Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (30 page)

He looked at her, his eyes grieved. "I don't know, Daughter.
But I fear McKie will come here:'

Sometime in the night Morrow was jerked awake by a single
heart-stopping thought. McKie was coming. Perhaps today.
When he did, what would she do? Say? She sensed that by accepting Robbie Clay's proposal, she'd earned the major's ire,
shamed him in some way, and that was something she'd never
meant to do.

Oh Lord, forgive me for my part in all this. Please protect
us.

Mindlessly she performed her chores, eyes on the woods.
How odd that the fear she'd once felt for the Shawnee was now
embodied in the man she'd once hoped would be her salvation. An officer and a gentleman from Virginia. The irony of it stung
her afresh, as did the fact that her heart remained fixed on a halfblood scout who knew nothing of her turmoil and trouble.

The storm cleared, leaving everything muddy and unkempt.
Toward dusk, while toting water from the spring, she heard a
sudden commotion around the side of the cabin. Something
dark and unspeakable came over her as she caught sight of the
familiar figure in buff and blue. Watching him, she fought the
urge to drop her water bucket and flee as he tied his stallion to
the rail in front of the cabin. There was no hiding the dismay
that blanketed her. She felt nearly smothered by it.

McKie turned suddenly, removing his tricorn, his hair the
russet of an autumn leaf in the fading light. His eyes swept her
from tip to toe. "Miss Little, I'd nearly forgotten how lovely
you are.

She wore a striped muslin dress, hardly praiseworthy, she
thought, unaware that its simplicity emphasized her every curve.
There was something in his gaze that alarmed her, something
behind his flattering words that put her instantly on edge, and
all her fears came crashing down upon her.

Oh Pa, where are you?

As if hearing her heart's cry, he soon came out of the barn,
his voice civil if strained. "What brings you so far from the fort,
Major McKie?"

"I have business a bit north of here," he replied brusquely.
"And since I've not seen your daughter in some time, I thought
we might take a walk"

"Very well;' Pa said after a moment's pause, beginning to
wheeze.

Morrow set down her pail, her breath coming in labored
little bursts, a prayer for deliverance dying in her throat as Pa
passed into the cabin.

McKie was dressed in his officer's best, his uniform immacu late, an inky stock enfolding his thick neck, the linen of his
shirt pristine. His sword belt was draped over his shoulder, and
one hand rested on its hilt. As she glanced at it, a queasy wave
threatened to unseat her supper. Had he used this very weapon
when raiding the Indian towns? Had it cut down women and
children? Babies like Little Eli? She felt weighted with the heavy
silence that hung between them and all that he'd done. Her eyes
drifted to the pasture and surrounding woods, and she saw one
mounted soldier, then two. He'd come with a guard, she guessed,
and then, when she looked again, they'd gone.

He led her into the orchard amidst the branches now picked
clean of apples. Her thoughts whirled back to her meeting with
Red Shirt. Robbie Clay had once stood here too ...

"You must pardon me, Miss Little. I usually don't dress for
war when I'm calling. 'Tis a sign of the times, I'm afraid:'

She merely nodded, and he offered her his good arm, which
she took reluctantly. He held his wounded arm a bit stiffly,
and she could see the lump of bandaging beneath his uniform
sleeve.

Deeper into the orchard they went, far from the eyes of Pa
and McKie's men. Stopping abruptly, he looked down at her, his
speech formal and clipped and cold. "Circumstances necessitate
a speedy declaration, I'm afraid. Matters of war leave little time
for courting, so I must cast aside conventions and ask you to
become my wife"

She stepped back if he'd struck her. "Major McKie. .

He smiled, but it was hollow, almost haunting. "Why are you
so surprised, Morrow? You are an astonishingly lovely woman.
And I am in need of a wife:"

"But we've hardly spoken-"

"Surely time spent sitting beside you at Sabbath services and
singing school counts for something" His tight smile became
a smirk. "I'm aware you're from fine Virginia stock. Botetourt County, to be exact. I believe you to be of good breeding and intelligence. It's obvious you have an uncommon grace about you:'

"B-but I hardly know you"

He looked a trifle irritated. "What is it you want to know?"

She said nothing, her angst so acute she looked down at her
feet, feeling the woozy warning rush of unconsciousness.

Tossing his hat onto a stump, he took her arms, his fingers
firm upon her thin sleeves. "Perhaps all you need to know is
this. I'm aware that you're aiding and abetting the enemy, both
Shawnee and British. The penalty for being a traitor is death,
Miss Little, by hanging or firing squad. Would you wish this on
your dying father? Yourself?"

The words sent her reeling. She took a step back, or tried
to, but his hands shackled her, his fingernails puncturing the
tender skin of her wrists.

"W-what do you speak of, sir? You have no proof-"

"Oh, but I do" The look he gave her was triumphant. "I have
spies who've informed me of Indian sign about your cabin. And
there seems to be more than a few people at the fort who are
willing to believe the worst of you, including your dear friend
Jemima."

Spies?Jemima? Sparks of disbelief kindled inside her. They'd
been betrayed by friends? Settlement folk? And Lizzy? Had
Lizzy and Abe been among them?

Morrow began to shake. She had to open her mouth to
breathe. He was looking at her with such unabashed hunger she
felt dirty. His hands gripped her arms, and his tobacco-tainted
breath blew hot in her face as his mouth came down hard on
hers. Frantic, she tried to push him away, but it was like felling
a tree with her fists.

He shook her, face tight with fury. "It would grieve me to have
to press the matter, Morrow. I could easily quell this traitorous
talk ... if you allow me the pleasure of calling you my wife:"

Wife. For a moment she thought she would retch on his polished black boots. The woods seemed to tilt and spin, the cabin
a mere pinprick of light.

With a little shove, he released her and she stumbled, nearly
falling to the ground. He took time to straighten his stock, his
mouth in a hard line. "I'll leave you for now, understand. But I
shall return in a few days' time, and we'll announce our betrothal
to your father and the settlement'

With that, he turned toward his horse and rode out. She
started back to the cabin, but her legs wouldn't hold her. Falling to her knees in the grass, she sat shaking. Overhead, storm
clouds were gathering again, and a chill seeped into her as the
sky gave up its light. Unbidden, Aunt Etta's words returned to
haunt her anew.

Dearest Morrow, I've dreamed that you're to marry a man
of rank...

"You all right, Daughter?" Pa was waiting by the hearth, looking so old and vulnerable it made her heart ache.

From somewhere deep inside herself, she summoned the selfpossession to say, "McKie's gone, Pa." Dare she lie? "He stopped
by to see if we're well:"

Silence. Could he see her turmoil in the candlelit shadows? Did
he believe her? She wouldn't tell him the truth. Being branded
a traitor-betrayed by supposed friends-would likely kill him
sooner than the consumption.

Oh Father, help us ... spare us ... deliver us from evil.

In the days to come, Morrow's mind seemed bent beyond all
reason as she agonized over McKie. The memory of his rough
mouth, the bruises on her wrists she tried to hide from Pa, was
nothing like the stain on her soul. Was he even now telling
others about suspecting them as spies and traitors? Would he
truly dismiss such allegations once they'd wed? Her desperate
thoughts would center on running away and then would circle
back to the man whose cough seemed to reach the rafters, tethering her to the cabin. She tried to disguise what lay so heavy
on her heart, yet surely he sensed her distress.

"I'll not last till spring, Daughter," he said.

Spring was generous, she thought. It hurt her to look at
him, scarecrow thin as he was. The medicine Aunt Sally had
given them failed to ease him, and her own supply of herbs had
dwindled. Thinking coltsfoot or mullein might help, she made
preparations to go gathering. Whatever danger might befall her
in the woods was far preferable to marrying Major McKie.

While Pa slept, she slipped out with a hoe and basket, wandering past red-rock cliffs and arches along the river's path, the
call of warblers and woodpeckers her only company. Gold and
crimson leaves, large as a man's hand, lay upon the surface of
the still water. She walked slowly, thankful for the solitude if
nothing else. Here among the hollows where the sun rose late
and set early, she could cry unhindered.

As she went, the sigh of the wind seemed to whisper her name. Sleepless as her nights had been, it was little wonder
she imagined things. The trees stopped their rustling and she
resumed her search, plucking a crimson leaf from her hair. When
she'd finally found a patch of coltsfoot, she seemed to hear the
call again, this time nearer. Slowly she turned, hoe in hand, nigh
terrified. McKie?

Red Shirt stood in the shadows just behind her. The sight of
him, so near when she'd thought him so far away, nearly proved
her undoing. She turned her back on him for just a moment,
fumbling for the handkerchief she'd misplaced. When she faced
him once again, she spilled out her angst. "You shouldn't be here.
Major McKie has spies everywhere-"

"Not here, Morrow:"

She saw that he held the hankie she'd dropped somewhere along
the way. The lace-edged cloth, trimmed with tiny yellow flowers,
looked so fragile in his rough hand. Taking a step closer, he brought
it to her face, carefully wiping her tears away. She wanted to tell
him all that had happened with Robbie Clay and McKie, but her
throat was so tight it seemed she'd swallowed shards of glass.
She simply leaned into her hoe, feeling it was the only thing that
kept her upright. Beneath her soiled muslin shift, she could feel
a trickle of sweat brought on by her tumult of emotions.