Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (44 page)

Morrow bent over to peer into the sapling shelter where Trapper Joe was camped along Loramie's Creek. But a cold campfire
and some turkey bones were all she saw in the small square of
shade. Panic rose up and seemed to snuff out all common sense,
and she bit her lip hard to keep herself in check.

Oh Lord, where is he?

She'd been so sure Joe was near at hand for this very day,
this very hour. When a scout had brought the terrifying news
but minutes before, her only thought had been to get to Joe.
Although Loramie had turned a deaf if sympathetic ear to her
plea, Joe would not, she felt certain. A sudden rustle in the grass
made her turn. Joe! He eyed her warily as if he already knew
what she wanted.

"Oh, Joe, there's been some trouble at Fort Pitt-Red Shirt's
been wounded" She stumbled over the words in her angst, and
he simply stared at her as if trying to piece it all together. "A
scout just brought word he's been taken to Mekoche Town.
How far away is that?"

His sandy brows knit together. "Half a day's hard ridin' if the
rider ain't with child:'

"I want you to take me there" Even as she said it, she was
aware of a strange pressure about her middle like a belt squeezed
tight.

Oh Lord, not now ... not yet.

"How bad's he hurt?"

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and started to cry. Then and now the courier's lack of details left her breathless. Angelique had taken her upstairs before he'd finished telling all his
news so that only Loramie remained below to hear what had
unraveled upriver.

"We can go right now if you want to;' Joe said, sympathy
softening his tone.

Without another word, he started for the fort and soon returned with her mare, saddlebags stuffed with provisions and
water. She looked at Dollie and braced herself as Joe helped
her mount. Once in the saddle, she felt all the blood leave her
face. He stood looking up at her as if waiting for her to change
her mind-or for Loramie to come out of the post's gates and
stop them.

But they were soon heading east-he on a big bay horse, she
following near enough to be his shadow. She kept her eyes fixed
on his narrow back, the grit of dust in her mouth, a beloved
Scripture dawning in her heart. Love beareth all things. The
words lay like a lintel on the doorpost of her mind, keeping her
from dissolving completely.

Heat shimmers rippled across the wide, sun-scorched valley.
She could smell the wild honeysuckle, a poignant reminder of
the lonesome graves she'd likely never see again. On and on they
rode, and it seemed some unseen hand was helping keep her in
the saddle. As they plunged deeper into the woods, gnats and
mosquitoes gnawed at her, and her horse shied from a rattlesnake
lying on a rock at the first creek they crossed.

Joe slowed to ride beside her, handing her a canteen of water.
"We're halfway to Mekoche Town"

Only halfway? Oh Lord, help me with the other half.

At noon they stopped to rest, but the heat of the woods
was as suffocating as the treeless prairie. In late afternoon, her
thoughts in a tangle over Red Shirt, she leaned into the mare's
mane, nearly falling to the ground. The heat was making a mess of her, unraveling her braids, streaking her skin with sweaty
fingers and deepening the heat of her sunburned skin.

"Joe, I need to walk, she finally said, thankful when he slid
off his horse and helped her down.

"That's all right, Miz Morrow. We're nearly there"

In minutes they came to a small bluff overlooking an Indian
encampment. She stood on unsteady legs and marveled at the
scene spread before them. Like a painting it was, nearly perfect,
the valley deep green and untrammeled, the river a brushstroke
of blue. Bark shelters dotted both banks, and the great number
of them took her breath. Red Shirt was here ... somewhere. And
this was where their baby would be born. Though she'd managed
to hide her distress thus far, the pain nearly brought her to her
knees as they picked their way down the grassy hillside.

Please, Lord, I don't want to give birth in an Indian town.

The irony was overwhelming. She was going to produce life
amongst a people she associated with death. Never in her wildest
imaginings had she considered this. Till now she thought her
baby would be born within the familiar walls of Loramie's Station, Angelique at her side. Not here amidst such strange people
and stranger surroundings. But what choice did she have?

Their arrival was causing a stir she'd not reckoned with, but
she supposed a pregnant white woman and a grizzled trapper
were a strange sight. A tall Indian came forward to greet them,
a great swell of coppery faces in his wake. Joe began speaking
in Shawnee, and Morrow swallowed her impatience over their
prolonged interchange. As she waited, a cluster of half-naked
children swarmed her like swirling brown butterflies, brushing
her face and hair and hands. Had they never seen a white woman
before? She smiled, but they ran away as if playing a game, eyes
shiny as black beads, each small face alight.

Finally the Indian gestured for them to follow. Morrow moved
slowly, wondering where Red Shirt was ... how badly he was hurt. The camp was far larger than Loramie's Station and seemed to pulse
with a different sort of life. They passed a great council lodge and
a cluster of log houses along a dusty path, and she stared in bewilderment at some cows grazing behind a brush fence. A few more
agonizing steps and they came to the western rim of the camp,
where a sturdy shelter rested beneath some cottonwood trees.

Joe motioned her inside. As she pushed aside the hide door flap,
a cold hand clenched her heart. There, just ten steps away, lay Red
Shirt on a pallet in back of a weak fire. She clasped a hand over her
mouth to keep from crying out in alarm, glad Joe and the Indian
remained outside. The smell of herbs and plants seemed to swirl
around her and slice the very air with their sharpness.

His eyes were closed, his face free of pain. Cuts and scratches
marred the smooth skin of his upper body, and one particularly
deep gash across his thigh made her wince. Her eyes fell on the
cloth bound tightly about his waist, the bloodstained bandages
resurrecting a memory of his wounded shoulder. For once his
hair was disheveled and devoid of gloss. Even his skin, normally
supple and sun-darkened, seemed faded. He wore no shirt, but
his leggings and loincloth were stiff with spattered blood.

With a groan he moved and flung out his arm, striking her
thigh as she bent over him. Sweat beaded his brow, and she rued
the stifling stillness of the lodge. Spying a bowl of water and a
cloth, she knelt and began wiping his face, her eyes roaming
every inch of him.

Even on his back, his strength sapped, he took her breath
away. Placing a hand upon his perspiring forehead, she mouthed
a plaintive prayer almost absurd in its simplicity. Lord, please help
him ... help me. Unable to sit upright any longer, she lay down
on the unfamiliar bed beside him. Suddenly, miraculously, her
own cramping eased. In moments she succumbed to exhaustion, her senses filled with the humid scent of herbs, and didn't
awaken till she heard her name.

"Morrow.. "

Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she forgot just
where she was. Red Shirt here ... Red Shirt hurt. His face was
so near her own, she felt his breath on her cheek.

"Morrow." His expression held a look of wonder, as if he might
be dreaming.

She smiled and smoothed back his tumbled hair. "You look
at me like I'm an angel from the Otherside world" When his
face darkened with concern, she said, "I came with Joe as soon
as I heard"

"Joe?" He reached out a tanned hand, the back scratched and
bloody, and rested it on her middle.

"We've not been here long"

"I didn't want you ... to know." His words were slightly slurred
and his eyes had lost their keen edge. Had he been given some
of the healers hanging above their heads?

"Say nothing;' she murmured, throat tight. "Save your strength.
I'm praying for you"

His eyes seemed to clear. "Your prayers spared my life." With
studied effort, he rose up and pulled her nearer. "You came ...
so far"

She tried to smile, hardly believing she had. "I'd do it all again.
For you"

They both slept, the feverish day rushing toward twilight.
Morrow awoke to the smell of succotash and saw skewers of
roasted meat on a large wooden platter. Someone had placed
the food just inside the door flap-but who? Thoughts swirling,
she lay still till Red Shirt stirred, the pain and pressure in her
womb returning with a breathtaking intensity.

He awoke and attempted to sit up, but almost immediately
the bandages turned scarlet. Neither Joe nor the Shawnee were
in sight, though she looked anxiously through the doorway. Spying clean cloths, she tore them into strips, rewrapping his waist as tight as common sense allowed. The sight of so much blood
chilled her, almost made her sick. Her face must have mirrored
her distress, for he stilled her trembling hands, his concern for
her etched across his face.

"Morrow, I'm all right"

"Are you hungry ... thirsty?"

He nodded and laid back, a rolled-up blanket beneath his
head. She struggled to get up again, barely able to bend over to
retrieve their meal. Handing him a skewer of meat, she wondered
if he ate just to please her. He took two bites before reaching
for an earthenware jug. When he uncorked it, he smelled the
contents and grimaced.

"It was rum that started the trouble at Fort Pitt"

Wary, she sank down beside him, handing him her canteen
of water.

He took a drink, his expression rueful. "When the Shawnee
delegation arrived for the treaty, the chiefs refused to go inside
fort walls. They wisely insisted that the meetings take place on
the plain beneath the fort. I didn't realize that some of the warriors were riding horses stolen from the Kentucke settlements,
but some of the soldiers did. One Bluecoat swore he would get
the animals back if he had to scalp every Indian to do it. That's
when the trouble started"

"Before the treaty even began?"

He nodded. "The new Indian agent had the ague and couldn't
be present. Some of the chiefs took this as a bad sign and became
restless. In order to pacify them, the officer in charge began
distributing rum. When I warned the chiefs not to drink, the
Bluecoats became angry. One saw my ring and decided it must
have been taken in a raid along with the stolen horses"

She glanced down in surprise. Pa's gold band was missing
from his hand. In her concern for him she hadn't noticed, and
now she felt a sudden emptiness.

"They took the horses-and the ring" He paused, his eyes
clouded with pain as he related the details. "When some of
the Shawnee refused to cooperate and give up the horses, the
commissioners decided they would take four chiefs hostage
till they did:"

Alarm filled her. "What happened next?"

He lay back, favoring his wound. "The chiefs began murmuring about what happened to Cornstalk and his men at Fort
Randolph on the Kanawha. Some of the younger warriors began
rounding up the stolen horses the Americans were trying to
take back, and fighting broke out"

She could well imagine the mayhem and suppressed a shudder. "You could have been killed"

"Some were" He studied her as if weighing whether to say
more. "Shortly before the fighting began, Captain Click asked
about you. He was acting as mediator for negotiations and talked
to me for a time"

Dismay trickled through her, though she knew Click to be
an honorable man. The summer he'd returned her to her father
from Fort Pitt had earned him a fond place in her memory.
"What did he say?"

"Joe had told him of your father's passing and that you'd gone
west with me"

Her forehead creased in concern. "Is that all?"

I don't think he believes you went willingly'

She stared past him, the implications slowly dawning. "Was
he hurt in the fighting?"

"With the smoke of the guns and all the confusion, I couldn't
tell:"

She looked away, fear pulsing through her.

He said quietly, "I won't hide the hard things from you, Morrow. The truth needn't make you fearful. Just prayerful:"

She rested a hand atop her swollen middle, ashamed. Her faith was so small and seemed to have shattered at Pa's passing.
Here she was, picking up the pieces, trying to mend her faith
with threads of fear. Fear of the future. Fear of losing him like
everyone else she'd loved. Fear of never making it to Missouri.
Fear of men like Captain Click coming to take her away from
her new, bittersweet life.

She looked at his hand without its wedding band, wondering
why the soldiers would take something so small, so insignificant.
Truly, their greed knew no bounds.

"What about the prisoner exchange?" Her voice was so small,
so hopeful, he seemed reluctant to say more.

"The Shawnee kept their prisoners downriver, waiting to see
how the treaty-making progressed before bringing them in.
When the trouble started, the captives ran away. Most of them
had been with the Indians so long they didn't want to be part
of the exchange to begin with."

Strangely, this didn't surprise her. "How did you possibly make
it to Mekoche Town, wounded as you are?"

"We canoed partway down the Ohio. I was all right till the
wound began to fester. I tried to make it to Loramie's but got
no further than this"

She bit her tongue to keep from pronouncing the trip a disaster.
Did he still feel God had called him to go? And for what purpose?
He'd gained nothing but an injury and the ire of American soldiers.
The time they'd lost en route to Missouri was unrecoverable. And
now she was ready to give birth, further delaying them.

Forgive me, Lord. It might have been so much worse.