Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (50 page)

Her cause. Was it a lost cause, she wondered?

She entered the candlelit space that served as a dining room,
and an officer seated her in a cane-bottom chair by the hearth.
Despite her reluctance to give up her daughter, the soldiers
passed Rosebud around, marveling at her amazing eyes and
making much of her daintiness. Hester had dressed her in a
bit of finery-a little red bonnet trimmed with ribbon and a
white flannel gown. Where she'd gotten such things Morrow
could only guess, though there were a few camp followers here,
mostly wives and children and sweethearts of those in the army.
Colonel Clark asked her for a dance, but she declined, wishing
she had a fan to hide behind.

Numbly, she sat, hands folded in her lap, wanting Rosebud
back. Gradually she became aware of someone watching her
from a corner. The lone frontiersman? He'd been present when
she'd had words with Colonel Clark in his office days before, but
she'd forgotten about him since. She couldn't get a good look
at him for the press of people and the haze of tobacco smoke,
and he soon disappeared.

As the smell of spirits grew stronger, she felt nearly pricked
by the soldiers' bold stares. Amidst the stomp of the music and
dancing, her mind began to drift. The new baby she was carrying
made her so tired, and she simply wanted to go to bed.

At last, after a nod from Colonel Clark, Hester took her
back upstairs and then left again. Morrow could hear the frolic
through her shuttered window, and the merriment only deepened her melancholy. Without bothering to undress, she lay
down, Rosebud asleep in her arms. In moments she'd drifted off,
only to come awake when the clock below struck nine times.

Groggy, she looked toward the flickering fire, wondering who
had replenished it without her waking. When a shadow shifted in the corner, her breath caught. Behind the door, rifle in hand,
was a man. She sat up hard against the headboard, hugging
Rosebud closer. But he put out his hand as if to soothe her, and
the simple gesture set her at ease.

"Don't be afraid" His voice was low, and he stepped into the
firelight. "I'm here to help you-if you want me to"

If She was already on her feet. "Y-yes, but how-when?"

"Tonight. Now."

She began putting on her borrowed shoes and gathering up
Rosebud's blankets and her own few things. He moved to the
window, then to the door again, ever-watchful. She felt a tremor
of alarm. This was the same frontiersman she'd first seen standing
in Clark's office and then at the frolic earlier that night. Could
she trust him?

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to better see his features.

"I'm a scout-and interpreter. I'll try to take you to your husband:"

"But why-why would you even want to?"

He put a finger to his lips. The sweet strains of fiddling increased. She could hear raucous laughter across the way, fueled
by an abundance of rum. He beckoned for her to follow and she
did, down the blockhouse steps, pausing briefly at an obscure door
while he draped a buffalo robe around her shoulders. Just beyond
the unmanned sally port, two horses waited, loaded and ready to
go. Wonder washed over her as he helped her into the saddle.

She felt a swell of panic as Rosebud awoke and began to fuss.
Quickly she unlaced her bodice, rearranging her so she could
nurse as she lay against Morrow's thudding heart.

Into the forest they went, the pickets receding in mere moments as the woods swallowed them whole. Was there no lookout? No guard?

He looked back at her over his shoulder. "We'll have to travel
a far piece tonight"

"Fine;' she breathed, careful to stay directly in back of him.
She murmured a prayer of thanks that she and Rosebud were
rested and well fed, thanks to Hester's care. Indeed, she felt she
could go miles even in the cold, buoyed by one reassuring line
of Scripture that came suddenly to mind.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.

The full moon seemed ordained for travel, filtering through
the trees and making a path for them where there didn't seem
to be one. Rosebud had ceased her fretting, and the laxness of
her body assured Morrow she was asleep. Her guide kept to
the creeks as they climbed higher, leaving little trail. She felt a
confidence in him she couldn't fathom, or perhaps it was just
profound relief to be free of the fort. The dark image of the gallows was receding with every step.

When the moon dipped so far to the west they couldn't see,
they made camp. He kindled a fire, put a skin on the ground,
and gestured for her to sit down. She did as he bid, wanting to
pepper him with questions, yet sensing she'd best wait. Weary,
she watched as he heated water and made some gruel.

"Why not give your baby some?" he said, passing her a wooden
bowl and spoon.

Surprised, she looked down at Rosebud. Her wide, searching
eyes seemed to take everything in as she sat in Morrow's lap.
Blowing on a spoonful, Morrow fed her gingerly, almost smiling
when she spit some out and then swallowed the rest, opening
her mouth for more.

"You're a fine cook, Morrow told him.

"It's the molasses, he said with a knowing smile.

She took a taste and continued feeding Rosebud, amazed at
her appetite. He spooned more gruel into her bowl and reminded
her to take some for herself. "I had a wife once ... a baby girl:'

Once. The haunting word hung between them and forbade
further questions. Morrow looked at him carefully between
bites. "Is that why you're helping me?"

He nodded. "That, and the fact I believe you told Colonel
Clark the truth"

Tears stung her eyes. "He didn't believe me"

"Clark's a fine soldier, but he's no friend to the Indians" He
leaned back against the rough bark of a pine. "I was at Fort Pitt
last summer when the trouble started with the Shawnee. I remember your husband right well. He's a half blood, talks as well
as a white man, carries himself like a Kispoko chief."

At this, she felt a strange kinship but said nothing.

He went on quietly, respectfully. "How'd you come to be at
Loramie's?"

She hugged the buffalo robe closer. "Pierre Loramie is a friend.
My husband thought we'd be safer there till spring:"

"Just you and your baby girl?"

"I have a son-they're twins" Her firstborn's little face rose
up in her mind, but she shut it away. "We were separated when
the post burned. Loramie's wife had him. I don't know what
happened to them"

He nodded thoughtfully. "It's likely Loramie and his kin-and
your son-made it out safely and fled to the nearest Shawnee
village:" He added, "Clark's intent wasn't to kill Loramie, just
deprive the Indians of an ally and destroy his post. But he
means harm to your husband, and I need to know where you
think he is:"

Her face turned entreating. "Why is he singling out Red
Shirt?"

"Your husband's well known on the frontier. Clark means
to make an example of him. Or maybe you didn't know Major
McKie was a cousin to Colonel Clark?" At her surprise, he said,
"Both are from old Virginia stock. Caroline County. Besides, an officer doesn't take kindly to another officer being killed,
family or no'

Despite his openness, she felt a bite of distrust. Just how much
should she tell him? "Red Shirt left Loramie's in September and
went west ... to make a home for us in Missouri. He was going
to come back and take us there:"

"West is where I'm headed now that my enlistment's ended"
He took a clay pipe from a saddlebag, face pensive. "By now
your husband would have heard of the raid on Loramie's. And
if he's half the man I think he is, he's near here-or soon will
be:" He looked away from her to the woods, as if expecting Red
Shirt to materialize in the shadows. "I figure we'll head west on
the buffalo trace. If your husband's coming east, he'll likely take
that trail. Even if he doesn't, he's sure to find us eventually. The
Shawnee are master trackers, as you know"

The reassurance filled her with relief, then raw alarm. "But
what if Colonel Clark sends someone after us?"

His eyes narrowed. "Like Talks About Him, you mean?"

She could only nod, terror overtaking her.

"Then we'll just have to pray that Red Shirt finds us first"

All around them, dawn edged the forest in pale yellow light,
and she looked about, feeling the need to be on her feet and put
as much distance between them and Clark's men as they could.
She couldn't rest till they found Red Shirt. But the impossibility
of it all tamped down her hopes and turned her teary. How in
the middle of such a vast wilderness would they cross paths?
The timing had to be perfect ... providential.

Standing up, she gathered the dirty bowls and cups to wash
in a nearby stream after handing Rosebud to her guide. As soon
as she turned away, she sensed she'd erred. Might her baby bring
back memories of all he'd lost? But another glance told her he
was pleased to hold her, maybe a bit surprised that Morrow had
given her over. And Rosebud was making much of him, fists full of his fringed shirt, smile coy. Reassured, Morrow did the
dishes, splashing icy water on her face to collect herself before
rejoining them at the fire.

"You said your pa was a preacher?" he asked as she sat back
down. "That you lived on the Red River?"

She nodded. "Are you familiar with that part of Kentucke?"

"I've been there," he said, face reflective. `A long time ago'
With a yawn, he stood and reached for his rifle. "We'll travel a
few more miles before making camp and you can sleep. I want
to be heading west on the trace by noon"

She determined to oblige him any way she could, since she'd
still be staring at the gallows if he hadn't taken time to trouble
himself with her. The fact that he'd come to her aid still stunned
her.

She studied him discreetly as he readied the horses, wondering what it was about him that seemed familiar. Why, she didn't
even know his name. But it hardly seemed to matter, desperate
as she felt, her every waking thought consumed with survival.
They'd be on the trail a long time, likely. Plenty of time to ask
questions and find answers. Whoever he was, she felt comfortable with him, unafraid to be who she was, unashamed of her
Shawnee tie. With Colonel Clark, she'd read the recrimination
in his cold eyes whenever he looked at her. But this man, dressed
like a savage himself, was empty of all accusation.

They made it to the trace before noon, and as he'd promised, they rested. She watched in surprise as he constructed a
temporary shelter of cedar boughs as effortlessly as Red Shirt
might have done. Out of the weather, her feet to the fire, she
slept, Rosebud's nursing hardly rousing her. He liked to travel
at night, and mercifully, the moon was most obliging.

They were on the trail again by twilight, and it seemed like
they stood on top the world, traversing the bony back of first
one ridge and then another. How many days had it been? She shrugged the thought away. Keeping track of the time only deepened her despair. Where was Red Shirt? Why hadn't he come?
Perhaps he had. In her mind's eye, the pickets of Fort Clark were
as menacing as the soldiers' bayonets. And the colonel ... he
didn't seem the type to simply let her leave. Was he even now
following?

"We'd best stop here;' her guide said abruptly. "The weather's
fixing to change, and I don't want to have to fight the wind to
make camp"

He led her into a cave with a pine knot torch, and she stood
at its entrance and stared down a great cavern that dripped
incessant tears. But it was shelter, out of the wind and rain.
Once he'd settled her by the fire, he went hunting, returning
with a turkey. She nearly salivated at the sight, hungry for fresh
meat instead of jerky. While it roasted on a crude spit, he took
up his rifle and gestured for her to be completely still. But she
couldn't stop Rosebud's cooing. Frantic, she placed a light hand
over her daughter's smiling mouth, blowing into her face to
get her attention. The effort only made Rosebud shriek louder.
Dear Lord in heaven. Morrow had never seen so agreeable an
infant in the face of danger and deprivation. At any other time
she'd be proud.