Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (13 page)

Morrow stood up, nearly overturning her chair. "Don't,
Lizzy-please.."

Lizzy paused, her revulsion plain. "Neither he nor any of
the other men were arrested. McKie was moved here and then
promoted"

"What? Are you sure?"

"Abe was at Fort Randolph when it happened. He was in
charge of the detail that buried the Shawnee"

Stunned, Morrow stared at the cold hearth. Lizzy swallowed
hard, looking sickened by the retelling. "Only a butcher could
do what was done. You'd be smart to stay clear of the major,
though Abe says he's already so besotted with you he speaks of
you before his men"

The beautiful day had turned black. Morrow hardly heard
Alice enter, her girlish chatter filling the quiet cabin. "Oh, Morrow, let me look at you! The bride's in rose and you're in purplemust be one of your ma's remade gowns. I wish I had your way
with a needle" She leaned into the mirror behind them, her
fair features so like Lizzy's, and pinned a cameo to her bodice.
"Preacher Little says to come anytime you're ready. Abe's already
at the river"

Slowly the three of them walked across the common, holding
their skirts out of the dust. The sloping bank beyond the gates
was matted with dun-colored grass, and the river was shrunken
and shallow from lack of rain. Spring did seem a better season
for a wedding, Morrow mused. There was something about
autumn that spoke of endings, not beginnings.

As the waiting crowd parted to let them pass, Morrow tried
not to look at the man who stood at the front of the throng. But
McKie was looking at her, as eagerly as if he was the bridegroom
and she was the bride, and for a few agonizing moments she
thought she might fulfill Lizzy's words and faint again. The tale
of his misdeeds hovered round her like a dark shadow in the
autumn air, and she felt a bit sick. She tried to concentrate on
Pa's heartfelt words, spoken in the sonorous tone he saved for
such occasions. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together .."
But the beauty seemed washed out of them today, stolen by the
man who stood near her, who wasn't honorable or good or true
as she'd thought an officer and a gentleman should be.

A warm breeze lifted Lizzy's veil, and Abe lifted his hand to
keep it in place. The solemn cadence of Pa's benediction was broken by a horse's staccato hoofbeats, and every eye present
seemed to swivel west. Morrow surmised trouble in one sweep
of the lathered bay horse and its distraught rider before he'd
come within fifty yards of them. As Major McKie broke away
to meet him, a ripple of unrest passed over the crowd. The men
surrounding them began checking their rifles, some reloading
where they stood. Other folks began fleeing into the fort without
waiting to hear the rider's news.

"Hinkley's Station has been burned to the ground," the man
rasped, so winded he could barely speak. "There's more than
a hundred Shawnee and half a hundred Redcoats headed our
way. I have to ride to Asaph's to warn em'

Major McKie took hold of the horse's bridle. "You'll need a
fresh mount or you'll never make it:"

The rider wiped a sleeve across his damp brow. "Most of the
men were out in the fields when they struck. The women and
children were taken captive along with a few old-timers inside
the stockade"

The major's countenance hardened. "That won't be the case
here. We've more than enough guns on account of my men and
the militia. Are you sure of the enemy's numbers?"

"Click and Kenton both agree. Fifty Redcoats and a hundred
Shawnee-maybe more"

Morrow could sense the unraveling of those all around her.
She soon lost sight of Lizzy and Abe in the press of people. Had
Pa even pronounced them man and wife?

Without waiting to hear more, Pa took her arm and they
headed toward the fort. Raindrops started to pelt them, and she
glanced at the sky now thick with thunderclouds and threaded
with lightning. Even the weather seemed to call out a warning.

Major McKie's shout could be heard far and wide as he commanded the sentries to shut and secure both front and postern gates. As Pa readied their horses to go, McKie approached from
behind. "You seem to be in a hurry, Pastor Little, yet I have need
of every gun in this fort:"

Pa swung round and faced him. "I'll not take up arms against
any man, red or white. As a preacher, I'm neutral in this conflict,
as you know"

The major's eyes rested on Morrow, his tone barely civil.
"Even so, I can't imagine why you'd subject your daughter to
danger, especially in light of what I heard the savages once did
to your family"

Pained, she looked away. His mentioning Ma and Euphemia
seemed only to sully their memory somehow. There was an
awkward pause, and then she felt a little start at the mettle in
Pa's voice when he answered. "The call to stay or leave is mine to
make, Major McKie. If I feel Morrow is safer on the Red River,
then that's where I'll take her"

The answering fire in the major's eyes sent a chill clean through
her. "I'm within my rights to order you to remain." As if to prove
it, he moved to stand in front of Pa's stallion and grasped the
bridle with one hand, holding a saber-tipped musket in the other.
The horse whinnied shrilly and jerked its head away.

Pa put on his hat. "Kindly step aside, Major McKie. I'm sure
you have other matters to attend to than keeping us here against
our will:"

Morrow's legs nearly gave way as Pa helped her atop the mare
and then turned to his horse. He had never made an enemy in
his life that she knew of, but the realization that he'd just done
so left her queasy. Just ahead the gates loomed, locked tight. One
of the sentries approached them, his bristled face intractable.

"Are you allowed to exit, Pastor Little?"

Pa opened his mouth to speak, but McKie's hard voice
sounded behind them, heavy with sarcasm. "The Littles rarely
grace fort walls except for Sabbath services, I'm told. I suppose they invoke divine protection in times of trouble' He gestured
to the sentries to allow them to pass, along with a few other
folks who'd chosen to weather the conflict in their own cabins.
Morrow looked over her shoulder before the gates swung shut,
sorry Lizzy's lovely day had been spoiled.

Pa flicked the reins, urging his horse on faster. She wondered
if he felt any fear ... if he knew what McKie had done. Any
hopes for peace that she'd cherished when the soldiers came
now turned to ashes. Would the Kentucke forts fall as payment
for the major's treachery against the murdered Shawnee?

She could think of but one thing. Cornstalk and his men might
well have been Surrounded by the Enemy and his son.

"Looks like the British and Shawnee made one last strike before fall slips away," Trapper Joe surmised, drawing hard on his
pipe as he sat with Pa at the hearth. "Soon they'll start movin'
to their winter camps. I'd wager Kentucke won't see any more
trouble till spring'

A fortnight had passed since the fright that had broken up
Lizzy's wedding. Since then it seemed the settlement hovered
on extinction, that they might be wiped from the surveyor's
maps at any moment. But just as Joe predicted, the British and
Indians seemed to melt away. A search party made up of the
Red River militia had gone out after them in hopes of recovering
the captives from Hinkley's Station, but the enemy seemed to
have vanished just beyond the Falls of the Ohio.

As she lay in bed that night pondering it all, Morrow's mind
kept circling back to Surrounded by the Enemy and his son. Red
Shirt was a British scout, his father a Kispoko war chief. Had
they been part of the raid? Were they responsible for rounding up defenseless women and children when the fort fell? She
thought of all the captives-families who had been destroyed
like her own. The events were so disturbing she pushed back
the coverlet and dropped to her knees on the hard floor, hands
folded like a child's.

Oh Lord, wherever they are, keep the captives safe. Please
bring them back.

"Morrow, you all right?"

Pa's voice seemed to boom on the other side of her closed
door, startling her off her knees. She bounded back into bed.
"I'm fine, Pa-just can't sleep" She heard him shuffle back down
the steps and wondered if his own ponderings kept him wideawake as well.

Near dawn a heavy wind began to blow, adding an exclamation point to all her turmoil. Glad for daylight, she dressed and
hurried to the barn to milk with unsteady hands, watching the
first leaves of fall swirl through the cracks in the barn's timber.
There'd be no Sabbath service or singing school till the trouble
stilled. Her initial pang of disappointment faded to stark relief.
At least she'd be spared the attentions of Major McKie.

She churned inside the cabin rather than on the porch, glad
when the butter came and she could carry it to the springhouse.
Stomach rumbling, she gleaned a few apples from a barrel just
inside the door. Carrying them in her apron, she returned to
the house, darting a quick look about the clearing and orchard.
'Twas best to keep occupied, she thought, and clear her mind
of dangerous matters.

"Apple dumpling time already?" Pa asked with a wink when
he came in.

She smiled at his attempt at lightheartedness, wondering if
he was as distracted by the turn of events as she.

"I need to go out and cut some cane for the horses, Pa told
her. "Best bar the door behind me"

She looked at him, wiping her hands on her apron, wondering if this was as unsafe as it sounded. His gun rested over the
mantel, yet it did nothing to allay her fears. Should she ask him
how to use it-or urge him to take it instead? But she stayed
silent, and he went back outside, his reassuring footfall fading
as she slipped the crossbar into place. Now that she was alone,
her mind began making frantic leaps, entertaining wild speculations as fear knotted her stomach.

What if Red Shirt came and wondered about the gift he'd
given her? Would she fling open the dogtrot door and point to
the copper pot? Suppose her ingratitude raised his ire? She put a
hand to her carefully pinned chignon. 'Twould make a fine scalp.
And what little hair Pa had left-white as it was becomingwould suffice as well. The British were paying dearly for settlement scalps, goading the Indians into taking them, so McKie
said. And Red Shirt was a British scout ...

She pushed such ponderings aside and kept busy about the
hearth, soaking some hominy in lye and polishing a few pieces
of pewter, but her thoughts kept straying to the other side of
the dogtrot.

With a sigh she finally gave way, unbarring the door and hurrying to the opposite room to retrieve the package hidden in the
copper kettle. Its mystery had gnawed a hole in her ever since
Red Shirt had left it behind, and she could stand it no longer.
With a shivering breath, she blew off the dust, forehead furrowing as she tore at the paper wrapping and string, unprepared for
the delight and confusion that swept through her.

I must be dreaming.

She bent over the gift in her lap, fearful it might dissolve if
she so much as touched it. Never had she beheld such astonishing fabric. It lay cradled in the heavy wrapping like a blue violet
cloud, shimmering like silk, plush and deep as snow. Where
could he have gotten such an extravagance? The same place
he'd procured his exquisite linen shirt? She'd expected beads
and buckskin. Not this.

Leaving the disarray behind, she crossed the dogtrot again
and stepped back inside the cabin. There she succumbed to its
wonder and buried her face in its softness.

From behind her, Pa said, "It's the color of your eyes:"

Whirling, she faced him, feeling she'd been caught in a trespass. He'd come through the side door she'd forgotten to shut and bar, surprising her with his stealth. Or had she been so caught
up in the gift she hadn't heard him? She brought the fabric down
and tried to look at it dispassionately. The exquisite velvet was
a rich periwinkle blue, the hue of hepaticas hiding in the Red
River woods. 'Twas indeed the same shade of her eyes.