

“All we got is this tea water,” Jigger said.

“That’ll do.”

Robert took a spoonful of the diluted liquid Jigger brought and dribbled it into the corner of the baby’s mouth then he gave him the small sack of sugar to suck until the milk disappeared. He alternated the sugar and milk until the baby fell asleep.

Katie realized she had been holding her breath and let it go in a long sigh. “Will he live?”

“That depends.” He glanced at the mother. “I hope so.”

His finger, feather light, grazed the baby’s cheek as he handed the bundle back to Katie. “I have a new crew heading out, I have to go.”

“What will I do while you’re gone?” She glanced down at the baby, then back at him. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“If the baby tolerates the milk and sugar, give him a little more every two hours. Let the mother eat whatever she wants.” He headed toward the door. Just before he got there, he stopped and turned around to face her. “As far as whether or not the baby survives—it might be a good idea to pray.”

The door closed behind him.

Katie and Jigger’s eyes met. She knew that hers were pleading.

“Don’t look at me.” Jigger shrugged. “You’re the one that found ’em.”

Robert went into the woods long enough to get four teams of men felling timber. Two axe men on either side of a giant pine tree would notch it in the direction they wanted it to fall, and then begin to swing their axes, first one, then the other in a syncopated rhythm. The steel blades cut into the trunk, spitting out white pine chips. Another two-man crew stood ready to chop off the limbs after the giant fell. Once they had the tree cleared of limbs, they would use a crosscut saw to cut it into sixteen-foot lengths. Little by little, they would chew their way through the forest.

After getting the work started, he built a campfire and set up an iron tripod from which he hung a bucket of tea. The work the men were doing was hard and sweaty. It was customary for loggers to break when they needed to for a short rest and a cup of tea. Many used the break to refresh themselves with a new plug of tobacco as well. Tobacco was one of the few comforts and luxuries the men had out here. He had made certain there was a good supply in the camp store.

Word had spread that he was hiring, and a few more men arrived. He had to make on-the-spot decisions about who to hire and who to turn away. The man’s nationality or background meant nothing to him, or any other camp boss. The only thing that mattered was if a man was skilled and dependable. A lazy shanty boy would get others killed.

As the crew swung into full production, he headed back to make certain the noon meal would be arriving. He was worried that Katie might have become too involved with the Indian woman and that pitiful baby to fix dinner. If nothing else, he could feed the child again while Katie threw the meal together.

Halfway there, he was surprised to come upon her pulling the camp’s dinner cart. Ned was pushing from behind. She stopped for a moment when she saw him, then took a tighter grip and continued on.

“It won’t be time for the men to eat for another hour or so,” he said.

“I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get there,” she said, panting from the effort of pulling the wagon.

“Let me help,” he said.

“I won’t say no to that.” She allowed him to grasp the handle. He was amazed that she had been able to get it so far. He hadn’t thought, when he’d asked her to bring lunch to the men, how hard it would be for her. And all this time she had been dealing with that Indian woman and sick baby.

Things were never uncomplicated—even in the woods.

“How is the woman and her child?”

“Moon Song and her baby were both sleeping when I left—on a pallet I made on the floor of the cabin.”

“Moon Song?”

“Henri found out. He’s that French Canadian you hired yesterday—the one who always wears that red sash and carries a fiddle around?”

“I know Henri. He was late getting out to the woods this morning.”

“That’s because he talked to her for a few minutes after breakfast. Moon Song is married to a French Canadian trapper, so she speaks a little French. They had a camp a few miles from here. He left and never came back. She was pretty far along in her pregnancy when that happened and ended up having that baby all by herself. When the food ran out, she started walking. When she saw the smoke from our stove, she came here.”

“Does the baby have a name?”

“Henri asked her that,” Katie said. “Moon Song said that the Menominee don’t name their babies until a counsel of elders choose a name for them.”

“Wonder if her trapper husband left her on purpose.”

“Who knows
what
a man might take it into his head to do!”

To Robert’s ears, Katie sounded more bitter than the question or the situation warranted.

“Moon Song looks like she might have vermin.”

“Hopefully not any longer. I helped her take a bath and wash her hair while the bread was baking. The cut on her foot wasn’t as bad as I expected once I got the rags off. I think it’ll heal. She’s wearing one of the flannel nightgowns I bought in town. She seems to think it’s a dress.”

“Do you know where she came from?”

“Way up northeast. Probably over into Wisconsin. Henri says she’s from something she calls the Crane clan.”

“The baby is tolerating the food?”

“Pretty well.” Katie sounded worried. “Moon Song is very weak.”

“There isn’t a lot to eat in the woods in October.”

“You won’t throw her out?” Her voice rose with concern.

“Why would I do that?”

“Some men would. She’s another mouth to feed.”

“My lumber camp isn’t so destitute that I can’t feed a starving woman, Katie. Of course Moon Song can stay—at least until she can get on her feet and we can figure out how to get her to where she belongs.”

Katie heaved a sigh of relief. “You are a good man, Robert Foster.”

The camp was growing. And now she had inherited the care of the Indian woman and child.

She knew had her father been alive, he would have advised her to pray. The idea of prayer was an attractive one—except that she seemed too exhausted to compose a coherent sentence right now. All she could do was send a silent, heartfelt plea for help to an invisible God.

The dishes were done. The sourdough sponge set for more flapjacks in the morning, for which the men seemed to have insatiable appetites. Variety didn’t seem to be big in their priorities.

She went out to the new privy and sat there in the dark, in quiet privacy, for a few blessed moments. Soon enough, she would have to face her cabin and the fact that an Indian girl with whom she couldn’t communicate and a sick baby were also taking up residence there.

Still, it was a homey scene when she went inside. Ned sound asleep. Moon Song in the rocking chair before the fire—in Katie’s blue flannel nightgown—trying to nurse the baby. Katie could hear the suckling sounds. She peered over Moon Song’s shoulder, and unless she was mistaken, the baby’s cheeks were taking on a faintly pinkish hue.

Moon Song glanced up at Katie. With Moon Song’s freshly washed black hair pulled back into a braid, the grime washed off of her body, and her body clothed in something besides tattered buckskin rags—Katie realized that the girl was a beauty.

As Katie got undressed and pulled the covers up to her chin, the girl snuggled down into the pallet Katie had made for her. Having the presence of another woman in the cabin was comforting. Even if they couldn’t communicate with words.

As she drifted off to sleep, it occurred to her that she hadn’t remembered to set up her candle and teakettle alarm system. She sighed, started to get out of bed, then thought better of it. She did not want to frighten the baby or Moon Song in the middle of the night with such a racket. She would have to rely on Jigger once again. Tonight she was too tired to care.

The cries went on and on. Katie tossed and turned in her bed, wondering if the crying would ever stop. Wondering, through the fog of her sleep-deprived brain, where the crying was coming from.

Restless from the noise, Ned kicked out in his sleep. A heel caught her in the side, causing such pain that she sat up gasping.

Her eyes caught the sight of Moon Song sitting in the rocking chair, trying to nurse the baby.

“Is he hungry?” Katie asked.

Moon Song turned desperate eyes toward her.

Katie wearily climbed out of bed and checked her watch. It was midnight.

Only two hours before she needed to get up. She’d had, at most, two hours of sleep.

“Let’s go see what we can find.” She opened the door and Moon Song followed close behind her, through the darkness to the cook shanty. The only good thing Katie could see about this whole situation was that the baby’s cries were stronger than earlier in the day.

She opened the door and lit the lamp. There was lukewarm tea in the kettle. It took her no time at all to dilute some canned milk and dribble it into the baby’s mouth. The little thing spluttered and spit and cried. She made another little moist sack of sugar for it to suck on.

It soon appeared that hunger wasn’t the only thing making the baby cry. It kept arching its back as though in pain. Katie had no idea what to do, and the young mother seemed equally mystified. Jigger peeked out of his room once, then retreated, slamming the door behind him.

“I can help, missus,” a deep voice said.

Mose was standing at the back of the kitchen. She had avoided him, having no idea what to say to the man. Now here he was.

“I could hear the babe way out in the barn.” He reached his big hands out.

Moon Song looked at Katie with alarm.

“It’s all right,” Katie soothed. “This man won’t hurt him.”

Mose put the tiny infant over his shoulder and began to pace the floor, patting its back and crooning to him. In a few minutes, the baby gave a loud burp and snuggled into Mose’s shoulder. In seconds, he was asleep.

“You’re as good with babies as you are with animals,” Katie said.

“I was always able to comfort a crying child. Don’t know why.”

Moon Song was getting restless. She shifted her weight, nervously wanting her infant back. Mose handed the sleeping child to her.

Moon Song melted into the dark, leaving Katie and Mose alone for the first time since he had arrived in camp yesterday morning.

“I helped my mama raise my little brothers and sisters till . . .” He stopped and looked uncomfortable.

“Until?”

“They went away.”

“You mean until they were sold,” she said.

“Yes, missus.”

She looked into the man’s eyes. Even with all she had endured at the hands of Harlan, he had endured more. As painful as the memories were for both of them, now was the time for words. She decided to face it head-on.