Courting Morrow Little: A Novel

  Oh, Pa!

  Dropping to her knees, she let out an anguished cry. He roused and turned. "I'm not dead yet, Daughter" Color filled his wan face. As he began coughing again, it seemed the most glorious sound she'd ever heard. Only she couldn't stop crying.

  The lines in his face deepened. "Morrow, what's come over you?" He stroked her hair, and she cried till the candles were spent and the fire begged for wood. "I think it's more than me you're mourning. You're in need of a mother to discuss these matters of the heart. I've long forgotten what it's like to be in love"

  She said nothing, her cheek pressed against the dampness of his nightshirt, thinking she'd misheard.

  "I know you're in love with Red Shirt, Daughter. There's no use denying it"

  Still, she couldn't speak.

  He went on, a bit breathless, each word labored. "You need to take the happiness held out to you. Before it's too late"

  When she heard hoofbeats long after dark, she feared the worst. Trembling, she glanced at Pa as he slept, his coughing quieted by a medicinal dose of whiskey. Moving to a shuttered window, she peered through the wooden slats at the clearing and outbuildings and saw a lone rider coming round the barn. Her eyes fastened on the moonlit figure as he dismounted, hope rising. There was no mistaking the great height of him, the expert way he handled his horse, the agile manner in which he crossed the clearing toward the cabin.

  Before he'd reached the steps, she'd unbarred and opened the door. He stood stalwart before her, the crown of his dark head touching the oak lintel as he entered, his broad shoulders filling up the emptiness.

  Her voice was shaky, a bit disbelieving. "I thought you'd gone."

  "I had to turn back:'

  "Why?"

  "All that matters is right here"

  She took the heartfelt words in, aware of the keen warmth in his eyes. He set his rifle by the door and barred it while she crossed to the hutch to get cider and bread. When she turned around, he was behind her in the shadows, well beyond the pale light of the lamps, making her forget why she was there in the first place.

  14morrow, I don't want to eat, he told her gently.

  She set the cider down, tears lining her eyes, afraid to look at him lest she collapse crying in his arms. She was so tiredbenumbed, even-her emotions scattered. Could he tell just by looking at her?

  His own face bore weary lines as if he'd come a long distance, a few strands of charcoal hair escaping his loosely tied queue. He took her hands. "I know things have been hard for you."

  Hard? No, nearly beyond endurance. But she couldn't say all that haunted her-McKie and his traitorous accusations, Pa losing his life by slow degrees before her very eyes, the depth of her feelings for a man she shouldn't love. She looked away briefly, throat tight, trying to stay calm. The seconds ticked by, and the sadness and confusion she'd pushed down for so long started to give way beneath his tender gaze. Taking back her hands, she covered her face and began to cry.

  In moments she was overcome by his tobacco-laden scent and the warm, unyielding length of him, her head tucked in the hollow between his chest and shoulder, his arms tight around her. Behind them, Pa still slept, but it was an uneasy sleep, broken by an unsettling rattle in his chest.

  Her voice was a whisper. "Why did you come back?'Tis not safe"

  "I came back to finish what we last started"

  Did he mean their near embrace in the barn? Before Pa came in? His mouth was warm against her ear, his fingers stroking her hair, which frayed at the touch of his callused hand. "I came back to ask you to be my wife"

  The words, so long wished for, were every bit as sweet as she'd hoped they'd be. But here in this shadowed corner, with Pa so ill ... "Do you love me? Or do you feel pity for me, alone, almost fatherless?"

  "Not pity, Morrow. Love. The love between a man and a woman."

  Her lips parted in a sort of wonder. "Have you ever been in love?"

  "Not till now ... not till you"

  "Then how can you be ... sure?"

  "I know my mind, my heart:"

  His quiet confidence-the intimacy of his words-kindled something deep inside her. All the months of hiding, of trying to deny him, began to erode like river sand. He was offering her what no man had ever done. His heart, an honorable proposal, a home.

  Her thoughts began racing, grappling with the enormity of his asking. "Where would we go ... where would we live?"

  "There's new land west of the Mississippi. Few people have settled there. I want us to be among the first"

  West. Far from bloodshed and betrayal and lonesome graves behind a paling fence. He was looking down at her, his eyes lingering on her loosened hair. Was he already imagining her living alongside him, preparing his meals, sharing his bed? He'd never touched her in that way, yet someday she might bear his child. The thought filled her with a severe longing.

  Reaching up, she touched his cheek, the silence between them brimming. She wanted to give an answer-to ease the pain and passion in his face-but the words lodged so tight in her throat she couldn't speak. It mattered little that she loved him. Did she love him enough?

  "For a long time I put down my feelings for you ... but I can't do so any longer," he said. He drew her nearer, touching her with his eyes and his hands in a wordless sort of lovemaking that stole her very breath. There were no barriers between them now, just this exquisite confession of feelings, heart to heart and soul to soul. "I'll walk away from you, if that's what you want. Yet I feel .." He swallowed hard, his voice a whisper. "I feel when I'm with you that you love me too"

  Broken, she gave way, aware of the slightly wild, erratic rhythm of his heartbeat against her own. She clung to him, her fists full of the soft fringe of his frocked shirt, her need of him so overwhelming she started to cry all over again.

  He smoothed her tumbled hair, his mouth brushing her ear and temple, his voice low and sweet and anguished. "Morrow ... let me love you"

  Yes, her heart cried. Yes ... yes ... yes.

  He continued to hold her, pouring strength and comfort into her till her crying subsided. When his hands fell away, she felt a startling emptiness. "For now I'll say no more. In the morning I'll speak with your father. I won't go against his wishes. Or your own."

  With that, he turned away, took up his rifle, and left the cabin.

  She awoke to complete and utter stillness. Had Red Shirt gone? Or had Pa passed in the night? She hurried and dressed, crossing to her window half a dozen times in hopes of seeing them outside, not bothering to subdue her hair into its usual chignon. Stepping onto the landing, she waited for the welcome aroma of coffee, but all she smelled was wood smoke and tobacco. The hearth chairs were askew, and she wondered if they'd already spoken. Had he asked Pa for her hand while she slept unawares upstairs?

  Heart in her throat, she stepped onto the front porch, finding the edges touched with frost, the remaining flowers bitten by the cold, their bright colors faded. Relief filled her when she saw them in the pasture-Pa working to keep upright with his cane but looking bent and rusty as an old nail beside the youthful, strapping Red Shirt. She sat down on the edge of her churning chair, but her eyes ran after them, hungry to hear what it was they said. Odd how they stood tall one moment, then knelt down the next. Even on his knees before a fallen log, Red Shirt's height was apparent. She stared in surprise as he bent his head.

  Was he ... praying?

  Emotion flooded her. Half an hour passed before they came back, each moment making her more breathless and tense. Taking a shaky step off the porch, she smoothed the creases of her skirt. But he only glanced at her before walking away, leaving Pa to hobble toward her in the fragile morning's light.

  "But I-he-" she half whispered into empty air.

  "He'll be back," Pa reassured her, trying to get his breath. "He said he spoke to you last night and told you of his feelings"

  She nodded, eyes lingering on him as he disappeared into the woods.

  "This morning he asked me for your han
d in marriage. But before I give my blessing, there are some things you need to understand:' She felt a tremor of alarm and looked down at her feet. He continued quietly, eyes on the woods. "In the meadow there, while you waited, he asked if God would accept such a man as he:"

  She turned back to him, full of wonder.

  "He spoke of those times in battle when he was a party to scalps taken and forts burned, and killing Major McKie-"

  "No, Pa-please. . " Her face turned entreating, and she held up a hand as if to stop the unwelcome words.

  His eyes held a warning. "You need to listen, Morrow. There should be no secrets between the two of you, feeling as you do. Fortunately, God's grace is far greater than anything he's done. And Red Shirt's as sincere in his repentance as any man I've ever seen."

  He began coughing again and turned to go into the cabin, leaving her alone on the porch. Oh, Pa, what should I do? Was God displeased with such a union? Was she willing to look beyond his past to the man he'd become, having given his life to God? By loving him-marrying him-was she betraying the memory of Ma and Euphemia and Jess?

  A misting rain began to fall, erasing the blue sky and filling in the woods with gray. She was alone, truly alone, with her impossible decision. A flash of brown filled her vision as Red Shirt came back into the clearing. With as much composure as she could muster, she walked over the cold ground to meet him, rain pelting her face. He'd accept whatever decision she made, he'd said. He'd walk away from her if that was what she wanted.

  Lord, what would You have me do?

  Standing before him, she felt a sudden settling, a peace she couldn't explain.

  You need to take the happiness held out to you. Before its too late.

  Reaching for his hand, she brought it to her cheek like she had in the barn that stormy night, knowing that she'd loved him even then. His face was poignant, perhaps a bit disbelieving, touching her so deeply she found it hard to say what she was now sure of.

  "I want to be your wife," she began a bit breathlessly. "I want to be yours ... wholly and completely."

  He didn't take her in his arms as she thought he might, but a look of pure pleasure shone in his eyes. Despite the stinging rain, they stood staring at each other as if weighing all the implications of what they'd just done, were about to do.

  His hazel eyes were sharp. "You're sure?"

  "Yes" Beneath her bodice, her heart swelled with a joy unknown to her before. Behind her, the cabin door opened and Pa appeared on the porch. They turned to face him, and Red Shirt's voice carried across the still clearing.

  "Your daughter has agreed to become my wife:"

  Silence. Was Pa as pleased as she hoped he'd be?

  "Well then, he said at last, "let's have a wedding"

  Here and now? The suddenness of it stole her breath, but the satisfaction on Pa's face spurred her on. Now anxious to be out of the rain, she made a dash for the porch, her soon-to-be husband at her heels.

  Up the cabin stairs she went without a word to anyone. Impatience pulsed through her as she rummaged through the dark wardrobe, fingertips seeking the lush velvet. Draping it across the bed, she shed her damp dress and left it puddling on the floor, not wanting to keep them waiting. The heavy gown fell into place, covering her embroidered under things. She didn't bother with a brush but left her hair unbound, liking the way the dampness curled and twisted the length of it.

  Her hands felt a bit empty as she recalled Lizzy's bouquet. Coming down the stairs, she spied some bittersweet atop the mantel. Plucking it from its cracked jar, she brought it to her nose as if its peculiar scent could steady her. Though she longed for the roses of June, this would have to do.

  Had it only been mere months ago that she stood by the hearth and waited for Robbie Clay? How different this was. Today she felt rushed but right and altogether eager. Like a bride should. But for the thought of soldiers at their door ...

  When Pa and Red Shirt came in from the porch where they'd gone to wait, she looked down at her bittersweet bouquet, tongue-tied. The three of them came together, a bit fumbling, even bashful. Pa stood before the flickering hearth, his Bible open in his hands, his heartfelt words broken by bursts of coughing.

  "Dearly beloved ..

  The poignant look on her father's face touched her. Was he remembering his own wedding day? How her mother looked? How he'd felt?

  "With this ring I thee wed.. "

  She echoed the heartfelt words and watched Pa remove his own ring and pass it to her. Slipping it onto the fourth finger of Red Shirt's left hand, she found it wouldn't go past the knuckle. Taking a breath, she tried his little finger-a perfect fit. He looked down at the wide gold band with its distinctive Celtic cross as Pa reached into his pocket and produced a second ring, one she hadn't seen since childhood. It was her mother's own, the slender band reflecting all the rich, warm hues of the firelight. For a moment the heirloom in his hand was lost to her as she struggled with her emotions.

  "With my body I thee worship.. "

  The intimate words seemed an open invitation to ponder what pleasures awaited them-how his hair would feel entangled in her fingers ... the taste of his kiss. Till now she'd kept her mind swept clean of such notions. But today, her wedding day, she could think as she pleased of him. He was looking down at her, perhaps considering the same, and the realization made her heart pick up in rhythm.

  "With all my worldly goods, I thee endow.. "

  At this, she almost smiled. Her earthly goods consisted of a few quilts and dresses and little else. And his? A fine horse and rifle, perhaps the clothes on his back. She didn't know and she didn't care.

  As they bent their heads and Pa began to pray, she held her breath, waiting for the words, "You may kiss the bride" At all the settlement weddings over which he'd presided, not once had this been omitted. But instead his closing prayer was punctuated by a wheezing, thunderous blast. No call to kiss. She expelled her breath in a soft, disappointed little rush.

  Pa sank into the nearest chair, wiping his brow with a square of cloth, utterly spent and still hacking. The day had been too much for him, truly. But before she could fetch him a cup of water, he got to his feet and passed onto the porch to give them some privacy. The fire's backlog rolled forward, sending a shower of sparks onto the hearthstones, the only commotion in the suddenly still room.

  They stood motionless for a moment, locked in wonder. His warm eyes seemed to dance as he took in her gown and all its feminine details. Two dozen silk buttons. A froth of lace framing her bosom. Layer upon layer of lush velvet. Twin petticoats peeking out beneath the ankle-length hem. She looked like a bride.

  She was his.

  Slowly his arms went around her, and she held her breath. At last they could finish what they'd started in the barn ...

  All thoughts were blotted out as his mouth met hers-sweetly hesitant at first, then hungrily. Her senses began to swim in a woozy, melting rush. The unfamiliar feel of him beneath her tentative hands cast a strange spell. They drew apart only to melt back together again, kissing till they were breathless, till common sense prevailed. This was neither the time nor the place for lovemaking, not with Pa so ill and waiting on the porch.

  "I must go," Red Shirt whispered. The sheen in his eyes told her all that time wouldn't allow him to say. His being here was as dangerous for her and Pa as it was for him.

  "Your father.. " he said. "He doesn't have long now. When he's gone, I'll come back for you."

  "But when-how?" The plaintiveness in her voice seemed to wound him, and he brushed back a handful of her hair, entwining his fingers in it.

  "Soon;' he assured her. His eyes roamed her face as if engraving her every feature on his mind and heart. "Already I'm missing you."

  He kissed her again, thoroughly and completely, till her knees nearly gave way. When he turned away, she faced the fire, unable to watch him go, clutching the bittersweet broken by their embrace. She pressed her fingertips to her lips where the passion of his kiss seemed to linge
r. Where, she wondered ruefully, would he spend their wedding night?

  Behind her, Pa said, "I never thought I'd live to see this day. But I'm glad I did"

  She turned toward him, feeling almost childlike in the hearth light. "Are we really wed, Pa, right and truly?"

  "As a minister of the gospel, I can ascertain that you are, and it pleased me greatly to do it" Coughing again, he moved to lie down. "Now I'll try to oblige you by drawing my last breath so your husband can take you west like he wants, though I'd rather you just leave with him now and let an old man die in peace"

  "Hush, she chided, helping him into bed. How he'd stood for the simple ceremony baffled her. She supposed prayer had propped him up.

  "He'll make you a fine husband, brave and intelligent as he is. His heart for spiritual matters says much about his character. I couldn't release you to a lesser man. And you'll make him a fine wife, like your mother before you'

  She smiled at him through her tears, but his confident words failed to ease the sudden turmoil in her heart. With danger swirling all around them, there was no certainty of anything beyond this present moment. Already they'd been forced apart, though the most sacred vows had tied them together minutes before.

  He studied her as if divining her thoughts. "Only God knows what the future holds. Best just pray and not ponder it overlong"

  A fresh fit of coughing ended their conversation, and she got up to fetch him some whiskey and water. When he quieted, she took the empty cup and prayed it would settle him for the long night ahead.

  His voice was fading fast. "You need only be the wife and mother God has called you to be, Morrow. Leave the rest to Him"

  She kissed his brow and spread a second quilt over him, then blew out all the candles save the one that would take her upstairs. The velvet gown swished over the worn wooden steps without a sound, and she began to unbutton her bodice, wishing she could keep it on a little longer. Her bedroom was cold and drafty as a cave.