Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (45 page)

Still, her disappointment was so profound she was hardly
aware of the slap of the door flap behind them. Joe entered with
an unfamiliar Indian, this one so old his mahogany features were
nearly obscured by wrinkles.

A satisfied smile spread across Joe's face. "Miz Morrow's good
medicine:"

"The best," Red Shirt said. The Shawnee began examining
his wound, taking down some herbs from the sapling frame
overhead and mixing them with water. Morrow watched as he
applied a thick paste, rewrapping Red Shirt's side just as she'd
done, but with far greater finesse.

His old eyes roamed the room before resting on her. Voice
low, he spoke directly to her while Joe translated. "You look in
need of the aunts. I have told them of your coming"

With a knowing smile he withdrew, Joe in his wake, leaving
her to wonder what awaited her. "Aunts?" she echoed, looking
at Red Shirt.

"Shawnee midwives," he said.

She said nothing to this, wondering if he sensed her deep
dismay at giving birth in such a place. Spying his pipe, she stood
awkwardly and crossed the shelter. As she bent to retrieve it, she
felt a little twinge. The ungainly movement seemed to release
a rush of water, soaking her bare feet and the dry earth floor.
She flushed, sure it meant something momentous. The baby
seemed to turn sharply and settle, and a tremendous pressure
nearly brought her to her knees.

"Morrow, what is it?"

"I-the baby-"

"Is it time?"

Their eyes locked. She was feeling a dozen different thingscould he sense them? Elation. Awe. Alarm.

Slowly he got to his feet, coming to put his arms around her.
"Don't be afraid; he said, smoothing back the wayward wisps of
hair that had escaped her pins. "I won't be far away." She looked
up at him, finding his eyes warm with amber light. "Remember,
Morrow, God is near ... even in a Shawnee town"

At this, she tried to smile. Looking up toward the smoke hole,
she felt the heaviness of the air and smelled the coming rain.

Oh Lord, watch over my baby. Help me to be brave.

Was this the valley of the shadow of death? Twice before the
darkness had nearly claimed her, both times by fever. And now
by childbirth. She remembered so little after it all began, just the
door flap fluttering like a flag as wind and rain collided, drawing
her mind beyond her swollen body. Red Shirt left and a woman
came to be with her, the fringe of her doeskin tunic swaying, her
ebony braid snaking over one shoulder. Up and down her arms
were a number of silver bangles that flashed in the firelight.

Round and round the woman walked with her as the pains
ebbed and built to a breathtaking intensity. When she wanted to
sit, the midwife kept her on her feet, occasionally offering small
sips of water and murmurs of encouragement. At last she lay
down, the taste of blood on her tongue. She'd bitten her lip to
keep from crying out, but it was becoming more of a burden to
stay silent. There was just pain upon pain with no rest in between,
and then a great burning seemed to consume her.

I cannotgo on.

When daylight spilled into the shelter, the rain eased. Everything smelled wet-clean-but she hardly noticed. An infant's
lusty wailing shattered the stillness, and she realized suddenly,
bewilderingly, that she was alive. The Indian woman was tending to her baby boy, examining every plump part of him as he
wriggled and fussed. Already she ached to hold him, her eyes
caressing every unfamiliar part of him as the woman cut the cord and cleaned him, applying a light coating of oil to his dusky
skin. And then at last she handed him over.

Awe suffused every part of her as she brought his warm bulk
against her chest. He quieted and looked up at her, his fat face remarkably expressive, his eyes flecked with amber light, alert as his
father's own. But his hair ... it wasn't black as night as she thought
it might be, but a deep, startling red-bright as a candle flame.

Just like Jess's.

A low fire barely illuminated the bark walls of the wegiwa
where Morrow lay in the summer twilight. The thankfulness she
felt at having survived the ordeal was profound, but her body felt
broken, beyond repair. When Red Shirt entered, she struggled
to sit up but couldn't. He knelt beside her in the shadows, his
eyes more on her than on the bundle in her arms.

Reaching out a hand, he smoothed her unkempt hair, his
eyes worn with worry. "You labored a long time. Near the end
I thought-"

"I'm all right, she reassured him, lowering her head to look
at the only thing that mattered. The baby, sleeping now, was
nestled in the crook of her arm.

With a tired but triumphant smile, she offered him their firstborn. He took the bundle a bit clumsily, the blanket falling open to
reveal their sturdy son. Eyes shimmering, he smoothed the damp
hair and outlined a dusky ear with his finger. She looked from the
baby to him, moved by the telling emotion she found in his face.

"He looks like you; she said.

His voice was an awed whisper. "All but his hair"

She couldn't keep her eyes off their son-he seemed as
near perfect as anything she'd ever seen. Taking him back, she
breathed in the just-born scent of him and kissed his wee nose.
He blinked then sneezed, and they laughed. Opening his mouth wide, the baby yawned, and she caressed his cheek, inspecting
the tiny pink gums.

"I think he's worn out, same as me," she said. She pulled her eyes
away from their son to look at him. "Now ... close your eyes"

His face held a question, but he did as she bid. Carefully she
laid the baby down, bringing the bundle hidden on the other
side of her into the light.

"Look, she whispered.

He blinked in disbelief, every bit as amazed as she'd been
when their secondborn had slipped into the midwife's hands.
Nature's afterthought.

Speechless, he passed a hand over his eyes. She said nothing
for the catch in her throat, just handed him their daughter. He
cradled her head in one hand with a surety that made Morrow
marvel. A haze of black hair covered her tiny scalp, and her
features were delicate as a doll's. Looking into her violet eyes,
Morrow felt she was looking into her own.

"She's small;' Morrow said softly, a note of lament in her
voice.

His eyes roamed over her in careful appraisal. "She's simply
little like you"

"I wish she'd cry."

He smiled wryly. "Our son seems to manage that for the
both of them"

The loud howls that had begun more like a kitten's mewl
moments before intensified. She gathered her firstborn up a bit
awkwardly and cradled him, murmuring in his ear till he quieted.
Never had she imagined having two babies. The wonder of it
pierced the thick layer of her exhaustion, and she felt a startling
pride and pleasure.

He looked up from the baby in his hands, taking in her tired
eyes and disheveled hair. "You need to rest. The babies need
to rest"

Bending his head, he kissed each infant drifting toward sleep.
As she closed her eyes, she felt Red Shirt's hand on her head.
Though he said not a word, she knew he was praying for her,
for their babies, for their uncertain future. Through the smoke
hole above, the sun was shining. It seemed, for a few precious
moments, that there would never be trouble again.

For several days following the births, Morrow slept, both
babies in arm, every need tended to by the Shawnee midwife.
Though elated, she was very weak, her condition causing Red
Shirt a great deal of concern. He seemed to watch her warily,
just as he'd done when she'd recovered from the fever. But she
made light of it, caught up in the newness of being a mother.
When her milk came in, she marveled at her son's appetite, then
fretted when her tiny daughter couldn't nurse.

"She is too small to suckle, the midwife told them, producing
a reed with which to feed the baby. "Many times a day she must
eat. When she is stronger, she will nurse like her brother. It is
good that he is so meshewa and will take much milk:"

Though she longed to return to the familiarity and comfort of
Loramie's Station, their time in the Shawnee town stretched on
as long as the late summer days. Twenty, by Morrow's count. Yet
she felt a deep contentment as both babies seemed to thrive. Although Red Shirt's wound was healing quickly, her own recovery
was slow. They spent much of their time in the shade of a willow
arbor outside their wegiwa, the late summer trees rustling in an
ever-present wind. Joe would often join them there, badgering
Red Shirt to play endless rounds of sheguonurah, or stones, a
Shawnee game requiring considerable strategy.

In the evenings, Joe would amble off in search of a new opponent and some kinnikinnik. Alone with Red Shirt and their
babies, Morrow felt his pride when he looked at them, and it made her heart swell. She studied their son now as he slept, one
tawny thumb wedged in his mouth as he lay curled on his side.
Alongside him was his sister, her hair damp and wispy from the
heat, violet eyes shut.

"We must name her," Red Shirt said.

Morrow met his eyes and felt a strange reluctance. It seemed
that heaven had let them borrow her for only a time and might
take her back if they held on to her too tightly. "She reminds me
of a rose, she finally said. Truly, their daughter resembled a tiny
rosebud, her skin a duskypink, her delicate features as tightly furled
as her fists, the sweeping black lashes shuttered in sleep.

"Why not call her that?"

"All right, she said. "But she's so small I think she'll just be
Rosebud for now"

He looked toward their son as if considering him next, but
surprised her when he said, "Morrow, are you strong enough
to travel?"

She nodded despite her doubts, one hand trailing to their
little daughter on the blanket beside her.

"We leave for Loramie's at first light;' he said.

Loramie's ... and then Missouri? "The babies should make
the trip well enough. 'Tis not too far."

He looked at her in the lengthening shadows, his eyes weary
and red-rimmed. Studying him, she felt a little start. Why hadn't
she noticed how tired he was-how tense? He'd seemed so preoccupied of late while she'd been consumed with the babies.
Perhaps being in a Shawnee camp was resurrecting his old life,
deepening his grief over his father. Or was there more trouble
brewing after the fracas at Fort Pitt?