Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (21 page)

She took another stitch. "You can't leave till I'm finished"

"You're sewing very slowly."

She tried not to smile, but she felt her mouth tilt upward
nonetheless. "I promise it will be a fine shirt. Better than the
one I cut off you"

He leaned back and put a hand to his hair, surprise skimming
over his features. "You made me a braid"

"Pa wanted your hair off your hurt shoulder," she explained,
a bit perplexed as she recalled her pleasure in the simple task.
His hair had slipped through her hands like the finest black silk,
but as she'd plaited it and tied it with black ribbon, he hadn't so
much as stirred, lost as he was in the grip of sickness.

"I feel stronger-the fever's gone"

"You'll be weak yet as you lost so much blood, she said. "But
there's another reason you can't go. You still haven't told me
about your trip to Tennessee"

A sudden spark seemed to light his keen eyes. "I wanted to
tell you, but you didn't come, even when I gave you back your
bed."

She looked up, full of wonder. "You wanted me to come upstairs?"

"You know I wouldn't hurt you ... dishonor you"

"I-I know you wouldn't ... but ... being alone with you
... like that ..." She faltered and looked away, a furious blush
staining her face.

"It's not the proper way," he finished for her.

She merely nodded, trying to start sewing again, but instead
making a knot of her thread.

He said quietly, "Sometimes I think you're still afraid of
me."

She looked up at him again and wished she hadn't. His eyes
held hers with a startling intensity, as if daring her to deny it.
She got up abruptly, nearly spilling her sewing onto the floor.

"I made some broth;' she said. "You'll need to regain your
strength. And I'll have to see to your shoulder."

With Pa away, she had little choice. Standing beside his chair,
she peeled back the bandages and began to clean the wound
with warm water and clean rags. Red Shirt stared into the fire
without so much as wincing. A nagging fear took hold of her.
What if he could no longer use his arm? Hold a gun? Scare up
his supper? Fight for his life?

Despite her gentleness, the blood began to flow again, and
she swallowed down her dismay. The ointment Aunt Sally had
given them long ago had a pleasant, lemonlike smell and braced
her for a moment, but then the room tilted and began to spin.
He was looking at her now, his eyes filled with sympathetic light.
Gently yet firmly, his hand encircled her upper arm so that she
was able to finish her task. But when he released her, she swayed
like she was dancing and came down hard on his lap.

Oh Lord ... how weak I am. 'Tis just as Robbie Clay said.
I'm too soft.

Shame shot through her as he steadied her once again, standing her upright even as he got to his own feet. A perfect gentleman he was, giving her his chair. She took a deep breath as she
sank down onto the hard hickory slats. He moved away from
her and went to the hearth, taking up a black ladle and lifting
the lid off the soup kettle. Turning back around, he hitched a
stool closer with one foot, balancing a bowl of steaming broth
in his good hand. Wincing, she turned her head away.

Amusement played across his handsome face. "What will I
tell your father when he finds you on the floor?"

"I'll not faint ... I should be spooning that soup to you:"

His eyes narrowed. "That's the trouble. You take care of mebut not yourself."

She took the broth from him, glad to see him hungry as well.
When had she last eaten? Yesterday?

They sat together in companionable silence, sharing a bowl,
her senses alert to any trouble beyond the barred doors. She
knew he was as wary as she, though there wasn't a trace of
unease about him, at least that she could see. The sooner he
healed and passed from beneath their roof, the safer both of
them would be.

Red Shirt was on his feet now, helping Pa with the horses.
Although his wound aggravated him, he made no complaint.
She could sense his frustration with his slow recovery, his impatience at having to sit down and rest. He pushed himself, making
daily strides toward some unspoken goal. One morning when
she'd bundled up to do the milking, she found him leading Pa's
prized black stallion out of the barn as she was about to go in.
He seemed immune to the cold and wore no coat, just his usual
buckskins and his new shirt. She, on the other hand, was nearly
shaking as soon as she set foot on the porch.

Eyes on her, he held the bridle in one hand and the heavy
barn door open with the other. The big horse nickered softly as
if anticipating some pleasure. She wished she had a sugar lump
to give him. He was so beautiful-and high-spirited. She'd never
ridden him herself. Pa kept her confined to the mare. Wistfully,
she looked at them both, wondering where they were going but
hesitant to ask.

He took the bucket from her hand and set it down, shutting
the barn door. When he turned back around, he mounted the
stallion's bare back with tremendous grace and offered her his good arm. A bit clumsily she took hold, and he pulled her up
behind him. Her wool skirt rode to her knees, revealing several
layers of beribboned petticoats and snug wool stockings above
worn black boots

Reaching behind, he took her arms and folded them about
his supple waist. The simple gesture startled her ... and turned
her insides to jelly. She was glad he couldn't see her face. A
quick glance toward the pasture reassured her Pa couldn't
either. Nor had he given his approval, she was certain. Red
Shirt had his own way of doing things, of asking and answering to no one.

He turned his head, his profile questioning. "Would you rather
be in the barn?"

"No, she answered a bit breathlessly.

With that, he kicked gently at the horse's sides, and they
turned away from the cabin, trotting briefly, then coming to a
rolling gallop and clearing the first fence in the pasture, then the
second. A queer exhilaration took hold of her, and she leaned
into him, her wool hat flying off her head and lying like a blue
puddle on the frozen ground.

He headed west, away from the fort, clear of danger. Or so
she hoped. For a time they followed the river. It didn't take long
for her to feel she was in a new land, a new life.

Sights she'd never seen unfolded all around her-a frozen
falls, otters sliding down the icy banks of some nameless stream,
sandstone cliffs set like a cougar's teeth in the side of a mountain. He was heading higher, through dense stands of pine, their
redolence like some exotic spice.

"Are you cold, Morrow?"

His breath was a cloud, and in answer she wrapped her arms
more tightly about him, urging him on. How could she possibly
be cold, pressed against him, his warm body shielding her from
the wind?

They climbed higher toward a circling eagle, and the trees
seemed to fall away. Snow-slicked rocks scattered beneath the
horse's hooves on the thin ribbon of trail. It seemed a bit hard
to breathe, the air was so sharp and cold.

His gun was at hand, and the confidence with which he rode
dispelled her fears. He'd been here before, perhaps many times,
or so his purposeful stride assured her. Not once did she think
about Pa or his alarm at finding both her and his finest horse
missing. That was a world away, so dull and colorless she hardly
missed its going. The present was all that mattered, and it was,
in a word, divine.

When they could climb no further, he dismounted, taking
her with him. She nearly slipped on an icy rock, but he caught
her, his shoepacks sure on the frozen ground. He led her up a
shaded path to a limestone wall, where they squeezed through
an opening like a loophole. On the other side, the earth fell away,
and it seemed they stepped into open sky.

She gave a little gasp, not of fear, but of awe. He turned to
take her in, pressing his back against the cold cliff and drawing
her in front of him. She looked down and found the toes of her
boots in midair with only her heels on the ledge. But he had
one hard arm around her, grounding her.

His breath was warm against her cold cheek. "I wanted to
show you Cherokee territory, not just tell you about it"

She followed the sweep of his arm south, his finger pointing
to distant snow-dusted mountains and a wide opal river. Small
puffs of smoke revealed few campfires or cabins. The land lay
before them like a disheveled white coverlet, uninhabited and
without end, broken by more mountains and wending waterways. The unspoiled beauty of it took her breath. For a moment
he relaxed his hold on her. With a cry, she reached for him again,
fearing she might fall into nothingness.

"Careful, he murmured, steadying her. "Trust me:"

She shut her eyes tight as his arms settled around her, anchoring her to the side of the cliff. Frightened as she was, she
felt a tingling from her bare head to her feet. 'Twas altogether
bewildering and frightening ... yet pleasing. Gingerly, as if doing
a slow dance, he led her off the ledge onto safe ground, where
he released her and turned toward the stallion grazing on a
tuft of grass.

His smile was tight. "We should return-soon, before your
father thinks I took you captive"

Reluctantly she walked behind him, framing every part of
him in her mind in those few, unguarded moments before he
mounted. If he could ride to the top of a mountain and back,
what was to stop him from reaching Fort Pitt?

He was quiet on the way down and, contrary to his concern
about Pa, seemed to take his time returning her home. The sun
foretold that it was nearly noon. They'd been away hours, though
she felt they'd stepped outside of time.

A spasm of guilt shot through her. Not once had she thought
of Pa-or missing the morning's milking. The cow would likely
be bawling in complaint, and supper would be late. But as they
came into the cabin clearing, all was quiet.

Red Shirt helped her down and then turned the stallion loose
in the pasture. She peered into the barn, where she saw the cow
had been milked and was bedded down in some straw. Together
they walked up the cabin steps and through the front door.
Morrow braced herself for the coming confrontation. They had
violated Pa's unspoken code of conduct on several fronts, the
least of which was being unchaperoned.

They found him sitting in his chair by the fire facing the door.
Her wool hat-the one the wind had whisked off as they'd ridden
away-was on the table. She kept her eyes down and murmured
a muted hello. Red Shirt said nothing at all. Her hair was undone
and her cheeks were raw from the wind and cold, but she'd never felt better in her life. Contentment suffused every part of her,
disheveled as she was. Could Pa see that?

He looked to her, then Red Shirt. "Did you have a good
ride?"

"Yes, Red Shirt answered, coming to stand beside her as she
perched nervously on the edge of her chair. But the openness
in Pa's features soon set her at ease. Why, he looked no more
perturbed than if they'd gone to Sabbath meeting together.

He gestured toward the hearth. "It's bitter out. I've made
some coffee"

She got up and poured two cups, adding sugar to Red Shirt's
and taking cream herself before sitting down again. The silence
wasn't stilted but strangely comfortable. Perhaps Pa was waiting till Red Shirt went upstairs-or outside-before taking her
to task. They finished the coffee in silence as Pa loaded a large
oak backlog onto the fire. When he turned back around, he
looked toward the medicine pouch and said, "I'd best see to
your shoulder"

She watched as Red Shirt shed his shirt without a hint of reserve, and caught Pa's eyes on her. Shamed, she looked into the
fire, color creeping into her face. If he knew how he'd just held
her ... made her feel. That was why she found it so hard to look
away from him. Yet they'd done nothing wrong ... had they?

The wound was bleeding again. Perhaps their ride had simply been too much. Troubled, she turned back to them as Pa
bound the shoulder with a long cloth strip. Feeling woozy, she
went out onto the porch. Pa soon came to stand beside her,
curiously silent.

"I'm sorry, Pa, for leaving without telling you;' she said, eyes
on her boots.

"I knew you'd come to no harm;' he said quietly. "I knew you
were in good hands'

Yes, she thought, still stunned that she'd just stood on the side of a mountain, one step away from death. Yet she'd felt like she
was on the flattest plain, safe and sure-footed with Red Shirt
beside her. She'd left her heart high up on that mountain, and it
seemed she was there still, spirits soaring. She'd not felt so freeso fearless-in years. Could Pa tell just by looking at her?

The silence lengthened and turned tense. "I'd best see to supper, she finally said, glad to have something to do.

"Morrow.. " He started to speak, then swallowed down a
cough and motioned her inside the cabin. She went willingly,
shutting the door on his tortured hacking. The sound made her
eyes water and brought her none too gently down to earth.