Courting Morrow Little: A Novel

  "What's done is done, Lizzy," Morrow said softly. "Best think of your baby now. There's nothing finer than a family. Now, what else do you need before we walk to the river?"

  "I need to sit down and rest a spell. This heavy dress makes me feel a mite woozy."

  Morrow reached for a pitcher of water and a cup. "You're not going to faint, I hope."

  Lizzy chuckled. "You're better at that than I am. Remember that last frolic right before you left for Philadelphia?"

  Morrow flushed. "'Twas the heat:"

  "More than not it was all that male attention," Lizzy said with a knowing smile, taking a sip of water. "And now Abe tells me you've caught the eye of several settlement men ... and one too many soldiers"

  At this, Morrow looked up, surprise swirling inside her. One too many? Did she mean McKie? Was it already being bandied about the fort? Sitting down across from her friend, she shook her head. "I never meant to catch their eyes"

  "You can't help it, I reckon," Lizzy acknowledged. "Folks say you take after your mother, that she turned the head of every man from Virginia to Kentucke when your father brought her over Cumberland Gap"

  Morrow bit her lip. It seemed odd that mere strangers could recall what she could not. Her own meager memories of her mother seemed in tatters. "I remember so little, Lizzy"

  Ta said your ma was the prettiest woman he ever saw and you're just like her'

  "Truly, I don't see what all the fuss is about. When I look in the mirror, I see plain Morrow Mary Little, too short and too stout, who's afraid of her own shadow"

  Lizzy chuckled and shook her head. "You know why Jemima just about spits every time she sees you, don't you? She can hardly catch a beau, yet you don't seem to want one and could have any man you please, even Major McKie"

  Morrow exhaled in a little rush, glancing at the open door. "He's quite bold. I-I don't know what to make of him"

  A sudden wariness etched across Lizzy's features, and her voice faded to a whisper. "I'd hoped he might be the man for you, Yankee Doodle Dandy that he is. But Abe said you'd best be careful, Morrow'

  Morrow tensed. "Careful? But I've not encouraged him"

  "I'm glad of that. Abe told me somethin' about McKie forcin' his attentions on a woman at another post. And then there was that ugly business with the Shawnee'

  Morrow looked at her blankly, her bright opinion of the major beginning to tarnish. Lizzy darted another glance at the cabin door. "Shortly before McKie came here, he was stationed at Fort Randolph. That's the fort up the Kanawha about a hundred miles from here. A few months ago, Cornstalk, the principal chief of all the Shawnee, rode in there with his son and another Indian, carryin' a white flag. They wanted to warn the soldiers that because the whites were breakin' the latest treaty made there, Cornstalk could no longer control all his warriors from raidin' the Kentucke settlements:'

  "But why would the Shawnee come near a fort and put themselves in danger?"

  "Abe said it was a matter of honor. Cornstalk promised during the treaty that he would report any trouble, be it Indian or white. But instead of dealin' with them fairly and lettin' them go, the soldiers took the three Indians prisoner' Her expression tightened. "McKie broke into the blockhouse where the three Shawnee were being held. A group of soldiers came with him, and they started shootin' and clubbin' the Indians till-"

  Morrow stood up, nearly overturning her chair. "Don't, Lizzy-please.."

  Lizzy paused, her revulsion plain. "Neither he nor any of the other men were arrested. McKie was moved here and then promoted"

  "What? Are you sure?"

  "Abe was at Fort Randolph when it happened. He was in charge of the detail that buried the Shawnee"

  Stunned, Morrow stared at the cold hearth. Lizzy swallowed hard, looking sickened by the retelling. "Only a butcher could do what was done. You'd be smart to stay clear of the major, though Abe says he's already so besotted with you he speaks of you before his men"

  The beautiful day had turned black. Morrow hardly heard Alice enter, her girlish chatter filling the quiet cabin. "Oh, Morrow, let me look at you! The bride's in rose and you're in purplemust be one of your ma's remade gowns. I wish I had your way with a needle" She leaned into the mirror behind them, her fair features so like Lizzy's, and pinned a cameo to her bodice. "Preacher Little says to come anytime you're ready. Abe's already at the river"

  Slowly the three of them walked across the common, holding their skirts out of the dust. The sloping bank beyond the gates was matted with dun-colored grass, and the river was shrunken and shallow from lack of rain. Spring did seem a better season for a wedding, Morrow mused. There was something about autumn that spoke of endings, not beginnings.

  As the waiting crowd parted to let them pass, Morrow tried not to look at the man who stood at the front of the throng. But McKie was looking at her, as eagerly as if he was the bridegroom and she was the bride, and for a few agonizing moments she thought she might fulfill Lizzy's words and faint again. The tale of his misdeeds hovered round her like a dark shadow in the autumn air, and she felt a bit sick. She tried to concentrate on Pa's heartfelt words, spoken in the sonorous tone he saved for such occasions. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together .." But the beauty seemed washed out of them today, stolen by the man who stood near her, who wasn't honorable or good or true as she'd thought an officer and a gentleman should be.

  A warm breeze lifted Lizzy's veil, and Abe lifted his hand to keep it in place. The solemn cadence of Pa's benediction was broken by a horse's staccato hoofbeats, and every eye present seemed to swivel west. Morrow surmised trouble in one sweep of the lathered bay horse and its distraught rider before he'd come within fifty yards of them. As Major McKie broke away to meet him, a ripple of unrest passed over the crowd. The men surrounding them began checking their rifles, some reloading where they stood. Other folks began fleeing into the fort without waiting to hear the rider's news.

  "Hinkley's Station has been burned to the ground," the man rasped, so winded he could barely speak. "There's more than a hundred Shawnee and half a hundred Redcoats headed our way. I have to ride to Asaph's to warn em'

  Major McKie took hold of the horse's bridle. "You'll need a fresh mount or you'll never make it:"

  The rider wiped a sleeve across his damp brow. "Most of the men were out in the fields when they struck. The women and children were taken captive along with a few old-timers inside the stockade"

  The major's countenance hardened. "That won't be the case here. We've more than enough guns on account of my men and the militia. Are you sure of the enemy's numbers?"

  "Click and Kenton both agree. Fifty Redcoats and a hundred Shawnee-maybe more"

  Morrow could sense the unraveling of those all around her. She soon lost sight of Lizzy and Abe in the press of people. Had Pa even pronounced them man and wife?

  Without waiting to hear more, Pa took her arm and they headed toward the fort. Raindrops started to pelt them, and she glanced at the sky now thick with thunderclouds and threaded with lightning. Even the weather seemed to call out a warning.

  Major McKie's shout could be heard far and wide as he commanded the sentries to shut and secure both front and postern gates. As Pa readied their horses to go, McKie approached from behind. "You seem to be in a hurry, Pastor Little, yet I have need of every gun in this fort:"

  Pa swung round and faced him. "I'll not take up arms against any man, red or white. As a preacher, I'm neutral in this conflict, as you know"

  The major's eyes rested on Morrow, his tone barely civil. "Even so, I can't imagine why you'd subject your daughter to danger, especially in light of what I heard the savages once did to your family"

  Pained, she looked away. His mentioning Ma and Euphemia seemed only to sully their memory somehow. There was an awkward pause, and then she felt a little start at the mettle in Pa's voice when he answered. "The call to stay or leave is mine to make, Major McKie. If I feel Morrow is safer on the Red River, then that's where I'll take her"

&nbs
p; The answering fire in the major's eyes sent a chill clean through her. "I'm within my rights to order you to remain." As if to prove it, he moved to stand in front of Pa's stallion and grasped the bridle with one hand, holding a saber-tipped musket in the other. The horse whinnied shrilly and jerked its head away.

  Pa put on his hat. "Kindly step aside, Major McKie. I'm sure you have other matters to attend to than keeping us here against our will:"

  Morrow's legs nearly gave way as Pa helped her atop the mare and then turned to his horse. He had never made an enemy in his life that she knew of, but the realization that he'd just done so left her queasy. Just ahead the gates loomed, locked tight. One of the sentries approached them, his bristled face intractable.

  "Are you allowed to exit, Pastor Little?"

  Pa opened his mouth to speak, but McKie's hard voice sounded behind them, heavy with sarcasm. "The Littles rarely grace fort walls except for Sabbath services, I'm told. I suppose they invoke divine protection in times of trouble' He gestured to the sentries to allow them to pass, along with a few other folks who'd chosen to weather the conflict in their own cabins. Morrow looked over her shoulder before the gates swung shut, sorry Lizzy's lovely day had been spoiled.

  Pa flicked the reins, urging his horse on faster. She wondered if he felt any fear ... if he knew what McKie had done. Any hopes for peace that she'd cherished when the soldiers came now turned to ashes. Would the Kentucke forts fall as payment for the major's treachery against the murdered Shawnee?

  She could think of but one thing. Cornstalk and his men might well have been Surrounded by the Enemy and his son.

  "Looks like the British and Shawnee made one last strike before fall slips away," Trapper Joe surmised, drawing hard on his pipe as he sat with Pa at the hearth. "Soon they'll start movin' to their winter camps. I'd wager Kentucke won't see any more trouble till spring'

  A fortnight had passed since the fright that had broken up Lizzy's wedding. Since then it seemed the settlement hovered on extinction, that they might be wiped from the surveyor's maps at any moment. But just as Joe predicted, the British and Indians seemed to melt away. A search party made up of the Red River militia had gone out after them in hopes of recovering the captives from Hinkley's Station, but the enemy seemed to have vanished just beyond the Falls of the Ohio.

  As she lay in bed that night pondering it all, Morrow's mind kept circling back to Surrounded by the Enemy and his son. Red Shirt was a British scout, his father a Kispoko war chief. Had they been part of the raid? Were they responsible for rounding up defenseless women and children when the fort fell? She thought of all the captives-families who had been destroyed like her own. The events were so disturbing she pushed back the coverlet and dropped to her knees on the hard floor, hands folded like a child's.

  Oh Lord, wherever they are, keep the captives safe. Please bring them back.

  "Morrow, you all right?"

  Pa's voice seemed to boom on the other side of her closed door, startling her off her knees. She bounded back into bed. "I'm fine, Pa-just can't sleep" She heard him shuffle back down the steps and wondered if his own ponderings kept him wideawake as well.

  Near dawn a heavy wind began to blow, adding an exclamation point to all her turmoil. Glad for daylight, she dressed and hurried to the barn to milk with unsteady hands, watching the first leaves of fall swirl through the cracks in the barn's timber. There'd be no Sabbath service or singing school till the trouble stilled. Her initial pang of disappointment faded to stark relief. At least she'd be spared the attentions of Major McKie.

  She churned inside the cabin rather than on the porch, glad when the butter came and she could carry it to the springhouse. Stomach rumbling, she gleaned a few apples from a barrel just inside the door. Carrying them in her apron, she returned to the house, darting a quick look about the clearing and orchard. 'Twas best to keep occupied, she thought, and clear her mind of dangerous matters.

  "Apple dumpling time already?" Pa asked with a wink when he came in.

  She smiled at his attempt at lightheartedness, wondering if he was as distracted by the turn of events as she.

  "I need to go out and cut some cane for the horses, Pa told her. "Best bar the door behind me"

  She looked at him, wiping her hands on her apron, wondering if this was as unsafe as it sounded. His gun rested over the mantel, yet it did nothing to allay her fears. Should she ask him how to use it-or urge him to take it instead? But she stayed silent, and he went back outside, his reassuring footfall fading as she slipped the crossbar into place. Now that she was alone, her mind began making frantic leaps, entertaining wild speculations as fear knotted her stomach.

  What if Red Shirt came and wondered about the gift he'd given her? Would she fling open the dogtrot door and point to the copper pot? Suppose her ingratitude raised his ire? She put a hand to her carefully pinned chignon. 'Twould make a fine scalp. And what little hair Pa had left-white as it was becomingwould suffice as well. The British were paying dearly for settlement scalps, goading the Indians into taking them, so McKie said. And Red Shirt was a British scout ...

  She pushed such ponderings aside and kept busy about the hearth, soaking some hominy in lye and polishing a few pieces of pewter, but her thoughts kept straying to the other side of the dogtrot.

  With a sigh she finally gave way, unbarring the door and hurrying to the opposite room to retrieve the package hidden in the copper kettle. Its mystery had gnawed a hole in her ever since Red Shirt had left it behind, and she could stand it no longer. With a shivering breath, she blew off the dust, forehead furrowing as she tore at the paper wrapping and string, unprepared for the delight and confusion that swept through her.

  I must be dreaming.

  She bent over the gift in her lap, fearful it might dissolve if she so much as touched it. Never had she beheld such astonishing fabric. It lay cradled in the heavy wrapping like a blue violet cloud, shimmering like silk, plush and deep as snow. Where could he have gotten such an extravagance? The same place he'd procured his exquisite linen shirt? She'd expected beads and buckskin. Not this.

  Leaving the disarray behind, she crossed the dogtrot again and stepped back inside the cabin. There she succumbed to its wonder and buried her face in its softness.

  From behind her, Pa said, "It's the color of your eyes:"

  Whirling, she faced him, feeling she'd been caught in a trespass. He'd come through the side door she'd forgotten to shut and bar, surprising her with his stealth. Or had she been so caught up in the gift she hadn't heard him? She brought the fabric down and tried to look at it dispassionately. The exquisite velvet was a rich periwinkle blue, the hue of hepaticas hiding in the Red River woods. 'Twas indeed the same shade of her eyes.

  "'Twould make a fine wedding dress, he told her.

  She gave him a shy smile. "Are you trying to marry me off, Pa?"

  "Strange that you'd say that:" He cleared his throat and pulled a letter from his pocket. "Yesterday Joe brought this from the fort-which is still standing, by the way. Your Aunt Etta tells me she's had a dream about you. That you're to marry a man of rank. The trouble is, there's so many men of that description around, I'm a bit befuddled as to who it could be"

  Flushing, she began folding the fabric. "Oh, you know Aunt Etta, Pa. Always putting such stock in dreams. If she'd had her way, I would have stayed in Philadelphia and married a Redcoat:"

  I was thinking of a Bluecoat, he said, setting his damp hat on the hearthstones. "Maybe along the lines of Major McKie"

  She felt herself stiffen but tried to school her features. "McKie, Pa?"

  "It's obvious he's set his sights on you. But at present he's a bit too distracted for courting, given the Indian trouble:"

  She hugged the fabric closer. "Why, I-I just got home and there's so much to be done. I can't be thinking of courting and leaving home. Not now ... not yet"

  Saying no more, he sat and resumed whittling on a pipe while she set the fabric aside. But later, after they'd eat
en, she cleared the table and sharpened her scissors, assembling all her sewing supplies. Using an old dress as a pattern, she opened the sewing chest from Aunt Etta and hunted for her silver thimble and some silk thread. Pa watched her as he whittled, as if wondering if she had the nerve to cut the fine fabric.

  She breathed a silent prayer as the sharp scissors bit into the blueness, the lantern quick to catch the slightest mistake. Each slice seemed to raise successive questions. Red Shirt and his father had seen her sewing in years past, when she'd sought to stay busy and avoid them. Was it mere coincidence that the velvet matched her eyes? Should she wear it or save it? If she saved it, it must be for her wedding day. If she wore it, Jemima would swear she was putting on airs.

  The bodice was nearly cut when Pa leaned back in his chair. "I'd best read you the letter from Etta"

  She looked up, glad to take a rest and let go of the shears. He began slowly, his voice a bit husky from the cold he seemed to keep. He was working too hard, she thought. Now that the harvest was in, he needed to rest, but there always seemed to be something left undone. Studying him, she thought again how he needed a son to aid him-not a helpless daughter. As he turned to the second page, she found her eyes drifting to the velvet.

  "Morrow, did you hear?" Pa's gruffness broke the spell, and she looked up. "My persistent sister has extended you an invitation again"

  She withheld a grimace. "Perhaps Aunt Etta could come here when things settle down"

  His smile was wry. "Silk and buckskin rarely mix, Morrow. I've invited her often enough, but she merely counters my offer with her offer, which is to have you to herself again. I think life as a spinster must be lonely. And with a war on. . "

  "Perhaps I'll go back ... one day" One day. It had a lovely, noncommittal sound, far-off and evasive as it was. But for now she'd had her fill of Philadelphia.