Cheryl Reavis (16 page)

“I need to talk to Warrie,” he said. He was not yet ready to consider “better” as a possibility.

“Yes, you do. There’s Kate. I think you’d better catch up with her.”

He gave her a half smile. “And I think you’re afraid I’m in trouble with your husband and you want me several yards in the other direction.”

“Robert Markham,” she said in mock surprise. “Whatever do you mean?”

He kissed her cheek, and walked toward Kate and ultimately Mrs. Justice. The weak sun that had been evident earlier this morning had completely gone. The sky was heavy and gray, and a cold wind blew out of the north. Spring would come quickly here, once it gained a foothold, but that time clearly hadn’t arrived yet.

* * *

“Are you not going to see your brother off?” Robert asked Kate when he caught up with her.

“No, I’ve said my goodbyes. He needs some time with Maria and the children before he goes.”

They both stopped to wait for Mrs. Justice, but she shooed them on, and they began walking again. In silence.

“Thank you,” Kate said when they were nearly in sight of the Markham—now Woodard—house.

“For what?”

“For not asking me...anything. I don’t think I could bear any questions.”

“There’s nothing I need to ask,” he said. “I can see how you are.”

She looked at him quizzically.

“You haven’t slept. And you aren’t going to rest easy until you know how Harrison is.”

She gave a hushed sigh. “It was a job well done,” she said after a time. “Your sermon.”

“Well, it wasn’t quite a sermon. It was more a belated confession.”

“It must have been very hard for you.”

“I’ve done harder things.”

“I doubt that,” she said.

“Does Mrs. Justice know about Harrison’s letter?” he asked quietly.

“No one knows—except you.”

Kate didn’t say anything more. She walked along, completely lost in her thoughts. She dreaded the long afternoon that stretched before her. She dreaded the slow crawl of days it would take for her letter to reach John in Philadelphia and then to hear something in return. All she could do in the meantime was worry—that John wouldn’t take her seriously, that something bad was happening to Harrison and her letter would arrive too late to prevent it. And all the while she was completely aware that just being with Robert Markham brought her a kind of ease and that it would be much worse for her if he were not here.

She realized that he had dropped back to speak to Mrs. Justice, and she stopped and waited for them both.

“It’s time,” Robert said when he and Mrs. Justice caught up.

“Time?” Kate asked.

“For you to learn to build a fire.”

“What?” she said, thinking she had to have misunderstood.

“It’s time for you to learn to build a fire. Right now—when the boys are out of the house. We wouldn’t want to give them any ideas. Mrs. Justice agrees. Don’t you, Mrs. Justice?”

“I do, Robbie,” she said, smiling at them both.

“See?” he said. “If you would both be so kind as to bear with me, you, Miss Woodard, will soon learn everything there is to know about managing a hearth. The cookstove comes later.”

“I think not,” she said, certain that she wasn’t about to participate.

“It won’t take long.”

“Robert—”

“I believe learning something is the best way to pass the time when it hangs heavy. And...”

Kate waited for him to continue. “And what?” she asked.

“And this is something you yourself said you needed to learn.”

Kate looked at him, then frowned. “I think I’d do better learning not to talk to myself around seemingly unconscious men.”

“I agree,” Robert said. “But since you did, and I now know about this terrible shortcoming and I am fully prepared to remedy it, what else can you do?”

“What, indeed,” Kate said. “Where will this fire building take place?”

“Where do you think, Mrs. Justice?”

“I think Bud’s sitting room would be a good place. The logs have burned out and need to be redone and a new fire started. Maria will likely want to be in there once the Colonel has left for New Bern. It gives her comfort, you know.”

Yes,
Kate thought.
And Mrs. Justice, as well...

The three of them trooped into the house and up the stairs to old Mr. Markham’s sitting room.

“Come over here,” Robert said, motioning for Kate to come close to the hearth.

She took off her hat, her coat and gloves and did as he asked.

“It looks as if the fire is out. But it isn’t. That’s because the embers were covered in ashes, so when I stir them up again, I’m going to find they’re still smoldering and will flame up when I—you—add kindling. Pay attention now. This is how a fire should be laid. Ashes at least an inch or two past the andirons—you don’t want a draft of air getting under the logs.”

“Why not?”

“A draft of air will make the logs burn through too fast. That’s better than no fire at all, but you have to keep tending it. You want a fire that will burn slow and steady and keep the room warm without making it too hot and risking a fire in the chimney.”

“What if there aren’t any ashes?”

“Then you use sand. Not dirt—sand.”

Kate had no idea where to find sand, but she didn’t say so. She heard the train whistle suddenly give one long blast, and her thoughts went immediately to Harrison.

“You see the logs here in the wood box are different sizes? Kate?” he prompted because her attention had wandered and she wasn’t listening.

“Yes. I do,” she answered, forcing herself to look at the contents of the wood box. The train whistle blew again.

“A large log goes in the back, up against the brick. A smaller one goes on top of it. A third log, one that’s not as big as the big one or as small as the small one, goes in the front, as far forward as you can get it and still keep it on the andirons.”

“Wait!” Kate said when he was about to lay the logs on the hearth. “If I’m the one learning, I’ll do it.”

“You’ll get your dress dirty,” he said.

“I have more than two now. Kindly move aside.”

She had to struggle to get the largest log into place—somehow she’d never realized how heavy wood could be. But she managed. Placing the other two was much easier.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we start the fire—between the back log and the fore log. Get some kindling—those small flat pieces there. That’s kindling. Take the shovel and uncover the coals, put a few pieces of the kindling on it. Give it a puff of air from the bellows. Keep adding kindling, a little at a time, until the fire is burning well enough to add a small log. Then place some more kindling so the log will catch fire. Then situate another log. Let it catch fire, too, then put on another one until you’ve got several logs burning in the middle. And that’s it.”

“How do I keep the fire going?”

“Just add whatever size log has burned up—that will be the ones in the middle mostly. Then the fore log and the small one on top of the back log. It’ll take a while for the back log to go. Use the poker to get a new back log into place so you don’t get burned.”

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Don’t set the house on fire?” he suggested.

“What an excellent idea. Anything else?”

“Wash your hands after you’ve handled the logs. Sometimes they’ve had poison ivy vines wrapped around them and it will get on your hands. You don’t want that.”

Kate looked at him. “No,” she said, agreeably. But she realized suddenly how sad they both were. She also realized what he’d been doing by insisting that she have this household lesson. He was trying to keep her occupied, trying to give her at least a few moments respite from her worry about Harrison. She abruptly looked away, and she began to follow his instructions to the letter, cajoling the flames with kindling until she had four small logs burning brightly in the center. When he was satisfied that everything was as it should be, they both stood.

“That’s a very fine—”

“Robbie,” Mrs. Justice interrupted from where she had been standing by the window. “There are men waiting at the summer kitchen. There must be a dozen.”

Robert looked out. It had started to rain steadily. “I said my door would be open. I’d better go down.”

“Wait, Robbie,” Mrs. Justice said. She pointed off to the side.

When he looked out the window again, he could see Warrie Hansen standing among the trees, the rain beating down on her.

“I’m going to go speak to her,” he said, but Mrs. Justice caught him by the arm.

“You wait here,” she said. “If she’s here to talk to you, I’ll bring her to you.”

Mrs. Justice gave Kate a worried look and hurried away. In a moment Kate heard the front door open and Mrs. Justice calling Warrie Hansen’s name.

“I’ll go let the others into the summer kitchen,” Kate said. “Before they follow Warrie in.”

“Yes. Good,” Robert said. “And build them a fire.”

“What?”

“You know how, so do it.”

Kate stood looking at him. He was challenging her to put her brand-new skill to good use—already—and she was going to take him up on it.

“All right, I will.”

“And don’t forget to wash your hands.”

“I’ll remember,” she said. She hesitated a moment longer, then went downstairs; Warrie Hansen was just coming in the front doorway with Mrs. Justice, her face haggard, her eyes red from weeping.

“I’m wanting to talk to him,” she said to Mrs. Justice, and Mrs. Justice nodded.

Kate stood out of the way as they walked toward the stairs.

“Maria and the boys will be home before long,” Mrs. Justice said.

“I ain’t planning on taking long.”

“I think you should take as long as you need, Warrie,” Mrs. Justice said with a firmness that was surprising. “And I think you should plan on staying. You have a job to do here with those rascally boys. I just wanted you to know that the children aren’t here now. Robbie is in Bud’s sitting room. Close the door when you go in, if you will.”

Kate could hear Warrie’s progress down the hallway, and Robert must have come out to meet her.

“What about my girl?” Warrie said. “I didn’t hear you say you was sorry for what happened to her. Why ain’t you sorry for
that,
Robert Markham? When you decided you’d play dead, you all but took her with you, you know that, don’t you? And you don’t say one thing.”

The door closed, and Kate couldn’t hear any more. She stood for a moment, then headed for the back of the house. She hurried through the back door to the path that led to the summer kitchen, all but running because the rain was coming harder.

The men were clearly surprised to see the colonel’s sister running around in the rain. She opened the summer kitchen door for them. “Do go in,” she said. “Please,” she added when they hesitated. “Robert should be here soon. I hope you won’t mind waiting.”

“No, miss,” one of them said. “Being in the army gets a body used to that kind of thing.”

Kate followed them in. There were only a few chairs, but the men didn’t seem to mind. After a moment most of them began sitting on the floor. Kate looked around as Mrs. Justice came in with a bag of coffee and a tray full of stacked tin cups.

“The coffee grinder’s over there on that shelf, Wiley,” she said to one of the men. “If you’d fetch it for me.” She sat the cups and the sack on the table where the chaplain had lain earlier. “I understand soldiers have their own way of making coffee, so I’m going to turn it all over to you. Here are the beans. Wiley’s got the grinder—”

“He don’t know what to do with it, though, do you, Wiley?” one of the men said, making Wiley grin.

“The pot is over there,” Mrs. Justice said, smiling. “And there’s the water bucket and plenty of cups...”

She gave Kate a pointed look, and Kate went immediately to the hearth. She recognized the configuration of the logs and ashes immediately. She could do this; she was certain.

Mostly
certain.

She supposedly didn’t have to worry about anything but resurrecting the smoldering embers that were presumably under the ashes.

And so they were. There was plenty of kindling, and in no time at all she had a blaze burning. She smiled to herself, feeling more useful than she had since—ever. But her sense of satisfaction only lasted a moment until her worry about Harrison returned.

“Now,” Mrs. Justice said. “There’s a nice fire for you. If you’ll excuse us, Miss Woodard and I will go back to the house now. Robbie should be here soon.”

“Much obliged, Mrs. Justice, Miss Woodard,” they said, more or less in unison.

“I made a big batch of buckwheat cakes yesterday,” Mrs. Justice said as they walked down the slate path to the house. “I’ll give them time to get their coffee going, then I’ll take a platter and some molasses out to them.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Kate said. “You shouldn’t be out in the rain.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear. I would appreciate that. This kind of weather makes these old bones ache.”

They both stopped just inside the kitchen and listened. Kate could hear a murmur of voices coming from old Mr. Markham’s sitting room, but no actual words.

“I hope—” Kate said. She stopped, because she didn’t know quite what she hoped. She could only imagine what a difficult day this must be for him, and it was far from over. She sighed. She just wanted everything to work out all right for him.

And Eleanor,
she thought. She had no business forgetting about Eleanor.

She realized suddenly that Mrs. Justice was watching her closely.

“Come let’s sit in the kitchen,” Mrs. Justice said. “It’s warm there, and we’ll be out of the way. There’s coffee left from breakfast on the stove. And my buckwheat cakes are in the warming oven. Let’s have ourselves another feast.”

“Yes,” Kate said, forcing herself to smile. “Let’s.”

After they’d eaten, Kate took the remaining buckwheat cakes—a heaping platter—more than enough for the men in the summer kitchen to have at least one—and headed out the back door, struggling to hang on to a jug of molasses as well. She could smell the aroma of hot coffee before she was halfway down the path.

Fire must still be burning,
she thought, pleased.