Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (25 page)

"Nay, he said. "I just came to see your pa ... you:"

At this, Pa slipped out the back door, leaving her to gesture
to the fire where two chairs waited. Robbie took a seat, and
the air turned so tense she sensed this was no simple call. For
a few moments she felt she couldn't breathe. Panic seemed to
take wing inside her ribcage and smother her. She sank into her
chair and saw not Robbie Clay but Red Shirt, in his fine linen
shirt and buckskins, his glossy hair caught back in a queue, his
hazel eyes full of light and feeling.

"Are you all right, Miss Little?"

She pressed her back against the chair rungs and tried to
pretend she was. "Fine ... thank you"

Robbie knotted his hands together, leaning closer. "I thought
I'd best have my say before ..." He left off, reddening as he struggled for words. "I know your pa's feeling worse and needs help
about your place"

There was no denying this. She simply nodded, wishing Pa
would come back inside.

"I ain't one to press my suit so hastily, but under the circumstances, I thought it best:'

Press his suit? She said nothing, her discomfort deepening.
What about the girl she'd seen him with Christmas Eve? She'd
never considered him a suitor herself, just a onetime supper
companion ...

He went on, voice low. "I figure I could help you here while you
take care of your pa. Then, when he's passed on, we could continue
to farm this place and my own. You'd not have to leave home'

Her eyes fell to her hands in her lap. "Are you asking me to
... marry you?"

He colored, as if realizing his wording had gone awry. "I am'

"Why, I ... think of you as a ... a friend:" She groped for words, wanting to let him down lightly, though there was no softening
the plain truth. "But I don't love you. And you don't love me:"

The flush suffusing his fair features was an unbecoming red.
"Love seems a secondary concern out here, if you ask me. Secondary to survival, that is:" His green eyes swept the cabin as
if assessing the trade he offered before coming to rest on her
once again. "What say you?"

Her eyes misted with mortification. "I say ... nay"

He sat up straighter, a plea in his eyes. "I've already spoken
with your pa, and he's willing if you are:"

Willing? Willing to trade me for a man's work? She squirmed
in her chair, trying to find something to say that would ease the
sting of being caught in the middle of a business proposition.
Robbie was, she guessed, trying to do the best he could and
ease her present predicament. But he didn't love her. And any
feeling she might have had for him had quickly eroded, given
his fear of McKie. Folks were even beginning to make sport of
him in the settlement.

As he leaned forward in his chair and reached for her hand,
heat crawled up her neck and face. A lock of flaxen hair fell over
his high forehead, emphasizing his earnest eyes.

"Say you'll consider it, he said.

She swallowed hard, some childish part of her wanting to
shout a refusal. Instead she looked down at his hand as it covered hers. Square and smallish, it was only slightly larger than
hers, the dirty nails sorely in need of a trimming. When he came
closer and kissed her flushed cheek, it took all her will not to
push him away. A flash of anger dawned in his face and then
disappeared. Unsteadily she stood and murmured a goodbye
while he let himself out and rode away hard into the early spring
sunshine.

All the twilight sounds that she loved seemed to set up a
chorus outside the door he'd left open in his hurry to leave. The tree frogs were the boldest, nearly masking Pa's entry.
She felt oddly hurt when he said, "Robbie spoke with you, I
suppose?"

She simply nodded, eyes on the orange flames licking the
charred logs behind the dog irons. He came and stood beside
her, so close she was cast in his slender shadow.

"Out of all the men you've said no to, Daughter, Robbie seems
the most persistent, other than Major McKie." He sat down
across from her, eyes steadfast. "He's willing to live here, and
you'd not have to leave home. He has plenty of kin in the settlement, so you'd have family. He says he wants to be baptized."

Hearing it so neatly stated sparked something new and dangerous inside her. Turning to him, she said softly, "I want to know
why you married my mother, Pa. Did you love her-or was she
simply a business proposition?"

"Morrow-"

"You never speak of her, yet I need to know. Do you never
mention her because she meant so much-or so little?"

He stood up so suddenly he nearly overturned his chair. But
he wasn't angry at her impudence, he was hurt-she saw and
sensed it plain. In the firelight his tired eyes were all aglitter, the
deep lines in his face aggrieved. And her own heart spilled over
and seemed to break with his beaten look.

"I'm a dying man, Morrow, and I want to see you safely settled"

The knot in her throat wouldn't let her speak. She simply
shook her head, as if doing so could somehow reverse things as
they stood and take away his racking cough and Robbie Clay's
barren proposal.

His voice held firm despite the tears that wet his weathered
face. "I loved your mother, Morrow, more than my own life.
When she died, I wanted to be with her, to face the Shawnee,
to take every arrow that took her away from me. There's not one day that passes that I don't rue being in the field when the
Indians came-"

"But you couldn't have stopped them:"

"Nay, but I'd have welcomed dying with her"

The heartfelt words filled the tense air between them, rendering it unbearable. With a cry she covered her face with her
hands and rushed past him, taking the stairs two at a time.
Once in her room, she fell across the feather tick and tried to
shut away the pain in his face. But it remained, as firmly planted
in her consciousness as Ma's lifeless body slumped across her
spinning wheel, as real as Red Shirt's poignant plea for forgiveness in her attic room.

If she loved her father, wouldn't she do this thing? He was so
ill-dying-desperate for help about the farm. Truly, love was
secondary to survival in the settlements. A man and a woman
needed each other for practical reasons, sentiment aside. Yet
she'd always hoped for more, abiding by the notion that love
was a rare and precious thing, not to be squandered by second
best. An enduring love helped weather the storms of life, was a
shelter and a shade and a delight. She longed for a biblical love
like Jacob had for Rachel. Like Solomon had for his Shulamite
bride. She wanted a love she'd be willing to die for ... like Pa.

Oh Lord, help Thou me.

In the following days, they spoke no more about Robbie
Clay's visit, though Morrow continued to dwell on it. When she
weighed her reasons for refusing him, hoping to cast them aside,
she began to realize the true cause of her reluctance. Something
far more disturbing was dawning in her heart. Something so
terrifying and unthinkable she pushed it down time and again,
only to have it rise like cream atop milk. The memory of Red Shirt
suddenly seemed to shadow her wherever she went. His hands upon her shoulders. The rich timbre of his voice. The intensity
and warmth in his hazel eyes when he looked at her.

Oh Lord, what have I done? In giving him my forgiveness, did
I also give him my heart?

The terrifying realization had come to her slowly, not fully
flowering till she'd been forced to take a hard look at her future.
Since Robbie Clay had ridden away, she'd spent several restless
nights, crying and praying and trying to summon the nerve to
do what she dreaded. Finally, as dawn crept into her room on
yellow feet, she worked at the washbasin to remove all traces of
another fitful night. But there was nothing to be done for her
bloodshot eyes. Pa had only to glance at her to see her turmoil.
Yet she felt a blessed numbness, as if crying so hard had leeched
all the life out of her and made what she was about to do both
sensible and bearable.

She found him on the porch, looking out on the orchard now
dressed like a bride with its profusion of blossoms. Their showy
beauty hurt her, nearly made her change her mind. The sweet
scent of spring wrapped round them on a warm wind, full of
hope and promise, drawing her thoughts elsewhere.

Sinking down on the steps, the crisp calico of her dress settling around her, she said with forced calm, "Pa, please forgive
me ... for saying the things I did after Robbie Clay came'

He nodded slowly. "Of course I forgive you"

"I've been praying about his proposal:" She swallowed, unable
to look at him lest she start crying again. "I know how important
it is for you to see me settled. It seems my reasons for saying
no have been selfish ... foolish. So I've decided ... I've decided
it would be best. . "

"Go ahead, Morrow," he said quietly when she paused.

Did he suspect what she was about to do? As she opened her
mouth to say more, he began coughing again, nearly masking
the sudden whoop from behind the barn. The sight of a familiar figure startled her to her feet. Pa let out a low chuckle as Trapper
Joe emerged from the trees and into the clearing. He approached
the cabin porch in his lazy, loping stride, leading a gelding and
packhorse. At the sight of him, Morrow felt a sweeping relief.
Pa's wan face filled with color, and he stepped off the porch to
hug the grizzled woodsman hard, which only started a fresh fit
of coughing.

A shadow of concern creased Joe's face, but he blustered like
usual, "I ain't in time for breakfast, am l?" which made Pa chuckle
again. Morrow disappeared inside to fry bacon and eggs, pouring
them coffee while they waited and traded news.

"Miz Morrow, you ailin'?" Trapper Joe asked her outright
when she reappeared on the porch.

She passed him a steaming plate. "I'm fine, Joe, truly."

But his steady stare told her he thought otherwise. She toyed
with her own breakfast, hardly able to eat, and was glad when
he turned his attention to his meal.

"I wintered up north in Kekionga on account of the heavy
snows, he said. "Beats all I ever seen. There's tradin' posts and
stables and gambling dens and taverns on all sides. Even got
boardwalks on the streets for them fancy ladies that come from
d'Etroit to shop and attend balls them Redcoats put on'

"I thought Kekionga was the principal village of the Miami
tribe," Pa said, taking a sip of coffee.

"So it is. There's hundreds of people there, and Indians from
nearly every tribe. You should see Michikiniqua's place-that's
Little Turtle, the principal Miami chief. He's got glass winders and paintings from Europe, fine china and goblets, even a
harpsichord. But what beats all is the six-seater privy made of
plankin' out back:'

Morrow worked up a smile, glad to see Pa so amused. Joe held
up his plate for seconds, and she served him her own uneaten
breakfast before refilling his coffee. "There's a heap of British and Canadian soldiers there-and lots of war talk, none of it
good:'

"The British are taking a beating, I hear," Pa said. "It seems
General Washington has learned to fight like an Indian"

Trapper Joe chuckled. "I don't care to stir you up with all the
tomfoolery I heard. But I do have one piece of news. For Miz
Morrow, anyway."

At this, she sank into her churning chair, heart overfull. He
took another bite of his bread and chewed thoughtfully, leaving
them all on tenterhooks.

Finally he flashed her a knowing look. "Right there in the heart
of Kekionga, in William Burnett's fine tradin' establishment, I
ran into Red Shirt'

Morrow simply stared at him, little eddies of disbelief welling inside her.

Pa looked up from his coffee. "When was that, Joe?"

Joe wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Near the end of February. Had a mountain of furs he was tradin' before goin' on to Fort
Pitt. Said he was hammerin' out the details with the Indian agent
there about that prisoner exchange they've been promisin"

She opened her mouth then closed it as Pa asked the question
she couldn't. "Was he well?"

"Fit as a fiddle, seems to me. Said somethin' about his winterin'
with you on account of a shot to his shoulder."

The beloved memory now seemed sharp as broken glass.
He had been with them, bringing life and color into their cold
cabin-and his absence still chafed. A bittersweet flood swept
over her, so intense she had to bite her lip to keep herself in
check.

"He was here for a few weeks and then disappeared right
before Christmas;' Pa told him with a rueful smile. "On Major
McKie's fine gelding:"

"You don't say." Trapper Joe looked as pleased as if he'd done the deed himself. He cast Morrow another look. "He sent a little
somethin' to you'

She couldn't hide her surprise. "Me?"

He got up and went around the cabin where his horses were
hobbled. She followed, hands clasped behind her back, heart in
her throat. He seemed to take an interminable amount of time
finding what he'd promised, finally presenting a parcel tied with
leather string. "Comes clear from Kekionga. I told him I'd get it
to you safe and sound:"