Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (4 page)

"Let's pray," Pa said when they'd cleaned things up, as if it was
the Sabbath and he was finishing a sermon. Only this time he
got down on his knees. She darted a glance at the Indian at the
foot of the bed. Would he pray too? Did Indians pray?

She knelt down beside Pa, folding her small, cold hands. Only
the Almighty could help them now, and revive the sodden feather
tick twice ruined by Indians. She hardly heard what Pa prayed.
When he finished, he attempted to talk to the tall man while
Morrow stood by the strange boy and watched the snow melt
against his feverish skin.

He looked to be older than she, perhaps the same age as Jess
would be now. His hair was almost as long as hers but stickstraight where hers curled a bit. It was the first time in her life
she'd seen an Indian up close. Some of the settlement women
said the savages had black hearts. She wished he'd open his eyes
so she could see if his eyes were black as well.

"What kind of Indian do you reckon he is?" she whispered
when Pa returned to the bed.

He eyed her thoughtfully. "Shawnee, I think:"

She looked up at him, mouth agape, fresh fear in her heart.

"If it were Jess lying there so ill among the Shawnee, I hope
someone would care for him, he said.

She bit her lip. There was no use arguing with Pa, as he always
had the right answers straight from Scripture. She said before he
could, "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good
to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use
you, and persecute you:"

He smiled. "Well done, Morrow"

The Shawnee stayed for four days. As she and Pa tended to
the boy, the tall Indian would go hunting in deep snow, bringing
in all manner of meat. Rabbit, deer, even buffalo.

When the boy's spots receded and Morrow's began, the Indians finally went away. She lay on the filthy feather tick and
wanted to die, but Pa and the Almighty kept her alive.

"You're meant to live, Morrow," Pa told her, rocking her by
the fire. "Just like the Shawnee we helped save, God has a plan
for your life:"

Morrow shot upright like a loosened spring, the thin sheet
beneath her damp with sweat. The creak of the keelboat and the
scuttling of a mouse were a welcome reprieve from her nightmare. In one dim corner a single grease lamp smoked, reminding
her she was afloat and almost eighteen, not desperately ill and
only ten. Pa wasn't here holding her, telling her everything would
be all right, and she wasn't covered with spots, just sweat.

Through the makeshift curtain that gave her some semblance
of privacy, she could make out Captain Click's sturdy shadow
like a locked gate barring harm's way. They were camped for the night on the safer south shore of the river while the polemen
slept or stood watch. Groggily she ticked off how many days of
travel they'd made. Seven. And seven or so to go. She lay down
again, wide-awake, knowing dawn was near. Reaching out, she
fumbled with the drawstrings of her brocade purse, searching
for a vial of rose cologne. Taking a bracing breath, she tried to
summon good sense.

She was a woman now. A woman who simply must master
her emotions before setting foot on Kentucke soil again. Yet
her feelings were as fresh as the day she'd stood in the river and
listened to her life being torn asunder. In her heart she was still
five years old, watching her brother's retreating back as he told
her to stay still, returning to the cabin empty of her mother's
comforting presence, watching Pa erect a fence around two
fresh graves. Nothing seemed able to cut the painful tether that
bound her to the past, and the river was hurtling her forward,
making her face it once again. Ready or not.

Not one Shawnee did they see, at least outside of her dreams.
The late June sun was making heat shimmers all around, and
the land was giving off the rich, ripe scent that she loved.
When the keelboat rounded a sharp bend in the river, Morrow spied a man waiting in the shade of a sycamore at the
mouth of Limestone Creek. Pa? How had he known the very
day she'd be back?

At her elbow Captain Click said quietly, "I'll wager he's been
here every day the past week waiting:"

She didn't doubt it. Two years. What had time wrought? For
all she knew, she could be coming home to a stepmother and
a new brother or sister. Though they'd written, their letters to
each other had been few and far between with the war on. She'd
changed so much from the girl of sixteen he'd sent East. Had
he changed too?

Captain Click came to stand near the gangplank, feet firmly
planted between the cleats affixed to the deck. She could smell
the cargo in the sweltering heat-ginseng and maple sugar, gunpowder and whiskey-in myriad kegs and barrels just behind
them. It took all her nerve not to wrinkle her nose. She'd worn
a more sensible dress today, gladly shedding her foolish Philadelphia finery, afraid her father wouldn't be able to tell who she
was. But she'd kept on her gloves and straw hat, lowering the
lace veil a little to hide her brimming emotions.

"Daughter, is that you?"

The voice calling from shore was warm and beloved yet
strangely unfamiliar. Hearing it after so long made her burst
into tears, right before Ezekial Click and the sunburned boatmen. She hardly heard the slap of the gangplank as it came down
or felt the hard hand that helped her onto shore, sending her
straight into her father's open arms. They enveloped her with all
the warmth and strength she remembered, mingled with sweat
and the tobacco he so loved to smoke.

She looked up at him, trying to smile. "'Tis me, Pa, she said
through her tears. But its not you. The man before her seemed
a shadow of his former self. Leaner. More lined. Even his green
eyes seemed faded to gray.

Captain Click thrust a hand forward to grasp her father's,
cutting the emotion of the moment as he did so. "You've a fine
daughter, Elias Little"

"I have you to thank for seeing her home, he answered with
difficulty, his face grave beneath his sandy beard. "I trust you
saw your own daughter safely to Virginia"

"Aye, Briar Hill;' he answered, looking almost grieved. "And
I wager I'll be as glad to get her back again."

With that, Captain Click turned and gave a sign for the polemen to bring her trunk ashore and heave it into the waiting
wagon before continuing downstream where the river was the
most dangerous. They'd travel another two hundred miles, he
said, before delivering supplies to the settlements. Morrow felt
her father's arm drape around her shoulders, snug as a shawl,
and he waved with his free hand until they were out of sight. It
was only then that he turned to her, amazement in every line
and shadow of his aging face.

"I think Aunt Etta has sent someone in your place, he finally
said, lifting her veil to better study her. There was stark wonder
in his eyes, as if he was seeing someone else entirely.

At his scrutiny she almost squirmed, eyes flooding again. "Two years is too long, Pa. We can thank the Redcoats for that,
I suppose"

"We can thank the good Lord for bringing you back, he said,
his smile surfacing. "Come along now. I've got to get you home
before nightfall:"

He helped her up into the wagon, and she nearly gasped at
the sight of the gun leaning against the seat. Since when did he
carry a gun? He was a preacher-a man of peace ...

"There's been some trouble of late," he said, hopping up beside
her and tucking the rifle out of sight.

Despite his sobering words, her soul seemed to reel with
relief and wonder. Home! Her eyes fastened on the surrounding woods, lush and green, and the rutted ribbon of road that
divided dense thickets of oak and elm and maple. A hot wind
skimmed over them, spreading the heady scent of honeysuckle.
She breathed deeply, shutting her eyes, so thankful she felt she
would burst.

"Oh Pa, 'tis just as I remember," she said, turning to take a
last look at the river. "I was afraid-being gone so long-that
everything would be different somehow:"

He smiled. "Your room's just like you left it. And I've planted a
few more fruit trees. Some fine apples-goldens and Normandys
and russets-outside your window"

She sighed with pleasure. She'd nearly forgotten the winsome
view from her upstairs room and the way it took in the sunset
as it lay like a golden benediction at dusk. In Philadelphia she'd
looked out on brick buildings that blocked all God's green earth
and left her to wonder if there was any.

"Aunt Etta was wonderful, Pa. But I'm so glad to be home:'
Even as she said the words, her conscience nipped at her.

Glad to be home, yes, but still afraid.

He nodded a bit absently, his attention fixed on the team that
pulled them over the rutted road, darting occasional glances at the woods. There was an unusual wariness about him, a carefulness she'd not seen before, and it shook her to her calamanco
slippers.

Taking a deep breath, she began to chatter as she'd not done
for days. "I'd nearly given up coming home, truth be told. The
British seemed to enjoy the city so much they showed little
heart for war. At least General Howe. Sir Billy, they call him.
He much preferred the dancing and the races. I was invited to
a few of the festivities but declined to go:"

"Your aunt wrote that you caught the eye of more than one
British officer. I was afraid, from all she told me, you'd not return
to me, or return a bride"

An officer's wife? Surely not. Not a Redcoat's bride.

Turning her head slightly, she studied his profile as she
bounced about on the seat. Her absence had gone hard on him.
He was a bit grayer at the temples, his once smooth face as lined
as the cracked earth beneath the wagon wheels. "My heart is
here with you, Pa, on the Red River. Not Philadelphia"

"Perhaps it was wrong of me to send you there, but I wanted-"
He began to cough, his ruddy color changing to a wan hue. "I
wanted you to have some peace. Forget"

Forget? But I'll never forget.

She swallowed down the words before she said them, remembering Ma's and Euphemia's lonesome graves. Lifting a
gloved hand, she swiped at a tear as it left the corner of her eye.
Dare she ask him the question that had dogged her all the way
downriver? It took another half mile before she summoned the
courage. "Pa ... have the Shawnee come back? The Indian and
his son, I mean?"

He nodded, face grim. "They come, as sure as the seasons.
But I don't blame them. We're squatting on the sacred hunting
grounds God gave them"

She paused, thinking of the settlers pouring into the Kentucke territory overland or coming downriver. It was all the men had
talked about on the keelboat. "Seems like we could all just abide
together in peace. Isn't there land enough for the both of us?"

"The Almighty only made so much land, Morrow, and the
white man wants it all, so Captain Click says. The Shawnee
know that and fight to keep the settlers out" He tugged his hat
lower to shade his eyes. "I don't know why the Shawnee keep
coming to our cabin. They just come, smoking or eating with
me, sometimes saying a few words"