Winded from the dance, Morrow stood with Red Shirt in the shadow of a blockhouse eave. Without a word he put his pipe away and took her hand, leading her beyond the fort's front gates. Fireflies winged about, reminding her of the Red River, of fruit jars and Jess and the long lost days of childhood. A full moon spilled silver light on the cornfields beginning to take shape beyond the fort's east wall, the stalks aligned like rows of soldiers. She shivered, turning to take in his solemn profile, all too aware of the rifle he carried.
"The night-it bears watching," he said, drawing her into the crook of his arm.
"Do you sense something ... someone?"
"If I did, you wouldn't be here:" Raising a hand, he pointed out one shooting star and then another in the midnight sky.
But it was a momentary diversion, and she turned back to him. "Ever since you met with the courier, I've sensed a burden about you. I want to know what weighs you down so:"
He shook his head. "So you can be burdened too? No, Morrow. It's simply war talk. Little else"
She watched him as he studied their surroundings and wanted to kiss his unsmiling mouth. "Don't you ever get weary of all the trouble? Do you think it will ever end?"
He drew her closer. "There's no war being waged in Missouri"
Not yet. She studied him solemnly, thinking of the ebb and flow of conversation at the dinner table. "Is it true there's an American officer named Clark pushing further west than any white man before him?"
He nodded, looking down at her in the darkness. "I've seen firsthand the fort he's building at the Falls of the Ohio"
the falls? The breathtaking torrent of water came back to her, along with a rush of recollection so sweet she felt breathless. "The same place we made camp and swam? Our honeymoon .. .
"Is that what you call it?"
"It fits, does it not?"
He smiled, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness. "Honeymoon is too tame a word for what happened between us"
But she hardly noticed his gentle teasing. She felt stung by a suffocating sense of loss at the revelation. The thought of such a place being overrun with soldiers and camp followers seemed a desecration. But there were other things pressing on her mind and heart, and she felt the need to further unburden herself.
"Tonight at supper I heard Loramie mention a prisoner exchange at Fort Pitt:"
"It's part of the coming treaty-making there:"
She fell silent, thoughts full of Jess.
"Do you want me to go, Morrow?"
She slipped her arms around him, her heart too full to say anything but a simple "No:"
"I would gladly go if I thought it might bring your brother back to you. But I made a promise to your father to stay near at hand. And I've told Loramie we're leaving by month's end"
She looked up at him, lips parting in surprise. The words were so welcome-so long awaited-she was speechless with joy.
"If we go now, we'll cross the Missouri after the spring rush and be in a cabin of our own before winter sets in"
"I'm ready to go now, tomorrow:"
Smiling again, he gave a playful tug on her kerchief. "A fortnight is soon enough. There are still provisions to gather-horses, medicines. I need to consider the best routes for travel:"
Warming to the anticipation in his voice, she shut the thought of Jess away. In two weeks' time, when she could still travel comfortably, they'd leave this dusty, crowded place. They'd go west to make a home of their own. Home. Surely there was no sweeter word than this.
The following days were spent readying for the journey, selecting the best horses to take them west, taking stock of supplies, medicines, food. Queasiness gone, Morrow felt better than she had in months. Stronger and more settled. Lighter in spirit. Trapper Joe's parting words returned to her over and over like a song she never tired of singing. Prime countryfor hunting, prime country for living. Already Missouri felt like home to her, and she sensed Red Shirt's excitement was as keen as her own.
Three days before their departure, Surrounded by the Enemy arrived on his way east, a hundred or more Kispoko warriors in his wake. They stood just beyond the fort's postern gate in the swirling dust of late spring, their tawny bodies glistening with bear oil, their mounts tossing their heads and stamping the ground as if aware they were part of an important procession. Loramie greeted them on the grassy plain, Red Shirt with him. Morrow followed at her husband's urging, more than a little awed, mindful that this was likely the last time she'd see the man who'd forged such an unlikely friendship with her father.
Surrounded took her by the shoulders, looking down at her from his impossible height, a slight smile warming his face. "I wish that I could return by way of the Red River and bring your father to you. It would be good for him to see you so content and soon to bear a child." The English words-seeming rusty with disuse-were interspersed with Shawnee yet so full of feeling they brought tears to her eyes.
She stood by Red Shirt and watched the procession move east in a great swath, feathers fluttering and silver flashing. Though they lacked war paint and were en route to a customary council, their faces were grim and they bore all the weapons of war. Watching them leave, she felt a profound welling of relief that Red Shirt remained behind. Yet she wondered ... deep down, did he want to go?
She saw the grim set of his mouth, the little sun lines about his eyes that creased in concern as the last man faded into the distant tree line. But her thoughts were already turning to Missouri, far away from war talk and treaty-making, well beyond the summons of American officers and Indian agents. She was only too glad to resume packing.
Red Shirt turned to her amidst the chaos of the cabin and studied her as he'd not done for days, distracted as he'd been with the Missouri trip. "Morrow, I thought you beautiful before. But now.. "
She flushed, her hands self-consciously covering her bulk. "I'm only beautiful to you:"
Almost overnight it seemed she'd blossomed as wide and pink as the wild roses scattered across the river bottoms. For a fleeting moment, she saw concern darken his eyes. Was he wondering if she was up to the trip, if she could travel so far, heavy with child as she was becoming? Turning away, she resumed packing. Nothing must get in the way of their leaving. Nothing. She, most of all.
Morrow spent her last afternoon at Loramie's Station along the creek with Josee. The day was almost summerlike, the heat ratcheting up as if driven by some devilish hand. Come morning they would leave for Missouri in a swirl of dust. She was all but counting the hours, nearly bursting to begin, though the trail west would be all ablaze. But better that than ankle-deep in mud, she guessed. For now she tried to savor the cold water and carefree play erupting all around her. With a shriek, Josee splashed about with the children of trappers and Indians, the boys clutching miniature bows and arrows, the little girls bearing miniature cradle boards with rawhide dolls upon their backs.
Watching her charge at play in the water, Morrow hardly noticed the commotion at the front gate. But in time her eye was drawn to the ponderous procession of horses stirring the dust and one lone stallion pulling a litter. They moved slowly, the fine mounts stripped of all the accoutrements the Shawnee were known for-flashing silver and brightly colored cloth and fine leather. How different they looked from Surrounded's proud party two days before. These were horses of sorrow, of mourning.
Sweat beaded her brow, coursing from her hairline in itchy trickles as she stood and brushed the dust off her muslin skirt. Since early afternoon, a steady stream of frontiersmen and Indians had passed through the gates to trade. It was a day like any other, save the unusual heat. Red Shirt was not out on a scout but inside the post with Loramie, looking at maps of the Missouri territory and finalizing the best routes for travel. Glancing at the watch pinned to her bodice, she realized it was nearly suppertime and remembered Angelique liked the girls to bathe and dress beforehand.
"Josee;' she called, her eyes on the shimmering blueness where Loramie's youngest daughter played. "We need to re
turn to the fort. 'Tis nearly time for supper."
She glanced again toward the post's gates, but the Shawnee had disappeared behind the tall pickets. The Shawnee horses she'd seen moments before now stood outside without their riders, though the one bearing a litter had disappeared within. Loramie was hurrying to a far blockhouse, hardly giving her a glance. A deep dread clenched her insides as she sent Josee into Angelique's waiting arms and began the short walk to her cabin.
When she neared the largest blockhouse, she heard men's voices. The wind gusted and sent a skiff of dust through the open doorway, drawing her attention to the scene inside. A dozen bare, tawny backs kept her from seeing the heart of the ordeal, but the voice that reached her was Red Shirt's own. Though he spoke Shawnee, it lacked the melodious quality she'd come to know. He seemed to be stumbling over his words, each syllable aggrieved.
She stepped over the threshold, and the distillation of sweat and dust and bear grease nearly nauseated her. For a few moments she struggled to adjust to the dimness after the sun's brilliance, and then the shadows assumed familiar forms. Surrounded lay on a military cot, Red Shirt beside him. A British surgeon hovered, his shadow dancing in the light of a tin lantern.
Red Shirt's voice was the only sound in the suddenly still room. "Father, do you know where you're going?"
The reply was a long time coming. "It is very dark over there," Surrounded finally said.
"It doesn't have to be;' Red Shirt answered.
She heard the catch of sorrow in his voice, and her heart swelled. Breathless, she leaned against the rough log wall and simply listened as Red Shirt switched to Shawnee. Angelique came to stand beside her, whispering the translation in her ear. Red Shirt was repeating Pa's poignant words of the past. Of death being a new land, a new life. A beginning, not an end. Light, not darkness.
Angelique was silent now, as if she could no longer grasp the interchange between father and son. Confused, Morrow looked across the room at Loramie. Even in the shadows, there was no denying the alarm spelled across his thin face. His eyes held a warning-a flicker of disbelief and profound dismay. The voices hushed. Time seemed to have frozen still right there in the suffocating heat of the blockhouse. The Shawnee in front of her stood like stone. Finally Loramie came to her and took her outside, where the flies buzzed and the sun beat down on her stooped shoulders.
Surrounded by the Enemy was dead, Loramie said. His horse had thrown and trampled him after only two days' travel to Fort Pitt. As he lay dying, he cried out for his son and asked for forgiveness.
For killing Ma and Euphemia and taking Jess.
Overwhelming anguish took hold of her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to keep it from spilling out. Before she could turn away from Loramie, Red Shirt stepped outside, his dark eyes fastening on her at once. The distress on his face was beyond anything she'd ever seen, and she felt as tenuous as shattered glass.
"Morrow.. "
She shook her head in denial, clutching her handkerchief tight as if it could ground her. He took one step in her direction, and she folded like a paper fan. Bending down in the dust, he gathered her up and took her inside their cabin, kicking a stool and crate out of the way. Sitting in the cluttered room, he held her and told her what she had no wish to hear.
"My father is dead, Morrow. There was some trouble with the horses and he fell:" He swallowed hard, his hand a bit heavy as he stroked her hair. "He confessed some things-"
"I know ... I heard ... heard it all:' All. The simple word encompassed a bottomless pit of hurt and loss. She sensed his struggle as he weighed how much to say-to hold back.
"He asked your father to forgive him. . "
Oh no ... She felt all the blood leave her face. The thought of Pa hearing such a confession, having to forgive something so terrible and irreversible was beyond understanding ... beyond bearing.
"Your father forgave him. But neither he nor my father wanted us to know"
Her voice broke. "Why?"
"They didn't want to destroy the love they saw between us:"
She was weeping now, grieving Pa all over again. "I'd rather not know-not now."
"He was afraid we'd learn the truth another way. From the warriors who were with him that day."
She shook her head, shaking now, nearly sick. "How could he keep coming to the cabin ... pretending to be a friend-"
"Morrow, my father was grieved by what he'd done. When he came to know your father-his God-he saw the evil in his heart and was ashamed"
The truth trickled over her bit by bit, ushering in a blessed numbness. She simply sat and listened dully as he said, "My father wanted to bring your brother back, but too much time had passed. He only remembers telling the other warriors to take him north after the raid on your cabin."
Something inside her was extinguished at the revelation-a tiny flame of hope kept alive since she was five. Jess.
She couldn't breathe and pushed Red Shirt away. He released her reluctantly, a shadow darkening his face. He'd just lost his own father. Surely she could understand that. But she couldn't offer any sympathy-nor hear any more of what Pa had never meant for her to know.
"Morrow.. "
She turned her head, unable to look at him, to handle both his pain and hers. As she stepped away, Loramie came to stand between them, uttering things about preparing the body for burial at the nearest Indian town in keeping with Shawnee custom. Red Shirt left and she was glad to see him go, glad when Angelique took her into their house to the upstairs room where she'd been so ill the past winter.
Red Shirt returned the next morning, face drawn and eyes bloodshot. But he stood stalwart before her, following her with his eyes while she did the most menial tasks to avoid him. Finally he said, "Morrow, I must go ... to Fort Pitt"
What? She whirled to face him, the words like a physical blow. Grasping the back of a chair, she fastened her eyes on his grieved face.
"I'm not asking you to understand-nor can I explain it to you.
"But-"
"I don't want to leave you nor break the promise I made to your father. Loramie has warned me against going as well-"
"Then why would you?" She grasped the chair harder, amazed at his calm. "You're going because your father asked you to ... as he lay dying. . "
"Not my earthly father, Morrow" He hesitated, the tense silence between them lengthening. His tired eyes held hers steadfastly and seemed to demand something of her. "Has God never asked you to do anything?"
"W-what has God to do with this?" She was so angry she felt the tick of her pulse in her forehead and wrist. She groped about for words as hurt and confusion filled her. "You might not come back-our baby may grow up without a father-"
"I feel I must go. I've felt it for some time now"
Had he? And he hadn't told her? "Something terrible is going to happen-I can sense it .."
She turned away, thoughts of McKie and Bluecoat soldiers swirling in her throbbing head-thoughts so dire she felt she hovered on the brink of some terrible darkness. Yet no matter how she cried and stormed and questioned, she knew he wasn't turning back. Every sun-hardened line of his face was so resolute it seemed he was simply going to Missouri.
Just beyond the cabin's open door, one of Loramie's sons was readying Red Shirt's horse. She could hear it snort and see the dust kicked up by its prancing. This was the same black stallion Surrounded had given Pa years before, and the sight only deepened her grief.
"Morrow, look at me" Gently he turned her around to face him, taking hold of her shaking shoulders. But his touch, once treasured, now made her stiffen. Why did he remind her so of his father, when he hadn't before? Resentment rose up hard and strong and stung her.
"I need your prayers for the trip ahead of me'
He bent his head till it rested against hers, their warm, salty tears mingling. She wanted to pull away, yet something inside her seemed to burst at his tenderness. With a broken cry she flung her arms around his neck.
His arms tighten
ed about her. "I need to tell you something else'
She shook her head and placed trembling fingers to his lips. "No-please-don't say it."
"You need to know that I've made provisions for you, that you won't be alone' He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. "If I don't come back, Loramie will take care of you ... and our child:"
If you don't come back? But what is life without you?
She started to speak, to say the words, but couldn't. They stayed buried beneath all the hurt in her heart, tainted with regret and confusion and grief. Nor could she say the only thing that really mattered ...
I love you. I will always love you. More than words can say.
He framed her face with his hands, wiping her tears away as soon as they spilled over. "Morrow ... my heart is on the ground" The simple Shawnee phrase rent her heart. She simply bent her head as he whispered, "Remember how much I love you. Remember love bears all things"
Loramie and Angelique insisted she stay with them and not return to her cabin. In the confines of her upstairs bedroom, she lay atop the feather tick, the heat pressing down on her like a blanket. Her nightgown clung to her skin, accentuating her swelling middle. Tonight the baby began to kick up a storm inside her womb, and she swallowed down the fiery bile that seemed to burn a hole in her. The plaintive call of a dove beyond the shuttered window, lonesome and low, seemed to echo the emptiness in her heart.
She tried to think of other things-anything-to keep dark thoughts at bay, but her mind kept returning to Surrounded. She wondered how so expert a horseman could have fallen and died. Most of all, she wondered why he and his warriors had happened upon the Red River cabin so long ago and wreaked such destruction. What had been in Pa's heart when he'd heard Surrounded's confession? How well he'd hidden it from her.