by Laura Frantz
She could well imagine the mayhem and suppressed a shudder. "You could have been killed"
"Some were" He studied her as if weighing whether to say more. "Shortly before the fighting began, Captain Click asked about you. He was acting as mediator for negotiations and talked to me for a time"
Dismay trickled through her, though she knew Click to be an honorable man. The summer he'd returned her to her father from Fort Pitt had earned him a fond place in her memory. "What did he say?"
"Joe had told him of your father's passing and that you'd gone west with me"
Her forehead creased in concern. "Is that all?"
I don't think he believes you went willingly'
She stared past him, the implications slowly dawning. "Was he hurt in the fighting?"
"With the smoke of the guns and all the confusion, I couldn't tell:"
She looked away, fear pulsing through her.
He said quietly, "I won't hide the hard things from you, Morrow. The truth needn't make you fearful. Just prayerful:"
She rested a hand atop her swollen middle, ashamed. Her faith was so small and seemed to have shattered at Pa's passing. Here she was, picking up the pieces, trying to mend her faith with threads of fear. Fear of the future. Fear of losing him like everyone else she'd loved. Fear of never making it to Missouri. Fear of men like Captain Click coming to take her away from her new, bittersweet life.
She looked at his hand without its wedding band, wondering why the soldiers would take something so small, so insignificant. Truly, their greed knew no bounds.
"What about the prisoner exchange?" Her voice was so small, so hopeful, he seemed reluctant to say more.
"The Shawnee kept their prisoners downriver, waiting to see how the treaty-making progressed before bringing them in. When the trouble started, the captives ran away. Most of them had been with the Indians so long they didn't want to be part of the exchange to begin with."
Strangely, this didn't surprise her. "How did you possibly make it to Mekoche Town, wounded as you are?"
"We canoed partway down the Ohio. I was all right till the wound began to fester. I tried to make it to Loramie's but got no further than this"
She bit her tongue to keep from pronouncing the trip a disaster. Did he still feel God had called him to go? And for what purpose? He'd gained nothing but an injury and the ire of American soldiers. The time they'd lost en route to Missouri was unrecoverable. And now she was ready to give birth, further delaying them.
Forgive me, Lord. It might have been so much worse.
Still, her disappointment was so profound she was hardly aware of the slap of the door flap behind them. Joe entered with an unfamiliar Indian, this one so old his mahogany features were nearly obscured by wrinkles.
A satisfied smile spread across Joe's face. "Miz Morrow's good medicine:"
"The best," Red Shirt said. The Shawnee began examining his wound, taking down some herbs from the sapling frame overhead and mixing them with water. Morrow watched as he applied a thick paste, rewrapping Red Shirt's side just as she'd done, but with far greater finesse.
His old eyes roamed the room before resting on her. Voice low, he spoke directly to her while Joe translated. "You look in need of the aunts. I have told them of your coming"
With a knowing smile he withdrew, Joe in his wake, leaving her to wonder what awaited her. "Aunts?" she echoed, looking at Red Shirt.
"Shawnee midwives," he said.
She said nothing to this, wondering if he sensed her deep dismay at giving birth in such a place. Spying his pipe, she stood awkwardly and crossed the shelter. As she bent to retrieve it, she felt a little twinge. The ungainly movement seemed to release a rush of water, soaking her bare feet and the dry earth floor. She flushed, sure it meant something momentous. The baby seemed to turn sharply and settle, and a tremendous pressure nearly brought her to her knees.
"Morrow, what is it?"
"I-the baby-"
"Is it time?"
Their eyes locked. She was feeling a dozen different thingscould he sense them? Elation. Awe. Alarm.
Slowly he got to his feet, coming to put his arms around her. "Don't be afraid; he said, smoothing back the wayward wisps of hair that had escaped her pins. "I won't be far away." She looked up at him, finding his eyes warm with amber light. "Remember, Morrow, God is near ... even in a Shawnee town"
At this, she tried to smile. Looking up toward the smoke hole, she felt the heaviness of the air and smelled the coming rain.
Oh Lord, watch over my baby. Help me to be brave.
Was this the valley of the shadow of death? Twice before the darkness had nearly claimed her, both times by fever. And now by childbirth. She remembered so little after it all began, just the door flap fluttering like a flag as wind and rain collided, drawing her mind beyond her swollen body. Red Shirt left and a woman came to be with her, the fringe of her doeskin tunic swaying, her ebony braid snaking over one shoulder. Up and down her arms were a number of silver bangles that flashed in the firelight.
Round and round the woman walked with her as the pains ebbed and built to a breathtaking intensity. When she wanted to sit, the midwife kept her on her feet, occasionally offering small sips of water and murmurs of encouragement. At last she lay down, the taste of blood on her tongue. She'd bitten her lip to keep from crying out, but it was becoming more of a burden to stay silent. There was just pain upon pain with no rest in between, and then a great burning seemed to consume her.
I cannotgo on.
When daylight spilled into the shelter, the rain eased. Everything smelled wet-clean-but she hardly noticed. An infant's lusty wailing shattered the stillness, and she realized suddenly, bewilderingly, that she was alive. The Indian woman was tending to her baby boy, examining every plump part of him as he wriggled and fussed. Already she ached to hold him, her eyes caressing every unfamiliar part of him as the woman cut the cord and cleaned him, applying a light coating of oil to his dusky skin. And then at last she handed him over.
Awe suffused every part of her as she brought his warm bulk against her chest. He quieted and looked up at her, his fat face remarkably expressive, his eyes flecked with amber light, alert as his father's own. But his hair ... it wasn't black as night as she thought it might be, but a deep, startling red-bright as a candle flame.
Just like Jess's.
A low fire barely illuminated the bark walls of the wegiwa where Morrow lay in the summer twilight. The thankfulness she felt at having survived the ordeal was profound, but her body felt broken, beyond repair. When Red Shirt entered, she struggled to sit up but couldn't. He knelt beside her in the shadows, his eyes more on her than on the bundle in her arms.
Reaching out a hand, he smoothed her unkempt hair, his eyes worn with worry. "You labored a long time. Near the end I thought-"
"I'm all right, she reassured him, lowering her head to look at the only thing that mattered. The baby, sleeping now, was nestled in the crook of her arm.
With a tired but triumphant smile, she offered him their firstborn. He took the bundle a bit clumsily, the blanket falling open to reveal their sturdy son. Eyes shimmering, he smoothed the damp hair and outlined a dusky ear with his finger. She looked from the baby to him, moved by the telling emotion she found in his face.
"He looks like you; she said.
His voice was an awed whisper. "All but his hair"
She couldn't keep her eyes off their son-he seemed as near perfect as anything she'd ever seen. Taking him back, she breathed in the just-born scent of him and kissed his wee nose. He blinked then sneezed, and they laughed. Opening his mouth wide, the baby yawned, and she caressed his cheek, inspecting the tiny pink gums.
"I think he's worn out, same as me," she said. She pulled her eyes away from their son to look at him. "Now ... close your eyes"
His face held a question, but he did as she bid. Carefully she laid the baby down, bringing the bundle hidden on the other side of her into the light.
"Look, she whispered.
He blinked in disbelief, every bit as amazed as she'd been when their secondborn had slipped into the midwife's hands. Nature's afterthought.
Speechless, he passed a hand over his eyes. She said nothing for the catch in her throat, just handed him their daughter. He cradled her head in one hand with a surety that made Morrow marvel. A haze of black hair covered her tiny scalp, and her features were delicate as a doll's. Looking into her violet eyes, Morrow felt she was looking into her own.
"She's small;' Morrow said softly, a note of lament in her voice.
His eyes roamed over her in careful appraisal. "She's simply little like you"
"I wish she'd cry."
He smiled wryly. "Our son seems to manage that for the both of them"
The loud howls that had begun more like a kitten's mewl moments before intensified. She gathered her firstborn up a bit awkwardly and cradled him, murmuring in his ear till he quieted. Never had she imagined having two babies. The wonder of it pierced the thick layer of her exhaustion, and she felt a startling pride and pleasure.
He looked up from the baby in his hands, taking in her tired eyes and disheveled hair. "You need to rest. The babies need to rest"
Bending his head, he kissed each infant drifting toward sleep. As she closed her eyes, she felt Red Shirt's hand on her head. Though he said not a word, she knew he was praying for her, for their babies, for their uncertain future. Through the smoke hole above, the sun was shining. It seemed, for a few precious moments, that there would never be trouble again.
For several days following the births, Morrow slept, both babies in arm, every need tended to by the Shawnee midwife. Though elated, she was very weak, her condition causing Red Shirt a great deal of concern. He seemed to watch her warily, just as he'd done when she'd recovered from the fever. But she made light of it, caught up in the newness of being a mother. When her milk came in, she marveled at her son's appetite, then fretted when her tiny daughter couldn't nurse.
"She is too small to suckle, the midwife told them, producing a reed with which to feed the baby. "Many times a day she must eat. When she is stronger, she will nurse like her brother. It is good that he is so meshewa and will take much milk:"
Though she longed to return to the familiarity and comfort of Loramie's Station, their time in the Shawnee town stretched on as long as the late summer days. Twenty, by Morrow's count. Yet she felt a deep contentment as both babies seemed to thrive. Although Red Shirt's wound was healing quickly, her own recovery was slow. They spent much of their time in the shade of a willow arbor outside their wegiwa, the late summer trees rustling in an ever-present wind. Joe would often join them there, badgering Red Shirt to play endless rounds of sheguonurah, or stones, a Shawnee game requiring considerable strategy.
In the evenings, Joe would amble off in search of a new opponent and some kinnikinnik. Alone with Red Shirt and their babies, Morrow felt his pride when he looked at them, and it made her heart swell. She studied their son now as he slept, one tawny thumb wedged in his mouth as he lay curled on his side. Alongside him was his sister, her hair damp and wispy from the heat, violet eyes shut.
"We must name her," Red Shirt said.
Morrow met his eyes and felt a strange reluctance. It seemed that heaven had let them borrow her for only a time and might take her back if they held on to her too tightly. "She reminds me of a rose, she finally said. Truly, their daughter resembled a tiny rosebud, her skin a duskypink, her delicate features as tightly furled as her fists, the sweeping black lashes shuttered in sleep.
"Why not call her that?"
"All right, she said. "But she's so small I think she'll just be Rosebud for now"
He looked toward their son as if considering him next, but surprised her when he said, "Morrow, are you strong enough to travel?"
She nodded despite her doubts, one hand trailing to their little daughter on the blanket beside her.
"We leave for Loramie's at first light;' he said.
Loramie's ... and then Missouri? "The babies should make the trip well enough. 'Tis not too far."
He looked at her in the lengthening shadows, his eyes weary and red-rimmed. Studying him, she felt a little start. Why hadn't she noticed how tired he was-how tense? He'd seemed so preoccupied of late while she'd been consumed with the babies. Perhaps being in a Shawnee camp was resurrecting his old life, deepening his grief over his father. Or was there more trouble brewing after the fracas at Fort Pitt?
"We can't stay here any longer" He hesitated, and she could see his jaw tighten in a way that revealed his inner turmoil. "We need to move on like we planned:"
She looked down at their babies-so new and vulnerable they made her heart ache. "You're not telling me everything. Something is wrong. I can sense it"
Their eyes met, and his shimmered like a dark pool. "I'm leaving for Missouri as soon as you're settled at Loramie's."
"You're going on without us?" The words were an alarmed whisper on the warm air.
"When I file our claim with the Spanish government and finish our cabin, I'll return and take you there"
She felt a chill and groped for words, trying to find reason in what he said. But it made no more sense than when he'd left for Fort Pitt. Was God telling him to go once again? Concern gripped her as she struggled to stay calm in the face of another setback.
"The winter will be a hard one. There's not as much game as there used to be. I can't have you with me when the babies are so small. Loramie's is the only safe haven"
"But if you go so far away .." Her voice broke, and she looked down in confusion, her feelings in such disarray that all her heartfelt words scattered.
"Morrow, look at me"
But she couldn't. The sting of his leaving, of his not telling her till now, hurt more deeply than anything that had gone before. "You're leaving me at Loramie's because I'm weak-a burden"
"I'm taking you to Loramie's because I want you to be safe"
The patience in his voice was fraying, and she knew she was stretching the very seams of it, yet she continued in a little rush, "As long as we have food-shelter-we'll follow you anywhere"
"There's more that you don't know. It's no longer safe for us to stay here. The Bluecoats are threatening to invade the middle ground and burn more Shawnee towns after the trouble at Fort Pitt:" He took up the stick to stir the ashes again, and the fire in his eyes seemed to skewer her with their intensity. "We leave for Loramie's at first light. That is all I have to say."
The pickets of Loramie's Station seemed edged in gold as the sun slid west and ushered in a warm August twilight. Morrow rode toward the tranquil scene on her mare, the twins snug against her in a soft cloth sling. Ahead of her was Red Shirt on the black stallion and Trapper Joe alongside him on his bay. The dry grass rustled beneath the horses' hooves, and the fading scent of summer perfumed the air. On the shadowed plain outside the open doors of the station were even more shelters than she remembered, fires flickering like fallen stars upon the ground. Her relief at arriving safely was tainted by one joystealing thought.
Is Loramie's Station any safer than a Shawnee town?
Within the post's dusty confines, Loramie greeted them more like family than friends, insisting they stay at the house rather than return to their cabin. Angelique led the way upstairs to their former room, her daughters hovering as Morrow lowered the babies into a waiting cradle's cocoonlike folds. Rosebud lay quietly and didn't make a sound, but her brother waved fat fists and his dark eyes seemed to snap.
Angelique chuckled. "That one will be climbing out of his cradle before the Cold Moon"
Morrow tickled his bare belly, and he kicked a leg, coming free of his wrap. "My little son has wrapped me round his finger since I first set eyes on him"
"Have you named him?"
"Not yet, Morrow said, thinking of how distracted they'd been. "We haven't been able to agree on a name. And with all the trouble .."
Angelique's smile faded. "Oui, oui,
but the trouble is far from here" She turned away, calling for a serving girl to bring up hot water and refreshments.
In the days to come, Morrow would watch from her upstairs window as Red Shirt disappeared into their cabin across the common to sort through what he would take west. Despite his impending departure, she continued to pray he'd change his mind. As August moved into September, she thought he might. Not one word did he utter about leaving. For a time he took up scouting again, though he was never gone for long, always returning to them at day's end to eat in the ornate dining room and make much of the twins. Could it be he found it as hard leaving her as she did him?
But their idyll was not to last. Inexplicably she sensed a change coming. Even the babies seemed to grow restless. During dinner one night, she could hear their cries through the paneled wood walls, though Esme tried to quiet them. Leaving her plate unfinished, she hurried upstairs to nurse them, and Red Shirt joined her soon after. Stripping off his fine shirt in the stifling room, he sat on a fragile Windsor chair beside her a bit uncomfortably, even warily, as if he doubted its fine lines could hold him.
"It's time we christen our son, as the English say, he told her, taking the squirming boy from her though he grunted a protest. "The Shawnee are beginning to call him Boy With No Name"
She smiled and tied the strings of her shift closed, studying father and son in the light of the sconce on the mantel above. The similarities were startling, from the golden-brown hue of their eyes to the stubborn slant of jaw. "He's so like you;' she said, "that if we named him anything else, it would be wrong."
He looked thoughtful. "I think we should call him Jess'
The heartfelt words sent a river of warmth through her, and she said, "I think Pa-and Jess-would be pleased"
Passing her their sturdy son, he gathered up their daughter. She awoke with such a pathetic little mewl they both laughed. Bringing her near, he smoothed the heat-dampened hair atop her head, and she regarded him with eyes that had darkened to indigo. Watching them, Morrow felt a shaft of j oy thrust through her turmoil. Here in this room at day's end was all she held most dear ... yet soon Red Shirt would leave them.
