Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (24 page)

The picture he painted made her feel ill. He continued, perhaps mistaking her silence for consent. "I could, if you would
just give the word, remove you from this godforsaken wilderness
once and for all:'

Wilderness. Is that all Kentucke was to him? She looked away,
remembering something Red Shirt had said-there was no word
for wilderness in Shawnee.

He leaned nearer. "I could take you away from here-you
could forget all this:"

Forget? He meant Ma and Euphemia and Jess, surely. She kept
her eyes on her lap, her voice soft but steel-edged. "I'll never
forget, Major. And so long as I think my brother might be alive,
I'll never leave this place"

He drew back, the thin line of his mouth pinched. "Well, if
it's any consolation, I plan to avenge your losses and return your
brother to you in the future. You have my word as an officer and
a gentleman, Miss Little"

A gentleman, indeed. She bit her lip to curb a hasty retort,
her thoughts full of Fort Randolph and the unwilling woman
he'd had his way with there.

He opened his mouth to say more, but it was Jemima who
saved her. She came up behind them, looking almost matronly
in a heavy gown of butternut wool, a mobcap on her head. "If
you aren't too cozy with Major McKie, Morrow, perhaps I might
introduce you to Captain Kincaid"

Morrow stood up, smoothing her heavy skirts with nervous
hands. She looked at the man Jemima held on to almost possessively, noting his dark hair and narrow eyes and robust build.
Was Lysander a thing of the past, then? "Pleased to meet you,
Captain"

"I've heard a great deal about you, Miss Little," he replied, his voice laden with an Irish brogue. He reached for her hand and
brought it to his lips.

Jemima's smile held little warmth. "I wondered if I should
make introductions since Morrow is such a charmer, John. But
I believe;' she said, looking straight at Major McKie, "that she's
been spoken for."

There was an awkward silence, and McKie smiled a bit smugly.
Morrow studied Jemima, a knot of alarm in her chest. There was
something different about her tonight. She returned Morrow's
gaze with a look of unmistakable triumph. Perhaps, Morrow
mused, she was simply proud of winning Captain Kincaid over,
if indeed she had.

Lizzy called them all for supper just then, presenting a fine elk
roast and a huge kettle of vegetables, fried apples, biscuits, and
gravy. Morrow sat between the major and Lizzy, mostly playing
with her fork and pushing Lizzy's fine supper around her plate.
In the stale air reeking of boiled turnips and threaded with the
cold damp of a dreary day, she felt like fleeing, her thoughts
suddenly full of Red Shirt. She knew these men she supped with
would not hesitate to kill him, yet she realized with a start that
they were his inferiors in every way.

She listened as they talked of banal matters, aware of Jemima's
eyes upon her across the table. In the candlelight, their green
depths were hard and cold as river rock, and Morrow felt chilled.
Jemima had never been as affable as Lizzy, though she and Morrow had been friends for a long time. But today Morrow felt
they were friends no longer.

"Pastor Little, I'd like my personal physician to attend you;'
Major McKie was saying as Pa began coughing again. "Dr. Clary
has had some success with cases of consumption"

Consumption. The mention of the malady was as unsettling
as Jemima's coldness. Morrow felt her eyes flood, and she fought
down the desire to escape the crowded cabin, suddenly made more unbearable by her fickle friend's scrutiny. But she stayed
and picked at her pumpkin pie for Lizzy's sake. Lizzy, who
worked so hard and wanted to please. As if aware of her angst,
she passed behind Morrow and gave her shoulder a squeeze as
she served Major McKie.

Pa quieted his coughing and took a sip of coffee. "I appreciate
the offer, Major, but I doubt even your fine physician would be
able to do much for me"

His honest admission pained Morrow further. At her elbow,
the major swallowed a bite of pie and looked across the table
again. "I was hoping you'd ride in today with my fine gelding. I
suppose you've seen no sign of him since your frolic Christmas
Eve"

"No, Major, I have not, Pa answered quietly.

An awkward pause held the conversation captive, and Morrow felt a prickle of alarm. Did McKie suspect who had stolen
his horse? Why was he regarding Pa as if he were to blame?

"I'll wager some savage has him by now," Captain Kincaid said.
"You've surely heard about the recent fiasco at Bryan's Station.
A party of Shawnees crept in at night and lured a whole herd
of militia mounts out with sugar lumps. The regulars standing
watch were scalped"

There was a low rumble of displeasure around the table.
Slowly, warily, Morrow looked at Major McKie. In the flickering candlelight, his face seemed strained, almost ashen. There
was a telling shadow of desperation there, and then it faded.
Did the others see it too? She set her fork down, unable to take
another bite.

"The commander there is a sluggard and a sot; McKie said
coldly. "You'll not find that happening on my watch"

At this she nearly smiled. Oh, Major, but it did, truly. Your
fine gelding is gone.

Pa resumed his coughing, and Morrow stood, trying not to give the impression that she wanted to flee. "If you'll excuse us,
I must see my father home"

Major McKie helped her with her cape, standing by as they
thanked Lizzy and Abe for the meal and bid them all farewell.
But Jemima hardly acknowledged them, her rigid stance almost
defiant. What has come over Jemima? Morrow wondered. Has
Pa noticed it too?

Numb, she got into the sleigh. As they passed through the
fort's gates, the sun thrust through the clouds and shone feeble
light on her face. Pa guided the bay over the brilliant expanse
of snow, his features troubled.

"Is McKie pressuring you, Morrow?"

She fixed her eyes on the woods opening up ahead of them,
the snow-laden branches silvery white in the cold light. "He was
telling me about his home in Virginia:"

"Telling you he sees you as its mistress, I suppose"

She gave a nod, glad the hood of her cape partially hid her
tense face, wondering how he felt about it all. Though he was
never one to besmirch a person or give way to gossip, she sensed
he wasn't any fonder of McKie than she. "Do you know what
happened at Fort Randolph, Pa? When McKie was there, I
mean?"

His grim expression told her she didn't need to repeat the
incident. "Joe told me"

"Then you know how I feel about his attentions. I'm afraid of
him. And now I'm beginning to wonder about Jemima"

He grasped the reins tighter. "Jemima will make a fine soldier's wife"

She sensed this was no compliment. Truly, Jemima seemed
right at home among the arrogant army men, her prejudices
hard and deep. Morrow held on to her hood as a gust of cold
wind tried to tear it free. "I was afraid-for a moment at table-
McKie was going to accuse you of taking his horse"

"I'll handle McKie, Morrow," he reassured her. "Think no
more about it. We'll not be back at the fort for a spell, anyway.
I've decided to postpone Sabbath services and singing school for
the time being. Even McKie agrees it's not safe for us to come
so far with fresh trouble brewing"

"Trouble?" she echoed.

"The horse stealing at Bryan's Station, among other things"

Lizzy's fine supper sat uneasily in her stomach. Any trouble
brewing was mostly of McKie's making. Hadn't Abe just confirmed McKie's planned foray into Shawnee territory come
spring? Was this why the major had boldly boasted of returning
Jess to them? She shivered despite the heavy blanket around her
shoulders and the warming pan of coals beneath her feet. Each
meeting with McKie left her more shaken. She'd begun to realize
why he'd been sent from the Kanawha to the Red River. He was
a brutal man who would take brutal measures in stemming the
conflict with the British and Indians. And she and Pa, like every
other settler in Kentucke, would be caught in the crossfire.

As the sleigh sped them along far faster than the jolting wagon,
she found herself almost lulled to sleep by its whispering haste,
one thought uppermost in her mind. Thankfully, Red Shirt had
healed beneath their roof and was even now on his way to Fort
Pitt. Whoever was watching their cabin that cold night hadn't
made trouble for them yet. And McKie seemed none the wiser
about who had taken his horse.

As winter crept toward spring, there was a new lightness in
Morrow's spirit, a contentment she'd never known. Could it
be God was healing the bitterness she'd borne for so long? She
felt a deep relief as it did its healing work and wondered if Pa
noticed the change in her too. She studied him as she hemmed a
petticoat by the fire, pained by the somber lines of his lean face.
Since Red Shirt's leaving, he'd slipped into a sort of despondency
she could not right. Even the promise of spring, with arbutus
blooming and sap running, failed to rouse him.

He was anxious for word of the prisoner exchange Red Shirt
had spoken of, she knew. But it was more than this, truly. The
constant tug-of-war between settlers and Indians was taking
a toll. Perhaps he felt caught in the middle, befriending the
Shawnee only to be privy to the soldiers who wanted to remove
them. He'd become so fond of Red Shirt over the years, while
her own heart had been hardened. Why hadn't she seen the
bond between them?

"I have a feeling we might not see Red Shirt again, he said,
folding his copy of the Virginia Gazette and setting it aside. At
her questioning look, he added, "It's becoming too dangerous
with McKie and his ilk about. Joe said the woods are thick with
scouts and spies, and they've been ordered to shoot the enemy on
sight. I'm not sure the prisoner exchange will ever materialize"

"But we've been praying about it all winter"

"We'll keep praying, of course. But sometimes the Lord, in His wisdom, withholds the very things we pray about lest they
harm us in the long run'

She looked down at the sewing in her lap, a bit shaken. Red
Shirt's words-his poignant apology-took on new meaning
in light of the fact she might not see him again. Yet wasn't this
what she'd wanted all along? Hadn't she once nearly begged
him to stay away?

As thunder grumbled a warning outside and the patter of rain
struck the shingled roof, Pa rose from his chair near the fire with
hardly a glance at her. "I'd best go to bed, Daughter. 'Tis time to
finish readying the fields for plowing on the morrow'

She glanced at a window. Daylight still limned the shutters,
and she had no desire to go upstairs to her chilly bedroom, but
he needed rest. Her forehead furrowed as she put her sewing
away. Shouldn't he have started plowing by now? 'Twas almost
time to start planting, surely. But with Joe away on a long hunt,
he'd had little help about the place.

The next day she rose early to take care of as many of his
chores as she could manage, seeing to the horses and straightening his tools about the barn while he was in the field. Coming
out of the henhouse before noon, she was surprised to find an
unfamiliar horse hobbled near the orchard. Please, Lord, not
McKie. As she stepped onto the porch, she smoothed her hair
with nervous hands, fumbling with the pearl-headed pins that
kept her chignon in place.

At the table Pa sat with Robbie Clay. A decided dread crept
into her heart as Robbie stood up, hat in his hands. She gave him
a half smile and took off her cape, hanging it on the peg by the
door. She'd not spoken with Robbie since the harvest supper at the
fort, though he kept the back bench of the blockhouse occupied
on the rare Sabbaths Pa preached. Why had he risked coming so
far, she wondered? Was McKie away on another foray?

"Good afternoon, Miss Little"

She murmured a greeting and plucked a piece of hay from
her skirt hem. "Would you like something to drink? Eat?"