Courting Morrow Little: A Novel

  Unwilling to play along, she glanced at the small clock on the mantel. "'Tis been but half an hour since we saw each other at service, sir."

  Sir. She used the term freely when she saw him, as it seemed to keep some distance between them. Though she sensed it nettled him, she felt it her only defense against his unwanted attentions.

  He sat down beside her on the bench. "Aye, as I said, much too long, Miss Little"

  She cast a quick look at him, noting his blue silk waistcoat with its silver-gilded braid. He was a man of means, she'd heard, a Virginian who'd condescended to come to the frontier only after Governor Henry himself assigned him. But no amount of finery could convince her that he was other than who he was. The butcher of Fort Randolph. Her growing fear of him rivaled her revulsion.

  "I'm beginning to think you have an uncommon fondness for children;' he said quietly.

  Had he seen her admiring the newborns at Sabbath service? Nodding slightly, she glanced at the empty oak cradle awaiting Lizzy's babe. "Yes, I do:'

  "Have you given any thought to having a family of your own?"

  She nearly squirmed. The question seemed so intimate she could hardly answer. "Well ... I ... perhaps..."

  He leaned nearer, and she felt a flicker of panic. Would he propose to her here and now, before a roomful of people? He was so besotted with her, Lizzy once warned, that he spoke of her freely before his men. She sensed his preoccupation bordered on obsession and that he was about to do something rash. But at least Pa was here, and Lizzy and Abe, if things were to take such a turn ...

  He was so close she could smell the sour tobacco on his breath. "Pardon my presumption, Miss Little, but you seem ill-suited for the frontier."

  She looked at him, not wanting to, fearing his bold eyes. "Iwhat do you mean, sir?"

  "You seem to have been made for some elegant Virginia drawing room, not this crude, roughshod cabin:" His eyes traced her every feature, finally falling to the striped kerchief that clung to her shoulders and neck. "I have a farm in Caroline County, Virginia. A plantation, if you will. In my mind's eye I keep see ing you there-pampered, with servants, doing little more than being a mother'

  The picture he painted made her feel ill. He continued, perhaps mistaking her silence for consent. "I could, if you would just give the word, remove you from this godforsaken wilderness once and for all:'

  Wilderness. Is that all Kentucke was to him? She looked away, remembering something Red Shirt had said-there was no word for wilderness in Shawnee.

  He leaned nearer. "I could take you away from here-you could forget all this:"

  Forget? He meant Ma and Euphemia and Jess, surely. She kept her eyes on her lap, her voice soft but steel-edged. "I'll never forget, Major. And so long as I think my brother might be alive, I'll never leave this place"

  He drew back, the thin line of his mouth pinched. "Well, if it's any consolation, I plan to avenge your losses and return your brother to you in the future. You have my word as an officer and a gentleman, Miss Little"

  A gentleman, indeed. She bit her lip to curb a hasty retort, her thoughts full of Fort Randolph and the unwilling woman he'd had his way with there.

  He opened his mouth to say more, but it was Jemima who saved her. She came up behind them, looking almost matronly in a heavy gown of butternut wool, a mobcap on her head. "If you aren't too cozy with Major McKie, Morrow, perhaps I might introduce you to Captain Kincaid"

  Morrow stood up, smoothing her heavy skirts with nervous hands. She looked at the man Jemima held on to almost possessively, noting his dark hair and narrow eyes and robust build. Was Lysander a thing of the past, then? "Pleased to meet you, Captain"

  "I've heard a great deal about you, Miss Little," he replied, his voice laden with an Irish brogue. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.

  Jemima's smile held little warmth. "I wondered if I should make introductions since Morrow is such a charmer, John. But I believe;' she said, looking straight at Major McKie, "that she's been spoken for."

  There was an awkward silence, and McKie smiled a bit smugly. Morrow studied Jemima, a knot of alarm in her chest. There was something different about her tonight. She returned Morrow's gaze with a look of unmistakable triumph. Perhaps, Morrow mused, she was simply proud of winning Captain Kincaid over, if indeed she had.

  Lizzy called them all for supper just then, presenting a fine elk roast and a huge kettle of vegetables, fried apples, biscuits, and gravy. Morrow sat between the major and Lizzy, mostly playing with her fork and pushing Lizzy's fine supper around her plate. In the stale air reeking of boiled turnips and threaded with the cold damp of a dreary day, she felt like fleeing, her thoughts suddenly full of Red Shirt. She knew these men she supped with would not hesitate to kill him, yet she realized with a start that they were his inferiors in every way.

  She listened as they talked of banal matters, aware of Jemima's eyes upon her across the table. In the candlelight, their green depths were hard and cold as river rock, and Morrow felt chilled. Jemima had never been as affable as Lizzy, though she and Morrow had been friends for a long time. But today Morrow felt they were friends no longer.

  "Pastor Little, I'd like my personal physician to attend you;' Major McKie was saying as Pa began coughing again. "Dr. Clary has had some success with cases of consumption"

  Consumption. The mention of the malady was as unsettling as Jemima's coldness. Morrow felt her eyes flood, and she fought down the desire to escape the crowded cabin, suddenly made more unbearable by her fickle friend's scrutiny. But she stayed and picked at her pumpkin pie for Lizzy's sake. Lizzy, who worked so hard and wanted to please. As if aware of her angst, she passed behind Morrow and gave her shoulder a squeeze as she served Major McKie.

  Pa quieted his coughing and took a sip of coffee. "I appreciate the offer, Major, but I doubt even your fine physician would be able to do much for me"

  His honest admission pained Morrow further. At her elbow, the major swallowed a bite of pie and looked across the table again. "I was hoping you'd ride in today with my fine gelding. I suppose you've seen no sign of him since your frolic Christmas Eve"

  "No, Major, I have not, Pa answered quietly.

  An awkward pause held the conversation captive, and Morrow felt a prickle of alarm. Did McKie suspect who had stolen his horse? Why was he regarding Pa as if he were to blame?

  "I'll wager some savage has him by now," Captain Kincaid said. "You've surely heard about the recent fiasco at Bryan's Station. A party of Shawnees crept in at night and lured a whole herd of militia mounts out with sugar lumps. The regulars standing watch were scalped"

  There was a low rumble of displeasure around the table. Slowly, warily, Morrow looked at Major McKie. In the flickering candlelight, his face seemed strained, almost ashen. There was a telling shadow of desperation there, and then it faded. Did the others see it too? She set her fork down, unable to take another bite.

  "The commander there is a sluggard and a sot; McKie said coldly. "You'll not find that happening on my watch"

  At this she nearly smiled. Oh, Major, but it did, truly. Your fine gelding is gone.

  Pa resumed his coughing, and Morrow stood, trying not to give the impression that she wanted to flee. "If you'll excuse us, I must see my father home"

  Major McKie helped her with her cape, standing by as they thanked Lizzy and Abe for the meal and bid them all farewell. But Jemima hardly acknowledged them, her rigid stance almost defiant. What has come over Jemima? Morrow wondered. Has Pa noticed it too?

  Numb, she got into the sleigh. As they passed through the fort's gates, the sun thrust through the clouds and shone feeble light on her face. Pa guided the bay over the brilliant expanse of snow, his features troubled.

  "Is McKie pressuring you, Morrow?"

  She fixed her eyes on the woods opening up ahead of them, the snow-laden branches silvery white in the cold light. "He was telling me about his home in Virginia:"

  "Telling you he sees you as i
ts mistress, I suppose"

  She gave a nod, glad the hood of her cape partially hid her tense face, wondering how he felt about it all. Though he was never one to besmirch a person or give way to gossip, she sensed he wasn't any fonder of McKie than she. "Do you know what happened at Fort Randolph, Pa? When McKie was there, I mean?"

  His grim expression told her she didn't need to repeat the incident. "Joe told me"

  "Then you know how I feel about his attentions. I'm afraid of him. And now I'm beginning to wonder about Jemima"

  He grasped the reins tighter. "Jemima will make a fine soldier's wife"

  She sensed this was no compliment. Truly, Jemima seemed right at home among the arrogant army men, her prejudices hard and deep. Morrow held on to her hood as a gust of cold wind tried to tear it free. "I was afraid-for a moment at table- McKie was going to accuse you of taking his horse"

  "I'll handle McKie, Morrow," he reassured her. "Think no more about it. We'll not be back at the fort for a spell, anyway. I've decided to postpone Sabbath services and singing school for the time being. Even McKie agrees it's not safe for us to come so far with fresh trouble brewing"

  "Trouble?" she echoed.

  "The horse stealing at Bryan's Station, among other things"

  Lizzy's fine supper sat uneasily in her stomach. Any trouble brewing was mostly of McKie's making. Hadn't Abe just confirmed McKie's planned foray into Shawnee territory come spring? Was this why the major had boldly boasted of returning Jess to them? She shivered despite the heavy blanket around her shoulders and the warming pan of coals beneath her feet. Each meeting with McKie left her more shaken. She'd begun to realize why he'd been sent from the Kanawha to the Red River. He was a brutal man who would take brutal measures in stemming the conflict with the British and Indians. And she and Pa, like every other settler in Kentucke, would be caught in the crossfire.

  As the sleigh sped them along far faster than the jolting wagon, she found herself almost lulled to sleep by its whispering haste, one thought uppermost in her mind. Thankfully, Red Shirt had healed beneath their roof and was even now on his way to Fort Pitt. Whoever was watching their cabin that cold night hadn't made trouble for them yet. And McKie seemed none the wiser about who had taken his horse.

  As winter crept toward spring, there was a new lightness in Morrow's spirit, a contentment she'd never known. Could it be God was healing the bitterness she'd borne for so long? She felt a deep relief as it did its healing work and wondered if Pa noticed the change in her too. She studied him as she hemmed a petticoat by the fire, pained by the somber lines of his lean face. Since Red Shirt's leaving, he'd slipped into a sort of despondency she could not right. Even the promise of spring, with arbutus blooming and sap running, failed to rouse him.

  He was anxious for word of the prisoner exchange Red Shirt had spoken of, she knew. But it was more than this, truly. The constant tug-of-war between settlers and Indians was taking a toll. Perhaps he felt caught in the middle, befriending the Shawnee only to be privy to the soldiers who wanted to remove them. He'd become so fond of Red Shirt over the years, while her own heart had been hardened. Why hadn't she seen the bond between them?

  "I have a feeling we might not see Red Shirt again, he said, folding his copy of the Virginia Gazette and setting it aside. At her questioning look, he added, "It's becoming too dangerous with McKie and his ilk about. Joe said the woods are thick with scouts and spies, and they've been ordered to shoot the enemy on sight. I'm not sure the prisoner exchange will ever materialize"

  "But we've been praying about it all winter"

  "We'll keep praying, of course. But sometimes the Lord, in His wisdom, withholds the very things we pray about lest they harm us in the long run'

  She looked down at the sewing in her lap, a bit shaken. Red Shirt's words-his poignant apology-took on new meaning in light of the fact she might not see him again. Yet wasn't this what she'd wanted all along? Hadn't she once nearly begged him to stay away?

  As thunder grumbled a warning outside and the patter of rain struck the shingled roof, Pa rose from his chair near the fire with hardly a glance at her. "I'd best go to bed, Daughter. 'Tis time to finish readying the fields for plowing on the morrow'

  She glanced at a window. Daylight still limned the shutters, and she had no desire to go upstairs to her chilly bedroom, but he needed rest. Her forehead furrowed as she put her sewing away. Shouldn't he have started plowing by now? 'Twas almost time to start planting, surely. But with Joe away on a long hunt, he'd had little help about the place.

  The next day she rose early to take care of as many of his chores as she could manage, seeing to the horses and straightening his tools about the barn while he was in the field. Coming out of the henhouse before noon, she was surprised to find an unfamiliar horse hobbled near the orchard. Please, Lord, not McKie. As she stepped onto the porch, she smoothed her hair with nervous hands, fumbling with the pearl-headed pins that kept her chignon in place.

  At the table Pa sat with Robbie Clay. A decided dread crept into her heart as Robbie stood up, hat in his hands. She gave him a half smile and took off her cape, hanging it on the peg by the door. She'd not spoken with Robbie since the harvest supper at the fort, though he kept the back bench of the blockhouse occupied on the rare Sabbaths Pa preached. Why had he risked coming so far, she wondered? Was McKie away on another foray?

  "Good afternoon, Miss Little"

  She murmured a greeting and plucked a piece of hay from her skirt hem. "Would you like something to drink? Eat?"

  "Nay, he said. "I just came to see your pa ... you:"

  At this, Pa slipped out the back door, leaving her to gesture to the fire where two chairs waited. Robbie took a seat, and the air turned so tense she sensed this was no simple call. For a few moments she felt she couldn't breathe. Panic seemed to take wing inside her ribcage and smother her. She sank into her chair and saw not Robbie Clay but Red Shirt, in his fine linen shirt and buckskins, his glossy hair caught back in a queue, his hazel eyes full of light and feeling.

  "Are you all right, Miss Little?"

  She pressed her back against the chair rungs and tried to pretend she was. "Fine ... thank you"

  Robbie knotted his hands together, leaning closer. "I thought I'd best have my say before ..." He left off, reddening as he struggled for words. "I know your pa's feeling worse and needs help about your place"

  There was no denying this. She simply nodded, wishing Pa would come back inside.

  "I ain't one to press my suit so hastily, but under the circumstances, I thought it best:'

  Press his suit? She said nothing, her discomfort deepening. What about the girl she'd seen him with Christmas Eve? She'd never considered him a suitor herself, just a onetime supper companion ...

  He went on, voice low. "I figure I could help you here while you take care of your pa. Then, when he's passed on, we could continue to farm this place and my own. You'd not have to leave home'

  Her eyes fell to her hands in her lap. "Are you asking me to ... marry you?"

  He colored, as if realizing his wording had gone awry. "I am'

  "Why, I ... think of you as a ... a friend:" She groped for words, wanting to let him down lightly, though there was no softening the plain truth. "But I don't love you. And you don't love me:"

  The flush suffusing his fair features was an unbecoming red. "Love seems a secondary concern out here, if you ask me. Secondary to survival, that is:" His green eyes swept the cabin as if assessing the trade he offered before coming to rest on her once again. "What say you?"

  Her eyes misted with mortification. "I say ... nay"

  He sat up straighter, a plea in his eyes. "I've already spoken with your pa, and he's willing if you are:"

  Willing? Willing to trade me for a man's work? She squirmed in her chair, trying to find something to say that would ease the sting of being caught in the middle of a business proposition. Robbie was, she guessed, trying to do the best he could and ease her present predicamen
t. But he didn't love her. And any feeling she might have had for him had quickly eroded, given his fear of McKie. Folks were even beginning to make sport of him in the settlement.

  As he leaned forward in his chair and reached for her hand, heat crawled up her neck and face. A lock of flaxen hair fell over his high forehead, emphasizing his earnest eyes.

  "Say you'll consider it, he said.

  She swallowed hard, some childish part of her wanting to shout a refusal. Instead she looked down at his hand as it covered hers. Square and smallish, it was only slightly larger than hers, the dirty nails sorely in need of a trimming. When he came closer and kissed her flushed cheek, it took all her will not to push him away. A flash of anger dawned in his face and then disappeared. Unsteadily she stood and murmured a goodbye while he let himself out and rode away hard into the early spring sunshine.

  All the twilight sounds that she loved seemed to set up a chorus outside the door he'd left open in his hurry to leave. The tree frogs were the boldest, nearly masking Pa's entry. She felt oddly hurt when he said, "Robbie spoke with you, I suppose?"

  She simply nodded, eyes on the orange flames licking the charred logs behind the dog irons. He came and stood beside her, so close she was cast in his slender shadow.

  "Out of all the men you've said no to, Daughter, Robbie seems the most persistent, other than Major McKie." He sat down across from her, eyes steadfast. "He's willing to live here, and you'd not have to leave home. He has plenty of kin in the settlement, so you'd have family. He says he wants to be baptized."

  Hearing it so neatly stated sparked something new and dangerous inside her. Turning to him, she said softly, "I want to know why you married my mother, Pa. Did you love her-or was she simply a business proposition?"

  "Morrow-"