Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (16 page)

"You nearly done with your dress, Morrow?"

She looked up and tried to smile, bringing the lamp nearer.
"The bodice is giving me some trouble. I'm trying to edge it in
lace but I'm nearly out of thread."

"We'll soon start Sabbath services again, if you can wait on
your thread till then. Major McKie has deemed it safe to come
to the fort, so Joe says"

Had he? Would McKie welcome them back? Or would he
bear a grudge since Pa had refused to take up arms? She speculated silently, her hands smoothing the plush velvet, the firelight
making it almost sparkle.

Once again her thoughts turned to Lizzy and Jemima. For the
hundredth time she wondered what they would say if they knew
of her and Pa's unusual visitors ... this gift. She'd told no one
their secret, and it seemed almost to fester inside her. Jemima was an inveterate Indian hater, given the loss of her brother.
And Lizzy, so trustworthy, was now wed to a militiaman bent
on defending the settlement. Morrow was glad she'd kept quiet.
Here on the Red River, so far from kith or kin, it seemed they
could do as they pleased ... see whom they pleased.

Even the enemy.

As Pa finished leading the first hymn without so much as a
sputter, Morrow felt a deep thankfulness take hold. Perhaps her
prayers for his healing were being answered. For a few minutes,
anyway, hope seemed to take wing inside her and chase away
every shadow. There were many things to be thankful for this
particular Sabbath. The day itself was pure Indian summer gold.
Not a whit of trouble with the British and Indians had been
mentioned. And no officer in buff and blue sat beside her on the
hard hickory bench. Just Jemima, who'd whispered that Major
McKie was away on a foray.

"Are you and your pa going to stay for the gathering?" Jemima
asked Morrow at sermon's end.

Morrow looked at her, wondering if Jemima would rather
they leave. "I believe so. Pa seems better today"

"With the harvest over, he's likely not so spent:" Jemima turned
and perused the unmarried men on the back row. "Might be a
fine day for courting:"

Morrow suppressed a smile. "Who takes your fancy?"

Her lips pursed in contemplation. "Lysander Clay, if he's not
spoken for. And you?"

"I'm not sure. . "

"That's the trouble, Morrow Mary. You ponder it all overmuch. Now just follow my lead"

Morrow watched Jemima sashay to the back of the blockhouse, eyes fixed on the waiting men. All had hats in hand and
were standing at attention as if waiting to be examined like horses at auction. Amused at the thought, she smiled absently
and realized several men were smiling back at her. Jemima took
Lysander's arm and all but bolted out the blockhouse door, leaving Morrow to stand a bit helplessly before the remainder. A
spasm of sympathy wrenched her as she looked at their hopeful
faces. How could she choose but one and spurn the rest? Perhaps
she should be a bit bolder for Pa's sake.

As she debated, Robbie Clay saved her the trouble, taking
her arm just as two others stepped forward to do the same. She
gave them an apologetic smile as he maneuvered her out the
door into the sunlight and dust of the common, where they were
among the first in line at the heavily laden tables.

"Seems like we've had an ample harvest, he said, eyeing the
bounty. "What did you bring?"

"Apple cake, she said, aware of Pa's eye on her as he stood
talking with Lizzy and Abe across the way.

"I had a mess of melons and would have brought some, but the
deer ate them. I suppose your pa told you about my claim'

"He said your land borders Abe and Lizzy's over on Tate's
Creek"

He nodded, pale eyes alight. "Once we drive the Indians out
and I can live there instead of at the fort, it'll be as fine a place
as any. Good bottomland for grazing. Plenty of cane. I intend
to have lots of livestock"

"I've heard about your fine horses, she said, eyes on her gloved
hands.

He grimaced. "The ones the Shawnee stole or the ones that
were left?"

"I didn't know about that, she murmured, thankful when the
line began to inch forward.

His fair face, a deep berry red, registered stark displeasure.
"I aim to buy more once I work up the nerve to go all the way
to Lexington."

The mention of Kentucke's largest settlement filled her with
wonder. Lexington was a far distance-and fraught with danger. Some said the road there was lined with blood. Not even
Pa would go. She suppressed a shudder and set her mind on
the gathering.

As Robbie moved ahead of her, taking up a wooden trencher
and filling it with fried chicken, her eyes roamed appreciatively
over the abundance of wide platters and deep bowls. Roasted
fowl and venison. Shucky beans and buttered roasting ears.
Fried apples and thick wedges of watermelon. Assorted breads
and jams and pies. Benches had been arranged in a circle of
sorts with kegs of cider waiting beneath a blockhouse eave. She
smiled her thanks when Robbie brought her a cup, and they took
a seat near Jemima and Lysander. Taking a small bite of bread,
she looked around her. With Major McKie away, she felt she
had more breathing room and could enjoy the day.

She noticed Pa eating and talking with the men and read approval in his gaze when he glanced her way. Was he glad to see
her behaving like a young woman should, with an admirer at her
elbow and a full plate on her lap? Jemima seemed to be pleased
with her escort, though Morrow couldn't say the same about
Lysander. Robbie's younger brother regarded them with characteristic sullenness, though Jemima seemed not to notice.

Robbie downed the last of his cider, his voice falling to a whisper as if all too aware of his brother's scrutiny. "Looks like any
courting will have to be done in full view of the fort. I'd come out
your way if the Red River wasn't so far, but with all the trouble
since Hinkley's Station, I'd best stay near at hand"

She looked down at her meal, suddenly queasy. What could
she say to this? She hadn't meant to encourage him, nor have him
court her. She'd only thought to keep his company for a meal.

He muttered around a bite of bread, "Of course I can't do any
courting with McKie shadowing you like a hawk"

Setting her plate down on the bench between them, she tried to think of a gentle way to discourage him and correct his wrong
assumptions. "The major and I ... we have no understanding,
she began awkwardly.

"That's not what McKie says:" He ran a hand through hair so
light and fine it looked like spiderwebbing. She waited for him
to elaborate, but he fell silent, face tight.

"I-I can't think of a suitor right now," she said, feeling pinched
with embarrassment. "Not with Pa unwell ... not with the trouble at hand:"

He finished his cider and said, "I hear the major finds the
frontier a wearisome place. I keep hoping his fancy leanings
will take him back to Virginia."

She held back a sigh, letting the conversation dwindle. The
sun shone in her eyes, foretelling two o'clock. Across from her,
Pa was rising from the bench, alerting her it was time to go. She
got to her feet, thanking Robbie for his company and hoping
she sounded more sincere than she felt.

Before she could step away, he took her hand with uncommon
brashness, tethering her to the spot. "Some folks say you're too
soft for settlement life and I should look elsewhere for a bride.
But I believe there are more important things to consider than
a workhorse of a woman"

The slight stung. So I'm too soft? More important things?
Though she was largely ignorant of such matters, his suggestive
tone left little to the imagination. Overcome with embarrassment, she took back her hand and turned away, acutely aware
of the eyes of Lysander and Jemima-and everyone else on the
scattered benches-upon her.

He stood, and she realized with a start how small he was, only
a bit taller than she. Tipping his hat to her, he began heading
toward the table where her apple cake waited. "See you when
singing school commences, Miss Little, provided McKie doesn't
appear."

The afternoon following the Sabbath, Morrow finished churning
and stood at the springhouse door. In the time it took her to
heave a sigh, she spied Surrounded by the Enemy and Red Shirt
emerge from the woods. The sight of them-of him-seemed
to ignite every emotion inside her. Like a charge of powder,
their coming kindled a host of bewildering things. Fear. Dismay.
Curiosity. Shame.

Her first fleeting hope was that they hadn't seen her, but the
one lesson she'd learned was they didn't miss much. She slipped
back inside the dank darkness that smelled of pickled beans and
buttermilk and waited till they passed to the porch. Pa was inside
the cabin, having just finished stacking a rick of wood under the
outside eave. With the cabin door wide-open, their voices soon
drifted to her across the leaf-strewn clearing.

Catching up her heavy skirts with both hands, she fled into
the far field, her carefully kept bun coming undone in her haste.
Skirting the cornfield, she slowed to catch her breath, waist-high
in the oatmeal-colored grasses. If she hoped to hide, she couldn't.
She'd made a clear trail coming here so much of late, pulling
weeds and cutting back blackberry vine so the stone markers
could be seen. The plot was tidy now, looking nearly as new as
when Pa had first fenced it.

She sank down against the paling fence that framed the mounded
earth and wondered how long they would stay. Would Pa be displeased at her hiding? She sighed, feeling eight instead of eighteen. A horsefly buzzed near her ear, and she swatted at it with a heavy
hand. Her knotted emotions left her too tired to think clearly, and
despite the brightness of the day, she was midnight weary.

She sat completely still, perplexed by her tangled feelings of
wanting to return to the cabin and stay away. Looking at the
grave markers, worn by time and weather, she felt a startling
absence of anger, just a deep sadness. Tears trailed down her
face and wet her bodice, turning the rose embroidery bloodred.
She sank down further in the dry grass, letting the sun and wind
dry her damp face. She wasn't quite asleep, yet it seemed she
was already dreaming.

"Your father sent me to find you."

She shut her eyes as the deep voice overwhelmed her. Red Shirt's
shadow fell across the grass and mounded earth, though he stayed
a respectful distance behind the fence. She stood up slowly and
smoothed her wrinkled skirt, not wanting to look at him. Still, she
found herself staring. He was so tall, so lithe, a striking blend of
linen and buckskin. The sun nearly blinded her but called out the
glint of his hazel eyes and every lean, unbending line of him.

He was studying her as well, and his face had turned so pensive her throat tightened. Turning away, she sank down into the
grass again, searching for her handkerchief. While she struggled
to compose herself, she became aware of him sitting against the
fence, nearly back-to-back with her, the wide sweep of his shoulder touching hers. When the rich timbre of his voice reached
out to her again, she shut her eyes tight.