Courting Morrow Little , livre ebook

C OURTING Morrow Little
Books by Laura Frantz
The Frontiersman s Daughter Courting Morrow Little
C OURTING Morrow Little
A N OVEL
LAURA FRANTZ
2010 by Laura Frantz
Published by Revell a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.revellbooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-for example, electronic, photocopy, recording-without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Frantz, Laura.
Courting Morrow Little : a novel / Laura Frantz.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-8007-3340-7 (pbk.)
1. Single women-Fiction. 2. Frontier and pioneer life-Kentucky-Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3606.R4226C68 2010 813 .6-dc22 2010004279
Scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my brother, Chris, who has Christ s heart for a hurting world.
Contents
Prologue
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Prologue
Red River, Kentucke July 1765
Morrow paused on the river trail to wipe her brow with the hem of her linsey shift. It was a true Kentucke July, and the woods were hot as a hearth, the leaves of the elms and oaks and sycamores curling for lack of water, the dust beneath her bare feet fine as flour. Even the river seemed like bathwater, its surface still and unbroken as green glass. She d been following her brother Jessamyn to swim, but a treasure trove of wild grapes along the river s edge slowed her.
Morrow, quit your dawdlin , Jess yelled over his shoulder.
She stuffed the grapes into her mouth till it wouldn t close then filled her pockets for him. His quick grin was thanks enough.
Why, them s big as marbles-or trade beads, he exclaimed, filling his own cheeks. Reckon Ma would want some to make jelly?
We can pick her some after we swim, she said, shucking off her shift and hanging it from a sticker bush.
At the sight of her, Jess began to snicker. Morrow Mary Little, you re fat as a grape yourself. And so white you hurt my eyes.
Truly, she was as plump as she could be. Stout, Pa called her, like most of the Little clan. Though five years old, she d still not lost her baby fat, and only her face and feet and hands were tan. The rest of her was white as milk.
She grinned, bubbling with glee at his teasing. You re so skinny I can see right through you. And you re brown as bacon.
Only ten, he worked the fields alongside Pa like a man, tending tobacco and corn while she mostly toted her baby sister around and helped Ma spin. Joining hands now, they jumped off their favorite rock, shattering the river s calm. Cool at last, they surfaced, smiling, glad to be free of the fields and Euphemia s fussing.
Morrow twirled in the water. Ain t it fine- she began.
But the smile had slipped off Jess s face. He held up a hand as Pa sometimes did, forbidding further talk. Bewildered, she looked about. But her brother wasn t looking, he was listening. Beyond the noisy jays and flighty cardinals and whisper of wind, past the heat shimmers of midsummer and the wall of woods, came a startling sound. The humid air was threaded with shrieking and screaming.
All at once Jess began to wade to shore. Morrow followed, but he turned, his freckled face suffused with a strange heat. You stay put-don t even twitch-till I come back.
She watched the woods swallow him up as she sat in the shallow water, unable to stand up any longer on her trembling legs, unable to listen to the shrieking and screaming out there somewhere. With her hands over her ears she waited, and then when the water turned cold she started up the trail to their cabin, forgetting her dress. Naked as a jaybird, she flew into the quiet cabin clearing. The slant of the sun told her it was nearly time for supper . But where was Ma calling her to come in? Or the ring of Pa s ax as he split wood? Or Jess reminding her to bell the cow before he turned her loose in the meadow? For once she even missed her baby sister s wailing.
Her bare feet ate up the dry, dun-colored grass leading to the cabin porch. There on the steps, like a discarded doll, lay Euphemia. The dying sun lit her baby sister s wide blue eyes, only Euphemia didn t blink or cry. Had she fallen down and hurt herself? Morrow looked around. Where was Ma? Her breathing was a bit ragged now as she surveyed the toppled churn and water bucket by the cabin door. Some unseen hand seemed to tug her ever nearer, but she saw she d have to step over Euphemia to get there, and she couldn t do it.
Sweat trickled down her face, yet she started to shiver like it was winter, eyes on the open door. Frantic, she looked around for Ma and Jess and Pa. Digger should have been here too, alerting them with his bark, welcoming them home. As soon as she thought it, she saw his furry body beneath the rosebush to one side of the cabin, an arrow through his middle.
An Indian arrow.
With a cry she jumped over Euphemia and ran into the ransacked cabin. Ma was slumped over her spinning wheel, but Morrow couldn t get to her past the splintered furniture and broken glass and scattered clothes and quilts. A flurry of feathers from the tick that had been Ma s pride were dancing in the draft coming through the cabin door. They rained down around Morrow restlessly, soft as a snowfall, almost as white. Standing there, her heart hurt so fiercely she felt it would burst.
Morrow!
Behind her, hard hands scooped her up and tore her away from the sickening sight. Pa carried her to the barn, away from the blood and the smell of death and their torn-up things. But he couldn t remove the gruesome memory. And he couldn t explain why the Almighty had let it happen in the first place.
1

Fort Pitt, Pennsylvania June 1778
Morrow took out a painted paper fan, her gloved hands trembling, and recalled the look of horror on her aunt s face moments before when she d embarked, as if she d stepped into a coffin instead of a keelboat. Or perhaps Aunt Etta was ruing that she d smothered her niece in silk, given the tobacco-chewing boatmen at the oars.
Beneath the wide brim of her straw hat, Morrow s eyes timorously swept the deck. Was she to be the only female on board? And what of her escort?
Up and down the rickety dock she looked, searching for the man her father had hired to bring her safely from Fort Pitt to Kentucke. Even with the summer sun in her eyes, it didn t take long to find him. Amidst all the folks lining the waterfront, one man stood out and was making straight for her. Although his attire was the same as almost every other settler in sight, he moved with an air of authority that nullified the need for any introduction. Only Ezekial Click could cause the crowd to part as decisively as the Red Sea.
Captain Click! someone shouted.
With a dismissive wave of his hand, the frontiersman turned toward her, his moccasins making short work of the long plank that dangled over green water smooth as a ballroom floor. He soon stood before her, his long rifle pointed toward the summer sky. He was leaner and more weathered than she remembered and wore a fringed linen shirt that fell to buckskin breeches. His long yellow hair and eyebrows were streaked white from the sun, and his fur felt hat was angled jauntily to one side, a turkey feather atop it. Brilliant blue eyes peered out of a brown face, instantly taking her measure. Would you be Miss Morrow Mary Little?
I am. Charmed by his use of her whole name, she dropped a small curtsy, which seemed only to amuse him.
It s been some years since I ve seen you. His voice was deep and mellow yet held a hint of command. She tried not to stare but couldn t help herself. It was this man who had wooed them into the wilds of Kentucke so many years before. Being a Quaker and a frontiersman, he seemed to have a fondness for preachers like her pa. Among all the rogues and ruffians who followed him onto the frontier, the new Kentucke settlements could stand a preacher s civilizing influence, he d said. And so they d followed him west and, she reflected, seemed to be following him still.
I reckon you remember little of that trip, he mused, shifting his rifle to his other arm.
She flushed, eyes returning to the river. Just the horseflies and the heat.
But even as she said it, a bittersweet wave washed over her. She recalled her mother packing wafer-thin china plates into straw-lined barrels outside their summer kitchen in Virginia. Tearful goodbyes to neighbors and the fine brick home she d been born in. And then the memory blurred to deep green woods so suffocating the sun never shone. One sweltering day atop a rocky precipice called Cumberland Gap, their wagon had tipped its load and sent those fine china dishes flying like pigeons into a shady chasm so deep they d never see daylight again. Her genteel mother, she remembered, had been pregnant and burst into tears. Was he remembering it too? The smile on his face told her he just might be, but then it slipped away.
Was he also thinking of that simmering summer years before when her family s life had been torn asunder? He d not speak of it, she guessed. Twas far safer to ponder what she knew of him. The man standing before her was a bit of a riddle, both revered and reviled in the Kentucke settlements. Rumor was he had a daughter so wild he d had to carry her to finishing school in Virginia and was just returning from doing that. Morrow supposed Lael Click