Free Courting Morrow Little: A Novel by Laura Frantz Page B

eye on the open door as if expecting the trouble
upriver to materialize on their threshold at any moment.
    She took a measured breath, trying to summon enough decency to thank him, but the words wouldn't come. Instead she
pulled her eyes from him, afraid her unwillingness was plain. But
Pa more than made up for her lack, thanking them in English
and Shawnee, his gratitude apparent. When they left, she sank
into her seat by the fire, hugging the blanket closer, too tired to
talk yet riddled with questions.
    As if sensing her curiosity, Pa said, "They came right after you
went to the river. Surrounded warned of a party of Cherokee near
here. His son seemed restless when I told them you'd gone to
the river. I tried to keep him here. I didn't want him to surprise
you-or you him, half dressed:" His face took on a reddish tint.
"Surrounded said something about the water spirits drawing
people to the bottom of the river. Some Shawnee superstition, I
suppose. Being the young buck he is, his son soon disappeared,
and by heaven, I'm glad he did"

    She swallowed, still feeling she had a bucket of water inside
her. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble, Pa ... just saw some
grapes on the other side of the river:"
    He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't bear the thought of
losing you, Morrow. Don't ever try anything so foolish again:'
    The tears in his eyes made her more contrite, and she was
suddenly exhausted. Standing on shaky legs, she turned toward
the stairs, but he stopped her, putting an arm around her, hugging her like he'd not done since her childhood. She hugged him
back, dampening his shirt, surprised when he seemed reluctant
to release her.
    "Tonight, while you were at the river, when Surrounded came
with Red Shirt. . '
'
    Red Shirt. Was that his name? She felt a strange disappointment. She'd expected something else. Something strong and
Indian-like. Not this. Drawing the blanket closer, she waited
for him to finish.
    "I found out a few things about our English-speaking Shawnee. He's a half blood. His mother was a white captive:"
    What? The startling words seemed only to skim the surface of conscious thought and left her staring at him, unable
to speak.
    "He was sent to the Brafferton School for Indians as a boy"
    "Brafferton?" she echoed. She'd read about the school in the
Virginia Gazette. It had a rich if controversial history. Had he
been part of that?
    "Apparently he did well there. A family in Williamsburg
wanted to adopt him. But after a time he left and found his
way back to his father."
    She held her breath, trying to grasp all that he'd just told her,
letting the words soften and reshape the misconceptions she'd
had about him. Was he truly half white? She wondered why
she hadn't suspected as much. His skin was too light for a true Indian, as were his hazel eyes, though his dress and manner
were convincing enough.

    He swallowed and said, "We talked some about Jess. I tried
to describe him as I remember him. But it's been so long. . "
    His eyes were a shimmer of gray green. She extended a hand
to him, but he'd turned away, clearly too weary for more conversation. Bidding him good night, she climbed the stairs to
her room, her own heart sore. Exhausted, she combed out her
tangled hair and dressed in her warmest nightgown, drawing
the bedcovers around her shivering form. Remembering she'd
failed to say her prayers, she dropped to her knees, feeling more
unworthy than she had in her whole life.
    Father, forgive me. For holding a grudge. For hating the Shawnee. Thank You for sending Red Shirt to spare my life.

     

Since her near-drowning, Pa seemed to hover as if afraid she'd
get herself into trouble again. She couldn't tell him how nearly
losing her life had inexplicably shaken loose some of her fears.
The place that had haunted her for so long was now nothing
more than sand and red rock and rushing water. She wanted
to go back again, if only to make sure it no longer had