Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (18 page)

"I'm afraid Surrounded expects-even demands-his son to
do as he bids:"

"But Red Shirt doesn't want to," she surmised. Although she'd
overheard only the barest scraps of their private conversations,
she'd gathered all was not well between Surrounded and his
son.

"Red Shirt has come of age and must decide which road he
will take. His heart is with the Shawnee, and he's served with
their British allies in the past, but his white blood makes him
reluctant to go against his mother's people. He's not made for
war, he says, though he's fought many a white man already."

Had he? She'd suspected as much, but hearing it from Pa's
own lips seemed to magnify her fears. "Were they with the war
party that burned Hinkley's Station?"

He shook his head. "Surrounded says no, and I believe him.
But he's going to join the fight to keep McKie out of the middle
ground if it comes to that:"

She struggled to stay calm, sensing they were being drawn
deeper into a conflict they'd best stay clear of, and knotted her
hands in her lap. "How should we pray, then?"

He set his pipe aside. "Let's pray that McKie and his men
will abide by the latest treaty and keep to this side of the Ohio
River, and Surrounded will see that peace is preferable to warespecially war with white men who seem to have no end, as
Red Shirt says:"

They joined hands across the table and bowed their heads. But
as was so often the case, Morrow could not shape her wayward
thoughts into any sort of petition. The Shawnee had simply taken
too much. She could only say, "Amen"

Soon a heavy frost touched the land, and the time for singing
school was at hand. Morrow sat beside a shivering Jemima,
cupping a candle between her cold fingers. Blasts of bitter air
swept through the loopholes in the thick blockhouse walls, and
the room remained frigid despite the fire that greedily licked big
burls of seasoned oak. She felt nearly numb beneath her scarlet
cape, though Lizzy's fine kettle of soup warmed her insides during the lull between the Sabbath service and singing school.

She listened halfheartedly to Jemima's idle chatter as she relayed
all the happenings Morrow had missed being absent from the fort.
Jemima recounted courtships and illnesses and heartbreaks with
such relish that she paused for breath only when the blockhouse
door swung open to admit another member of the choir.

"Why, looks like the whole army's here, Jemima whispered
with satisfaction as the rows behind them filled. She looked
askance at Morrow. "Major McKie's back from his latest foray
just in time. Might that have something to do with you?"

Unable to answer, Morrow looked at Pa as he stood at the
front of the room and readied for the singing. Out of the corner
of her eye, she saw Major McKie turn in her row to sit beside
her. He was agonizingly near, so close that one wool-clad knee
pressed against her cape. She gave a slight nod of acknowledgment but couldn't-wouldn't-look at him.

Jemima whispered a trifle loudly, "I hear the major has a
mighty fine voice"

But Morrow hardly heard her, eyes on Pa. Behind the sturdy
pulpit, he seemed shrunken, a shadow of the man he'd been
in years past. Did anyone else notice-or care? In one gloved
hand he clasped a clean linen handkerchief, not yet soiled with
specks of blood. She looked down at her gloved hands, fighting
fresh alarm.

He'll not be here another winter.

The realization took hold of her and seemed to shake her. As
Pa tapped the tuning fork on the podium, then set it down on its
stem to give a starting note, all that surfaced in her throat was a
hard knot. If he died, what then? What was life without him?

The sweet strains of "Baloo Lammy" echoed around her, but she
couldn't sing, nor could Pa for coughing. She opened her mouth to
join in-once ... twice ... a third time. Heat pricked her neck and
face, and she felt McKie's eyes on her as she struggled to start. But
Jemima's soprano more than made up for her lack, and the major,
though she hated to admit it, had as fine a voice as she'd ever heard.
Robust. Perfectly pitched. Blending beautifully with Jemima's own.
Morrow longed to follow along, but today her throat clenched
tight as a fist as she watched Pa struggle to sing and pretend that
nothing was the matter, perhaps for her benefit.

Before the music ended, she was on her feet, scooting past
Jemima's bulk to turn out of her row. Head down, her profile
hidden by the generous brim of her bonnet, she nevertheless
noticed Robbie Clay seated on a bench by the door, eyes on her
as she exited. Frantic he or McKie might follow, she headed
toward the necessary at the other end of the common. A corral
full of horses, mostly the Virginians, nickered as she passed. The
sudden thud of a cabin door sent her scurrying into the narrow
space behind the nearest wall.

"Morrow, is that you?"

Lizzy? The relief she felt was beyond measure. Her friend
squeezed in beside her, slowed by her expanding waist. "I saw you come out of the blockhouse. I thought you'd be glad to start
singin' again:'

"I've no heart for it today," Morrow said.

"It's your pa, ain't it?" Lizzy's voice faded to a whisper. "I noticed
he seemed poorly. At noon he hardly ate-couldn't for coughin"

"Oh, Lizzy, I feel lost. Pa's so sick, and my prayers go unanswered.
There's no medicine to ease him. Even Aunt Sally has given up"

Lizzy moved nearer, voice soothing. "I remember when Ma
took sick right before I met Abe. Seein' her so ill, bein' unable
to help her, was the hardest thing I've ever known. But God was
with me helpin' me to bear it. He brought Abe alongside me
when I thought nothin' could ease the hurt of it."

"I know God is with me, Lizzy. But there's no Abe for me,
and I don't know if there ever will be"

"Morrow," she said, a new firmness in her tone, "there's a
dozen men in the settlement who'd marry you tomorrow if you'd
just look their way. But that's the trouble-you won't"

"With Pa so sick, I can't think of such things. Besides, being
a spinster doesn't scare me. Perhaps I could earn a living sewing-

"Here?"

"In the city. Aunt Etta's shop .."

Lizzy shook her head. "You were little more than a slave
there, sewin' night and day for those wealthy ladies. Would you
trade all this"-she gestured to the far-flung stars and wide-open
space behind their hiding place-"for the stench of the city? Is
that what you want?"

"No" Her answer was flat, emphatic.

"Morrow, listen to good sense. You need to be thinkin' of
what will make your pa rest easy. He's worried about leavin'
you alone, surely. If he knew you were goin' to be taken care of,
have a secure future, he could go in peace."

"But-"

"Now, we can rule out McKie. And I know you ain't fond of
Lysander. But Robbie Clay is a right admirable man, and I've
seen the way he watches you. He's got no bad habits to speak
of, except bein' a bit afraid of the major'

Morrow listened halfheartedly, unable to tell her the true
root of her turmoil. Lately she'd begun to feel she was living a
sort of double life. The Morrow who came to the fort on the
Sabbath was no longer the one who lived at the Red River with
secrets she couldn't share. She needed a friend to reveal all that
was on her heart, but the risk was too great. All she could utter
was, "You'd best go inside, Lizzy. You shouldn't be out in the
chill with a baby coming"

"Promise me, Lizzy said, squeezing her arm. "Promise me
you'll think on it."

Morrow nodded and watched her go, wanting to call her
back. A new heaviness weighted her as Lizzy left. She had little
recourse but to return to the blockhouse, for there was nowhere
else to go. Pa fixed a wary eye on her when she entered, as if
trying to make sense of her unexplained absence. She could
see he was merely mouthing the words to the song being sung.
His rich baritone was missing but hardly needed; all she heard
was Major McKie and the heavy drone of soldiers making a
travesty of "0 Tannenbaum' Even Jemima's piercing soprano
was smothered by the swell of masculine voices.

Resuming her place on the bench, Morrow kept a respectful
distance from McKie. His tricorn hat with its fancy cockade sat
between them, resting atop pristine leather gloves. But it was
more than this that divided them. The debacle at Fort Randolph
pushed them apart, hurtful to her in ways she couldn't fathom.
What evil was he planning next, she wondered? How could men
do such things in the sight of God?

Pa was looking at them, his face cast in shadows. What, she
thought numbly, did he think of McKie sitting beside her as if he had some sort of proprietary right to her? If she did change
her mind and act on Lizzy's urgings, McKie barred the way.
No man would approach her while he stood guard, certainly
not Robbie Clay.

When the closing hymn was sung, the blockhouse seemed
to fill with a resounding silence. Jemima got to her feet, smiling
at the courting couples and soldiers on the bench behind them,
but McKie's eyes were fixed on Morrow.

"Miss Little, the major began, putting on his hat, "I would
ask you to walk about with me if the weather wasn't so chill.
Perhaps another day"

"Yes, another day," she echoed, feeling caught in a lie. "I must
go ... my father .."

The sound of coughing was a welcome interruption, and
she hurried outside toward the waiting wagon, relieved when
McKie was detained by some settlement men. She laced her arm
through Pa's, buoyed by a sweet feeling of deliverance.

He looked down at her, a telling concern in their depths.
"Where'd you disappear to, Daughter?"

"I needed some room, Pa, she said quietly.

"McKie's crowding you a bit, I suppose"

She looked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone.
"Something like that"

He drew her closer in a sort of wordless understanding, and
her composure nearly crumbled again. She didn't dare tell him
it was his own deathly appearance that sent her stumbling out
the blockhouse door.

"Remember, Morrow," he said, a trace of wistfulness in his
tone, "when you meet the man you want to be with for life, you'll
want to run to him and not away from him."

The heartfelt words touched her. Is that how he'd felt about her
ma? Would she, given time, feel the same? A deep melancholy
stole over her. With all the turmoil in her heart, there seemed
little room left for tender feelings.