Katie hurried Lightning along the wagon road as much as the mule could be hurried. She’d overslept this morning and by the time she’d fixed her family’s breakfast and gotten on the road, the sun was already rising. John had insisted she use the wagon since she was now going to make the trip every day, but she wondered if she couldn’t make better time if she just pulled it herself. Lightning didn’t appear to like mornings.
“If you’ll pick up the pace a little, I’ll get you a carrot,” she said, attempting to bribe the lumbering animal. But either Lightning didn’t like carrots or he didn’t speak English because the only acknowledgment of her offer was a lackluster snort as he plodded down the road.
By the time she made it to John’s, the sun had fully risen, and she was scrambling. She rushed in through the kitchen door and began stoking the cook stove before even removing her coat.
“Good morning.” John’s greeting from across the room startled her. She hadn’t noticed him kneeling by the hearth. He always laid a fire in the kitchen hearth, usually while she fixed breakfast. Just another reminder of how late she was.
“Mornin’. I’m sorry I’m late.” She pulled off her coat
as she scurried about for pans and eggs. “We had company last night and by the time he left and I finished my chores, I was late getting to bed. I’m afraid I overslept.”
“Katie,” John said, forcing her to stop her rambling and face him. “It’s all right. You aren’t that late, and we haven’t starved to death.” The twinkle of teasing in his eyes helped her relax a little. Maybe her being late wasn’t the end of the world.
“Besides,” he continued, “you’re forgetting that you’re doing me a big favor. Julia and I couldn’t make it without your help. I’m very grateful.”
He couldn’t be nearly as grateful as Katie was. Since she’d started working for John, she’d saved over fifteen dollars. By the time Mrs. Adkins came back, she should have another fifteen at least. Thirty dollars would buy enough flour and sugar to last her family through the winter. Not to mention thread and yarn and if she were careful, she might even have money for new boots. Hers weren’t going to make it much longer. The sole of the left one was already coming loose and though she’d be able to hold it together with some baling twine, the thought of walking through the snow in it already made her cold.
Julia ran into the kitchen to throw her arms around Katie’s skirts in the hug that had become their morning tradition. Katie laughed and hugged her back before frying enough eggs for breakfast and a little extra bacon for later. Julia set the kitchen table as the crackling fire warmed the room.
“I was wondering,” Katie said as she cleared the table after breakfast, “if you’d mind if I went to Rebecca
Fisher’s today. Their barn got blown over in a twister this spring and there’s a barn raising going on to help them out.”
“Of course.” John paused in obvious confusion before he asked, “What’s a ‘barn raising’?”
She guessed they didn’t raise too many barns in New York City. “Paul’s lumber just came back from the sawmill and as many men as can are coming to get the barn under roof. The womenfolk help with feeding them. There’s supposed to be a pig roast this evening and maybe some square dancing if they can get it under roof by then.”
“When do you need to leave?”
“As soon as I get breakfast cleaned up. I fixed some extra bacon for your lunch. I’ll leave it in the icebox.”
He nodded, but Katie could tell another question was on its way. “Do you think they’d want my help?”
She glanced at his suit trousers and crisp white shirt before giving what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m sure they would.”
He looked down at his clothes, then said, “I’ll be right back.” He didn’t wait for her response before he headed out the front door.
Assuming he simply had an errand to run, she washed the dishes while Julia dried and chatted about the new kitty she wanted. “I want one with black and white and yellow and gray spots.”
“How about blue?”
Julia wrinkled her brow. “Do they make blue kitties?”
“I don’t know, but wishes are free so you might as well throw them around as much as you want.”
Julia giggled. “In that case, I want a blue and purple and green kitty.”
“With wings?”
That suggestion sent Julia into a spasm of giggles that continued while Katie heard the front door open and John rush up the stairs. In a few moments, her curiosity over John’s unusual behavior was satisfied. He walked into the kitchen in a new pair of canvas work pants and a blue chambray shirt.
His excitement was palpable. “Ready?”
“Yes,” Katie said, wondering if he had any idea what he was in for. “Let me get Julia’s coat.”
John hurried on to the wagon while Katie collected the things they’d need for the day. She handed John the basket of plates, glasses, and silverware to set in the back, not failing to notice the new hammer and saw on the floorboards beside his medical bag.
“I didn’t know if there’d be enough tools,” he said, setting her basket down and helping her up to the bench.
She covered the hard wooden seat with a folded quilt and reached for Julia, all the while fighting to control her grin. She hoped John’s excitement held out at least until lunchtime.
The bustle of activity at Fishers’ farm only escalated John’s enthusiasm. It looked as though half the men in the county had shown up, all laughing and teasing one another as they carried lumber and raised walls. John grabbed his shiny new tools and headed toward the men, while Katie and Julia made way to the women sitting under the old shed roof near the new construction.
“Mornin’, Katie.” Rebecca sat in a rocker under the roof, her new baby sleeping in her arms.
“You’re looking good, Rebecca. How’s the little one?”
“We’re both good thanks to you and the doc.” She held the baby up for Katie to take. “Want to hold her?”
There was nothing Katie wanted more, with the exception of holding one of her own. She reached for the little bundle, as the women sitting on the bench beside Rebecca scooted to allow room.
Katie tucked down the blanket to look in awe at the tiny face, puckered in sleep.
“You need you one of them, Katie,” Eunice Kopp said as she waddled over to stir one of the two bean pots simmering over a low-burning fire.
The other ladies giggled, and Katie flushed. “I think I ought to get a husband first.”
Eunice returned to her seat with a huff and nodded toward the barn. “You won’t find a finer one than that.”
Katie tore her eyes away from the baby to look in the direction Eunice had indicated. Randy was lifting a beam over his head to the men working above him. He’d removed his shirt, leaving on only his undershirt despite the still cool air. His muscles bulged with the weight of his task and several of the younger girls giggled in agreement with Eunice’s statement.
“Mornin’, Katie,” Randy yelled as though he knew she’d been watching.
“Mornin’, Randy,” she answered. Then he grinned
and she felt her cheeks heat. He finished shoving the beam up to the men before he flexed his arm muscle for her and winked.
She could have died. Probably would have in fact if the bundle in her arms hadn’t picked that exact moment to wiggle and give the most adorable coo Katie had ever heard. Evidently Randy’s appeal had no age limit.
Katie smiled at Rebecca. “Have you named her yet?”
“We have and if you ain’t got no objections, we’d like to call her Katie Joanne, after you and the doc. If it hadn’t been for you two, I don’t think I’d have made it.”
“Joanne?”
Rebecca grinned. “It’s as close to John as I could think of without sounding like a boy’s name. Do you think it’s all right?”
Fighting back the tears, Katie looked down at her tiny namesake. “I think it’s perfect.”
About that time, little Miss Perfect decided she wasn’t going to take all this attention lying down, and she let out a bawl that shook the shed roof. A chorus of cooing women responded, but Rebecca won out, taking baby Katie into her arms. “I think it’s time for breakfast,” she said, heading toward the cabin.
Several of the women went with her to start fixing corn bread for lunch, leaving Katie behind to watch the beans. She really wanted to watch John. She couldn’t help noticing Randy was giving John a hard time, teasing him about his shiny hammer and asking
every whipstitch if he needed to rest. But John didn’t give in. If anything he worked harder than most of the men and by lunch, it was starting to show.
As soon as the women had the food ready, she filled a plate and went in search of him. She found him standing by the creek, hands on hips, sweat dripping from his brow. The sleeve of his new shirt had a tear, and his canvas pants were stained and soiled from top to bottom. He was staring off at nothing in particular, and she figured the only reason he was still standing up was that it would take too much energy to sit down.
“Would you like something to eat?”
He lifted his gaze from the ground and gave her a nod. Just one, but she suspected that was all he had left. Leading him to a fallen log by the creek, she took a seat, making sure to leave him the seat in front of a tree he could lean against. He did and it was a good two minutes before he finally reached for his plate.
“You know you don’t have to stay all day if you don’t want to,” she said, taking a bite of beans.
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth as he turned to face her. “You don’t think I can work like the rest of the men?”
“They were raised working like this. Were you?”
Not only was he not raised working like this, but he hadn’t been aware that other people were. At least not since the Egyptians built the pyramids, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Katie. Every limb of his body weighed five tons, and the damn fork weighed at least thirty and that was without the beans.
But he wasn’t about to admit that to Katie either, so
he straightened his back—which hurt—and dug into the godforsaken beans.
“I can work as hard as any man,” he said, wondering if he could talk her into chewing his lunch for him.
“I’m not saying you can’t work hard. It’s just that—”
“I’m fine.”
And after lunch and its hour of rest, he was finer than he’d been earlier, finer and infinitely smarter. He worked slower and steadier through the rest of the afternoon, stopping periodically to bandage an injury. Most of which seemed to belong to Freddie. With a smashed thumb, torn nail, and a splinter the size of an oak tree, Freddie spent more time getting wrapped up than nailing boards.
The worst of his injuries, however, occurred when he managed to catch a board on the edge of the barn, bending one of his few unbandaged fingers backward.
“Do you think it’s broke, Doc?”
John pressed on the crooked finger, its unnatural angle jutting out to the side. “I think it’s just dislocated.”
Freddie gulped. “Can you fix it?”
“Yup.”
Usually popping the finger back in place before the patient realized what was coming was the best course of action. But when John grabbed Freddie’s finger and jerked, the young man went from green to white to gray to the ground in a matter of seconds.
Katie ran across the yard to her inert fiancé. “Is he all right?”
Kneeling to check the pulse at Freddie’s throat, John shrugged. “I guess I should have warned him.”
Taking a small ax, he chipped a makeshift splint off one of the boards and wrapped Freddie’s finger while Katie wiped a damp cloth across his brow. He was conscious now, but his hands resembled those of a mummy, which was fitting. Once they finished this pyramid, it would need an occupant anyway.
His latest injury required Freddie to sit out the rest of the afternoon, alleviating John’s fear that he would run out of bandages before Freddie ran out of fingers. And by the time the sun sat behind the hill, the roof was finished, the pig was roasted, and John was exhilarated.
He’d made it.
He’d kept up with the other men, working like a borrowed mule. To make things better, as soon as Randy realized his teasing was getting nowhere, he ceased trying and by afternoon, the men were laughing and joking with John like he was one of them.
He was dirty and grubby and sore, and never felt better in his life. Dropping onto a bale of hay that had been brought into the barn for seats, he examined his work with pride. He recognized every board he’d nailed in place and every beam he’d help set.
“Tired?” Katie handed him a plate of pork, more of the beans, and a hunk of hot corn bread smothered in butter.
“A little. How’s Freddie?” he asked, between bites. Ambrosia couldn’t have tasted better.
Katie gestured across the barn where Freddie sat, holding a plate on his lap with bandaged fingers. A
skinny young girl was feeding him and Freddie’s face was red enough to light up the night.
John chuckled. “I’m glad she’s feeding him. Maybe that way he won’t poke himself in the eye with the fork.”
Katie answered, grinning, “I swear, that boy could hurt himself on lint.”
John’s laugh stopped when Katie gently touched the back of his hand. “Looks like you got hurt too.”
He glanced down at the dried blood on the gouge that crossed the back of his hand. “Just a scratch,” he said. It’d hurt like a son of a bitch, but Katie would never know that either. Even though he liked the look of sympathy in her eyes.
“Y’all need to finish up, now,” an old man shouted as he walked to the center of the barn.
John dragged his gaze away from Katie to the man. He carried a violin and was followed by a few other men with instruments John had never seen before.
“It’s time to commence with the fun part o’ the day,” he said, tucking the violin into the crook of his arm.
John enjoyed the violin, but when the old-timer struck his with his bow, the sound that came out was nothing like John had ever heard before. Toes tapping and hands clapping, the crowd came to life with the strange music pouring from the strings.
“Old Pete is as good a fiddle player as you’ll hear in this neck of the woods,” Katie said, smiling and clapping with the rest of them.