Courting Morrow Little: A Novel

  "You never speak of her, yet I need to know. Do you never mention her because she meant so much-or so little?"

  He stood up so suddenly he nearly overturned his chair. But he wasn't angry at her impudence, he was hurt-she saw and sensed it plain. In the firelight his tired eyes were all aglitter, the deep lines in his face aggrieved. And her own heart spilled over and seemed to break with his beaten look.

  "I'm a dying man, Morrow, and I want to see you safely settled"

  The knot in her throat wouldn't let her speak. She simply shook her head, as if doing so could somehow reverse things as they stood and take away his racking cough and Robbie Clay's barren proposal.

  His voice held firm despite the tears that wet his weathered face. "I loved your mother, Morrow, more than my own life. When she died, I wanted to be with her, to face the Shawnee, to take every arrow that took her away from me. There's not one day that passes that I don't rue being in the field when the Indians came-"

  "But you couldn't have stopped them:"

  "Nay, but I'd have welcomed dying with her"

  The heartfelt words filled the tense air between them, rendering it unbearable. With a cry she covered her face with her hands and rushed past him, taking the stairs two at a time. Once in her room, she fell across the feather tick and tried to shut away the pain in his face. But it remained, as firmly planted in her consciousness as Ma's lifeless body slumped across her spinning wheel, as real as Red Shirt's poignant plea for forgiveness in her attic room.

  If she loved her father, wouldn't she do this thing? He was so ill-dying-desperate for help about the farm. Truly, love was secondary to survival in the settlements. A man and a woman needed each other for practical reasons, sentiment aside. Yet she'd always hoped for more, abiding by the notion that love was a rare and precious thing, not to be squandered by second best. An enduring love helped weather the storms of life, was a shelter and a shade and a delight. She longed for a biblical love like Jacob had for Rachel. Like Solomon had for his Shulamite bride. She wanted a love she'd be willing to die for ... like Pa.

  Oh Lord, help Thou me.

  In the following days, they spoke no more about Robbie Clay's visit, though Morrow continued to dwell on it. When she weighed her reasons for refusing him, hoping to cast them aside, she began to realize the true cause of her reluctance. Something far more disturbing was dawning in her heart. Something so terrifying and unthinkable she pushed it down time and again, only to have it rise like cream atop milk. The memory of Red Shirt suddenly seemed to shadow her wherever she went. His hands upon her shoulders. The rich timbre of his voice. The intensity and warmth in his hazel eyes when he looked at her.

  Oh Lord, what have I done? In giving him my forgiveness, did I also give him my heart?

  The terrifying realization had come to her slowly, not fully flowering till she'd been forced to take a hard look at her future. Since Robbie Clay had ridden away, she'd spent several restless nights, crying and praying and trying to summon the nerve to do what she dreaded. Finally, as dawn crept into her room on yellow feet, she worked at the washbasin to remove all traces of another fitful night. But there was nothing to be done for her bloodshot eyes. Pa had only to glance at her to see her turmoil. Yet she felt a blessed numbness, as if crying so hard had leeched all the life out of her and made what she was about to do both sensible and bearable.

  She found him on the porch, looking out on the orchard now dressed like a bride with its profusion of blossoms. Their showy beauty hurt her, nearly made her change her mind. The sweet scent of spring wrapped round them on a warm wind, full of hope and promise, drawing her thoughts elsewhere.

  Sinking down on the steps, the crisp calico of her dress settling around her, she said with forced calm, "Pa, please forgive me ... for saying the things I did after Robbie Clay came'

  He nodded slowly. "Of course I forgive you"

  "I've been praying about his proposal:" She swallowed, unable to look at him lest she start crying again. "I know how important it is for you to see me settled. It seems my reasons for saying no have been selfish ... foolish. So I've decided ... I've decided it would be best. . "

  "Go ahead, Morrow," he said quietly when she paused.

  Did he suspect what she was about to do? As she opened her mouth to say more, he began coughing again, nearly masking the sudden whoop from behind the barn. The sight of a familiar figure startled her to her feet. Pa let out a low chuckle as Trapper Joe emerged from the trees and into the clearing. He approached the cabin porch in his lazy, loping stride, leading a gelding and packhorse. At the sight of him, Morrow felt a sweeping relief. Pa's wan face filled with color, and he stepped off the porch to hug the grizzled woodsman hard, which only started a fresh fit of coughing.

  A shadow of concern creased Joe's face, but he blustered like usual, "I ain't in time for breakfast, am l?" which made Pa chuckle again. Morrow disappeared inside to fry bacon and eggs, pouring them coffee while they waited and traded news.

  "Miz Morrow, you ailin'?" Trapper Joe asked her outright when she reappeared on the porch.

  She passed him a steaming plate. "I'm fine, Joe, truly."

  But his steady stare told her he thought otherwise. She toyed with her own breakfast, hardly able to eat, and was glad when he turned his attention to his meal.

  "I wintered up north in Kekionga on account of the heavy snows, he said. "Beats all I ever seen. There's tradin' posts and stables and gambling dens and taverns on all sides. Even got boardwalks on the streets for them fancy ladies that come from d'Etroit to shop and attend balls them Redcoats put on'

  "I thought Kekionga was the principal village of the Miami tribe," Pa said, taking a sip of coffee.

  "So it is. There's hundreds of people there, and Indians from nearly every tribe. You should see Michikiniqua's place-that's Little Turtle, the principal Miami chief. He's got glass winders and paintings from Europe, fine china and goblets, even a harpsichord. But what beats all is the six-seater privy made of plankin' out back:'

  Morrow worked up a smile, glad to see Pa so amused. Joe held up his plate for seconds, and she served him her own uneaten breakfast before refilling his coffee. "There's a heap of British and Canadian soldiers there-and lots of war talk, none of it good:'

  "The British are taking a beating, I hear," Pa said. "It seems General Washington has learned to fight like an Indian"

  Trapper Joe chuckled. "I don't care to stir you up with all the tomfoolery I heard. But I do have one piece of news. For Miz Morrow, anyway."

  At this, she sank into her churning chair, heart overfull. He took another bite of his bread and chewed thoughtfully, leaving them all on tenterhooks.

  Finally he flashed her a knowing look. "Right there in the heart of Kekionga, in William Burnett's fine tradin' establishment, I ran into Red Shirt'

  Morrow simply stared at him, little eddies of disbelief welling inside her.

  Pa looked up from his coffee. "When was that, Joe?"

  Joe wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Near the end of February. Had a mountain of furs he was tradin' before goin' on to Fort Pitt. Said he was hammerin' out the details with the Indian agent there about that prisoner exchange they've been promisin"

  She opened her mouth then closed it as Pa asked the question she couldn't. "Was he well?"

  "Fit as a fiddle, seems to me. Said somethin' about his winterin' with you on account of a shot to his shoulder."

  The beloved memory now seemed sharp as broken glass. He had been with them, bringing life and color into their cold cabin-and his absence still chafed. A bittersweet flood swept over her, so intense she had to bite her lip to keep herself in check.

  "He was here for a few weeks and then disappeared right before Christmas;' Pa told him with a rueful smile. "On Major McKie's fine gelding:"

  "You don't say." Trapper Joe looked as pleased as if he'd done the deed himself. He cast Morrow another look. "He sent a little somethin' to you'

  She couldn't hide her surprise. "Me?
"

  He got up and went around the cabin where his horses were hobbled. She followed, hands clasped behind her back, heart in her throat. He seemed to take an interminable amount of time finding what he'd promised, finally presenting a parcel tied with leather string. "Comes clear from Kekionga. I told him I'd get it to you safe and sound:"

  "Thank you, Joe, she managed, wanting to open it in private so he wouldn't see her pleasure-or her tears. But his eyes were pinned on her expectantly ... as were Pa's.

  She sat down again, prepared to share the gift with them but afraid they could see her hands shaking. What had come over her? Her thoughts were just as wayward. He wrapped this package ... selected its contents. It seemed almost sacred somehow, tethering them across the miles, strengthening their tie.

  She tore at the heavy paper, revealing a wealth of otter fur beneath. The luxurious skins had been crafted into a short cape, deep and dark and sparkling, with a tie of black silk ribbon at the throat. Holding it close, she felt an overwhelming anguish that he wasn't there to give it to her himself.

  "He trapped and made it with his own two hands:' Joe told her. "I asked him. Best put it on so I can see how it looks on you in case he asks me"

  She obliged, settling it over her shoulders and tying the silk strings in front, marveling at its exquisite softness. "Fit for royalty, I reckon;' Joe announced. "Looks mighty fine on you, Miz Morrow"

  Pa studied her, but she avoided his eyes, afraid he would see what was hidden in their depths. "I'd best put it away;" she said with a tremulous smile, gathering up the paper and string and going inside.

  They resumed their talking while she went upstairs. Opening her wardrobe, she hid the lovely fur away and shut the door on it, only to take it out again. Giving in to her growing need of Red Shirt, she buried her face in its soft, glistening folds, pleasedand grieved-beyond measure. For now she was certain of just what she had to do.

  The next morning Pa rose early to begin plowing and putting in the corn crop with Joe's help. Knowing how the day would tax him, Morrow had baked his favorite breakfast, leaving the iron kettle overnight in the hot ashes of the hearth. Lifting the lid, she set the spoon bread on the table, its crusty top dripping with melted butter. To her relief, he took two helpings. But no matter how hard she worked to feed him, the flesh just fell off his slender frame.

  He seemed preoccupied this morning, saying little as she sat opposite him and made a pretense of eating her own breakfast. Joe hadn't appeared yet, and her eyes were drawn to the ticking clock overhead. She must tell him today, right now. Setting her own untouched plate aside, she took a steadying breath. Though she'd practiced the words in the privacy of her bedroom, her heart twisted with such turmoil she wasn't sure she could stumble through them.

  "Daughter, are you all right?"

  His tender concern seemed the final straw that nearly sent her crumbling. "Pa, I've ..:" She swallowed hard, clasping her hands together, blinking back the tears that lined her lashes. The tense silence seemed to beg her to reconsider. He leaned forward as if expectant, perhaps hopeful. He'd known such heartache ... he only wanted to see her settled. Couldn't she give him this?

  "Pa, I-I've decided to marry Robbie Clay." He sat back and nodded, face awash with something she couldn't name. She stumbled on. "I think it's best if we wed quietly, without delay"

  Before I give way.

  He cleared his throat and for a few moments seemed to be groping for words. When he found them, they sounded almost as stilted and forced as hers had been. "Very well, Morrow. I'll ride to the fort and tell him"

  She nodded and turned away, hearing Joe on the porch. He appeared in the open doorway, voice booming as she reached the landing to her room. "Mornin, Elias, Miz Morrow. I just remembered the news I should have told you about when I was here yesterday. Abe says Lizzy has delivered a fine son and wants you and your pa to come see them"

  She tried to smile, to speak, but the words wouldn't budge. The silence lengthened uncomfortably until Pa said, "Well, that's fine news, Joe. I was planning on going to the fort tomorrow, anyway." He looked up at Morrow hovering on the steps, as if waiting for her to announce their own tidings. When she merely looked at him mutely, he mumbled, "I believe we have some news of our own'

  The grizzled woodsman scratched his beard and waited. Speaking past the knot in her throat, Morrow said, "I'm going to be married ... to Robbie Clay"

  Joe seemed to be trying to work up a smile, eyes sharp. "Well, that's news, all right. When?"

  She looked at Pa, so shaken by what she'd just committed to she couldn't answer.

  "We'll find out tomorrow when we go to the fort;' Pa said as matter-of-factly as if they'd just been discussing the weather. He reached for his hat. "Best finish that plowing. We've other business afoot."

  Morrow leaned over the low wooden cradle by Lizzy's bed, her face awash with wonder. Besides Little Eli, this was but the second newborn she'd held, and the same sense of awe wrapped round her heart. The other women in the room seemed more interested in visiting with Lizzy and hearing the details of the birth instead of paying the baby any attention. All but Morrow.

  "Go ahead;' Lizzy urged, leaning back against the headboard. "Pick him up. He won't break."

  "I reckon not;' Jemima drawled in the too warm room. "He's heavier than a sack of shot, though I don't know why. You and Abe ain't nothing but broomsticks"

  Gently, Morrow scooped him up, tucking his head under her chin. His fair scalp was peeling a bit and he had red blotches on his face, but she found him beautiful. He smelled a sight better than Little Eli, given Good Robe's generous applications of bear oil. A Shawnee custom, she supposed. But this baby, whom they were calling Jordan Abraham, smelled sweet as spring. Cradling him, an overwhelming longing washed over her.

  She turned back to the bed. "You did fine, Lizzy. He's just beautiful:"

  "Fine?" Jemima snorted, looking askance at the baby. "I heard her screaming clear down to my cabin. You would have thought she was giving birth to a buffalo'

  Lizzy blanched, and Morrow felt a flash of irritation. "Childbirth isn't for cowards, Jemima. Just you wait and see"

  "And how would you know?" she demanded, her gaze hard as river rock again. "You ain't even been kissed"

  Aunt Sally chuckled and drew Jemima aside as if to quell a coming confrontation. They spoke in low tones, leaving Lizzy to finish her conversation with Abe's mother and sisters. Morrow moved toward the door, standing in the fresh air, well away from the smoking grease lamps. Surely the dirty interior of the cabin couldn't be good for a baby. An infant needed clean, fresh air. A shaft of sunlight hit them, and he mewled like a kitten, melting into her. The weight of him was so soft, so warm. Already she rued releasing him.

  Since arriving but an hour before, she'd tried to strike a normal tone with Lizzy and keep peace with Jemima, but the secret she was hiding weighted her like stone. Moments ago she'd seen Pa disappear into the tiny cabin that was Robbie's and shut the door. While she waited, she tried not to think of all its implications. The newborn she now held seemed a promise of her own. What would it be like to live with a man ... carry his child? The prospect of being tied to Robbie in such an intimate way filled her with a near-smothering dread.

  Lord, help me honor my word and make Pa's last days easier to bear.

  She clenched her jaw till it hurt and looked out over the long rectangular common, so busy now that warmer weather was here. She could hear snatches of conversation amidst the dust and confusion within fort walls. War talk ... always war. Both the one in the East and the one on the frontier.

  Morrow stepped into the shade of the cabin eave as a man striding toward her came sharply into focus. The sun struck each polished brass button, highlighting his epaulets and tailored coat. She shrank back, alarm filling every inch of her. She hadn't seen Major McKie since the awkward supper in Lizzy's cabin. She'd heard-hoped-he was away on a foray with his men.

  She clutched the baby closer, a bit frantic. It woul
dn't do to step back inside the cabin. As much as she disliked McKie, she couldn't be rude and cause a ruckus. She must keep the peace, be civil. She was afraid of what he might do if she didn't.

  "Miss Little, you make a fetching sight with an infant in your arms."

  His voice mellowed to a smooth timbre when he spoke to her. She didn't return his gaze but instead glanced past him to Robbie Clay's cabin. He removed his hat and tucked it under one arm so he was able to take her free hand. When his cold lips touched her skin, she wanted to shudder.

  "Good afternoon, Major McKie. You've returned early from your foray." Could the collected voice be hers? She sounded like a Philadelphia lady exchanging pleasantries with some fawning officer.

  He looked pleased. "Yes, and a successful venture it was, I must say. How are things with you and your father on the Red River?"

  She merely smiled, or tried to, but words were denied her.

  His gaze was steadfast. "Peaceful, I trust. Not a savage in sight?"

  The question rattled her beyond all reasoning. She murmured, "No trouble to speak of, perhaps on account of your coming" The lie seemed to burn her lips. What on earth made her flatter him? Fear, she guessed.

  He looked smug, moving nearer and making her want to take a step back. "Is this Abraham and Elizabeth's infant? Let me see."

  To her surprise, he took the baby from her, holding him aloft so that his tiny head lopped to one side. Clearly, the major was more accustomed to drilling soldiers than holding babies. Was he trying to convince her otherwise, leave her with the impression that he was a family man, fond of children? She reached out to take the baby back, but Alice appeared, coming up behind them and fussing over her nephew.

  "Here, let me have him," she said. "I've hardly had the chance to hold him with all these womenfolk about. And I'm his aunt!" She disappeared inside the cabin, leaving them alone in the dust and sunlight.