Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (33 page)

Had it only been mere months ago that she stood by the
hearth and waited for Robbie Clay? How different this was.
Today she felt rushed but right and altogether eager. Like a bride
should. But for the thought of soldiers at their door ...

When Pa and Red Shirt came in from the porch where
they'd gone to wait, she looked down at her bittersweet bouquet, tongue-tied. The three of them came together, a bit fumbling, even bashful. Pa stood before the flickering hearth, his
Bible open in his hands, his heartfelt words broken by bursts
of coughing.

"Dearly beloved ..

The poignant look on her father's face touched her. Was he
remembering his own wedding day? How her mother looked?
How he'd felt?

"With this ring I thee wed.. "

She echoed the heartfelt words and watched Pa remove his
own ring and pass it to her. Slipping it onto the fourth finger of
Red Shirt's left hand, she found it wouldn't go past the knuckle.
Taking a breath, she tried his little finger-a perfect fit. He looked
down at the wide gold band with its distinctive Celtic cross as
Pa reached into his pocket and produced a second ring, one
she hadn't seen since childhood. It was her mother's own, the
slender band reflecting all the rich, warm hues of the firelight.
For a moment the heirloom in his hand was lost to her as she
struggled with her emotions.

"With my body I thee worship.. "

The intimate words seemed an open invitation to ponder what
pleasures awaited them-how his hair would feel entangled in
her fingers ... the taste of his kiss. Till now she'd kept her mind
swept clean of such notions. But today, her wedding day, she
could think as she pleased of him. He was looking down at her, perhaps considering the same, and the realization made her
heart pick up in rhythm.

"With all my worldly goods, I thee endow.. "

At this, she almost smiled. Her earthly goods consisted of a
few quilts and dresses and little else. And his? A fine horse and
rifle, perhaps the clothes on his back. She didn't know and she
didn't care.

As they bent their heads and Pa began to pray, she held her
breath, waiting for the words, "You may kiss the bride" At all
the settlement weddings over which he'd presided, not once had
this been omitted. But instead his closing prayer was punctuated
by a wheezing, thunderous blast. No call to kiss. She expelled
her breath in a soft, disappointed little rush.

Pa sank into the nearest chair, wiping his brow with a square
of cloth, utterly spent and still hacking. The day had been too
much for him, truly. But before she could fetch him a cup of
water, he got to his feet and passed onto the porch to give them
some privacy. The fire's backlog rolled forward, sending a shower
of sparks onto the hearthstones, the only commotion in the
suddenly still room.

They stood motionless for a moment, locked in wonder. His
warm eyes seemed to dance as he took in her gown and all its
feminine details. Two dozen silk buttons. A froth of lace framing her bosom. Layer upon layer of lush velvet. Twin petticoats
peeking out beneath the ankle-length hem. She looked like a
bride.

She was his.

Slowly his arms went around her, and she held her breath. At
last they could finish what they'd started in the barn ...

All thoughts were blotted out as his mouth met hers-sweetly
hesitant at first, then hungrily. Her senses began to swim in a
woozy, melting rush. The unfamiliar feel of him beneath her
tentative hands cast a strange spell. They drew apart only to melt back together again, kissing till they were breathless, till
common sense prevailed. This was neither the time nor the place
for lovemaking, not with Pa so ill and waiting on the porch.

"I must go," Red Shirt whispered. The sheen in his eyes told
her all that time wouldn't allow him to say. His being here was
as dangerous for her and Pa as it was for him.

"Your father.. " he said. "He doesn't have long now. When
he's gone, I'll come back for you."

"But when-how?" The plaintiveness in her voice seemed to
wound him, and he brushed back a handful of her hair, entwining his fingers in it.

"Soon;' he assured her. His eyes roamed her face as if engraving her every feature on his mind and heart. "Already I'm
missing you."

He kissed her again, thoroughly and completely, till her knees
nearly gave way. When he turned away, she faced the fire, unable to watch him go, clutching the bittersweet broken by their
embrace. She pressed her fingertips to her lips where the passion of his kiss seemed to linger. Where, she wondered ruefully,
would he spend their wedding night?

Behind her, Pa said, "I never thought I'd live to see this day.
But I'm glad I did"

She turned toward him, feeling almost childlike in the hearth
light. "Are we really wed, Pa, right and truly?"

"As a minister of the gospel, I can ascertain that you are, and
it pleased me greatly to do it" Coughing again, he moved to lie
down. "Now I'll try to oblige you by drawing my last breath so
your husband can take you west like he wants, though I'd rather
you just leave with him now and let an old man die in peace"

"Hush, she chided, helping him into bed. How he'd stood
for the simple ceremony baffled her. She supposed prayer had
propped him up.

"He'll make you a fine husband, brave and intelligent as he is. His heart for spiritual matters says much about his character. I
couldn't release you to a lesser man. And you'll make him a fine
wife, like your mother before you'

She smiled at him through her tears, but his confident words
failed to ease the sudden turmoil in her heart. With danger swirling all around them, there was no certainty of anything beyond
this present moment. Already they'd been forced apart, though
the most sacred vows had tied them together minutes before.

He studied her as if divining her thoughts. "Only God knows
what the future holds. Best just pray and not ponder it overlong"

A fresh fit of coughing ended their conversation, and she got
up to fetch him some whiskey and water. When he quieted, she
took the empty cup and prayed it would settle him for the long
night ahead.

His voice was fading fast. "You need only be the wife and
mother God has called you to be, Morrow. Leave the rest to
Him"

She kissed his brow and spread a second quilt over him, then
blew out all the candles save the one that would take her upstairs. The velvet gown swished over the worn wooden steps
without a sound, and she began to unbutton her bodice, wishing
she could keep it on a little longer. Her bedroom was cold and
drafty as a cave.

No need to worry about being a wife just yet. She looked
toward her bed with its tidy counterpane, remembering how
Red Shirt had dwarfed its sturdy frame. Your bed is making me
soft, he'd said. He'd do things differently, she guessed, placing
a hand to her heart as if to quell a sudden, yearning rush. He'd
likely lay his buffalo coat down ... and her down with it. The
feather tick had hardly held her and Jess.

The memory stopped her cold.

Oh, Jess, where are you? Will I ever see you again?

Pa was gone within days. There was no last-minute warning, no
final goodbye. He seemed to rally at the end, almost fooling her,
making her leave his side for longer periods and sleep upstairs.
And then she came down that final morning and found him gone,
his shell of a body cold and slightly stiff. His hands were folded atop
his chest-had he been praying?-and it seemed all the deep folds
in his leathery face had been eased by some heavenly hand.

She sank down on her knees beside him, laying her damp cheek
against his still shoulder, wishing he'd rise up and stroke her hair
a final time. For a long time she stayed with him, unwilling to
let him go. Such stillness there was. Such peace. The absence of
his coughing ushered in light and birdsong and fresh air. He was
free. Free of the past ... free of pain and sickness ... free of men
like McKie. He was with Ma now, and Euphemia. Perhaps even
Jess. How could she be sad when he was finally free?

Reluctantly she let go of him and turned to the hearth. Sometime in the night the fire had died, and she scratched about for a
live coal to revive it, wondering numbly who to summon to help
bury him. But no more than an hour had passed when Trapper
Joe and Good Robe were at the door, the grizzled woodsman
almost amused at her astonishment.

"Indian intuition, he said, nodding toward his wife. Their
faces were grieved, reminding her that they'd lost a dear friend
this day. Even Little Eli, tucked in his mother's arms, looked
somber.

Morrow breathed a thankful prayer and felt a rush of affection
for them. With Good Robe's help, she dressed Pa in his finest
preaching clothes, tucked a bit of bittersweet in his hand, and
combed his silvery hair while Joe brought in the coffin and winding cloth from the barn. The ground was forgiving, not frosthardened but merely leaf-littered, and the big box slipped easily
into place beside Ma and Euphemia behind the paling fence.

For one sharp, heartrending moment, she felt utterly forlorn.
A cold wind whipped her wool cape as they huddled around the
fresh mound in silence, locked in their own private thoughts.
She couldn't bear to leave, as if turning her back on Pa would
somehow take away his beloved memory. But the sun began to
shine, warming their stooped shoulders, and they began a slow
walk back to the cabin.

"We'll stay the night with you, Miz Morrow," Joe said, and
Good Robe nodded in agreement.

She was touched by their concern but felt the call to be alone.
"No need, Joe;' she said. Dare she share her secret? "Red Shirt
will be here soon. Pa married us a few days ago"

He simply stared at her in the cabin shadows and then said
with a sudden grin, "You two sure took care of things in good
time. Where you headed?"

"West. Missouri territory."

At the mention, Joe's face held a longing Morrow hadn't seen
before. "Prime country for huntin' Prime country for livin"'

Buoyed by the near reverence in his tone, Morrow almost
smiled, then felt a deep dread knot her stomach when he added,
"It's a good time to go with the settlements hunkered down for
more trouble. I just heard there's a new officer comin' to Kentucke who makes McKie's command look like a Sabbath picnic.
His name's Clark. George Rogers Clark'

She looked down at her wedding ring and stayed silent, wondering where Red Shirt was, if he was on his way back to her.

He stroked his beard, speculating. "I've been wantin' to head
further west. If I do, I'll try to find you:'

She blinked back tears. "I'd like that, Joe." Going to the mantel,
she retrieved a dusty ledger and brought out a deed, handing
it to him. He looked perplexed until she said, "Pa wanted you
and Good Robe to have this place. For keeps"

He stood speechless, eyes wet and disbelieving. Good Robe's
dusky face shone with pleasure, and she took a few tentative
steps about the large room, looking over the rocking chairs and
table, the overflowing hutch, and the big corner bed.

Spying the hastily written letter lying on the table, Morrow
handed it to Joe. "Please post this to Aunt Etta for me. She should
know about Pa-about my leaving.. "

But even as she said it, she felt a twinge of conscience. Perhaps
it was thoughtless to deliver such news in one blow-Pa's death
and her decision to go west. But she couldn't leave her only kin to
wonder what had befallen them. After living with the agonizing
uncertainty of Jess, she wished that on no one.

He put the letter and the deed inside his hunting shirt, nodding in understanding when she said, "Don't mention Pa's passing at the fort yet, Joe. Not till I'm gone" Thoughts of McKie's
accusations, of Jemima's betrayal, continued to haunt her. Might
the soldiers yet arrest her for treason? Might they hunt down
Red Shirt because of McKie?

Oh Lord, please bring him back to me so we can go west in
peace.