Courting Morrow Little: A Novel Page 4

  "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:'

  Morrow nearly winced. The memory was hardly pleasant. She'd felt like a fool with all the male attention and vowed she'd never attend a settlement frolic again. Jemima hadn't spoken to her for a month after, sweet as she was on Lysander. Even now her plump face was pinched with displeasure, as if resurrecting every detail.

  Morrow took a steadying breath, wanting to steer the conversation in a safer direction, and gestured to the gifts atop the tablecloth. "I've brought you both a little something from the city."

  Lizzy's face softened. "But it's your birthday, Morrow. I thought these presents were for you:"

  "I'm wearing mine, she said, fingering the lace fichu of her dress.

  Jemima finished her tea, her fingers plucking at the shiny ribbon on her package. "I didn't bring you a thing, Morrow Mary"

  I don't need anything but your company," she said, pushing the presents closer. "Now go ahead and open them. Or do you want to guess?"

  "Mine's mighty small," Jemima mused, toying with the ribbon.

  Looking at her dark features, Morrow stifled a sigh. She'd almost forgotten how hard Jemima was to please-and how easy Lizzy.

  Flushing with pleasure, Lizzy opened hers first, exclaiming over the soft, sepia-toned gloves within, the wrists cinched with tiny glass buttons that winked like diamonds. "Perfect for my weddin' day." With a little sigh, she looked back into the box and withdrew a tiny lace cap, silk ribbons dangling.

  "I know you've always loved babies, Morrow told her, her voice a touch wistful. "I hope you and Abe are blessed with a son or daughter real soon'

  Jemima snorted. "I'm sure Abe won't waste any time commencing that. Now, what do we have here?" It was the first genuine smile Morrow had seen all day. Looking about for Pa first, Jemima pulled a pair of silk stockings from the box and held them aloft, admiring the scarlet garters. "You do have some sense, Morrow. I've had a hankering for silk stockings since I was eight years old"

  "They're all the rage in Philadelphia, Morrow said, taking another queen's cake. "Looks like you'll have something to wear to Lizzy's wedding"

  Jemima chortled and stroked the silk. "Maybe I'll catch Lysander's eye after all:"

  Reaching beneath the table, Morrow drew out two large bundles tied with ribbon. "Aunt Etta was kind enough to give me some scraps of fabric to sew you both something" At this, both friends leaned forward at once, reaching out eager hands as if the offerings might vanish before their very eyes.

  Jemima tore hers open and shook out the gift, watching with delight as it unfurled like a flag into a lovely gown of bronze silk. Wide-eyed, she sputtered, "Why, I never.. "

  "Why, indeed, Jemima Talbot, I never saw you speechless before now," Morrow teased.

  Across from them, Lizzy's thin, work-hardened hands caressed the rich rose brocade in her lap, and she looked up with tears in her eyes. "How'd you do it, Morrow? How'd you make us such fine things with nary a fitting?"

  "There were plenty of Philadelphia belles just your size, Lizzy. 'Twas a good guess, truly'

  "Fits like a glove, I reckon, Jemima exclaimed, holding her gown close. "Maybe you should think of setting up shop at the fort. Folks would come miles for such as these, though I daresay nobody could afford a one"

  But Morrow simply shook her head. She'd lost her hankering to sew after so much time spent doing it, though she appreciated their pleasure. Her delight deepened when they insisted they change into their new gowns, bustling up the stairs to her room and coming back down looking badly in need of an ironing.<
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  They passed a pleasant afternoon, talking and laughing and erasing the time and events two years had wrought. As the afternoon sun tilted further west, Pa hovered between the barn and pasture, seeing to the horses and waiting to return the young women to the fort. Morrow pondered whether to go with him, then pushed down her uneasiness. She'd promised Aunt Etta a letter and needed to see to supper.

  Jemima's strident voice cut into her wandering thoughts. "Morrow, it must be hard on you leaving the city and coming back into the wilderness. You're so far from anybody here on the Red River. Maybe you and your pa should come to the fort for a spell till the trouble's quelled"

  The trouble. Morrow looked up and felt a sudden chill. Years before, Jemima's family had been touched with tragedy, much as Morrow's own. Her eldest brother had gone hunting one fall and never came back. His bones were discovered later in some distant cave, identified solely by the initials on his powder horn.

  Lizzy set down her cup and looked toward the wall of woods. "My pa didn't want me comin' out here today, given all the fuss over at Fort Click' At Morrow's startled look, she said, "Two girls went out to get water from the spring early one mornin' and never came back'

  Morrow set down her empty cup. "Shawnee?"

  Lizzy nodded, fingering the tiny lace cap in her lap. "A search party went after them, but it was little help. The Indians took off into the cane and the militia lost their trail, though they did find some bloody shoes and a bonnet:"

  The words fell flat, the silence tense. Morrow knotted the napkin in her lap, glad when Jemima stood suddenly and said, "Best be getting home. We'll see you on the Sabbath, I reckon"

  Nodding absently, Morrow got up, walking with them to the wagon where Pa waited. They hugged her goodbye, and she breathed a silent prayer for them. 'Twas far safer to stay behind than risk the distance to the fort. Ignoring the tiny arrows of alarm that pricked her, she hurried to the cabin and placed the heavy bars across each oaken door with a decisive thud. Though the heat was intense, she drew the shutters and locked them, her gaze swiveling to the mantel where Pa's rifle hung. It was primed and ready for hunting, she knew, but she doubted she could use it. From end to end it stood as tall as she.

  It felt strange to leave the party dishes beneath the elm, but common sense told her she'd best stay inside till Pa returned. Leaving her party dress on, she set about making supper, keeping an ear tuned for trouble. Lumbering so slow in the wagon, Pa surely wouldn't be home till after dusk.

  As the mantel clock chimed four times, her hand gripped the wooden spoon. Suppose the two Shawnee came? The thought was so troubling she sat down hard on the bench at the trestle table, the spoon plopping out of the bowl and spraying batter onto her lovely dress. She dabbed it clean, remembering Pa's words at breakfast. Since the tragedy that had befallen them years ago, he'd been saying one verse in particular, and the Scripture now wended through her mind like a melody, the words lofty and noble and reassuring.

  And we know that all things work togetherforgood to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.

  All things? Even visits by Indians? Even the death of a mother and a sister she hardly remembered? Or the disappearance of a brother, whose puzzling absence left them forever wondering what had befallen him? She'd rather have found his body and known he wasn't coming back, like Jemima's kin-the act final and complete-instead of this infernal, forever-after wondering.

  Tears stung her eyes. She'd memorized the beautiful words Pa quoted by heart and ached to believe them. But another Scripture seemed to trump them just the same.

  Oh Lord, help mine unbelief.

  Half-asleep, Morrow sat in her rocking chair by the hearth, thinking of baby Eli and planning to sew him some under things, when the welcome sound of the wagon made her leap up. Night had fallen like a curtain half an hour before, and she felt keen relief when she unbarred the door and Pa's comforting shadow crossed the threshold. But sapped as he was from the heat and lurching wagon, he was in no mood to eat the supper she'd made. He simply took his worn chair across from her and brought out his pipe. Emptying the cold ashes into the fire, he looked tired but satisfied.

  "I was afraid you'd gone to bed after all the fuss;' he said, stuffing the bowl full of tobacco crumbles. "It's a pleasure to come home to a lovely daughter and a fine pipe"

  She took a little shovel and retrieved a live coal for him from the fading fire, then sniffed the air, perplexed. "I've been gone a long while, Pa, and forgotten a good many things. But that's the queerest tobacco I ever did smell:"

  Studying her, he chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "You're not smelling settlement tobacco, Morrow. It's kinnikinnik our Shawnee brethren brought last winter"

  Shawnee brethren, indeed. She wouldn't admit it smelled far finer than the crude tobacco consumed in the settlement. A cloud of dried roots and herbs perfumed the air between them, creating wispy spirals of smoke. She smelled dogwood and willow and inhaled appreciatively despite his troubling words.

  "It's mighty fine, he added, drawing deeply and giving her a wink. "I've been thinking of what to give you for your birthday. Maybe I'll whittle you a pipe:"

  At this she smiled, remembering how little amusement she and Aunt Etta had shared in the dress shop on Elfreth's Alley. There simply hadn't been time to be lighthearted, and her dear aunt was always so concerned with appeasing her hard-to-please customers.

  Morrow looked about the tidy cabin, lingering on an unopened gift atop the trestle table. She'd nearly forgotten the package from Aunt Etta, hidden away in her trunk until today. Untying the leather string, she peeled back several layers of brown paper, enjoying the rustle of anticipation. A sewing chest was nestled inside, the mahogany polished to a rich brown sheen. Carefully she lifted the lid. Within the silk-lined space was an assortment of sewing needles, a box of buttons, spools of colorful thread, and several lengths of bright ribbon.

  "A fine gift," Pa exclaimed.

  "Aunt Etta is nothing if not generous, she said, pleased beyond measure. But it was the letter at the very bottom that piqued her curiosity. She opened it quickly, and the very first line set her heart to pounding.

  Dearest Morrow,

  I've dreamed that you're to marry a man of rank ...

  She nearly sighed. Aunt Etta was always dreaming of a great many things. The price of tea ... the status of the war with England ... whether or not the popular sacque gown would be replaced by the robe a lAnglaise. With a quick look at Pa, Morrow folded the letter and put it in her pocket, hoping he wouldn't ask her to read it aloud. Best savor it later, she decided, in the privacy of her room. Besides, there were no men of rank that she knew of in the settlement, busy as they were fighting in the East. Just roughshod militiamen. And one too many Indians.

  'Twas an easy paddle to Trapper Joe's cabin further down the Red River. With Pa's help, Morrow uncovered a canoe buried in a thick stand of mountain laurel along the rocky shore. As she tugged on the hemp rope to launch it, she tried not to think of whose hands had held the paddles or crafted the boat to begin with. Made of elm, it was smooth and sleek, its bulk taking to the water like some woodland fowl. A gift from the Shawnee, Pa had told her, when she'd been in Philadelphia.

  She sat at the boat's center, a willow basket behind her. What, she wondered, would Lizzy and Jemima think of this little excursion? She was hardly a fine Philadelphia lady today, tucked in an Indian canoe, wearing simple, scratchy homespun. She imagined their raised brows should they learn of her outing, especially in light of the news from Fort Click. But lately there'd been a lull in the trouble. Nary a horse had been stolen from the settlements in the week since her birthday. Pa had deemed it safe to ride the river, though he'd prayed for her as she got into the boat. She'd been a bit reluctant to go alone, as he wasn't feeling well and couldn't accompany her as usual.

  Her eyes roamed the wooded ridgetops and ravines high above, every craggy edge the color of dried blood. The river was low now at summer's peak, th
e little idling pools along its banks rimmed with red rock. Tilting her head back, she opened her mouth in a sort of wonder. Sunlight and water spilled off ledges smothered with ferns and meadow rue, drenching the river bottom in a rainbow of warm greens and golds. She'd nearly forgotten the beauty-why they'd settled here in the first place. Was it any wonder the Shawnee kept coming back?

  Summoning her courage, she gripped the paddle harder, trying to push aside any unsettling thoughts as easily as she parted the water, eyes grazing the opposite shore. Despite the rich, ripe scent of brush along the banks and the peculiar odor of river water, she could smell the still-warm pie in the basket, wrapped in a clean cloth alongside the undergarments she'd made for Little Eli.

  A few more bends and twists of the watery road and she was there, a sharp bark making her start. Trapper Joe's mongrel waded into the water, wagging its mangy tail in welcome. She smelled the smoke from their chimney before she saw the cabin's rough rectangle situated in the small, stump-littered clearing. To one side was a small garden but little else. Trapping and hunting as he did from fall to spring, Joe hadn't had the time or the inclination to put in a corn crop and prove up his own four hundred acres, so Pa let him live on a corner of their land. They'd been friends ever since coming into Kentucke together, though a more unlikely pair couldn't be found.

  "Howdy do!" Joe's voice boomed like a cannon, only to be followed by Good Robe's echoing, "How do!"

  Morrow smiled and waved, spying them in the shade of a giant sycamore not far from shore. Careful not to stand too soon and spill herself into the waiting water, she dug her paddle into the shallows and got out. Surprised by the lightness of the canoe, she pulled it partly up on the sand and collected her basket, making a beeline for the tree. Little Eli's cradle board was propped up against the trunk, and she longed to release him from his tight lacing, anxious to see how much he'd grown. But his eyes were shuttered in sleep, so she simply dropped down beside him in the sun-scorched grass, passing the basket to Good Robe.