Courting Morrow Little: A Novel

by Laura Frantz

  "I'm afraid Pa hasn't been able to fix the barn roof. You might spend a damp night:'

  He smiled, his teeth a flash of white in his tanned face. "Do I look like I mind a little rain, Morrow?"

  The question seemed an invitation to look at him, and she did just that, taking in his worn buckskins and clean if fraying frocked shirt. How many stormy nights had he spent in the weather, she wondered? She'd yet to spend one. Opening the barn door, she realized she'd forgotten a lantern, but she slipped into the shadows anyway, showing him the first stall in a gesture she now knew was completely unnecessary.

  He leaned his rifle against a post before he turned back to her. "I wanted to talk to you away from the cabin. Your father .." He hesitated as if well aware how the mention hurt her. "Your father is concerned for you. What will you do when he's gone?"

  She looked away, feeling small and uncertain standing there before him. "I-I don't know."

  He asked quietly, "Will you marry?"

  Her heart clenched in alarm. Had Pa told him of Robbie Clay? She felt a bit sick at the thought. "I can't think of marriage now, not with Pa so ill:"

  "Why not let him choose?"

  She took a deep breath, daring a look at him, wanting to share her heart. "A husband, you mean?"

  "Some practice it. Love comes in time"

  In time ... She didn't have much time. Robbie Clay would be back any day. She looked away, trying to tamp down her heartache, the intimate question on the tip of her tongue begging to be answered. "Do you have a ... woman?"

  For a moment she thought he might say yes, and she tensed.

  "No;' he finally said.

  A bittersweet relief swept through her. Here and now, in the shadowed barn, nothing seemed to matter but the two of them. Every obstacle seemed to fade away. All the barriers between them turned to ashes with that one definitive no.

  He leaned back against a post while she clasped her hands together and tried to summon the will to walk away. But the ensuing silence was rife with a hundred heartfelt things, each wooing her to stay. How different this was than the first time, when he'd surprised her in the barn and she'd run away from him. Was he remembering it too?

  Looking down at the hay strewn about her feet, she felt his fingers graze her cheek and brush back the wisps of hair that had come free of her pins. She nearly shivered, yet the warmth of his hand seemed to reach clear to her heart. Was the sigh she heard his-or her own?

  Slowly she looked up and his hand fell away. Without thinking, she reached for him again, needing his warmth and strength, and returned his callused palm to her flushed cheek. Despite the darkness, she sensed his surprise, and it matched her own as he ever so carefully closed the distance between them.

  "Morrow.. "

  He was so close he could lower his face into her hair and breathe in the rose scent of her if he wanted to. He'd not dishonor her, he'd once said. She didn't rightly know what that meant, yet she almost wanted to find out. She was on dangerous ground, all her feelings tied in knots, her genteel ways fraying like silk thread. She felt the pressure of his other hand warm about her waist ... his breath on her cheek ... his fingers cradling her chin and drawing her in.

  Oh Lord, I am lost.

  She shut her eyes and waited for his mouth to meet hers. But in that achingly sweet instant, another sound rent the stillness. The barn door groaned open, and Pa's coughing filled the air with unwelcome fury. Red Shirt stepped away from her, and she whirled to face her father, so bereft she felt ill.

  "Morrow, you all right?"

  Had he seen their near embrace? "I-I was just coming back."

  "It's going to storm," he said, leaning against the heavy door.

  She went to him and, without another look back, shut the heavy door behind them with shaking hands. Walking across the dried grass of the clearing was an agony, for she'd left her heart in the barn. Pa took the porch steps slowly as if trying to get his breath, and she struggled for composure before the cabin lamp revealed her turmoil. Once inside, he didn't go straight to bed as she'd hoped but took a seat at the hearth and watched as she finished burying the coals for the morning's fire with a small shovel.

  He passed a hand over his beard, voice solemn. "Are you in love with Red Shirt, Morrow?"

  Stricken, she looked up, eyes awash. His face held a startling frankness that insisted she respond in kind. "Pa, I think you've misjudged us. We have a fine friendship, nothing more'

  He hesitated, eyes grave. "I've seen the way he looks at you. I'd have to be blind as well as consumptive not to notice"

  And just how does he look at me? She felt herself go hot and cold all over and fixed her eyes on the floor. Could he see what she tried so hard to hide? His curiosity-and questioningseemed to strip her nearly naked and expose all her raw emotions.

  "If I might be so bold, did Red Shirt ask for your hand?"

  Setting the shovel aside, she said, "No, Pa. Why would he?"

  "Why would he? Heaven has blessed you with a fine face and figure, and intelligence and grace besides. Nay, the question is, why wouldn't he?"

  She sat down across from him, her hands twisting in her lap. "He merely asked if I'd given any thought to the future ... to marriage:" She swallowed hard. "He suggested I let you choose for me-a husband, I mean"

  "And what did you say?"

  "I ..." What had she said? The memory only deepened her embarrassment. "I-I asked if he had a-a woman:'

  His eyebrows rose to sharp peaks, and she looked away, mortified at what she'd done. In the barn, the question seemed innocent enough, but now it seemed like she'd thrown herself at his feet in the asking. Was that what Red Shirt thought? Pa did, surely.

  "Daughter, need I remind you that you're as good as betrothed?"

  Betrothed. She smoothed her wrinkled skirt, grasping for words. "I ... I .."

  The clock ticked, and he began coughing again, bringing an end to their excruciating conversation. She helped him into bed before fleeing to the privacy of her room, where she knelt and tried to pray away her shame. But it remained, as did her wayward feelings for the man who was bedded down in the barn and would likely be gone come morning. Though she'd fought it, and would continue to do so, he'd become entrenched in her heart in ways she couldn't explain.

  All she knew was this. Forgiveness was one thing. Falling in love was another.

  She awoke to the sound of voices-Pa's low and broken by his rumbling cough, and the slower, measured cadence she was coming to know as Red Shirt's. For a few moments she lay lost between sleep and consciousness, thinking she'd only dreamed she'd heard him, and then their near embrace in the barn came rushing back. If Pa hadn't come in ... what then? The shame she'd felt hours before had given way to an undeniable yearning in the night, and she'd finally surrendered to all its implications. She was deeply in love with him. Pa knew. And perhaps Red Shirt did too.

  It was so early the light of day had only just begun to touch the treetops and her rain-streaked windowpane. The storm of the night before had been banished by a breathtaking swath of pink and gold sky. She lay abed till the voices ceased, then got up and dressed with such haste she could hardly manage her buttons. When she came down the steps, making a clean sweep of the empty cabin, she tried to not let her anticipation show.

  "Morning, Morrow," Pa said as he came inside.

  Her smile faded as she looked toward the door he'd left open.

  "He's gone, Pa told her, "though he didn't say where he was headed. 'Tis probably safer left unsaid:'

  Safer, indeed. For my heart... and his. Near tears, she turned away. He cleared his throat as if about to speak, and she nearly winced. Please, Pa, say no more about my being betrothed. The very word was hateful to her now, as was her next anxious thought. Had he told Red Shirt about Robbie Clay? Could that be why he'd left without saying goodbye? Thinking he might have, her chest constricted so painfully she felt she couldn't breathe.

  She held off going to the barn till after breakfast. Once ther
e she collected the quilt atop the fresh hay that had made his bed, lingering near the wooden post he'd leaned against before he'd reached for her in the darkness. Oh, to cast back time and regain the feeling of his hand upon her cheek, his arm warm about her waist, the tender way he'd whispered her name ...

  She heard Pa's boots on the porch, and then his coughing grew more distant. He'd gone out to the field, she knew. She wanted to be as certain of Red Shirt. Not knowing where he was left her with an unfinished feeling that was nigh unbearable. Leaning against the rough barn wall, she wrapped the quilt around her as if it could keep his memory close, and wept.

  Oh Lord, bless him, protect him. Please let no harm come to him.

  By week's end, Joe brought word that McKie and his men had just returned from across the Ohio, having burned four Shawnee towns to the ground. The entire Kentucke territory, on tenterhooks for months, now seemed to be hurtling toward the long-dreaded wilderness war. As Joe related the grim news, Pa sat down on the porch step, looking spent.

  "Red Shirt told me McKie had crossed into Shawnee lands, but he spared me the details. What really happened up north, Joe?"

  "A trapper friend of mine just come from there and saw one of the villages firsthand-or what's left of it, Joe said tersely, leaning over to spit a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt. He looked at Morrow. "Maybe Miz Morrow should go inside"

  But she stayed where she was, surprising them both when she said, "Fleeing from the ugliness won't change it any, Joe. I'd rather stay."

  He took a deep breath and looked away as if envisioning the carnage. "McKie's men struck when most of the chiefs and warriors were away at a tribal council upriver. The soldiers shot down mostlywomen and children-them that couldn't get away. Scalped 'em too. I won't tell you what they did to the young squaws. Then they set fire to the village and destroyed all the crops they could. Cut down a couple hundred acres of corn, it's said'

  Morrow looked toward the river, the sunlit water a blur of blue. Pa's voice sounded grieved. "What of Surrounded's town?"

  "That'll be next, from what I hear. Sounds like McKie spent a lot of time up north scoutin' and surveyin' No Indian town is safe'

  Pa coughed into his handkerchief and worked to draw a breath. "Surely the Shawnee know what's to come. I've heard General Washington wants to award tracts of western landOhio, mostly-to veterans of the French and Indian War. McKie and his ilk are merely clearing the way"

  "I heard the same," Joe said. "But don't think the Shawnee will lay down and let 'em. Some of these destroyed towns were something of an easy target, bein' the first Shawnee villages to come upon across the Ohio. The other ones are harder to find. Surrounded's is the farthest west, for good reason"

  Was it? Far out of the reach of the whites? Was that where Red Shirt had gone? Morrow toyed with the hem of her apron, fingering the fine lace now fraying from repeated washings.

  "You can bet Black Snake-their war chief-is headed this way. Surrounded is one of the Kispokos, remember. Won't take 'em long to gather their forces and come down, madder'n yeller jackets busted out of their hives' Joe turned and spat again as if to emphasize his words.

  Morrow felt chilled. But it wasn't word of an impending attack that set her on edge. Joe's words, long dreaded, set her head to spinning. Robbie Clay was on his way home, as was Major McKie. She was still betrothed, about to wed. No matter that months had passed and she'd given her heart to another. Her commitments came rushing back, cast in stone, sickening her with all their implications.

  She stood, her mind on anything but what she was about to say. "You'd best stay for supper, Joe. I've made a heap of chicken and dumplings, and you can take home what's left to Good Robe and Little Eli"

  He shifted his rifle to his other arm. "Hungry as I am, there ain't gonna be any leftovers. But it's mighty kind of you, Miz Morrow, just the same"

  The next day turned stormy. The air was heavy with the threat of a hard rain, and lightning split the expanse of black clouds above, reflecting Morrow's inner turmoil. Hardly able to keep her mind on her chores, she made a pretense of calm for Pa. Standing in what remained of her vegetable garden, pumpkin vines twisting around her feet, she absently took stock of late summer's bounty, her dress hem damp from a heavy dew. But her thoughts were tainted with the certainty that Robbie Clay would ride in at any moment.

  She now felt she was in the midst of a dangerous game. No longer was it just she and Robbie Clay and Major McKie, but also Red Shirt. With McKie having pressed Robbie into service the first time, there was no telling what he might do next if their plans to wed went ahead. Her dilemma had kept her awake most of the night, and she now felt benumbed with weariness and worry.

  Bending over, she picked up a small pumpkin for a pie, setting it outside the paling fence before searching the dewy ground for a gourd or two. When she straightened, she saw Joe standing with Pa in the pasture. From their slumped shoulders and the intensity of their expressions, she knew something was amiss. Her heart hammered harder, its cadence felt clear to her temples. Slowly they began to walk toward her, and it seemed an eternity before they reached the edge of the garden.

  "Morrow, come inside the cabin;' Pa said.

  Forgetting her task, she did as he bid. Her first thought was of Red Shirt. Oh Lord, whatever it is, please let it not be him. The possibility was so terrifying she nearly broke down before she reached the porch. Beneath Pa's creased face was a telling shadow of alarm. Once inside, she turned to him, realizing Joe had slipped away.

  "McKie and his men have returned to the fort, he told her. "But not everyone came back"

  She took the words in, relieved that no mention had been made of Red Shirt, though her stomach still clenched with alarm. A fit of coughing shook Pa, and it was another agonizing minute before he finally said, "During the raid on one of the Shawnee towns, McKie put Robbie Clay at the front of the charge. He was shot down straightaway."

  Shot down ... dead? The words seemed to ring in her ears without end. Stunned, she sank down on the bench by the door. First the killing of the Shawnee along the Kanawha, and now this. "Oh, Pa, I'm to blame. If I'd not accepted him-agreed to marry him-"

  "No, Morrow. You couldn't have known it would come to this"

  Though she tried to stay stoic, she started to cry. "Why doesn't someone stop him? Why is McKie allowed to get away with murder and treaty violations and-"

  "Red Shirt says McKie has approval from Congress to rid Kentucke and the middle ground of Indians no matter what the treaties say. By any means necessary. Using whatever men necessary."

  "So he can do whatever he pleases without punishment? Without fear of judgment? Robbie Clay was a farmer, not a soldier!"

  "God will be his judge, Morrow." He sat down beside her, looking spent although the day had just begun. "McKie was wounded in the fighting-his arm, Joe said. He's recovering at the fort. I'm grieved things had to end this way. I know you didn't care for Robbie, though I'd hoped you would in time"

  They sat in silence till the fire needed replenishing and his coughing called for more medicine. Thunder boomed a warning, and then the skies seemed to split open, pouring forth a heavy rain that cast the cabin in such deep shadows she scrambled to light candles.

  Ta, what do you suppose will happen next?" Her words were soft yet so full of angst he seemed almost to flinch.

  He looked at her, his eyes grieved. "I don't know, Daughter. But I fear McKie will come here:'

  Sometime in the night Morrow was jerked awake by a single heart-stopping thought. McKie was coming. Perhaps today. When he did, what would she do? Say? She sensed that by accepting Robbie Clay's proposal, she'd earned the major's ire, shamed him in some way, and that was something she'd never meant to do.

  Oh Lord, forgive me for my part in all this. Please protect us.

  Mindlessly she performed her chores, eyes on the woods. How odd that the fear she'd once felt for the Shawnee was now embodied in the man she'd once hoped would be her salvation. An officer and a
gentleman from Virginia. The irony of it stung her afresh, as did the fact that her heart remained fixed on a halfblood scout who knew nothing of her turmoil and trouble.

  The storm cleared, leaving everything muddy and unkempt. Toward dusk, while toting water from the spring, she heard a sudden commotion around the side of the cabin. Something dark and unspeakable came over her as she caught sight of the familiar figure in buff and blue. Watching him, she fought the urge to drop her water bucket and flee as he tied his stallion to the rail in front of the cabin. There was no hiding the dismay that blanketed her. She felt nearly smothered by it.

  McKie turned suddenly, removing his tricorn, his hair the russet of an autumn leaf in the fading light. His eyes swept her from tip to toe. "Miss Little, I'd nearly forgotten how lovely you are.

  She wore a striped muslin dress, hardly praiseworthy, she thought, unaware that its simplicity emphasized her every curve. There was something in his gaze that alarmed her, something behind his flattering words that put her instantly on edge, and all her fears came crashing down upon her.

  Oh Pa, where are you?

  As if hearing her heart's cry, he soon came out of the barn, his voice civil if strained. "What brings you so far from the fort, Major McKie?"

  "I have business a bit north of here," he replied brusquely. "And since I've not seen your daughter in some time, I thought we might take a walk"

  "Very well;' Pa said after a moment's pause, beginning to wheeze.

  Morrow set down her pail, her breath coming in labored little bursts, a prayer for deliverance dying in her throat as Pa passed into the cabin.

  McKie was dressed in his officer's best, his uniform immacu late, an inky stock enfolding his thick neck, the linen of his shirt pristine. His sword belt was draped over his shoulder, and one hand rested on its hilt. As she glanced at it, a queasy wave threatened to unseat her supper. Had he used this very weapon when raiding the Indian towns? Had it cut down women and children? Babies like Little Eli? She felt weighted with the heavy silence that hung between them and all that he'd done. Her eyes drifted to the pasture and surrounding woods, and she saw one mounted soldier, then two. He'd come with a guard, she guessed, and then, when she looked again, they'd gone.