The days passed, and she was imprisoned in the blockhouse, the view of the gallows blocking the beauty of the surrounding forest. 'Twas nearly New Year's, Hester said. Morrow had been at Fort Clark a fortnight, but it seemed far longer. The blizzard that had brought them there had been washed away by a warm wind.
She placed a hand on her swelling waist, feeling life within. What had begun as a faint fluttering was now an unmistakable nudge. Truly, there was no such thing as one kiss. She was now tired enough and plump enough to prove it.
Hester kept her company by bringing her meals and tea, fussing over Rosebud, washing Morrow's clothes, and doing her hair as if she was the colonel's lady. "Colonel Clark is sure taken wi' you;' she said. "Neither man nor beast ever talks back to that man, but you shore put him in his place over that bad business at Fort Randolph. And lo and behold, I think he liked it. But for one little thing"
Morrow looked up from nursing Rosebud.
"He just can't figure out why a beautiful woman like yo'self would settle for a savage"
The slight wasn't surprising, and she said nothing, just asked if she might borrow a Bible. The thought that Pa's had been destroyed in the fire at Loramie's grieved her as much as the lost miniature of her mother and Jess. But this was nothing when weighed against her other losses. Day and night her son's small, startled face returned to her as it had been just before the smoke and darkness separated them. What if she never saw him again? The bruising thought seemed to push her toward the edge of some terrible, irreversible darkness, and she grew more afraid.
Oh Lord, keep Red Shirt away from here, even if it means I never see him again. And bless my little son, wherever he is ...
It was New Year's Eve when Hester came to fetch her. Colonel Clark had requested her company at the holiday dinner. Would she join them? Her heart sank, and she was loath to leave the hearth fire. A fiddler played across the common, and she smelled roast beef and chestnuts but had no appetite.
"Perhaps just go and have a little toast;' Hester urged. "It might do yo' cause some good:'
Her cause. Was it a lost cause, she wondered?
She entered the candlelit space that served as a dining room, and an officer seated her in a cane-bottom chair by the hearth. Despite her reluctance to give up her daughter, the soldiers passed Rosebud around, marveling at her amazing eyes and making much of her daintiness. Hester had dressed her in a bit of finery-a little red bonnet trimmed with ribbon and a white flannel gown. Where she'd gotten such things Morrow could only guess, though there were a few camp followers here, mostly wives and children and sweethearts of those in the army. Colonel Clark asked her for a dance, but she declined, wishing she had a fan to hide behind.
Numbly, she sat, hands folded in her lap, wanting Rosebud back. Gradually she became aware of someone watching her from a corner. The lone frontiersman? He'd been present when she'd had words with Colonel Clark in his office days before, but she'd forgotten about him since. She couldn't get a good look at him for the press of people and the haze of tobacco smoke, and he soon disappeared.
As the smell of spirits grew stronger, she felt nearly pricked by the soldiers' bold stares. Amidst the stomp of the music and dancing, her mind began to drift. The new baby she was carrying made her so tired, and she simply wanted to go to bed.
At last, after a nod from Colonel Clark, Hester took her back upstairs and then left again. Morrow could hear the frolic through her shuttered window, and the merriment only deepened her melancholy. Without bothering to undress, she lay down, Rosebud asleep in her arms. In moments she'd drifted off, only to come awake when the clock below struck nine times.
Groggy, she looked toward the flickering fire, wondering who had replenished it without her waking. When a shadow shifted in the corner, her breath caught. Behind the door, rifle in hand, was a man. She sat up hard against the headboard, hugging Rosebud closer. But he put out his hand as if to soothe her, and the simple gesture set her at ease.
"Don't be afraid" His voice was low, and he stepped into the firelight. "I'm here to help you-if you want me to"
If She was already on her feet. "Y-yes, but how-when?"
"Tonight. Now."
She began putting on her borrowed shoes and gathering up Rosebud's blankets and her own few things. He moved to the window, then to the door again, ever-watchful. She felt a tremor of alarm. This was the same frontiersman she'd first seen standing in Clark's office and then at the frolic earlier that night. Could she trust him?
"Who are you?" she asked, trying to better see his features.
"I'm a scout-and interpreter. I'll try to take you to your husband:"
"But why-why would you even want to?"
He put a finger to his lips. The sweet strains of fiddling increased. She could hear raucous laughter across the way, fueled by an abundance of rum. He beckoned for her to follow and she did, down the blockhouse steps, pausing briefly at an obscure door while he draped a buffalo robe around her shoulders. Just beyond the unmanned sally port, two horses waited, loaded and ready to go. Wonder washed over her as he helped her into the saddle.
She felt a swell of panic as Rosebud awoke and began to fuss. Quickly she unlaced her bodice, rearranging her so she could nurse as she lay against Morrow's thudding heart.
Into the forest they went, the pickets receding in mere moments as the woods swallowed them whole. Was there no lookout? No guard?
He looked back at her over his shoulder. "We'll have to travel a far piece tonight"
"Fine;' she breathed, careful to stay directly in back of him. She murmured a prayer of thanks that she and Rosebud were rested and well fed, thanks to Hester's care. Indeed, she felt she could go miles even in the cold, buoyed by one reassuring line of Scripture that came suddenly to mind.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.
The full moon seemed ordained for travel, filtering through the trees and making a path for them where there didn't seem to be one. Rosebud had ceased her fretting, and the laxness of her body assured Morrow she was asleep. Her guide kept to the creeks as they climbed higher, leaving little trail. She felt a confidence in him she couldn't fathom, or perhaps it was just profound relief to be free of the fort. The dark image of the gallows was receding with every step.
When the moon dipped so far to the west they couldn't see, they made camp. He kindled a fire, put a skin on the ground, and gestured for her to sit down. She did as he bid, wanting to pepper him with questions, yet sensing she'd best wait. Weary, she watched as he heated water and made some gruel.
"Why not give your baby some?" he said, passing her a wooden bowl and spoon.
Surprised, she looked down at Rosebud. Her wide, searching eyes seemed to take everything in as she sat in Morrow's lap. Blowing on a spoonful, Morrow fed her gingerly, almost smiling when she spit some out and then swallowed the rest, opening her mouth for more.
"You're a fine cook, Morrow told him.
"It's the molasses, he said with a knowing smile.
She took a taste and continued feeding Rosebud, amazed at her appetite. He spooned more gruel into her bowl and reminded her to take some for herself. "I had a wife once ... a baby girl:'
Once. The haunting word hung between them and forbade further questions. Morrow looked at him carefully between bites. "Is that why you're helping me?"
He nodded. "That, and the fact I believe you told Colonel Clark the truth"
Tears stung her eyes. "He didn't believe me"
"Clark's a fine soldier, but he's no friend to the Indians" He leaned back against the rough bark of a pine. "I was at Fort Pitt last summer when the trouble started with the Shawnee. I remember your husband right well. He's a half blood, talks as well as a white man, carries himself like a Kispoko chief."
At this, she felt a strange kinship but said nothing.
He went on quietly, respectfully. "How'd you come to be at Loramie's?"
She hugged the buffalo robe closer. "Pierre Loramie is a
friend. My husband thought we'd be safer there till spring:"
"Just you and your baby girl?"
"I have a son-they're twins" Her firstborn's little face rose up in her mind, but she shut it away. "We were separated when the post burned. Loramie's wife had him. I don't know what happened to them"
He nodded thoughtfully. "It's likely Loramie and his kin-and your son-made it out safely and fled to the nearest Shawnee village:" He added, "Clark's intent wasn't to kill Loramie, just deprive the Indians of an ally and destroy his post. But he means harm to your husband, and I need to know where you think he is:"
Her face turned entreating. "Why is he singling out Red Shirt?"
"Your husband's well known on the frontier. Clark means to make an example of him. Or maybe you didn't know Major McKie was a cousin to Colonel Clark?" At her surprise, he said, "Both are from old Virginia stock. Caroline County. Besides, an officer doesn't take kindly to another officer being killed, family or no'
Despite his openness, she felt a bite of distrust. Just how much should she tell him? "Red Shirt left Loramie's in September and went west ... to make a home for us in Missouri. He was going to come back and take us there:"
"West is where I'm headed now that my enlistment's ended" He took a clay pipe from a saddlebag, face pensive. "By now your husband would have heard of the raid on Loramie's. And if he's half the man I think he is, he's near here-or soon will be:" He looked away from her to the woods, as if expecting Red Shirt to materialize in the shadows. "I figure we'll head west on the buffalo trace. If your husband's coming east, he'll likely take that trail. Even if he doesn't, he's sure to find us eventually. The Shawnee are master trackers, as you know"
The reassurance filled her with relief, then raw alarm. "But what if Colonel Clark sends someone after us?"
His eyes narrowed. "Like Talks About Him, you mean?"
She could only nod, terror overtaking her.
"Then we'll just have to pray that Red Shirt finds us first"
All around them, dawn edged the forest in pale yellow light, and she looked about, feeling the need to be on her feet and put as much distance between them and Clark's men as they could. She couldn't rest till they found Red Shirt. But the impossibility of it all tamped down her hopes and turned her teary. How in the middle of such a vast wilderness would they cross paths? The timing had to be perfect ... providential.
Standing up, she gathered the dirty bowls and cups to wash in a nearby stream after handing Rosebud to her guide. As soon as she turned away, she sensed she'd erred. Might her baby bring back memories of all he'd lost? But another glance told her he was pleased to hold her, maybe a bit surprised that Morrow had given her over. And Rosebud was making much of him, fists full of his fringed shirt, smile coy. Reassured, Morrow did the dishes, splashing icy water on her face to collect herself before rejoining them at the fire.
"You said your pa was a preacher?" he asked as she sat back down. "That you lived on the Red River?"
She nodded. "Are you familiar with that part of Kentucke?"
"I've been there," he said, face reflective. `A long time ago' With a yawn, he stood and reached for his rifle. "We'll travel a few more miles before making camp and you can sleep. I want to be heading west on the trace by noon"
She determined to oblige him any way she could, since she'd still be staring at the gallows if he hadn't taken time to trouble himself with her. The fact that he'd come to her aid still stunned her.
She studied him discreetly as he readied the horses, wondering what it was about him that seemed familiar. Why, she didn't even know his name. But it hardly seemed to matter, desperate as she felt, her every waking thought consumed with survival. They'd be on the trail a long time, likely. Plenty of time to ask questions and find answers. Whoever he was, she felt comfortable with him, unafraid to be who she was, unashamed of her Shawnee tie. With Colonel Clark, she'd read the recrimination in his cold eyes whenever he looked at her. But this man, dressed like a savage himself, was empty of all accusation.
They made it to the trace before noon, and as he'd promised, they rested. She watched in surprise as he constructed a temporary shelter of cedar boughs as effortlessly as Red Shirt might have done. Out of the weather, her feet to the fire, she slept, Rosebud's nursing hardly rousing her. He liked to travel at night, and mercifully, the moon was most obliging.
They were on the trail again by twilight, and it seemed like they stood on top the world, traversing the bony back of first one ridge and then another. How many days had it been? She shrugged the thought away. Keeping track of the time only deepened her despair. Where was Red Shirt? Why hadn't he come? Perhaps he had. In her mind's eye, the pickets of Fort Clark were as menacing as the soldiers' bayonets. And the colonel ... he didn't seem the type to simply let her leave. Was he even now following?
"We'd best stop here;' her guide said abruptly. "The weather's fixing to change, and I don't want to have to fight the wind to make camp"
He led her into a cave with a pine knot torch, and she stood at its entrance and stared down a great cavern that dripped incessant tears. But it was shelter, out of the wind and rain. Once he'd settled her by the fire, he went hunting, returning with a turkey. She nearly salivated at the sight, hungry for fresh meat instead of jerky. While it roasted on a crude spit, he took up his rifle and gestured for her to be completely still. But she couldn't stop Rosebud's cooing. Frantic, she placed a light hand over her daughter's smiling mouth, blowing into her face to get her attention. The effort only made Rosebud shriek louder. Dear Lord in heaven. Morrow had never seen so agreeable an infant in the face of danger and deprivation. At any other time she'd be proud.
Beyond the cave, a shot sounded, and wary eyes fastened on her, her guide's gaze communicating a dozen different things. The sound reverberated for long moments, chilling her with its crisp finality. As he edged closer to the entrance, fear swept over her like a fever. On shaking legs, she retreated toward the back of the cave, where the fire sizzled and the smell of roasting meat thickened in the damp air and threatened to expose them.
For a panicked moment, she nearly gave in to stomping out the fire with her foot. He disappeared from sight, then returned when the turkey was so succulent it fell off the bone. But his demeanor forbade any talking, and she served him in silence, knowing he needed the strength of a meal and the fire's warmth even as her unasked questions created an ache in her chest.
As he ate, rifle at the ready, he never took his eyes off the cave entrance. She sat beside him, in too much turmoil to take even one bite, and he finally whispered, "We're being followed. Whoever it is brought down a deer with that shot you heard, but I couldn't get close enough to see who it was. Our trail is pretty cold, but they're getting closer. Best stay here till I can figure out who it is"
His intensity only fueled her angst, and she turned the facts over in her mind. A lone hunter? Talks About Him? Oh, Red Shirt, where are you? She bent her head and prayed, then ate what she could. Beside her, Rosebud was cooing again and had found her stocking-clad feet.
"I think everything will turn out all right," the man across from her said quietly, passing her a canteen of water.
She nodded and tried to smile, her eyes returning again and again to the cave entrance, where a fine fog hovered like a white curtain. Her voice was a broken whisper. "I can never repay you for what you've done"
He seemed to color slightly and lifted a hand to remove his hat. The sight of the beaver felt resurrected a host of memories. Pa had had such a hat, though they were common enough on the frontier. She could view her guide plainly from beneath the brim's shadow and now assessed him in one sweep. Rusty hair that might have once been red. Cool blue gray eyes. He was long and lean as leather string. A bit older than herself, she guessed.
When she dropped her eyes, she felt him studying her as well, but it wasn't the way a man studied a woman he found pretty. He seemed to look past her appearance, beyond the soiled Irish linen dress and borrowed shoes, as
if trying to place her.
"I keep thinking I've seen you before;' he said. "But I disremember"
She brightened. "I feel the same'
"Any ideas?" he asked.
Befuddled, she shook her head and began to hum a lullaby, rocking Rosebud where she sat, the firelight dancing on the damp walls. Across from her, he sat with his buffalo robe about his shoulders, eyes on the cave opening, rifle in hand. She stopped her humming, afraid the barest echo would alert the enemy. On the other hand, might it bring Red Shirt back to her?
Rosebud looked up, her wee mouth puckered as if the silence nettled. Morrow crawled into her bed of blankets, holding her daughter close. The fire shifted and settled, and she closed her eyes, a prayer already forming on her lips. She had a family ... another baby on the way. She ached for her former life, unsettled as it was. Having blessed her so abundantly, the Almighty wouldn't let it end. Would He?
On the third day they left the cave behind. The woods seemed weighted with silence, as if they were the only living souls in the entire wilderness. Morrow felt blindingly disoriented. If not for this man, she wouldn't even know where she was. Hemmed in by dense forest, unable to get her bearings, she fought the urge to cling to him more closely. Even the birdsong was suspended and the gloom of the day was unrelieved, as were her spirits.
"It's going to storm, her guide said, studying the sky. "Temperature's dropping, and we'll likely see snow by morning"
They'd stumbled onto a half-face camp on the side of a ridge, abandoned by trappers, and he proceeded to build a fire. She worked as best she could helping him unpack the horses, Rosebud growing heavy in her sling, while he made supper from the provisions at hand. When they were seated in the shelter, she served him and herself, smiling her appreciation when he said, "Takuwah-nepi."