Courting Morrow Little: A Novel (9 page)

"Slow yourself down, Daughter. I can hardly follow you" He
turned solemn eyes on her like she was a schoolgirl who'd failed to
mind her tongue. "Do you blame him for his reticence? I suspect
he's not sure whom he can trust. I see wisdom in his silence given
these troubled times. It puts me in mind of the Scripture, `He that
keepeth his mouth keepeth his life: Besides, he seldom comes. And
when he does he says but little. His father does the talking"

The quoted verse did nothing to assuage her anger. He'd ever
been slow to take offense, quick to forgive. And she understood
it no more now than she did when he'd first taken the Shawnee
in. Turning her head away, she set her jaw, ashamed to let him
see her tears.

His tone was thoughtful if grave. "Perhaps the Almighty sent
the Shawnee to our door"

At this, the tempest inside her erupted all over again. "Did
the Almighty also send them the first time, Pa? To kill Ma and
Euphemia and take Jess?"

He seemed to wilt at her hasty words, though his voice held
firm. "We're coming closer, Morrow. Now that we know Surrounded's son speaks English, we can ask about Jess. You might
help, you know"

"Help?"

"Talk to him. Ask about your brother. It seems like a Godgiven opportunity"

His urging grieved her, though she worked to keep her dismay
down. "It's been a long time, Pa. Jess would be twenty-three
now, a man. And you know what Joe said. Some captives don't
want to come back"

"The Shawnee nation is large and spreads far," he conceded.
"Jess could be with any of their bands scattered from Ohio to
d'Etroit. Or he might have been traded to another tribe and
moved further west"

She heard the regret in his voice and saw how his shoulders
sagged as if bowed by the weight of it. He'd omitted but one
thing. Jess could be dead. She didn't dare say so, but surely he'd
thought of it himself.

"There's one thing that gives me comfort. God knows where
Jess is, even if we don't. I believe we'll be reunited one day. If
not here, heaven" Slowly he got to his feet, helping her up after
him, his eyes scanning the woods. "Best not mention our visits
with the Shawnee. Not even to Lizzy. We wouldn't want to
court trouble"

She looked at him, a bit stung that he thought her so glib. Of
course she'd not mention their visits. She was so ashamed of
their coming, so fearful her father's friendship with them would
be misinterpreted, she'd keep it a secret till her dying breath.

"Think no more of it;' he told her as they walked across the
darkening ground toward home. "We've other things to ponder.
Tomorrow's the Sabbath and we must go to the fort. You've not
been there since your homecoming. I imagine Lizzy and Jemima
will be glad to see you again"

Would they, she wondered? If they knew about the Shawnee
coming, would they even count her as a friend?

Morrow took a seat on the first blockhouse bench, untying the
strings of her bonnet and placing it in her lap. She could feel the
stares given her by the Red River congregation as they shuffled
in. Perhaps she'd gone too far wearing her Philadelphia finery.
The purple cloth of the bonnet was decidedly elegant, a far cry
from simple settlement standards, with its silken cluster of lilacs
hugging the brim. She'd worn it thinking no one would notice,
or care. The bright summer's day seemed to call for it. But the
unspoken consensus seemed to say it was too fine for a preacher's
daughter. And it was creating a stir she'd not reckoned with.

Jemima turned into her row, Lizzy in her wake. Jemima's face
was a stew of displeasure, her voice a hiss. "Morrow Mary, I wish
you'd hurry up and get hitched so the rest of us could have a
chance to do the same. As it is, you keep the men so stirred up
with your coming and going they won't light and look elsewhere:"
As if to prove her point, she turned and skewered the unmarried
men along the back row with glittering green eyes.

Morrow shrank down a bit on the bench, solaced that she'd
given the men no encouraging glances. Still, their steadfast stares
seemed to bore a hole in her back and embarrassed her as much
as Jemima's harshness. She looked at the small watch pinned to
her bodice. Would Pa never appear?

Once she'd counted the Sabbath her favorite day. For years
she'd been at home on the front row, squeezed between Ma
and Jess. In the shadowy corners of her mind, she could still see their silhouettes and hear baby Euphemia's fussing during
the lengthy sermons. But being here today amidst all the male
attention was something of a chore. Since she'd returned from
Philadelphia, folks seemed to regard her in a new, bewildering
way, and she couldn't quite fathom why.

With a glance her direction, Pa passed in front of his congregants and took his place behind the pulpit near the fire. Clearing his throat, he announced, "Now that the harvest is near, the
start of singing school is at hand"

Morrow felt a flicker of delight. There had been no singing
school that she knew of in Philadelphia, no gathering of folks
like-minded about music, singing the winter away. The fact that
the meetings were little more than an excuse for courting made
them all the more worthwhile. She couldn't count the couples
Pa had married since its humble beginnings years before.

As soon as he'd spoken, he removed his Bible from the pulpit
and took a seat beside her. What? No sermon? She didn't need to
look at him to know something was amiss. To her right, Jemima
seemed to titter as a stranger in uniform took his place behind
the hickory pulpit. The stale air in the blockhouse suddenly
seemed warmer, the press of people more unpleasant. Morrow
took in the striking figure in buff and blue, and the telling line
of Aunt Etta's letter struck her like lightning.

The uniformed man cleared his throat and removed his tricorn
hat, resting it on the pulpit. "To those of you who don't know,
I'm Nathaniel McKie-Major McKie of the Virginia colony. My
regiment has been sent here expressly for your protection. Red
River Station will serve as the base of military operations as we
plan our first foray into Indian territory"

He paused as if to let the weight of his words have their
full effect. All around her, people began to murmur amongst
themselves till the sound was a small roar in the large room.
He held up a hand to still the din. "We Virginians have heard of the degradations this settlement and others have suffered
at the hands of the British and Shawnee. By the authority of
Governor Henry and the Virginia legislature, we mean to stop
the hostilities-by any means necessary."

Morrow kept her eyes down as he went on to talk about the
artillery they'd brought, the heavy cannon, the fresh supplies
of shot and powder. Truly, this man liked the sound of his own
voice. He smacked of civilization from the polished brass buttons of his fine blue coat to his shiny black boots.

"We know that the British are agitating the Indians, supplying
them with guns and trade goods, goading them into reclaiming
the Kentucke territory as their own:" He paused and leaned into
the pulpit, his finely modulated drawl that of a seasoned orator.
"Surely a land like this is worth contending for'

There was a ripple of assent and several shouted "ayes" from
the men. Morrow flexed her gloved hands, noting the fingertips were soiled. Beside her, Pa sat still as stone. When Major
McKie's speech ended, Pa stood to pray. For peace. For God's
will to be done in the settlement and to the ends of the earth.
When he finished, he moved to the pulpit to give his sermon,
but she hardly noticed.

There seemed to be a small collective gasp from the women
present as Major McKie turned in her row. He took the seat Pa
had just vacated, and his knee brushed the folds of her dress
and stayed there. Prickles of heat climbed from her bare neck
to her face. Even the tips of her ears felt on fire. He was entirely
too close. She could smell his perspiring beneath the confines
of his Continental coat. The fine lines of his uniform were striking but unfamiliar, accustomed as she was to the British scarlet
and white. Jabbing Morrow with a sharp elbow, Jemima gave a
murmur of disapproval. Or jealousy. Morrow didn't dare look
at her.

By sermon's end, her face and neck still felt overwarm as the officer beside her turned to her straightaway. "I'd heard the
preacher had a beautiful daughter, but I find the praise somewhat ... restrained:"

She raised her eyes to look up at him, extending a gloved hand
in her befuddlement. He took it firmly, not letting go. Jemima
stood just behind her, a heavy shadow in the dim light. "Well,
Morrow Mary, aren't you going to introduce me to the major?
Or have you forgotten your fine Philadelphia manners?"

"Why, yes ... of course, Morrow murmured, taking back
her hand.

He let go reluctantly, his eyes never leaving her face. Was
this what was meant by being instantly smitten? She feared so
but couldn't fathom why. She was simply a settlement girl in a
too-fancy hat ...

Pa came to stand between them, a welcome buffer. Never in
her life had she felt so glad to have him near. "I see you've met
my daughter," he said.

Major McKie shook his outstretched hand. "Met her? I'm
afraid I can't take my eyes off her"

The heavy-handed compliment only upended her further.
She turned to find Jemima still hovering and made introductions softly without looking at him again. "These are my friends
Jemima Talbot and Lizzy Freeman:"

An awkward silence followed their greetings. Pa cleared his
throat, taking her arm and squeezing it as if well aware of her
unease. He cast a look at the open blockhouse door as people
exited. "We'd best be starting for home, given the heat. The dog
days of August are upon us"

"So it seems;' the major said tersely, finally looking away from
her. "I admit I was reluctant to take a post on the frontier, but
I'm beginning to find the aggravation well worth it"

"Good Sabbath, Pa said, putting on his hat.

Morrow turned to go, forgetting to bid Lizzy and Jemima goodbye. Outside on the fort common, settlement folk and soldiers were milling about despite the suffocating heat and dust,
lingering by the artillery and admiring the small cannon and
corral full of military mounts. Pa helped her into the wagon,
and they soon passed through the fort's postern gates, waving
as the sentries doffed their hats. She expelled a relieved breath
and looked over her shoulder at the fading pickets. Major McKie
stood stalwart beneath the oak beam that bore the name Red
River Station, but she didn't raise her hand in farewell.

Pa pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes. "Daughter, I'm afraid your return has garnered attention from every
quarter"

"I don't know why," she said softly. "Except that there are so
few women here-and an abundance of men"

The wind was so brisk it seemed to devour her every word.
He gave no indication he'd heard her and appeared locked in
serious thought. Was he, like she, trying to dismiss the ominous
sight of so many munitions and uniformed men? The silence
made the ride even longer, and halfway home a wagon wheel
began to wobble. He jumped down to tighten it, but the effort
seemed to unleash his deep cough. The summer cold he'd taken
wouldn't budge, so stubborn that all the tonics she'd tried didn't
help. Aunt Sally had just given her some cherry bark. Perhaps
she'd make a tea of that once they got home.

Despite the beauty of the day and the dance of the wind all
around her, she felt a new uneasiness. When Pa was well again,
she'd not feel so unsettled, she reasoned. Singing school would
soon commence, and she might even have a sweetheart. Most
importantly, now that the soldiers had come, Kentucke would
cease to be a battleground. Surely with McKie's Virginians to
defend their settlement, the Shawnee would leave them alone. Morrow leaned over the letter, quill pen suspended.