Measure of Katie Calloway, The: A Novel
Page 29
His silence seemed to go on for an eternity. She died a little, waiting for him to speak. Then he turned and with one finger lifted her chin.
“Look at me,” he said.
She forced herself to look straight into his eyes.
“I’m sorry for your pain, Katie-girl,” he said. “The fact that Harlan hurt you rips my heart apart.”
He started to say more, stopped, and then abruptly stood and pulled her to her feet. “Take a walk with me.”
“What about Ned?”
In answer, he lifted her little brother and carried him to the tent. She lifted the flap and watched as he tenderly tucked Ned beneath a light blanket, still sound asleep.
“Now take a walk with me.”
He entwined his fingers with hers and led her to a more private spot beneath one of the giant magnolia trees that grew beside the barn. Its limbs spread above the split-rail fence surrounding the nearest pasture, where Rebel’s Pride stood munching the rich grass.
It was the first time they had held hands, and she felt self-conscious about it as they walked toward the tree, but a bubble of pleasure rose within her at the intimate touch. She could feel her heartbeat throbbing against his palm.
Robert stopped when they were out of sight. She leaned against the rough bark of the tree as he gently bracketed her face with his hands.
At first, she thought he was going to kiss her and she was more than willing, but he stopped just inches from her nose. The moon was full and its light poured over his face. The love for her that she saw in his eyes nearly took her breath away.
“The way I see it, Katie-girl”—his voice was thick with emotion—“is that God has already seen fit to bless us with three little souls to raise. That’s a whole lot more than some people ever get.”
“You mean you don’t mind?”
“I mind that it is a sorrow to you. But I’m proposing marriage because I need you by my side more than you can know. I want to laugh with you and talk with you and have you fuss at me for tracking mud across your kitchen.”
He leaned closer. “I want to watch as you show Betsy how to make a pie, and I want to walk into church with you and our—yes, our, three children trailing along behind us. I want to wake every morning knowing that I’m going to sit at the kitchen table across from the most beautiful woman in the world while we plan our day.” Robert’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you more than my own life and I always will.”
“You realize . . .” Katie felt a lump rising to her throat, but she had to get this out. “You realize that I will never again put up with bearing the brunt of a man’s anger. If you ever raise a hand to me, I’ll—I’ll leave you. I will.”
“Oh, Katie-girl.” He sighed. “I could never hurt you.”
“You say that now—but you have a temper, Robert Foster. I’ve seen it.”
“I have a temper when someone I love is being abused.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I have a temper when someone strong is picking on someone weaker. I can guarantee I’ll get very upset if anyone ever tries to hurt you or one of the children. But hit you? Katie, I’d rather cut off my arm.”
“Then we’ll be all right.”
For so many months, she had dreamt of running her fingers through his hair. She did so now, tentatively, smoothing her fingertips over silky hair. The lump in her throat grew and an enormous peace settled over her as she saw a future with this man blossoming into reality.
“It’s finally going to be all right.”
Robert took hold of her hand and slowly kissed each finger. “I’ve waited a long time for this moment, Katie Calloway.” He smiled, and that smile warmed her all the way down to her toes. “If you don’t have any more secrets you want to get off your chest or ultimatums you want to make—do you suppose a man could finally get a kiss?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
His lips had barely touched hers when she heard a sound like a twig breaking. Startled, both of them turned to see what had made the noise.
Ned, barefoot and clad only in his nightshirt, stood near, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“What are you doing?” the little boy asked.
“I’m trying to kiss your sister,” Robert said solemnly.
“Does that mean you’re going to marry her?”
“Just as soon as I possibly can.”
Ned thought that over. “Does that mean Betsy and Thomas and me will be brothers and sister?”
“Kind of.” Robert nodded.
Ned’s voice got all shy. “And maybe—that means you’d kind of be like—my father?”
“Absolutely, and I’ll do my best to be a good one—if you’ll let me,” Robert said. “I’d be proud to call a boy brave enough to take on a bully with nothing more than a pocketknife my son.”
Ned broke into a run toward them. At first she thought he was headed toward her, but then she realized he was running straight to Robert, who stooped and swept the little boy up into his arms.
The moonlight glinted off tears on Ned’s cheeks, and—were those tears on Robert’s as well? Then she realized her own cheeks were wet, and she wiped them off with her sleeve as Ned clung to Robert’s neck.
There would be time for kisses later. A lifetime of them. It was not every day that a person got to witness God putting so many broken pieces back together again. Betsy and Thomas needed a mother. Ned needed a father. She and Robert needed each other. By the grace of God, no matter what might come, they would make a safe harbor for the three children—and for each other.
Author’s Note
Many years ago, while visiting a museum in Michigan, I saw an old photo of loggers gathered in front of a cook shanty. In the midst of these tough-looking men stood the camp cook—a sweet-faced young woman with her hands folded inside her apron. As my family wandered off, I stood mesmerized by the photo, wondering about the girl, wishing I knew her story, trying to imagine her life. That photo began my love affair with the history of Michigan lumbering and was the kernel from which this story grew.
As much as I personally grieve the destruction of the vast, ancient pine forests of Michigan, those brave old-time loggers, working with primitive tools, put their lives on the line to bring out the lumber with which our crippled country was rebuilt after the Civil War. I believe it’s nearly impossible for most of us to fully comprehend the hardships they endured.
Acknowledgments
Much gratitude to Gary Leftwich for introducing our family to Hartwick Pines, the last remaining stand of virgin white pine in lower Michigan. Rob Burg, historian, for sharing his in-depth knowledge of lumbering. John Berry, magistrate, for unearthing an 1867 divorce transcript of an abused Georgia plantation wife. Dr. Aaron Ellis for medical information—any mistakes made are entirely mine. Sandra Bishop, literary agent, for being so good at opening doors. Most of all—eternal thanks to all who prayed my family through a difficult year. I am humbled by your love, tenacity, and faith. To God be all the glory, forever.
Serena Miller is the author of Love Finds You in Sugarcreek, Ohio, as well as numerous articles for periodicals such as Woman’s World, Guideposts, Reader’s Digest, Focus on the Family, Christian Woman, and more. She lives on a farm in southern Ohio.