by Laura Frantz
He was right, truly, but she felt chided like a child. In her confusion she tipped the pot over, and the rest of the porridge spilled out. He righted it without a word, but her humiliation was complete. Though she worked hard to stem her swirling emotions, her chest hurt so from the effort that she finally burst into tears.
He pulled her into his arms, his mouth warm against her hair. "You're missing your father."
She was, but it was more than this. How could she share her near constant fear of soldiers following them? "I-I am missing Pa, but I must be strong:'
"Why? When your heart hurts, you weep. If you stop weeping, I will wonder" He leaned forward to place another stick of wood on the fire, his hold on her never lessening. "I know what it's like to grieve"
"Your mother, you mean?"
He nodded. "There have been others"
Many others. She knew without asking, reading the hard lines in his face. Her mind began leaping back across the long, lonesome months without him, their only tie the fur cape he'd sent by way of Trapper Joe. "I can't believe I'm here with you now after all that's happened. I thought-after you left last winteryou weren't coming back."
"I wasn't sure I should:" He looked down at her, pensive. "I wanted your happiness-I wanted to see your father at peace. I wasn't sure I could give you either. I'm not sure I can now'
"What do you mean?"
"I live a hard life. Your father was concerned about how you would weather it. He asked me to be careful with you"
The honest admission grieved her. Pa always treated her like fine Philadelphia china. Now, away from the isolated life they led on the Red River, she sensed he'd been wrong in doing so. "I know I'm not strong. I've hardly been away from the cabin or Aunt Etta's dress shop. But you can't spend your life being careful with me. I'll be a burden, not your wife:"
"Being careful suits me, Morrow, like being tender suits you"
She stared into the leaping flames, pondering it all. He'd always been so gentle with her, right from the very start. Pa needn't have worried on that score, she thought.
"Did your father tell you about the holy words ... my promise?" he asked. Her forehead furrowed in question, and he said, "Deuteronomy 24:5"
She reached for a saddlebag and unearthed Pa's worn black Bible. The sight stirred her so much she nearly put it back. But the leather cover was warm in her hands, the printed page a familiar friend. The holy words, he'd called them. She leafed through the thin pages to the stated verse. "When a man hath taken a new wife, he shall not go out to war, neither shall he be charged with any business: but he shall be free at home one year, and shall cheer up his wife which he hath taken"
I promised your father ..' he began.
She looked up, a catch in her throat.
"I promised him I would do that very thing'
"Pa made you promise?"
"He didn't make me, Morrow. I gave my word willingly enough"
The silence deepened, and she found herself wishing he'd lie down with her and erase every cold, lonesome moment they'd spent away from each other. The starry beauty of the night seemed to call for it. But if he didn't do so soon, she'd be fast asleep and he'd have to carry her to bed again.
As the night deepened and the fire shifted and settled, he ended up doing just that.
As they traveled, Morrow began to see how sheltered she'd been. Shackles she didn't know she had seemed to fall away as the whole wide world opened up to her. Did Red Shirt purposefully take her on the most beautiful paths just to see her mouth hang open and her eyes grow wide? She sensed his pleasure as he introduced her to all he'd known since childhood, mountains and rivers and valleys new to her but as beloved to him as old friends. Sometimes she rode on the mare leading the packhorse, then she'd walk, her eyes on Red Shirt more than the woods. He steadfastly watched their surroundings, alert to any movement or sound.
When at last they came to the Ohio River rapids, Morrow felt a sense of awe unknown to her before. On its north bank, she felt small as an ant, the far shore like a distant star. This was the Falls of the Ohio-the spectacular run of rapids she'd heard about her whole life. Here the rushing water surged through slick shoots to the final falls where it poured like a giant pitcher into a wide, tranquil basin below. Perfect for swimming, Red Shirt said. Together they stood on a rock ledge some thirty feet above the water, with Morrow wishing it was June, not November.
She shivered and took a step back from the cliff's edge, watching as he dove off the ledge, straight and smooth as an arrow being released from a bow before being swallowed up by the waters below. She dropped to her hands and knees, awed and a bit dizzy. She'd spent her whole life not doing such things, while he'd spent his whole life doing them and doing them well.
Red Shirt waited below, arms open wide. She felt a frantic cry escape her as she jumped into sheer nothingness. The impact of the water was stinging, then bloodcurdling cold. But he was there, just like he said he'd be, and she relaxed in his warm arms.
"I can jump but I can't swim, she said, recalling her near drowning.
His half smile told her he didn't need the reminder. "I'll teach you.
She shivered as he straightened her shift about her shoulders. "Not in winter."
"The water's warm"
Her eyes widened. "Warm?"
"For November. Soon it will be ice"
I suppose you swim in that too."
Longingly she looked to the south shore where smoke plumed. He'd wisely made a fire and shelter where their blankets and her clothes and shoes waited. They'd come to the falls just past noon, completing ten days of travel. But crossing the wide river in a canoe he'd hidden on a previous foray had nearly proved her undoing. If not for the confidence with which he managed the horses and their belongings, she'd have been terrified. Setting foot on the opposite shore brought a blessed relief.
For the first time since leaving the Red River, she felt somewhat safe. She no longer asked how much further they had to go, since the question seemed only to amuse him. "Counting your steps only makes the journey longer," he'd said.
Now he turned her around to face the river as it angled south, pointing out things she'd overlooked. An ambitious beaver dam sturdy as a bridge spanned the rushing water, and beyond it spilled yet another gentler falls. The beauty sent goose bumps all over her.
"The sky speaks of snow, he said, studying the gathering clouds.
She looked up, a little thrill filling her at the prospect of being snowed in with him in so pristine a place. "Seems like all the people in the world have fallen off and it's just us two. Like Adam and Eve;' she said.
Despite the near-constant fear that shadowed her, not once had they seen any sign of another soul, either Indian or white, though the woods teemed with animals and the trees shook down their last stubborn leaves, making a colorful carpet for walking.
"At first light we head west, he said. "Soon you'll see the smoke from my father's camp:"
The mention of Surrounded made her glad, yet the prospect of entering an Indian town for the first time filled her with dread. They would stop briefly for fresh horses and provisions, he said, but they'd not linger long, for it was necessary to cross the Mississippi before it froze and became impassable.
Morrow sat by the fire wrapped in a blanket, drowsy and content, and studied him. Red Shirt stood along the river's edge where large white rocks created shallow pools in which sharla-river trout-swam. In the afternoon he'd fashioned a fine hickory spear, securing a sharp flint tip to one end and binding it with sinew.
She found it hard to look away from him simply clad in buckskin breeches. Her eyes trailed from his thickly corded chest and smooth stomach to his bare feet. With one hard arm poised and ready to release the spear, he looked like a marble statue from one of Pa's history books. She couldn't take her eyes off him, couldn't tell how many fish he'd caught or how long he'd been trying. The twilight deepened as she studied him and wondered wistfully how many women he'd said no to.
&
nbsp; "Morrow," he called over his shoulder.
She got to her feet and trod over frozen stones to see a fine catch of fish lying on a smooth rock. Pa had never liked to fish nor cared much for the taste, so they'd had little occasion to eat them, but Red Shirt showed her how to clean them and cook them in the coals, peeling the charred skin and backbone away when done. Of all the meals they'd shared, this one was the most spare. Just baked fish and little else. But somehow it seemed like the most sumptuous fare.
He met her eyes and said, "You're not so tired tonight. I think this side of the river agrees with you"
She smiled, wondering if he'd sensed how truly thankful she was. Getting up, she went to the river to drink, and he followed, the moon shiny as a pewter plate over their shoulders. She recollected only a few times in her life when she'd been out under the stars and not under the close eaves of the cabin. Free as a bird she felt, roofless and without walls.
He picked up a stone and skimmed it over the water's silvery surface. She watched him closely from the bank-she couldn't help it. Under Pa's watchful eye, she'd never had the privilege. Would she still be this smitten in ten years? Twenty? Here the privacy was profound. Almost hallowed. Yet he hadn't so much as kissed her since the ceremony at the cabin.
A second rock skimmed the river, and she sighed. His arm came down and he turned to her. "Are you missing home, Morrow?"
Thoughtful, she met his steady gaze. "No ... I'm missing you.
He came to her and rested his hands on her shoulders, tipping her head back so that cold moonlight spilled into her eyes. "How can you miss me when I'm standing here beside you?"
"I-I don't rightly know," she said, feeling she'd stepped off a safe path onto perilous ground. "Aren't you ... missing me?"
His handsome features turned perplexed. "You think I .."
The ensuing silence returned her shyness to her tenfold. A tiny knot of alarm bloomed in her chest, and she looked at her feet. Perhaps she'd trod too far, but all she wanted was the comfort of his arms. Couldn't he sense that? Must she spell it out?
Gently he framed her face with his hands and brought her head up. "Morrow, you're mourning"
Mourning. A startling realization stole over her. He was telling her he wouldn't touch her so soon after Pa had passed, that she needed time to grieve. Tears shone in her eyes, and she blinked them back. How different he was from Robbie Clay and Major McKie. They would have had their way with her whether she was grieving or not.
"Yes, I'm mourning, she said softly. "I believe I'm mourning you.
A flicker of surprise played over his handsome face, but his gaze remained steadfast. He stood stone still as if waiting for her to settle matters between them. Several breathless moments passed as she waged a startling battle, raw grief finally giving way to a deluge of desire. Without wavering, she inched her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through his blue black hair.
"Morrow ... are you sure?"
The tender question touched her. "Never surer," she answered.
Gently, like they were about to dance, he took her in his arms, and she felt a wall within him give way. He held her hungrilyeven fiercely-his embrace erasing every fear she had as he buried his face in her freshly washed hair and murmured endearments she'd never heard. The stars and the river faded away, as did all her sorrow. She'd never forget the Falls of the Ohio on the night she became his bride in more than name.
They made poor time on the trail after that. The weather worked against them, snowing by day and turning their shelter to ice by night. Dense forest gave way to open prairie that she was only too willing to embrace after the unrelieved gloom of the woods. But it was so bitter she had trouble drawing an easy breath. The air seemed to turn to ice in her lungs, and her eyelashes froze together in a mournful moment over Pa. Red Shirt wrapped her in a blanket and his buffalo coat and helped her back on the mare. He seemed almost immune to the cold.
They sought shelter long before dusk. Soon a fire struggled to warm them, and she set about making supper from the provisions they had on hand. She was getting tired of jerked meat, remembering the hams hanging in the smokehouse back home. He left her alone in the shelter but quickly returned, carrying a skinned rabbit.
Her eyes widened as she took the meat. "You weren't gone long enough for me to put the kettle on"
"Hunting in the snow is for fools;' he said, cleaning his knife. "There's no sport in it"
She began to make broth, then sat back and hugged the blanket closer. The wind was kicking up, almost animal-like, licking and biting the shelter with a keening wail. "I'd fear being out here with anyone but you"
"A new wife is supposed to say such things"
"I wish ..." Her voice was soft, her eyes flickering over the snug bark and bough walls. "I wish we could be snowed in like this forever."
"Forever is a long time. Soon we come to the camp"
She tried to hide her disquiet, but he missed little. His eyes fastened on her face, warm from the fire, and he seemed almost as rueful as she.
"Once we ride in, I won't leave your side. Everyone will be curious about you. Many Shawnee have never seen a white woman. Some have never seen a white man"
The strangeness of it settled over her like a heavy blanket. He was taking her far out of reach of anything she'd ever known, so far she might be the first white woman to set foot in westernmost Indian territory. She knew so little about his past, his life with his father's people. Sometimes she nearly forgot his ties to the Shawnee. Perhaps she'd best begin finding out.
Her eyes held his in question. "Remember when you came across me picking berries in the woods?"
He studied her thoughtfully. "The day you asked about my Indian name?"
The bittersweet memory almost made her smile. "Yes, but you wouldn't tell me"
"I knew you wouldn't like it if I did. I'm not sure you will now.
"Now that we're wed, it seems like I should know"
He added another stick of wood to the fire. "Wawilaway. It means warrior.
She expelled a little breath. "I can see why you held your tongue:"
"Does it frighten you?"
She hesitated, ashamed to admit his past frightened her beyond all reason, and that was why she asked him so few questions.
His intensity turned to wry amusement. "How is it that a lady like you married a man whose name you didn't know?"
She smiled. "I knew you as Red Shirt:"
"I like that name no better'
"What did your mother call you?"
He grew pensive and looked into the fire as if trying to grasp a memory too long denied him. "I don't remember. But at Brafferton in Virginia, they called me Will:"
"Taken from your Shawnee name?" He nodded, and she went on, undeniably curious. "How long were you in school there?"
"Long enough to know I couldn't be the gentleman they wanted me to be. Four ... five winters"
Winters... years? The Shawnee phrasing inexplicably tugged at her heart. "You had no happy memories, then?"
"My happiest memory was the day I left. It might have been theirs too"
She smiled back at him, but there were tears in her eyes. "You went all that way in the wilderness to return to your father? Alone-just a boy?"
"I was used to being alone:" He stirred the fire with a stick till it blazed a deep cherry red. "A half blood belongs to no one, red or white, remember."
"You belong to me;' she said softly.
His eyes met hers, thankfulness in their depths. "You-and Christ"
His heartfelt words made her ache with regret. He was hers, yes, but she'd once been so blinded by unforgiveness she'd hardly looked at him. How like Pa he was, she mused. Though he had reasons aplenty to bear a grudge, he didn't do so.
He unrolled a blanket and lay on his back, eyes closed. Stirring the broth, she was glad to see him at rest. He'd walked every footscalding mile today to ease his lame horse, while she'd ridden the mare. Beneath his frocked shirt, his chest soon rose
and fell in the easy rhythm of sleep. Smothering a yawn, she fussed with the fire, but he reached over and caught her hand. The firelight flickered over them with beguiling light as they lay down, nose to nose, clearly delighted with each other.
`Aren't you hungry?" she asked as he kissed the hollow of her throat.
"Only for you;' he answered.
They were traveling west through river valleys so pristine it seemed to Morrow that no one had ever passed this way before, be it red man or white. The air was so sharp and scented with pine she felt she could open her mouth and taste it. As the weather cleared, the sun struck the ground with such brilliance that Red Shirt painted black smudges beneath her eyes to counter snow blindness. The charcoal and bear grease stung her wind-chapped cheeks, but at last she could look around without wincing.
She noticed he seemed to be circling back now, leaving her for short periods beneath a rock shelter or stand of trees while he retraced their steps on his stallion. Ever watchful, he always seemed one step ahead of her, and at first she gave it little thought. But now there seemed a new tension about him that bespoke danger, and she felt it sharp as a knife's edge.
He returned from his backtracking to the camp theywere making and hobbled his horse before turning her way. "Neewa."
She looked up from the flint and tinder in her hands, warmed by his calling her wife. But the intensity in his face swept all sweet feelings aside as he took the fire starters from her and returned them to their pouch, enfolding her cold fingers in his.
"We can't make camp here. We must go on.,,
She searched his eyes and saw a flicker of warning. "But it's almost twilight .." And I'm so tired I can't go any further.
"I'll have to push you, he told her, his breath a crystal cloud. "You're going to have to trust me"
"I do ... but-"
