Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (6 page)

"You're always away hunting or on some other business, Joe,
otherwise I'd send for you"

"Well, somethin' tells me they ain't no ordinary Indians'

Pa leaned back in his chair-she could tell by the squeak
and the grunt of it. His voice was thoughtful. "What makes
you think so?"

"Them fancy gifts they bring. That horse they give you last
fall's the finest I've seen this side of the Cumberland"

"I nearly refused it," Pa admitted. "With all the horse stealing between here and the Ohio, I'm still a bit befuddled as to
whose horse I have"

Joe chuckled. "Only a fool would refuse such a prize. Besides,
the Shawnee don't take kindly to bein' told no'

Pa paused a moment. "I've often wondered who they are myself, why they keep coming back. I didn't see the son for a long
while and feared he might be dead given all the trouble. But then
last winter he was with his father again. I don't think they mean
us any harm, though they rattle poor Morrow considerably"

Joe chuckled. "She's rattlin' age, I reckon. One thing I can say
for the Shawanoe, once you've done 'em a good turn, they ain't
likely to repay it with evil. You've likely befriended the whole
Shawnee nation and don't know it:'

"Humph." Pa's doubt could be felt clear into the cabin.

"I ain't just speculatin' either. I got reason to believe the Shawnee whose son you saved years ago is a chief of the Kispokos.
That's the warrior sect of the tribe' He paused as if to give Pa
ample time to take it all in. "The past couple of years I've been
hearin' about one of their headmen crossing into Kentucke
to rendezvous with a white man. I believe that white man is
you.

"Have any idea what his name is, Joe?"

"Matter of fact, I do."

Morrow leaned forward in her chair as Joe mumbled some thing unintelligible and commandeered the conversation once
more. "But just so you don't think he's payin' a social call, I hear
he's keepin' an eye on the settlements. Either way, you've earned
his respect, and that means a lot in these troubled times'

Joe's reassuring words did little to ease her. Morrow glanced
at Good Robe, whose dark head was tilted toward her chest,
eyes closed, the baby tucked to her breast. Was she still weary
from the birth? Morrow hoped Joe had sense enough to canoe
her downriver today and not make her walk all the way.

As the conversation on the porch wound down, Joe came in
and roused his wife. Morrow gathered up the coffee cups and
banked the fire for breakfast while Pa stood at the door and
saw the couple off.

"The rain's a welcome change, he said. "I think I'll leave the
doors open for a spell:"

At his words, the flicker of fear in her heart seemed to flame.
Holding back a sigh, she wandered to the front porch and looked
at the dense wall of woods, then crossed to the back and did the
same. The rain had eased, and everything was green and lush
and wet. Almost peaceful.

How, she wondered, would it feel to be free? Free of fear? Free
of the past? Free from all the hurt hidden in her heart?

Lord, are You there? she wondered.

Fear not, for I am with thee ...

Morrow had nearly forgotten her birthday, but Pa reminded
her of its coming. 'Twas a fine time to celebrate, he said, with
summer humming all around, the days long and sultry. Since
coming home, she'd yet to see her friends, and so she'd sent
two invitations to Red River Station by Joe, asking them to join
her for a little party. Several miles upriver, the sprawling station
was fortified with blockhouses and stuffed with settlers fearful
of wild animals and Indians. Sometimes it seemed to Morrow
that she and Pa were the only ones not in residence, save the
Sabbaths when Pa preached there. Would Lizzy and Jemima
even leave its secure confines to come?

Her thoughts wandered back to Philadelphia where she and
Aunt Etta had celebrated by taking a post chaise to a tea shop,
where they'd eaten one too many scones, and then gone to the
theater to see The Prince ofParthia. Despite all this civility, she'd
been homesick and dreamed of having a tea party all her own
under the giant elm near the orchard.

The last of July dawned bright, with red roses crowding the
cabin steps and phlox and cockscomb blooming along the porch
rail. Coming down from her attic room at dawn, Morrow noticed
that both front and back doors were open again. Likely Pa was
trying to air out the bitter odor of bacon she'd burned the night
before, as well as woo any willing breeze.

Hastening to the trestle table, she surveyed the platter of
queen's cakes she'd made, each confection dusted with sugar and looking far too tempting. Just recently she'd found the faded
receipt written in her mother's flowing hand and had nearly
gasped at the two dozen eggs called for. Forging ahead, she'd hung
about the henhouse and coaxed the birds to lay, then gathered and
cracked every one. Her mouth watered as she added a heaping
helping of flour and sugar and two pounds of butter. Perhaps this
was why she'd once been so round and Jess had teased her.

Taking a bite of cake, she looked down at the gown pinching
her waist. The blueberry chintz was shot through with silver
thread, the faux-pearl buttons down the bodice framed with
exquisite ivory lace. The same lace formed a fichu about her
shoulders before peeking out again from the hem. Her birthday
dress, compliments of some officer's lady. She took a slow turn,
liking how the glossy skirt rustled and swirled around her. Eighteen seemed a momentous age. Ma had married Pa at eighteen
and birthed Jess the year after.

She passed to the porch, pleased to see Pa had placed a small
table and three chairs in the shade of the elm near the orchard.
Snatching up a tablecloth, she fairly danced across the yard in
anticipation of her party. The breeze teased the damask cloth,
threatening to whisk it off the table, so she anchored it with a
pitcher of roses. In the distance she heard the rumble of a wagon.
Lizzy and Jemima already?

Turning, she ran back into the cabin and returned with a
tray of cups and saucers and the coveted queen's cakes. It was
too hot for tea, truly, but she was anxious to air the porcelain
teapot and fancy cups and saucers Aunt Etta had packed in her
trunk before leaving the city.

By the time Pa had deposited the young women near the
porch, Morrow had everything in order. Jemima was the first
out of the wagon, her rotund figure wrapped in her best Irish
linen dress, her bonnet festooned with a clump of wilted daisies.
No plain homespun today, Morrow mused. This was a tea party, after all, betwixt friends who'd been apart far too long. Next
came Lizzy, as lean as Jemima was generous. Her dress was just
as fine, if wrinkled from riding, the airy muslin sprigged with
tiny periwinkle flowers. She wore a simple bonnet, her fair face
flushed from coming all the way from the fort.

Morrow hid behind the elm, watching them wander toward
the porch. Pa spied her and chuckled as he unhitched the team by
the barn. When the girls reached the cabin steps, she sat down at
the table as gracefully as she'd seen the ladies do in Philadelphia,
spreading her skirts over her slippers and tucking in a tendril of
hair that had come free of her chignon. Taking hold of a silver
sugar spoon, she clinked it gently against a china cup to get their
attention. Both turned at once, but it was Lizzy who ran pell-mell
toward her, nearly overturning the table in her glee.

"Morrow, is it truly you?" Lizzy's expression was all joy, green
eyes wide with wonder. She caught Morrow's soft hands in her
callused ones, reminding Morrow of the hard work that awaited
now that she'd returned home. "What has your Aunt Etta done?
You're hardly the friend I remember."

"We've all grown up, Lizzy," she answered, turning to Jemima,
who'd stopped a short distance away.

Jemima's eyes were wide, not from welcome as Morrow had
hoped, but from a sort of strained dismay. She held out her hands
anyway, accustomed to Jemima's moods. They'd been friends
for nigh on ten years and would likely stay that way, fractious
though Jemima was.

At last her friend sidled forward, green eyes assessing her in
one sweep. "I see you've picked up some fine Philadelphia airs.
Best shed that fancy dress and remember where you're at'

"'Tis my birthday, Jemima. I wouldn't make a fuss otherwise;'
Morrow replied with a smile.

Jemima hugged her briefly, though Lizzy clung to her the
longest. "I thought you'd not come back, Morrow, what with all the trouble here and there. Maybe marry a British officer
and stay in the city."

"The only British officer I fancied was already taken, she said,
sitting down between them.

"And who might that be?" Jemima demanded, removing her
hat.

"John Andre;' she said, toying with a spoon. "He fell in love
with a Philadelphia belle named Peggy Shippen. I merely had
the privilege of sewing her dresses."

"I've heard of John Andre, Jemima said as she eyed the queen's
cakes. "He's a spy, according to the Virginia Gazette"

"If so, he's a very handsome one," Morrow replied, remembering Jemima was a voracious reader. "But I'm no loyalist, remember. Nor do I care to discuss matters of war on my birthday"
She raised the porcelain pot and began pouring the fragrant tea.
Lizzy leaned forward and took an appreciative whiff, her smile
widening when Morrow said, "Labrador."

"Not British tea, then?" Jemima asked.

Morrow shook her head and passed the cream as the wind
fluttered the edges of the tablecloth like a flag, reminding her
strangely of Fort Pitt and its ominous walls. "I've had quite
enough of all things English, truth be told." But her eyes lingered on the lovely Spode blue pattern of the china nonetheless.
"Now, I want to hear some settlement news for a change. All
the good news, that is."

Jemima's mouth took a downward turn. "There's little of that
to be had, though some regiments from Virginia should arrive
any day."

Lizzy chuckled, stirring her tea. "I've seen you at your window waitin"'

"There are some advantages to living at the fort, Jemima said,
taking not one cake but two. "I get my pick of the soldiering
men, if there are any worth having"

Lizzy took a sip of tea, voice soft. "I'm anxious for Morrow
to meet my Abe. We're to be married in spring once he finishes
his cabin over on Tate's Creek"

"Lizzy, that's fine news!" Morrow exclaimed. "Abe is a good
man-the best, Pa says"

"Well, it's your pa who's agreed to marry us. And I want you to
stand up with me;' she said between bites of cake. "Will you?"

"I'd be honored;' Morrow replied with a smile. "You needn't
even ask."

Jemima looked her over reprovingly, dabbing the perspiration beading her lip with a napkin. "I'd think twice about any
bridesmaid who'll likely outshine the bride"

But Lizzy merely winked and said, "Maybe we'll have a double
wedding. Or a triple. I'll wager your pa never wedded three
couples at once"

"Nay, nor wanted to," Pa said as he passed behind them.

Morrow stood up and took a cake off the platter, placing it
in his outstretched hand.

"I'd best be on my way if you're talking men, he said. "Keep
in mind that I'll not marry you three to just anyone, especially
my Morrow"

"No need to worry," Morrow said when he'd passed out of
earshot. "I'm eighteen now-nearly an old maid"

Jemima snorted, her mouth pursing scornfully. "You won't be
for long, what with all the buzzel at the fort about your coming
back home"

Morrow felt the heat bloom in her face. She kept her eyes
down, studying the crumbs on her plate. "Seeing as how women
are so scarce here, 'tis no surprise'

"'Tis true enough, Lizzy murmured between sips of tea.
"There's been more than one man askin' after you, wonderin'
when you'd be back:'

Jemima leaned forward, conspiratorial. "I bet it's those Clays. Though I can't figure out which one's the most smitten. My guess
is Lysander. Though I remember Robbie moping about you at
the last frolic before you left:'