by Laura Frantz
She said in a little rush, "I thought you didn't see me"
"I saw you and purposed to avoid you"
"Why?"
"You're easily frightened:"
"Do you blame me?" Even as she said it, her eyes roamed the woods, and she thought of soldiers and Indians and the panther tracks Joe had warned them about. When he didn't answer, she looked back at him, feeling bolder than she ever had in her life. "Why are you called Red Shirt?"
The forthright if softly spoken question seemed to amuse him. He regarded her in that thoughtful way he had, as if sifting his every word before he spoke. "I scout for the British-the Redcoats. But I refuse to wear their uniform coat, so they made me a red shirt instead. It's something of a private joke"
"Don't you have an Indian name?"
"I do"
But you're not going to tell me.
Their eyes met and held, and she sensed his resistance. Heat seeped into her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes, taking in every aspect of his dress as she did so. Today he looked more frontier scout than Indian. In a loose tow linen shirt that fell to buckskin leggings held up by colored garters, inky hair caught back in a queue, he might have been any man in the settlement-but for that bit of wildness about him. A shot pouch and powder horn were slung over his left shoulder, and a tomahawk and sheathed knife hung from his handwoven belt. A far cry from flashing silver and fine linen.
He inclined his head to the left, bringing a halt to the conversation. "There's an abundance of berries beyond that big maple:"
She turned in that direction and began to walk, stepping over brush and briars, mind whirling. When she looked back, he'd gone. To see Pa again, she guessed. Her stomach knotted with the notion that he came and went at will and put them all in danger. Or perhaps he felt he could get away with it, isolated as they were.
Why was she so befuddled in his presence, forgetting to ask the only questions that mattered? If she didn't speak to him now, she might never. Abandoning her baskets, she hurried down the path he'd traveled moments before, hoping Pa was still in the field.
As she rounded the cabin, she found Red Shirt filling up the doorway, looking at her as if he lived there and not she. The idea filled her with cold fury, and she climbed the steps and faced him, her back against a porch post for support. But he spoke before she could untie her tongue.
"Where is your father?"
She swallowed, unwilling to answer. "Why do you keep coming back here?"
"That's not what I asked you:"
His pointed calm blunted some of her anger. She looked down, eyes on her berry-stained apron, feeling a sting of conscience. This man had kept her from drowning, yet she couldn't summon a speck of kindness for him.
She said a bit more softly, "I-I don't know where he is. That's not your concern. You shouldn't be here. 'Tis as dangerous for you as it is for us'
"I'm well aware of the danger"
Taking a deep breath, she darted a look at him again. "I'm concerned for my father. He isn't well. If you have any feelingany decency-you'll leave us alone-"
"Your father asked me to come. I wouldn't be here otherwise"
"That's right, Daughter."
She whirled and saw Pa standing behind her, Joe at his elbow. Humiliation covered her like a cloud. Pa's eyes held a stern rebuke, and he passed inside the cabin, calling for her to bring some cider from the springhouse. She noticed Joe eyeing Red Shirt warily and remembered he'd never seen him before. Grudgingly, she went to fetch the cider, wanting to hide in the cool dimness of the stone walls till they'd finished talking. But she did as Pa bid and served them, fleeing to her room afterward and not coming out till Pa stood at the bottom of the steps and called to her.
She hovered on the landing, looking down at him, and he said, "I don't want you to discourage Red Shirt from coming, Morrow"
Exasperation pricked her. "But Pa, that puts you in a terrible predicament. You could be accused of spying for the Shawneeor the British"
"No one knows of our meetings"
"Not yet, you mean. Suppose someone sees them here and-"
"I'll not bar the door to them, Daughter," he said sternly. "Strange as it sounds, I consider them friends. Besides, I have my own reasons for wanting them here"
Because of Jess. She sighed, spirits plummeting. In her haste to be rid of Red Shirt, she'd not thought to ask about Jess. "Did you tell him about Major McKie?"
His smile was tight. "I'm sure he knows more about McKie than we do. He's likely tracked McKie's every move since he and his men came into this territory. Telling him about military matters would be pointless-and would make me a spy as well. Wouldn't it?"
Chagrined, she fell silent. She'd not tell him of the hope kindling in her heart. Perhaps the coming of McKie's Virginians meant the Shawnee visits would stop. Soon the woods would be overrun with spies, ferreting out trouble, looking for Indian sign. Surely that would keep them away.
Slowly she came down the steps, upended anew when he said, "Red Shirt brought us both something:"
He took a package off the trestle table and held it out to her. Startled by Red Shirt's unexpected gesture, she took it reluctantly, noting the heavy paper and string. She felt Pa's eyes on her, as if weighing her reaction. Did Red Shirt think he could curry her favor, her forgiveness?
A rush of resistance rose up within her. Setting the gift aside, she went out, bent on retrieving her berry baskets and finishing her task. Nay, forgiveness couldn't be curried or cajoled or bought. It had to be given freely from a Christ-filled heart absent of all hate.
Like Pa's. Not hers.
The next morning she placed her package on the bench by the dogtrot door, wondering if Pa had opened his. But he wasn't near enough to ask, having left the cabin before dawn to finish cribbing the corn before the heat set in. She'd overslept this morning, thanks to a fitful night, and hadn't heard him go. The previous day had been altogether too stimulating, and she was worn out, so weary on wakening she'd wished it was dusk instead of daylight.
Dutifully, she made a kettle of mush. As she worked, she eyed the package, drawn yet repelled by its presence, thinking she'd better bury it somewhere out of sight. Its presence gnawed at her, tempting her to untie its string and unravel the mystery of its bulk and weight. Perhaps it was an animal skin or pelt-or some Indian trinket. Whatever it was, she wanted to be rid of it and knew just the place.
Slowly she opened the door to the dogtrot. It groaned in protest, the hinges rusty from disuse. Snatching up the package, she hurried across to the east side of the cabin, pushing open the heavy door for the first time since coming back from Philadelphia. For a moment she nearly forgot why she came, lost in the bewildering disarray. Why, thirteen years later, did Pa still refuse to right the furniture, sweep up the stray feathers, clean up the mess? She'd hoped, during her time away, he'd have done so. Or let her do it in his stead now that she'd come home. But she knew the past was too painful. By shutting the door on the life he'd lived with her mother, he hoped to heal.
A copper kettle sat by the hearth, tinted green from age. She dropped the package into it, satisfied as it was swallowed up and hidden from view. As she turned to go, a shaft of sunlight came through a grimy windowpane high above, striking a floorlength mirror and catching her reflection. Snatching up an old curtain, she rubbed a section of glass clean and peered closer, wondering why McKie paid her any attention at all.
At the sound of a footfall on the porch, she hurried outside. She drew the door shut as quietly as she could and came in the front door to fool Pa. He was sitting at the table when she entered, wearing a new beaver felt hat set at a slightly rakish angle. It made him look years younger, covering his silverthreaded hair. Was this what Red Shirt had brought him? She studied him as she poured him a cup of coffee and passed the sugar.
"You needn't remove your hat, she said softly. "Considering that it's new and all:"
Pa touched the felt brim as if he'd forgotten and watched as she dished up the mush. Thu
s far he hadn't asked what she'd done with her own package, but she sensed he understood her reasons for shunning the gift. And she tried to be courteous, though she was hard-pressed to hide her dismay at his obvious delight. The comfortable silence they shared soon began fraying, and she knew he had something on his mind that had little to do with felt hats and unopened packages.
When she took his empty dish away, he cleared his throat. "I've already milked this morning. Thought I'd spare you the trouble:"
"I didn't mean to oversleep, she said, pouring him more coffee. "Now that you're done with the harvest, you can stay abed a bit longer yourself."
Pa sighed, a strange utterance coming from him. Was it her imagination, or was he flushing beneath his sandy beard? He swallowed and said, "Did Lizzy speak with you at the last Sabbath service?"
His face was so hopeful she hated to shake her head no. He had something womanly to tell her, she guessed, and it went hard on him. "There was hardly time, remember? We were a bit late, and then there was Major McKie .."
"Well, you'll need to ready your dress if you're to stand up with her," he murmured.
She kept busy, putting beans in a kettle to soak and fussing with the fire. "But I thought she had her heart set on a spring wedding."
"Well, Lizzy and Abe have got things a bit backward.. " His voice trailed off, and she straightened and looked at him. He avoided her eyes, reddening further beneath his fine hat. "For heaven's sake, Daughter. Do I have to spell it out for you?"
Still befuddled, she said nothing.
He coughed. "We'll be blessing their baby come spring, understand. I cannot be any plainer than that"
Lizzy ... expecting? It was Morrow's turn to redden. The lace christening cap came to mind, along with her innocent words over tea. I hope you andAbe are blessed with a son or daughter real soon. Well, perhaps not this soon Flustered, she made a sudden move, overturning her cup. Hot coffee gushed onto the table and dripped onto the pine planks below. She was only too glad to get down on the floor and clean it up, hiding from his aggravated gaze.
First Good Robe and now Lizzy. Morrow felt a fierce rush of what could only be called covetousness. She'd always loved babies ...
"They've asked to be married in a fortnight;' he said, standing and wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "In the meantime, maybe I'd better send you to see Aunt Sally. I'd hoped that my dear sister had time enough to discuss these matters given the two years you spent with her in the city. But I can see that she taught you to sew and little else."
She stood up, perplexed. "Discuss what matters, Pa?"
"Matters of the heart. Falling in love with the right man. Waiting to bed till you're wed" He took off his hat then jammed it back on his head, turning toward the door.
She stood speechless at this indelicate outburst. Rarely had she seen him so addled. Since her homecoming, he seemed to treat her differently, almost with a sort of awe, even dread, as if he didn't know quite what to do with her.
Lizzy and Abe ... and a baby?
She felt slightly hurt that Lizzy hadn't confided the happy news, ill-timed though it was. Well, there was little to be done except ready her dress, like Pa said, and pray for good weather. There was no finer frolic than a wedding, she mused. No matter the season or circumstance.
Once again Morrow stood before the dusty mirror on the east side of the dogtrot, the chaotic remains of the cabin all around her. Spiderwebs glinted silver in the morning light, and the huge stone hearth gaped empty like the mouth of a cave. She'd come over to peer into the full-length looking glass and didn't mean to tarry, just linger long enough to check for any stray strings or buttons she might have missed when dressing for Lizzy's wedding.
She'd shunned her Philadelphia finery, Jemima's dark face hovering in her mind. No doubt she'd accuse Morrow of trying to outshine Lizzy if she wore such. With this in mind, she'd remade one of Ma's old dresses, adding lace to the sleeves and bodice and embroidering tiny rosebuds on the pale lavender skirt. The gown was fetching but looked somewhat incomplete. Spying a dusty trunk, Morrow knelt down and lifted the heavy lid. It opened with a groan, the interior musty, but in moments she'd come up with some ivory combs. A smile stole over her pale face, and she murmured, "Thank you;' feeling her mother had given her a gift.
When she met Pa on the porch-the combs holding up her weight of hair, the remade dress falling in graceful lines to the porch-something passed over his face that she couldn't fathom. Was he remembering the dress had been Ma's? Or about to rebuke her for trespassing to the east side of the cabin?
"We'll have to take the wagon, Morrow," he finally said. "I'm afraid your horse will soil you"
"But Pa, I'm only the bridesmaid, not the bride"
"You might be by day's end, he murmured.
She felt slightly sick at his scrutiny and started into the cabin. "I'll go change. I have another dress if this one's too fancy .. .
"It's not the dress, Daughter:" He paused and smiled slightly at her confusion. "You have no idea how lovely you are. That's part of your charm. You are so like .."
Adele? The near mention of her mother's name turned her melancholy. Did he know she'd been missing a mother more of late? Wishing she had a sister, at least? There were so many questions she couldn't ask him, fine father that he was. Womanly things. Heartfelt things. Things a man might laugh at. Lately the lack of a close confidante left an unmistakable ache deep inside her.
Her voice turned plaintive. "Pa, please don't worry with the wagon, or we'll be late. I like riding Belle as she's so gentle"
He finally nodded and went to fetch the mare. All the miles to the fort she tried not to imagine Ma riding beside Pa, dressed in the gown she now wore, still lovely in midlife, untouched by tragedy. Jess would be there-and Euphemia, all grown up, sixteen to her eighteen. A fine family, whole and unbroken. Yet in such turbulent times, who on the frontier could boast of this?
She was, she reminded herself, on the way to a wedding and wouldn't give quarter to melancholy. Self-pity was of the devil, Pa said. So she simply looked around, letting the wonders of the wilderness rush in and fill all the lonesome places inside her. A warm autumn wind bent the tall timothy and bluegrass, and the sky was aswirl with wispy clouds. Her prayers for fine weather this day had been answered.
The fort's front gates were open wide, overseen by soldiers bearing muskets, and revelers were already rolling kegs of cider across the common in anticipation of the dancing. In the midst of the melee was Major McKie in full dress uniform. The certainty that he was waiting for them seemed to release a bevy of butterflies inside her. When he spied them trotting through the gate, he hurried over to help her down, holding tightly to her gloved hand just as he'd done on the Sabbath.
"I'm a bit late ... Lizzy might need me," she said with a beguiling half smile.
For just a moment their eyes met, his astonishingly blue-a different hue than her own, but equally startling in his deeply tanned face. She read a dozen different things in his gaze-all admiring. Murmuring an apology, she excused herself, leaving Pa alone with him.
The Freemans' cabin was tucked in a corner beside the northeast blockhouse, the door open. She hurried there now beneath a sun that foretold ten o'clock, an hour ahead of the nuptials.
"Morrow, I feared you weren't comin, Lizzyexclaimed, standing on the threshold and catching sight of her. "Hurry and help me dress. Aunt Hannah is tendin' to the food and I can't find Alice"
Alice was often missing, Morrow mused, feeling a fondness for Lizzy's wayward younger sister. The cabin's interior was dim, and the grease lamps smoked miserably. Morrow worked hard not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of burned bacon. Since Lizzy's mother had died two years before, the family had yet to manage her absence well, and Morrow saw reminders of her everywhere about the cramped cabin.
As she helped her friend into the heavy gown, she tried not to eye her waist. "Lizzy, you look beautiful. I know Abe will agree."
Lizzy smoothed the just-pressed rose bro
cade with rough hands. "I can't thank you enough for the dress. It's just right for a wedding ... makes me feel like a bride. Now, can you help me pin the veil in place?"
Standing before a cracked mirror, Morrow arranged the delicate lace around the knot of curls atop her friend's fair head, letting it fall about her shoulders. Even yellowed with age and torn in one corner, its fragile lines were full of grace.
"It was Ma's veil;' Lizzy told her.
"It goes with the gown like it was made for it, Morrow said, securing the last pin. "Oh, Lizzy, 'tis a lovely day to be a bride. Seems like everyone in the settlement is here to wish you well:'
Pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks, Lizzy stole another look at herself in the mirror. "I reckon your pa told you Abe and I couldn't wait:"
Morrow lowered her head and fussed with the veil. "I wish you'd told me, Lizzy. You're my dearest friend, remember."
"I wanted to but didn't know how. Guess I'll get to use that christening cap you brought me soon enough. I do wish we'd waited, though. I'm about to bust out of this dress!"
Morrow fingered some posies in a vase atop a bureau. "You can hold these flowers in front of you, like this" Taking them, she wrapped the stems in a handkerchief she'd brought and passed them to Lizzy, angling her hands down in front of her waist. But on Lizzy's thin frame, the baby was already showing, and no bouquet could hide it. Morrow wondered how far along she was.
"I reckon folks'll laugh to see me waddle to the river," she lamented. "I'll be bearin' in spring. March ... April maybe'
