McKie wasted no time in coming to the point. "I must speak with your father. Is he within?"
"N-no, with Robbie Clay," Morrow blurted, adjusting her straw hat so that it shielded her face from his steady gaze.
His gaze was sharp. "Robbie Clay?"
"He ... they have some business to discuss:" Only then did she realize she'd misspoken.
His eyes swung to the far cabin Pa had entered, and his countenance seemed to harden. Did he suspect what their business was about? If he knew, would he try to stop them?
She saw Lysander Clay emerge from the blockhouse that served as McKie's quarters, his swagger evident in broad daylight. She'd heard Robbie's younger brother had recently joined the army, anxious to serve under McKie. Joe said he was a chief's man, though she didn't know what that meant. Light-headed, she excused herself and hurried back inside with Lizzy and the cluster of women as Lysander huddled with McKie.
In moments Pa appeared in the doorway, telling her it was time to go. Having admired the new baby when they'd first arrived, he now seemed anxious to return home. Or was his news for her making him hasty?
She mounted the gentle Dollie, while beside her Pa's black stallion snorted and stomped, making the mare shy away. Pa had some trouble bringing him round, but at last they rode out. Signs of the coming summer were everywhere, wending the season's spell in the honeysuckle and blackberry vine, in the thickly leafed trees and strengthening slant of the sun. But the beauty was lost to her as she waited to hear what it was Pa had to say.
"Robbie wants to wed you at week's end, Morrow. At our cabin:"
Setting her jaw again, she simply nodded, eyes drifting to the rutted excuse of a road as they climbed a gentle swell of bluegrass and the fort disappeared from sight. He seemed to choose his words carefully as if knowing they would nettle her. "He wants no witnesses"
Beneath the brim of her straw hat, her pale face felt strained. "I ... Major McKie shouldn't know"
He nodded. "There might be trouble, feeling as he does about you. I don't like wedding you under such circumstances. It's not as I hoped it would be .."
Not as you hoped? The bitter thought brought about a rush of emotion so intense she had to bite her tongue to stem her tears. Turning her face away, she felt for her handkerchief, grateful as they moved into the newly leafed shadow of an oak so he couldn't see her struggle. She was days away from being wed. Given this, why couldn't she put down these confusing feelings about Red Shirt? Why, as the days passed, was her heart so completely his?
"I'm glad of one thing, he told her. "When I see how you are with Little Eli and now Lizzy's babe, I know without a doubt you were meant to be a mother. A wife"
Shamed, she looked away. How could she give voice to the fact that she'd already given in to the sweetness of both? In her heart of hearts, she was already wed. And it wasn't Robbie Clay she'd surrendered to ...
"With you married, I won't have to worry about returning you to Philadelphia should I go to the prisoner exchange with Red Shirt," Pa said. "Being on the trail in peaceful times is grueling. In times of war. . " She glanced at his bearded profile beneath the shadow of his felt hat, knotting her hands in her lap, trying to stem her turmoil. "I'll say no more except that I'll be glad to see you settled:"
He began to cough so hard she had to take his reins. His words washed over her, stirring up new worries instead of settling them. She was marrying to please him, to gain an extra hand about the farm. But he'd soon be gone, leaving her tethered to a man she didn't love. And pining for the man she did.
Her wedding day dawned clear, sunlight streaming in and waking her long before she wanted. Full of birdsong, it seemed to mock her with its bright beauty. She'd hardly slept, thinking it the last night alone in her bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the feather tick that had hardly held Red Shirt, she let her mind roam in shameless ways. Perhaps tonight, my wedding night, if I shut my eyes ... I could pretend ...
She eyed the chamber pot, thinking she might be sick again. How would she ever make it till four o'clock, the appointed time? Across the room her wardrobe yawned open as if awaiting her choice of a wedding dress. The day before, she'd tried to pick a gown, her reluctant hands avoiding the velvet. It hung unworn, a testament to things loved and lost. Perhaps she'd make her firstborn a little gown from it-a christening dress. But even the thought of that hurt her, and she shut it away.
She heard the closing of the door below as Pa went out. Was he as restless as she? They hadn't spoken of what would happen this day, but it seemed to be all they thought about, the prospect hovering like a storm cloud between them. Surely he sensed the upheaval in her heart. Over the years he'd wed so many couples-for all sorts of reasons. Perhaps he hoped that, given time, she'd grow to love Robbie. Or had he, like she, realized her true feelings and seen this as the only choice?
Lord, help me be a willing bride. Help me toforget about what I can't have and be thankful for whats before me.
"You look lovely, Morrow."
As she came down the stairs at half past three, Pa stood at the hearth in a pressed shirt and black breeches. The brocade waistcoat she'd made him at Christmas fit a bit loosely, but his linen stock was neatly folded in ivory lines, making him look every inch the earnest pastor. She tried to smile at him through her tears, taking a quick glance about the cabin to make sure Robbie hadn't come yet.
The front door was open, and a warm breeze stirred the fine yellow cloth of her dress. It cascaded around her, the hem a bit too long, but beribboned and lacy as a bride's dress should be. She'd wanted to wear a veil like Lizzy had done, if only to hide her distress. Beneath its lacy folds, Robbie wouldn't notice if she cried or trembled or was pale. But the east side of the cabin had turned up little in that way, so she'd remained bareheaded ... and bare hearted.
"Don't you want some flowers, Morrow? There are some early roses budding around the side of the cabin;' he told her.
But she simply shook her head, clutching an embroidered handkerchief.
"Did you speak to Lizzy-anyone-about this?" he asked.
"No, Pa"
Only Joe knew, and he was remarkably closemouthed where they were concerned. Going to the hearth, she sat down in her chair. He took his own seat across from her, and she realized they had no third place for Robbie. Perhaps he'd bring some of his own things from the fort. But the idea of him sitting there, breaking in on the circle she and Pa had shared for so many years, struck her as strange. Deep down she knew he didn't belong here, but what was she to do?
"Morrow, I need to talk to you ... about a wife's duty to her husband:'
Duty? His pained tone set off every alarm bell inside her. Heat flooded her face, and she felt she might be sick again. "Pa ... please"
"I know it's a woman's place to tell you about such things" He reached up and loosened his too-tight stock, color high. "Since you're lacking a mother's influence, I'll have to do what I can"
Oh, why hadn't she asked Lizzy? She was woefully ignorant about these matters of the heart, yet having Pa tell her such things made matters worse, not better.
"A husband has certain-"
She shut her eyes, hearing the drum of horse hooves crossing the clearing. Pa was spared his sermonizing, at least. With a last look at her, he pulled himself out of his chair and went outside to meet Robbie while she stood on shaking legs. Oh Lord, help me! She felt she was sinking in a pit of despair and desire, longing for one man while giving herself to another. And she knew it was wrong-a lie, a cruel deception she wouldn't want inflicted on anyone. She felt sudden sympathy for Jacob, who'd mistakenly wed the unlovely Leah instead of his beloved Rachel. Had his grief been as great? Reaching out a hand, she clutched the arm of her chair.
Lord, help me do what pleases You. And Pa.
She braced herself for what she'd pledged to do, but it wasn't Robbie's voice she heard across the threshold, just Joe's. His gruffness reached clear inside the cabin, calling her out onto the porch. She stood in the doorway, looking ou
t at them in the greening yard, trying to hear what it was they said.
Pa turned to her, face grim. "There's to be no wedding, Morrow, at least not today."
She leaned against the door frame, light-headed with shock. No wedding ... no wedding night. No pretending to be will ing. She started trembling again, this time out of profound gratitude.
Joe came to stand under the porch eave, one cheek swollen with tobacco. "Accordin' to Abe, Lysander got wind that Robbie was going to marry you and took it to the major. And McKie, smitten with you like he is, decided he needed a few more men on this next foray, so Robbie was pressed into service'
Pa stifled a cough. "Where's McKie headed, Joe?"
"Across the Ohio. Abe's been left in charge of the fort while they're away. He ain't sure how long this campaign's going to be. Months, maybe"
"Sounds like they're moving into Shawnee territory like McKie planned"
"That's what I suspect, Joe said.
Pa passed a hand over his beard. "I suppose this means the prisoner exchange is off."
Leaning over, Joe spat into the grass. "I wouldn't get your hopes up about anything peaceable happenin' once McKie crosses that river."
Morrow looked at Pa, saw him struggle to maintain his composure in the face of such crushing news, and her heart twisted. Turning away, she hurried inside and up the steps to her room to shed her dress. A dozen different thoughts rumbled through her mind, leaving her breathless and spent. She was stunned and sorry Robbie had been waylaid by McKie, yet so elated by the delay she felt ashamed. But she knew her gladness was to be short-lived. When Robbie returned ... what then?
Opening her wardrobe, she reached into its shadowed corner and took out the fur wrap. With a prayer for forgiveness on her lips, she buried her face in its softness and wept, her feelings so tangled she couldn't begin to unravel them.
Where, Morrow wondered, had summer gone? To find her answer, she had only to take stock of the cribbed corn, the abundance of root vegetables stored in straw in the springhouse, the first kegs of cider and salted meat. With the harvest in, everything seemed to have ground to a halt. There were no more letters from Aunt Etta. No more news of McKie away on the foray that had halted her wedding to Robbie Clay. No word from Surrounded or Red Shirt. Everything on the Red River was sameness and stillness and peace. Though she remained calm on the surface, she was worn with worry underneath. Awaiting word of Robbie Clay's return seemed to strip away her joy bit by bit. Every day left her thinking the same thing. This could be the hour he came back. Any moment they might wed.
As she walked to the river to bathe, one bare foot skimming the water, she felt autumn in its cold rushing. She was careful to stay close to shore, recalling how the river had almost made her a watery grave. Thoughts of Red Shirt seemed to hover as she relived the moment he'd brought her out of the river. The memory was growing a bit dusty, as were his words to her in the attic before he'd disappeared. But the feeling he wrought-and she fought-remained.
Months had passed since he'd ridden away on McKie's fine horse. Not once had they seen so much as his shadow. His absence spelled something momentous, surely. Had he severed all ties with them, given the escalating conflict? Or had he taken up with the British again as Pa feared? Though they rarely spoke of him, she sensed he was often in Pa's thoughts, and it seemed they danced around the unspoken possibility he'd been wounded or even killed since seeing Joe at Kekionga last winter.
Oh Lord, wherever he is, please let no harm come to him.
Heartsore, she finished her bath and returned to the cabin to comb out her damp hair and secure it atop her head. But the heavy locks kept spilling down in wayward wisps about her face and neck despite an abundance of pins. As she rummaged through her wardrobe, she was careful not to stray to the fur shawl, instead picking the first dress her fingers touched. 'Twas a badly wrinkled sprigged muslin, light and airy and begging for the clothespress. She put it on anyway, liking the pale blue flowers that bloomed across the carnation-colored fabric and the way the rounded neckline was ruched with a deeper blue ribbon. She considered donning a kerchief to better cover up. But no one was about, save Pa.
"Morrow, I'm going out to the pasture to see to the horses, he called from the bottom of the stairs.
She called out an acknowledgment and then, feeling hemmed in by the shadows, went out into the orchard. There amidst the tangle of lush limbs and late apples where she hoped to find solace, she simply found a deeper sadness. Why was it that everywhere she went, Red Shirt's memory seemed to shadow her? Why was he even now so indelibly engraved on her heart? Here it was no different. She was cast back in time to the day he'd stood with her while she dipped candles, talking of Jess and sharing things she'd shared with no one, not even Pa.
In the lengthening shadows, the sweet sound of a dove calling for its mate carried on the wind. She paused, waiting for the answering call. The cooing came again, as lonesome and full of yearning as she herself felt. Still, no answer. Clasping her hands behind her back, she began walking slowly toward the depths of the orchard, wanting a look at the lonely dove. A sudden movement through the trees made her start, and she saw a telling flash of brown.
She swerved toward the shadow, but he was faster, the heavily laden branches swallowing him from sight. A bit dazed, she ran after him but within moments didn't know who was pursuing whom. They chased each other in dizzying circles till she wanted to fall to the ground, pleasure pumping through her, completely out of breath.
I must be dreaming...
She felt a sweet, bubbling relief that Red Shirt stood before her, hale and hearty, when she feared he'd never do so again. Without Pa's watchful presence, she took stock of him inch by inch, feeling she'd somehow earned the right after so much time apart. His hard jaw was clean shaven, the black silk of his hair damp from a washing and looking freshly combed, his amber eyes flickering warm as a hearth's fire. He was, she noticed, hardly winded.
Breathlessly, she said, "I heard a dove calling for its mate. But now I think that dove was you"
There was a hint of a smile in his eyes. "I was waiting for you to answer"
"I can't make birdcalls"
I could teach you:'
He seemed to be drinking in the sight of her as well, and she felt a certain shyness without her shawl. Yet she sensed he needed to see something soft and womanly and feminine. She was suddenly glad of her tumbled hair and bare shoulders and beribboned dress. And then a feeling of shame swept through her. No man had ever seen her so unkempt.
Her smile faded. "You must be tired-hungry."
"Mostly thirsty," he said, looking toward the cabin.
"Come in and I'll get you some cider. Pa's in the pasture but should be back soon:"
"How is he?" The concern in his face was so telling, tears came to her eyes. He said quietly, "That's answer enough"
Shifting his rifle to his other arm, he took her elbow and walked with her to the cabin. The pressure of his callused hand seemed to steady her, and she felt a deep contentment. "I wasn't sure we'd see you again."
"I can't stay long. Overnight, perhaps. I need to talk to your father"
"He's been a bit downcast about the prisoner exchange."
He nodded in understanding, the lines about his eyes creasing as he squinted into the setting sun. "Everything is unraveling. From the war in the East to the trouble here in Kentucke and Ohio's middle ground. I'd not thought to see it come to this"
"Isn't there peace anywhere?" she wondered aloud.
"Here," he said, looking down at her.
For the briefest moment their eyes met. She'd not considered how welcome their cabin might look to him, hungry and tired as he surely was from a long journey. In a world where nothing seemed safe or peaceful or good, was their home on the Red River a refuge? Her eyes trailed to the shoulder Pa had tended so carefully last winter, wondering if it still ailed him.
"How is your wound?"
"Never better. I have you and your father to thank f
or that"
"I was afraid, when you didn't come back.. "
He smiled and looked away from her, eyes scanning the clearing and woods before they passed inside. "I've lived a score or more years thus far. I intend to live another score or better"
Twenty or so to her nineteen. She'd been wondering just how old he was. Now she tucked the knowledge away like a keepsake to save. He lay his rifle on the trestle table alongside his powder horn and shot pouch while she fetched a crock of cold cider from the springhouse. By the time she'd returned, Pa was back, the pleasure on his face at seeing Red Shirt so heartening she found herself near tears again. They embraced, and she stood apart, surprised at how easily they took to being together again.
As she warmed leftovers from supper, they sat by the hearth and talked unceasingly in low tones, broken only by Pa's bursts of coughing. The contrast they made wrenched her heart. Red Shirt exuded strength and health and vitality, magnifying Pa's decrepit condition. Not much longer now, her soul seemed to whisper.
Toward nightfall she sensed Pa was growing weary. Before the mantel clock struck seven, he was asleep in his chair, head tipped to his chest, while Red Shirt sat across from him and quietly cleaned his rifle.
"I've made you a bed in the barn," she said, wishing he'd not insisted upon it. "But I'd rather you stay in the house with us:"
"I'll not take your bed again," he replied, wiping down the barrel with a piece of tow linen she'd given him. "Feather ticks are for females. I prefer the hard ground:"
She gave him a half smile, watching as he loaded his rifle. "I'm afraid Tansy isn't very good company. Not to mention all those horses:"
"You should show me which stall is mine, he said, finishing his task.
Standing, he cast a long shadow in the last of the flickering firelight, and she moved toward the door ahead of him. The smell of rain was in the air, and they looked toward a surly sky thick with thunderheads. The wind was picking up, promising a stormy night. Her eyes roamed over the broad lines of the barn, a black silhouette in the gloom, and a new worry pricked her.