Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (29 page)

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 there
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.