Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (52 page)

She'd almost killed him.

When he touched her, it seemed to unleash an avalanche
of emotion. All her angst and exhaustion came crashing down and took her breath. Sobbing, she felt him take her in his arms,
murmuring things she thought she'd never hear again.

"Neewa, what a welcome." His voice was bemused, disbelieving.

"D-did I h-hurt you?"

"No ... you're a poor shot"

Rosebud howled louder, ending their exchange. Red Shirt
took her and held her close, smoothing her silky hair, blowing
gently on her face to quiet her. She stilled and raised her head
to look at him. For a long moment, she took in every aspect of
his firelit form before smiling shyly and reaching up to touch
his cheek and chin. Looking on, Morrow's heart turned over.
Though time and trouble had separated them, Rosebud seemed
to know it was her father.

His eyes were damp, full of things he couldn't say. For a time
they just sat where they were, huddled together, his strengthening presence settling them. Soon Rosebud's eyes closed and she
drooped against him, her tiny fingers entwined in the fringe of
his hunting shirt. Carefully he wrapped her in a trade blanket
and put her down.

He drew Morrow closer, taking in her disheveled hair and
tear-streaked face. "You knew I would come"

"I-I didn't doubt you, but it's not safe. Clark is looking for
you-for me-"

"No, Morrow. Clark and his men never left the fort"

His reassuring words failed to burrow beneath her exhaustion, and her voice broke. "But our little son-and Angelique
and Loramie-"

"They're just a few leagues from here. When Loramie's
burned, they fled to the nearest Shawnee town. I've seen them
myself, and all are safe and well, though our son is missing
you."

She simply stared at him, trying to take it all in. Thankfulness flooded her, and she shut her eyes, a bit disbelieving that Clark
had given up the chase. Could it truly be over?

He stroked her hair, his mouth near her ear. "Did anyone
hurt you-the baby?"

"No ... and the one I'm carrying has come to no harm, she
said in a little rush.

His hand stilled in her hair.

She whispered, "Perhaps it's too soon to be bearing
again .."

"Soon? You're still not strong-"

"I'm stronger than I look"

"You're not strong, just stubborn. We've had this conversation before:"

She laid her cheek against his shoulder. "You say I'm not
strong, yet I've just come a hundred or more miles to a strange
fort in a near blizzard, with a baby in my arms and another inside
me, with little to eat, not knowing if I'll ever see you or my little
son again. And here I am on the run again .."

She sensed he was smiling, though the shadows hid him.
"Tomorrow we'll meet up with the party I'm traveling with and
head west."

But her thoughts were leaping ahead-to her little son waiting
for them, and Louis. "I've met a man-a guide. I owe so much
to him-he took me from the fort. Colonel Clark wanted to
lure you there-"

"I know. This man-Louis-killed a buffalo near our camp
tonight and is there now, sharing his meat. He told me you were
here ... how you came to be together"

"So we're ... safe?"

"Safer than you've ever been-and almost to Missouri"

"I wish we could leave tonight"

"Tomorrow will be soon enough"

He was smiling now, his joy so plain it spilled over to her as she leaned against him. He loosened the remaining pins that held
back her hair, unraveling its length with one hand till it covered
her shaking shoulders like a shawl. "Go to sleep, Morrow, and
forget about all this trouble:"

She smiled, her whispered words weary but rife with relief.
"What trouble?"

As they traveled to meet up with Louis the next morning, Red
Shirt explained that he'd been on his way back to her, not wanting
to wait till spring, sensing there might be more trouble brewing
in the middle ground. When he was within a day's reach of Loramie's Station, he'd learned that the post had been destroyed and
Loramie and his family had fled to the nearest Shawnee town.
Indian scouts told him they'd seen Shawnee turncoats taking
a woman and baby south toward the Falls of the Ohio. He was
soon on his way there, intersecting with Louis as he was hunting. Despite everything, Morrow's prayers had been answered,
and she was nearer Missouri than she'd ever been.

Now she stood in the midst of a dozen frontiersmen and
Indians, a small remnant from Loramie's Station who would
accompany them west to Missouri. Her longing to be on the
trail was nearly overwhelming as she watched Red Shirt prepare
her horse for travel. She began fashioning a sling for Rosebud
out of some stroud in Louis's provisions, speculating on the
trip before them.

"How long will it take to meet up with Loramie's party and
see our son?"

"A few days or so;' he told her, adjusting the saddle. "We'll go
slowly. I don't want you-or the babies-to have trouble"

"What made Loramie decide to go on to Missouri with us
rather than d'Etroit?"

"He said a new land needs a new trading post. And it's far
beyond the reach of the Bluecoats"

They rode west single file through a great cathedral of trees, Red
Shirt leading, she in the middle of the procession, and Louis riding
directly behind on his sorrel horse. Often Red Shirt would circle
back to see how she fared, taking Rosebud for a time so she could
rest. Their prayers for fair weather prevailed, and the sky above
was a stunning ice blue. Dressed in shoepacks and a buffalo coat,
she was able to stay warm enough, and they made rapid progress.
Any weariness was replaced with excitement the closer they came.
Soon she'd hold both her babies in her arms ... sit by the fire with
her sewing ... laugh with Angelique and her children.

For now, the monotony of cold nights about the campfire was
relieved by laughter and storytelling. The men regaled each other
with hunting exploits or other feats of valor, softened, Morrow
thought, for her benefit. Seated between Louis and Red Shirt,
she smiled at their bravado, wondering what Louis thought of all
the big talk. In his quiet, soft-spoken way, he told a few stories
of his own that proved every bit as interesting as theirs.

He'd traveled far, knew the middle ground of Kentucke and
Ohio as well as they, had even wintered with the Cherokee to
the south and the Sioux to the west. He spoke half a dozen
Indian languages and was considering opening a trading post
toward the Shining Mountains. Upon hearing this, Morrow felt
a sudden sadness. He would move on, then, once they came to
Missouri, and she'd be left with a hoard of unasked questions
begging for answers.

Turning to him in the firelight, she spoke in a whisper. "Don't
you have any family?"

Louis looked at her thoughtfully. "A sister"

"A sister," she echoed. "Is that all?"

He chuckled and took a buffalo rib from the fire's spit. "You
want me to make up some kin, invent a few names, maybe?"

She smiled at his teasing. "I just don't like the thought of you
all alone, is all:'

"Maybe I like being alone:"

"Have you ever thought of marrying again-having a family?"

He smiled. "Sounds like you have somebody you'd like to tie
me to"

She could hardly see his face for the generous brim of his hat
and didn't know how far to tread. Thinking of Esme, she dared.
"As a matter of fact, I do"

"And who might that be?"

"Come with us and find out, she said.

Leaning back, he tossed a bone to a frontiersman's dog. "I plan
on seeing you safely settled ... but I can't guarantee anything
beyond that."

"I can never repay you for what you've done for us, Morrow
said again.

He merely nodded, taking out a pipe and packing it full of
tobacco crumbles. She reached into the fire for a twig with which
to light it, and he thanked her, looking pleased.

Red Shirt was watching them, Rosebud asleep in his arms, her
dusky head half-hidden beneath the red cap Hester had given
her. Taking the baby from him, Morrow retreated into a sapling
shelter, leaving the men to smoke. Stretched out on the makeshift
bed of trade blankets, she was still able to see the goings-on about
the fire. Louis's profile was etched clearly against the backdrop
of the burnt-orange flames, but it was her father's face she saw
beneath the brim of his felt hat, before time and grief had done
their work. Or was she simply wishing it was so?

Turning over, she hugged Rosebud closer and tried to sleep.
Red Shirt soon joined her, his voice low and contemplative.
"What do you know of Louis, Morrow?"

The pointed question nearly brought her upright. She turned toward him, thinking of what she'd gleaned since they'd been
together on the trail. "I know his name. He's buried a Shawnee
wife and child ... served as scout and interpreter for Colonel
Clark ... has a sister. Why do you ask?"

"I see your father in his face:"

She expelled a tense breath. "The other night, when he left
to hunt, he spoke the same words Jess spoke when I last saw
him:"

He hesitated. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Ask if he's Jess? I don't know if I could'

"It's a simple matter," he said quietly. "He will say either yes
or no."

"If he is Jess, I think he might not want to be found:'

"Why? Because he told you his name is Louis?"

Louis. What was Jessamyn's full name? Pa had scrawled it in
their family Bible, but it had been destroyed when the ShawneeSurrounded-came. Though she'd tried to dredge it up over the
years, the memory was denied her.

She peered into the darkness as if it held the answers she
sought. "So much time has passed. If Louis is Jess, perhaps he's
content to see me, know that I'm all right, and then go about
his business:"

"And you? Are you content with that?"

"No:" The word was emphatic though softly spoken. She'd not
been content for fifteen years, ever since he'd turned away from
her on the riverbank. But if Jess was out there, smoking about
the fire, he was hardly the boy she remembered.

Red Shirt reached for her hand. "Perhaps it's not as simple
as it sounds:'

She said nothing more, just lay back and listened to his deep,
even breathing once he was asleep. 'Twas simple, truly. But she
simply lacked the courage to ask.

Red Shirt led Morrow's mare to the front of the procession
so she could be the first to see the camp scattered along the icy
expanse of the Mississippi. It was twilight, and a gauzy haze hung
about the shelters from the many fires, the snowy mountains in
the distance a deep, ice blue. As they drew nearer, dogs began
barking and people started leaving the warmth of their shelters to welcome them, Loramie leading. At his warm greeting,
Morrow could hardly keep herself in check. There were many
familiar faces here, most of them from Loramie's Station, and
all seemed well and safe. Anxiously she looked around for sight
of her little son.