Courting Morrow Little: A Novel

  In the following days, Loramie reassured her of Red Shirt's promise to send word of the goings-on at Fort Pitt, and so they waited, looking for a cloud of dust that would announce the promised courier. But as the days lengthened with no word, Morrow looked with dismay at all they'd readied for Missouri now gathering dust inside their shadowed cabin. Her thoughts and feelings were adrift like a leaf in a river's current, restless and unpredictable, never settling.

  Lord, please let no harm come to him. Hasten us to Missouri. Before its too late.

  Slowly Morrow trudged to the creek that lay like a limp blue ribbon between dusty brown banks. Josee had forgotten her doll earlier that day, and now at dusk Morrow retraced her steps toward the spot marked by tall reeds and cattails where Josee had played. Pausing to catch her breath, Morrow watched fireflies stud the sticky air. What was in the mind and heart of a little halfblood girl, she wondered, to make her miss such a homely doll? Josee had other dolls, some so fancy they bore porcelain faces and miniature silk dresses like the ones buried in the wardrobe of Morrow's old attic room. But the misplaced one was her favorite, with its beaded doeskin tunic and tiny moccasins.

  At last Morrow stumbled upon the lost treasure partially submerged in the creek, its clothing darkened to black, the horsehair braid unraveled. Sitting down in the grass, she began to plait the ebony hair. It was peaceful here at the north fork of the creek, without the myriad arbors and shelters further south, and peace was what she craved. She hardly noticed the shadow looming over her.

  "Miz Morrow, that you?"

  She felt a rush of surprise, then overwhelming joy. She nearly couldn't speak. "Joe?"

  He stood looking down at her, the brim of his beaver felt hat pulled low against the waning sun. "It's me all right"

  She jumped up as fast as her bulk would allow, the doll forgotten, and flung her arms around his dusty, tobacco-scented neck. He supported her with a wiry arm, his voice almost soft. "I've been wonderin' where you and Red Shirt went. When I rode in to trade a few minutes ago, I couldn't believe my eyes seein' you sittin' here in the grass with a doll. Reminds me of when you were little and your pa would take you out to the fields so he could work'

  The bittersweet memory made her smile despite her tears. "Oh, Joe, I can't believe it's you. How are Good Robe and Little Eli?"

  "Fit as fiddles in that fine cabin of yours. Only thing wrong is that you and your pa ain't there" Sorrow weighted his tone, but he cleared his throat and continued on. "But it's about to get a mite crowded. Come winter we're to have another"

  "That's wonderful news. There's nothing like a baby coming"

  He eyed her thoughtfully. "Care to tell me what's goin' on with you?"

  For one moment she hesitated. How could she possibly explain all that had happened when she didn't understand it herself? "We've been living at the fort since Christmas. Red Shirt's scouting for Loramie. We'd hoped-planned-to be on our way west by now. But Surrounded died suddenly, and Red Shirt decided to go to Fort Pitt for that important council."

  No surprise crossed his face. "Seems safer to head to Missouri territory."

  She simply nodded as fear gained a fresh foothold in her heart.

  "How long's he been gone?"

  "Six weeks or so"

  "He should be back soon, and then you'll be on your way west"

  Was it her imagination, or did he look as doubtful as she felt? "Have you heard anything about the council at Fort Pitt? Anything at all?"

  "Just hearsay. Supposed to be the most important treatymakin' to date. All the Shawnee septs sent their chiefs and a good many warriors in case there was any tomfoolery'

  "I thought Red Shirt would be back by now."

  "It'll likely take a bit longer given that prisoner exchange."

  "I keep hoping-praying-he'll be here before the baby comes."

  "He might yet. But all that treaty-makin' takes time, though I can tell you in a few words what takes up those Fort Pitt commissioners' days:' Leaning over, he spit a stream of tobacco juice into the tall grass. "Them Bluecoats promise to stay on their side of the Ohio River and beg the Shawnee to do the same. Attacks on river travelers are forbidden. The Shawnee promise to abide by the rules of trade. Then there's the passin' of the pipe, the long speeches, the translatin, and finally the feastin' and drunkenness' Seeing her concern, he added, "But you can bet Red Shirt is a lick too smart for the latter."

  "I've always wondered what went on but was afraid to ask"

  "Here lately them commissioners have added another thing or two. They're insistin' the Indians return any captives. And then there's some nonsense about punishin' any Shawnee or white man who does violence to the other'

  Morrow grew quiet, her eyes angled east. Did he know about Red Shirt and McKie? Perhaps Pa had even told him of Surrounded's confession ...

  He eyed her with a sudden grin. "Now I want to hear about you-and that baby."

  Forcing lightness into her tone, she wrapped her arms about her burgeoning waist and said, "Look at me-big as a barn. I'm surprised you recognized me"

  "When you due?"

  "Another month or more."

  "Miz Morrow, you'll never make it"

  She pushed the worrisome thought aside, a bit wistful. "Tell me about Kentucke, Joe. How's Lizzy? And Jemima?"

  He scratched his beard. "Jemima married a soldier by the name of Kincaid a while back. They're still livin' at the fort. Abe's been put in charge of the militia. He and Lizzy are hopin' to move over to Tate's Creek come fall:' He reached for another twist of tobacco. "Lizzy asked after you:"

  Hearing it, she felt a twist of sentiment. Unlike Jemima, Lizzy had stayed true till the end. She longed to know more but was hesitant to ask. Some things, she guessed, were better left unspoken.

  With a complaint about his rheumatism, Joe got up slowly and hobbled to where his horse grazed in deep timothy and clover. Untying a saddlebag, he retrieved a letter and passed it to her. One glance at the indigo wax seal assured her it was from Philadelphia.

  "Been carryin' it around for months now, wonderin' if I'd ever see you again'

  She broke the seal and opened the once-crisp foolscap, surprised to find it so short. Just a few telling lines, all of them heavy with regret and disbelief, dwindling down to a final, stiff conclusion.

  Should you decide to leave the life you have chosen, my door remains open to you and any mixed-breed children you may have. Philadelphia boasts a charity school where they might board and obtain an education to make them fit for civilized society.

  Your loving aunt, Etta

  "Thank you, Joe;' she said, wondering if he could see the hurt she tried to hide. Till now she'd thought Aunt Etta might welcome her if her fears were realized and something went terribly awry at Fort Pitt. But this letter ...

  They sat in silence for a time, the only sound a few distant, barking dogs and the wind laying the grasses low. A sliver of moon had risen, reminding them another day was done. For a moment the evening was silver and tranquil and serene, and she felt somewhat solaced.

  "I believe I'll stay on at Loramie's for a spell, Joe told her with a wink. "Good Robe will tan my hide if I leave without knowin' if you've had a boy or girl:"

  She squeezed his arm in thanks and said with a tremulous smile, "I don't think you'll have to wait much longer, Joe'

  Morrow bent over to peer into the sapling shelter where Trapper Joe was camped along Loramie's Creek. But a cold campfire and some turkey bones were all she saw in the small square of shade. Panic rose up and seemed to snuff out all common sense, and she bit her lip hard to keep herself in check.

  Oh Lord, where is he?

  She'd been so sure Joe was near at hand for this very day, this very hour. When a scout had brought the terrifying news but minutes before, her only thought had been to get to Joe. Although Loramie had turned a deaf if sympathetic ear to her plea, Joe would not, she felt certain. A sudden rustle in the grass made her turn. Joe! He eyed her warily as if he already knew what s
he wanted.

  "Oh, Joe, there's been some trouble at Fort Pitt-Red Shirt's been wounded" She stumbled over the words in her angst, and he simply stared at her as if trying to piece it all together. "A scout just brought word he's been taken to Mekoche Town. How far away is that?"

  His sandy brows knit together. "Half a day's hard ridin' if the rider ain't with child:'

  "I want you to take me there" Even as she said it, she was aware of a strange pressure about her middle like a belt squeezed tight.

  Oh Lord, not now ... not yet.

  "How bad's he hurt?"

  She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and started to cry. Then and now the courier's lack of details left her breathless. Angelique had taken her upstairs before he'd finished telling all his news so that only Loramie remained below to hear what had unraveled upriver.

  "We can go right now if you want to;' Joe said, sympathy softening his tone.

  Without another word, he started for the fort and soon returned with her mare, saddlebags stuffed with provisions and water. She looked at Dollie and braced herself as Joe helped her mount. Once in the saddle, she felt all the blood leave her face. He stood looking up at her as if waiting for her to change her mind-or for Loramie to come out of the post's gates and stop them.

  But they were soon heading east-he on a big bay horse, she following near enough to be his shadow. She kept her eyes fixed on his narrow back, the grit of dust in her mouth, a beloved Scripture dawning in her heart. Love beareth all things. The words lay like a lintel on the doorpost of her mind, keeping her from dissolving completely.

  Heat shimmers rippled across the wide, sun-scorched valley. She could smell the wild honeysuckle, a poignant reminder of the lonesome graves she'd likely never see again. On and on they rode, and it seemed some unseen hand was helping keep her in the saddle. As they plunged deeper into the woods, gnats and mosquitoes gnawed at her, and her horse shied from a rattlesnake lying on a rock at the first creek they crossed.

  Joe slowed to ride beside her, handing her a canteen of water. "We're halfway to Mekoche Town"

  Only halfway? Oh Lord, help me with the other half.

  At noon they stopped to rest, but the heat of the woods was as suffocating as the treeless prairie. In late afternoon, her thoughts in a tangle over Red Shirt, she leaned into the mare's mane, nearly falling to the ground. The heat was making a mess of her, unraveling her braids, streaking her skin with sweaty fingers and deepening the heat of her sunburned skin.

  "Joe, I need to walk, she finally said, thankful when he slid off his horse and helped her down.

  "That's all right, Miz Morrow. We're nearly there"

  In minutes they came to a small bluff overlooking an Indian encampment. She stood on unsteady legs and marveled at the scene spread before them. Like a painting it was, nearly perfect, the valley deep green and untrammeled, the river a brushstroke of blue. Bark shelters dotted both banks, and the great number of them took her breath. Red Shirt was here ... somewhere. And this was where their baby would be born. Though she'd managed to hide her distress thus far, the pain nearly brought her to her knees as they picked their way down the grassy hillside.

  Please, Lord, I don't want to give birth in an Indian town.

  The irony was overwhelming. She was going to produce life amongst a people she associated with death. Never in her wildest imaginings had she considered this. Till now she thought her baby would be born within the familiar walls of Loramie's Station, Angelique at her side. Not here amidst such strange people and stranger surroundings. But what choice did she have?

  Their arrival was causing a stir she'd not reckoned with, but she supposed a pregnant white woman and a grizzled trapper were a strange sight. A tall Indian came forward to greet them, a great swell of coppery faces in his wake. Joe began speaking in Shawnee, and Morrow swallowed her impatience over their prolonged interchange. As she waited, a cluster of half-naked children swarmed her like swirling brown butterflies, brushing her face and hair and hands. Had they never seen a white woman before? She smiled, but they ran away as if playing a game, eyes shiny as black beads, each small face alight.

  Finally the Indian gestured for them to follow. Morrow moved slowly, wondering where Red Shirt was ... how badly he was hurt. The camp was far larger than Loramie's Station and seemed to pulse with a different sort of life. They passed a great council lodge and a cluster of log houses along a dusty path, and she stared in bewilderment at some cows grazing behind a brush fence. A few more agonizing steps and they came to the western rim of the camp, where a sturdy shelter rested beneath some cottonwood trees.

  Joe motioned her inside. As she pushed aside the hide door flap, a cold hand clenched her heart. There, just ten steps away, lay Red Shirt on a pallet in back of a weak fire. She clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in alarm, glad Joe and the Indian remained outside. The smell of herbs and plants seemed to swirl around her and slice the very air with their sharpness.

  His eyes were closed, his face free of pain. Cuts and scratches marred the smooth skin of his upper body, and one particularly deep gash across his thigh made her wince. Her eyes fell on the cloth bound tightly about his waist, the bloodstained bandages resurrecting a memory of his wounded shoulder. For once his hair was disheveled and devoid of gloss. Even his skin, normally supple and sun-darkened, seemed faded. He wore no shirt, but his leggings and loincloth were stiff with spattered blood.

  With a groan he moved and flung out his arm, striking her thigh as she bent over him. Sweat beaded his brow, and she rued the stifling stillness of the lodge. Spying a bowl of water and a cloth, she knelt and began wiping his face, her eyes roaming every inch of him.

  Even on his back, his strength sapped, he took her breath away. Placing a hand upon his perspiring forehead, she mouthed a plaintive prayer almost absurd in its simplicity. Lord, please help him ... help me. Unable to sit upright any longer, she lay down on the unfamiliar bed beside him. Suddenly, miraculously, her own cramping eased. In moments she succumbed to exhaustion, her senses filled with the humid scent of herbs, and didn't awaken till she heard her name.

  "Morrow.. "

  Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she forgot just where she was. Red Shirt here ... Red Shirt hurt. His face was so near her own, she felt his breath on her cheek.

  "Morrow." His expression held a look of wonder, as if he might be dreaming.

  She smiled and smoothed back his tumbled hair. "You look at me like I'm an angel from the Otherside world" When his face darkened with concern, she said, "I came with Joe as soon as I heard"

  "Joe?" He reached out a tanned hand, the back scratched and bloody, and rested it on her middle.

  "We've not been here long"

  "I didn't want you ... to know." His words were slightly slurred and his eyes had lost their keen edge. Had he been given some of the healers hanging above their heads?

  "Say nothing;' she murmured, throat tight. "Save your strength. I'm praying for you"

  His eyes seemed to clear. "Your prayers spared my life." With studied effort, he rose up and pulled her nearer. "You came ... so far"

  She tried to smile, hardly believing she had. "I'd do it all again. For you"

  They both slept, the feverish day rushing toward twilight. Morrow awoke to the smell of succotash and saw skewers of roasted meat on a large wooden platter. Someone had placed the food just inside the door flap-but who? Thoughts swirling, she lay still till Red Shirt stirred, the pain and pressure in her womb returning with a breathtaking intensity.

  He awoke and attempted to sit up, but almost immediately the bandages turned scarlet. Neither Joe nor the Shawnee were in sight, though she looked anxiously through the doorway. Spying clean cloths, she tore them into strips, rewrapping his waist as tight as common sense allowed. The sight of so much blood chilled her, almost made her sick. Her face must have mirrored her distress, for he stilled her trembling hands, his concern for her etched across his face.

  "Morrow, I'm all
right"

  "Are you hungry ... thirsty?"

  He nodded and laid back, a rolled-up blanket beneath his head. She struggled to get up again, barely able to bend over to retrieve their meal. Handing him a skewer of meat, she wondered if he ate just to please her. He took two bites before reaching for an earthenware jug. When he uncorked it, he smelled the contents and grimaced.

  "It was rum that started the trouble at Fort Pitt"

  Wary, she sank down beside him, handing him her canteen of water.

  He took a drink, his expression rueful. "When the Shawnee delegation arrived for the treaty, the chiefs refused to go inside fort walls. They wisely insisted that the meetings take place on the plain beneath the fort. I didn't realize that some of the warriors were riding horses stolen from the Kentucke settlements, but some of the soldiers did. One Bluecoat swore he would get the animals back if he had to scalp every Indian to do it. That's when the trouble started"

  "Before the treaty even began?"

  He nodded. "The new Indian agent had the ague and couldn't be present. Some of the chiefs took this as a bad sign and became restless. In order to pacify them, the officer in charge began distributing rum. When I warned the chiefs not to drink, the Bluecoats became angry. One saw my ring and decided it must have been taken in a raid along with the stolen horses"

  She glanced down in surprise. Pa's gold band was missing from his hand. In her concern for him she hadn't noticed, and now she felt a sudden emptiness.

  "They took the horses-and the ring" He paused, his eyes clouded with pain as he related the details. "When some of the Shawnee refused to cooperate and give up the horses, the commissioners decided they would take four chiefs hostage till they did:"

  Alarm filled her. "What happened next?"

  He lay back, favoring his wound. "The chiefs began murmuring about what happened to Cornstalk and his men at Fort Randolph on the Kanawha. Some of the younger warriors began rounding up the stolen horses the Americans were trying to take back, and fighting broke out"