by Laura Frantz
No need to worry about being a wife just yet. She looked toward her bed with its tidy counterpane, remembering how Red Shirt had dwarfed its sturdy frame. Your bed is making me soft, he'd said. He'd do things differently, she guessed, placing a hand to her heart as if to quell a sudden, yearning rush. He'd likely lay his buffalo coat down ... and her down with it. The feather tick had hardly held her and Jess.
The memory stopped her cold.
Oh, Jess, where are you? Will I ever see you again?
Pa was gone within days. There was no last-minute warning, no final goodbye. He seemed to rally at the end, almost fooling her, making her leave his side for longer periods and sleep upstairs. And then she came down that final morning and found him gone, his shell of a body cold and slightly stiff. His hands were folded atop his chest-had he been praying?-and it seemed all the deep folds in his leathery face had been eased by some heavenly hand.
She sank down on her knees beside him, laying her damp cheek against his still shoulder, wishing he'd rise up and stroke her hair a final time. For a long time she stayed with him, unwilling to let him go. Such stillness there was. Such peace. The absence of his coughing ushered in light and birdsong and fresh air. He was free. Free of the past ... free of pain and sickness ... free of men like McKie. He was with Ma now, and Euphemia. Perhaps even Jess. How could she be sad when he was finally free?
Reluctantly she let go of him and turned to the hearth. Sometime in the night the fire had died, and she scratched about for a live coal to revive it, wondering numbly who to summon to help bury him. But no more than an hour had passed when Trapper Joe and Good Robe were at the door, the grizzled woodsman almost amused at her astonishment.
"Indian intuition, he said, nodding toward his wife. Their faces were grieved, reminding her that they'd lost a dear friend this day. Even Little Eli, tucked in his mother's arms, looked somber.
Morrow breathed a thankful prayer and felt a rush of affection for them. With Good Robe's help, she dressed Pa in his finest preaching clothes, tucked a bit of bittersweet in his hand, and combed his silvery hair while Joe brought in the coffin and winding cloth from the barn. The ground was forgiving, not frosthardened but merely leaf-littered, and the big box slipped easily into place beside Ma and Euphemia behind the paling fence.
For one sharp, heartrending moment, she felt utterly forlorn. A cold wind whipped her wool cape as they huddled around the fresh mound in silence, locked in their own private thoughts. She couldn't bear to leave, as if turning her back on Pa would somehow take away his beloved memory. But the sun began to shine, warming their stooped shoulders, and they began a slow walk back to the cabin.
"We'll stay the night with you, Miz Morrow," Joe said, and Good Robe nodded in agreement.
She was touched by their concern but felt the call to be alone. "No need, Joe;' she said. Dare she share her secret? "Red Shirt will be here soon. Pa married us a few days ago"
He simply stared at her in the cabin shadows and then said with a sudden grin, "You two sure took care of things in good time. Where you headed?"
"West. Missouri territory."
At the mention, Joe's face held a longing Morrow hadn't seen before. "Prime country for huntin' Prime country for livin"'
Buoyed by the near reverence in his tone, Morrow almost smiled, then felt a deep dread knot her stomach when he added, "It's a good time to go with the settlements hunkered down for more trouble. I just heard there's a new officer comin' to Kentucke who makes McKie's command look like a Sabbath picnic. His name's Clark. George Rogers Clark'
She looked down at her wedding ring and stayed silent, wondering where Red Shirt was, if he was on his way back to her.
He stroked his beard, speculating. "I've been wantin' to head further west. If I do, I'll try to find you:'
She blinked back tears. "I'd like that, Joe." Going to the mantel, she retrieved a dusty ledger and brought out a deed, handing it to him. He looked perplexed until she said, "Pa wanted you and Good Robe to have this place. For keeps"
He stood speechless, eyes wet and disbelieving. Good Robe's dusky face shone with pleasure, and she took a few tentative steps about the large room, looking over the rocking chairs and table, the overflowing hutch, and the big corner bed.
Spying the hastily written letter lying on the table, Morrow handed it to Joe. "Please post this to Aunt Etta for me. She should know about Pa-about my leaving.. "
But even as she said it, she felt a twinge of conscience. Perhaps it was thoughtless to deliver such news in one blow-Pa's death and her decision to go west. But she couldn't leave her only kin to wonder what had befallen them. After living with the agonizing uncertainty of Jess, she wished that on no one.
He put the letter and the deed inside his hunting shirt, nodding in understanding when she said, "Don't mention Pa's passing at the fort yet, Joe. Not till I'm gone" Thoughts of McKie's accusations, of Jemima's betrayal, continued to haunt her. Might the soldiers yet arrest her for treason? Might they hunt down Red Shirt because of McKie?
Oh Lord, please bring him back to me so we can go west in peace.
When they took their leave, promising to return at week's end, she stood alone in the shadows, unable to bear the sudden emptiness. Going to the corner bed, she began stripping away the linens, tears spotting her hands as she worked. But she kept moving, rifling through this or that trunk or cupboard, trying to collect her scattered thoughts, working till she was exhausted. Time was lost to her altogether as she continued cleaning and sorting, getting things ready for Good Robe and Joe and Little Eli, while packing up a few of her own beloved things.
At day's end she stood on the porch, waiting and wondering and praying. The woods stared back at her, empty. Oh Lord, did I dream it all? The gold ring on her hand was a blessed reminder that she hadn't, yet her thoughts took a dark turn. What if, since his leaving, he'd run into trouble? What if he never returned? Their entwined lives now lay before her like a blank book, full of untold, pleasurable possibilities. Or page upon page of heartache.
The next morning she made coffee, unable to eat the biscuits she'd baked. As she looked around the tidy cabin, empty of Pa's comforting presence, she felt she no longer belonged to it, or it to her. Joe and his family would be happy here, and if Jess ever came back, they'd be waiting. The thought solaced her a bit, as did the memory of their gratitude when she'd given them the deed.
Shivering, she drew her cape closer about her as she huddled by the flickering hearth. There was little to do now but wait. And pray. And dream. Her head tipped forward to her chest in slumber, thoughts scattering. Through the cracked door at her back came a wintry breeze-and something else.
The call of a dove.
Coming awake, she looked over her shoulder to the open door, hope rising in her heart. Could it be? Slowly she made her way to the porch. The lonesome call came again, but the clearing was empty. She hugged a porch post, feeling it was the only thing that held her up, and scanned the edges of the woods. Shadows danced in the early dawn, golden light threading through the bare branches. Had she only dreamed it then?
But there to her left, through a break in the trees, stood a man. As soon as her eyes touched him, he was sprinting toward her across the leaf-strewn grass, and she was doing the same, so full of joy she felt weightless. They collided, breathless-she crying with gladness, he too moved to even speak. For long moments he held her, eyes roaming over the clearing and surrounding woods.
His mouth was warm against her ear. "You knew I'd come for you"
"I thought perhaps soldiers-"
He drew her closer and she clung to him, absorbing his warmth and strength. Taking her handkerchief from inside his frocked shirt, he dried her face and walked with her to the cabin. When they went inside, he looked toward the empty bed, sorrow etched across his face.
"Pa passed yesterday," Morrow said. "Joe and Good Robe came soon after. . "
Even as she said it, she felt the need to leave and put the memory behind her. D
anger seemed to hover, hurrying them into action. Although she was prepared to go, leaving everything behind was a hurdle she'd not reckoned with. She'd likely never see her home again.
He removed some garments from the haversack slung across his back and passed them to her. A bit shy, she disappeared up the stairs to her bedroom and shed her impractical dress, pleasure softening her grief. A calico shift, deep blue and figured with tiny yellow flowers, was soft to her touch. Along with this was a doeskin skirt bleached white, the blue beadwork and heavy fringe a marvel of artistry falling just past her knees. Donning both, she tied the leather belt around her waist and looked down at matching leggings and shoepacks. All she needed was her fur cape.
Going to her dresser, she peered into the small oval mirror, a bit bewildered by the young woman looking back at her. In her confusion and haste, she was hardly aware of Red Shirt on the stairs. He came to stand behind her, hands on her shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror, and she sensed his urgency.
"I'm nearly ready," she said softly, tying the ribbon at her throat with trembling fingers.
The handsome lines of his face held something she'd not seen before. Deep concern ... doubt. "I ask a hard thing of you'
She turned to face him, alarmed. Was he having second thoughts?
His jaw tensed. "I could take you East:'
To Aunt Etta c? Tears shone in her eyes, and she looked at him entreatingly.
"No one need know what happened here"
"You mean our marriage"
"You could have an easier life-"
"A life without you?" She felt a twist of grief, hurt that he'd even considered such. "Are you ... sorry?" And then she saw the sheen of pain in his own eyes.
"No, Morrow. I just want you to be sure" The tenderness in his tone returned, and she realized what weighted his mind and heart. Was she truly ready to leave her old life-everything she'd ever known-and go with him?
In answer she simply handed him the footwear she was unsure of. He knelt in front of her, slipping on a soft buckskin moccasin followed by a rougher over-moccasin tanned black to shed water. His long fingers made short work of the lacings, tying them off at her knees. When he stood, the shadow of doubt had left his face.
There was but one thing remaining. Crossing the dogtrot, she stood in the ghostly cabin and bade a silent goodbye to the hurtful memories of long ago. Red Shirt lingered in the doorway, a reminder that they were wasting daylight.
Soon her mare, Pa's black stallion, and a packhorse were loaded with quilts and sundry items, but most everything was left behind for Joe and Good Robe. Taking a last look around, she gathered up Pa's pipe and Bible where they rested on a table, tears blinding her. She said a final farewell to the home she'd known so long before passing over the threshold to where the horses waited, determined not to look back.
Danger seemed to nip at their heels as they slipped into the forest. He took her north, away from Red River Station, along the dreaded Warrior's Path. 'Twas a way unknown to her, and she sat atop Dollie, back and shoulders stiff beneath her fur cape. The landscape seemed skeletal and cold, the brittle leaves beneath their feet crackling loud as musket fire. Anyone within half a mile could hear them, she fretted. She didn't realize how skittish she was till they halted beneath a pine tree and he helped her down from the saddle.
She took the canteen he offered and brought it to her lips, trembling so that water spilled down the front of her. Retrieving a pewter cup from a saddlebag, Red Shirt filled it and covered her hands with his to steady them, bringing the water to her lips. The tender gesture settled her, and she gratefully took a few sips. But when he turned away, she began shaking again, ashamed when his eyes swept over her in quick appraisal and saw her fear for what it was.
"'Tis the cold;' she said softly.
"More than the cold, Morrow"
Her eyes roamed the bleak woods till he gently turned her face back to his, cupping her chin with his fingers. "Keep your eyes on me. I'll watch the woods"
She managed a little smile. "'Twill not be hard to do-keeping my eyes on you.
The confession came out a bit breathlessly, surprising him as much as her, or so it seemed. He lifted her chin, lowering his head till his mouth hovered over hers at a delicious angle. Suddenly the danger around them was little more than mist. 'Twas the danger between them that set her to trembling again. Her thoughts were so full of their wedded kiss in the cabin her stomach swirled.
"Lovemaking in these woods is a perilous occupation;' he murmured, and his hands fell away. But he looked every bit as disappointed as she felt.
He returned her to the saddle, taking care, she thought, not to look at her overlong again.
Back on the trail, she did as he bid and kept her eyes on him. Truly, studying him became her chief pleasure. When she grew saddle sore, she walked. Her new clothes lent her an ease of movement she'd never known, and she tried to imitate the innate grace with which he moved, seemingly at odds with his strength and stature.
The further they traveled, the more certain she was that she'd married a stranger. Their first hours together seemed to consist of a dozen different introductions into his heart and mind. The expert way he handled a horse. His staggering stamina. The disarming way he had of lapsing from English into Shawnee.
Sometimes he hardly seemed aware of her, and then he would suddenly turn to take her in, his eyes playful, almost roguish. She delighted in those looks-they eased all the discomfort of that first day when it seemed her body and bruised emotions could go no further. When they finally made camp long past twilight, she breathed a prayer of thanks.
Too tired to talk, she began mixing meal and water, pouring the batter in a small iron skillet near the heart of the fire he'd made, the orange flames licking skewers of salted venison, the juices hissing and spitting as they cooked. With a little creek beside them, there was plenty of water, its rushing making soothing music as the night settled in.
Side by side they ate, and then Morrow washed up while Red Shirt finished constructing a bark shelter between two sturdy trees, the roof and floor made of hemlock boughs cushioned by sundry blankets and quilts. Would this be their marriage bed, then? A woozy rush of something she couldn't name swept through her as she watched him work.
Never had she missed a mother's wisdom more than now. As she sat and tried to piece together what was supposed to happen this night and what was expected of her as a wife, the fire conspired to woo her, and she fell dead asleep, wrapped in its warmth rather than in the unfamiliarity of Red Shirt's arms. She didn't even remember him lifting her, removing her shoepacks, and putting her to bed.
In the morning, he had to shake her awake. When she saw him leaning over her, shirtless, his dark hair loose and disheveled, her first feeling was one of wonder. She'd dreamed she was asleep atop her feather tick, not the hard ground, and certainly not with a husband.
"You're beautiful awake;' he said with a knowing smile. "But you're even more beautiful asleep"
Groggy, she watched him pull on his shirt against the cold dawn. She scrambled to do the same with her shoepacks, deciding to leave her hair down since it warmed her like a cloak. Already it was tangled as if she'd spent a fitful night, and every muscle she possessed cried out. Even her feet seemed scalded.
He helped her up, brushing back a hank of her hair. "How do you feel?"
Feel? She blinked and looked up at him. How was she supposed to feel? She didn't feel married. She just felt ... bereaved. And bewildered.
His fingers skimmed her cheek. "Am I pushing you too hard, Morrow? I'm not used to traveling with a woman:"
She shook her head, willing her emotions to behave, thinking he might kiss her. The taste of charred venison was still in her mouth from the night before, and she craved water-lots and lots of water. Turning, she left the shelter and hurried to the creek with a pewter cup. The frigid dampness sent shivers clean through her. She knelt and dipped the cup into the gurgling water as it splashed over cold stones, then do
wned three cups in rapid succession. Woozy, she stood, barely making it to the bushes before emptying her stomach into the grass.
Soon he was behind her, taking her in his arms. "Today we'll rest:"
When she awoke hours later, he was gone. The wind in the treetops swept down and played with the fickle fire as she huddled beside it. Near her feet a small pot sat in the coals, its lid a clean piece of bark. It was her smallest cooking vessel, and she wondered what it held, if she should stir it. The wind whipped the aroma away from her yet blew smoke into her face. She felt a sudden pining for the cabin chimney but supposed she'd better get used to the smoke and the dirt. Already her traveling clothes were soiled in places, though she'd been careful as could be.
Shivering again, she felt a second blanket cover her shoulders as Red Shirt sat down beside her. His gaze was keen, almost dissecting, as if trying to judge how weary she was.
"I'm better now;' she told him, pulling the blanket closer. "Come morning I'll be able to travel, and I promise not to slow you."
He lifted the bark lid off the kettle. `And I promise not to push you. As a husband, I have much to learn:'
Taking a spoon, he stirred the pot's contents and offered her a taste. She grimaced and drew back, afraid of offending, yet he looked almost amused. Embarrassed, she blurted, "I feel so tired ... so weak"
His gaze slid from her to the fire. "You're many things, Morrow, but not weak. I wouldn't take a weak woman as my wife"
Solaced, she reached for a bowl, filling it and passing it to him. He took a bite before returning it to her. She swallowed a spoonful, surprised the porridge was so good.
"Takuwah-nepi," he told her. "Bread water"
She tried to smile. It tasted like cornmeal mush but better, with dried berries and molasses mixed in. "I didn't know you could cook." Suddenly famished, she ate a second bowl and reached for a third, but he caught her wrist. "Too much will send you back to the bushes"
