Free The Measure of Katie Calloway,: A Novel by Serena B. Miller

explore the rest of the camp.
    Robert was the last in. He stopped and stared at the tray of cobbler and the mound of golden meat pies heaped upon the table. Then he took stock of the dining room, which was now as clean and shining as it was possible for bare wood to be. A look of relief settled on his face.
    While Jigger assigned the others their permanent seats, Robert walked over to her.
    “How in the world did you manage to do so much so fast?” he asked in a quiet voice. “I wasn’t expecting anything more than some canned beans and hardtack soaked in tea—maybe some cheese to go with it if we were lucky. That’s all Jigger fixes the first night. Instead, you’ve made us a real meal!”
    His kind words took her breath away. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been complimented for her cooking—or for anything else.
    “Jigger helped,” she said modestly. “He got the place into shape.”
    “He’s a competent man when he wants to be. I apologize for the way he’s been acting.”
    “I’ve dealt with worse.”
    “Hello the camp!” A burly woodsman wearing a bright blue shirt and brown pants cut several inches above the ankles walked through the door with an axe in his hand and a sack slung over one shoulder. “Was that Gabriel’s trumpet I heard blowing? Or was it just the dinner horn?”
    “Skypilot!” Ernie jumped up and pumped the man’s hand. “It’s good to see you. Are you working here this winter?”
    “If your boss has a job for me.” Skypilot rested his axe on the floor. His eyes, a mild blue above a dark, bushy beard, were filled with good humor. “I’ve heard there’s a new cook in this neck of the woods.”
    “Skypilot is one of the best axe men in Michigan,” Ernie told Robert. “We worked with him last winter.”
    “I’ve always room on my crew for someone good with an axe, and welcome,” Robert said. “My name is Robert Foster. This is my camp. Come take supper with us.”
    “I appreciate it.” The big woodsman leaned his axe against a wall and dropped his pack beside it.
    As soon as Skypilot had seated himself, to Katie’s surprise, all hands grabbed a meat pie.
    “Pass the pickles,” Ernie said.
    Robert scooted the bowl down the table to him. The only sound was that of the stove making clicking noises as it cooled and men wolfing down food. Teeth crunched into crisp, hot pastry, and gravy dripped onto tin plates.
    This didn’t seem right. At her mother’s table, there had always been polite conversation. Evidently, none of the men had been taught better manners than to eat in total silence. She decided it might break the ice if she initiated some polite dinner conversation.
    “How did you get the name of Skypilot?” she asked.
    The big logger stopped in mid-bite, acting surprised at the interruption. His eyes slid over to Robert, and he swallowed before he spoke.
    “That’s camp lingo for preacher—which I used to be before the war.”
    Jigger, standing near the head of the table, frowned. “No talking at the table!”
    “Excuse me?” She had never heard of anything so ridiculous. “Why?”
    “We got rules, girlie. Loggers don’t need to be wasting time jawing at each other while they eat. What do you think this is? Some sort of ladies’ tea party?”
    “There are only a handful of us,” Robert intervened, glancing at her as she felt herself turning red. “Surely we can relax that rule a bit for tonight.”
    “Humph!” Jigger set his mouth in a hard line of disapproval. “You’re the boss. If you want to start changing things just because a woman’s got fancy ideas, I guess that’s your right.”
    “Why don’t you sit down, Jigger,” Robert urged. “You’ve had a long day and you must be tired and hungry. I’m sure your arm hurts. Let Katie handle things while you eat.”
    Reluctantly, Jigger sat down, and Robert plopped a meat pie onto his plate. Jigger stared at it for a full minute before picking it up. Katie watched