pasture opened up before her,
drenched a deep gold in the setting sun. She didn't stop running till she was at the paling fence that hemmed in Ma's and
Euphemia's graves. Since coming back from Philadelphia, she'd
not been here once. She hadn't meant to come now. Chest heaving, she began to cry, feeling five again and not eighteen.
Whether minutes or hours passed, she didn't know. Pa found
her sitting there amidst a tangle of honeysuckle vine, head in
her hands.
"Morrow, you all right?" His voice reached out to her, solicitous as always.
But she couldn't answer. He sat down beside her, and she
looked up with a heavy heart, eyes awash. He seemed to be aging
overnight, his russet hair going not gray but white. Years of being
a widower and losing a beloved son and daughter continued to
take a toll on him, and nothing she did could erase it.
She knew better than to give way to her turmoil, but it bubbled
forth like a pent-up spring, every syllable soft but threaded with
heat. "I wish you'd told me the son was here-before I went out
to milk-"
"He means you no harm, Morrow."
She dashed a hand across her damp face, having lost her handkerchief in the field as she'd fled. "You might have warned
me he was in the barn"
"His father wanted to borrow a horse:"
"A horse? Why?"
I didn't ask-just gave him one'
"He's not who we think he is, Pa. He speaks English"
"What's that?"
"He said he wasn't going to hurt me. But I don't believe him.
Even if he's as well-spoken as a white man, he's still a savage"
She shook her head in dismay. "We've opened our door to them
and made fools of ourselves, believing he spoke only Shawnee.
All this time he's been misleading us-making us think-"
"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
drenched a deep gold in the setting sun. She didn't stop running till she was at the paling fence that hemmed in Ma's and
Euphemia's graves. Since coming back from Philadelphia, she'd
not been here once. She hadn't meant to come now. Chest heaving, she began to cry, feeling five again and not eighteen.
Whether minutes or hours passed, she didn't know. Pa found
her sitting there amidst a tangle of honeysuckle vine, head in
her hands.
"Morrow, you all right?" His voice reached out to her, solicitous as always.
But she couldn't answer. He sat down beside her, and she
looked up with a heavy heart, eyes awash. He seemed to be aging
overnight, his russet hair going not gray but white. Years of being
a widower and losing a beloved son and daughter continued to
take a toll on him, and nothing she did could erase it.
She knew better than to give way to her turmoil, but it bubbled
forth like a pent-up spring, every syllable soft but threaded with
heat. "I wish you'd told me the son was here-before I went out
to milk-"
"He means you no harm, Morrow."
She dashed a hand across her damp face, having lost her handkerchief in the field as she'd fled. "You might have warned
me he was in the barn"
"His father wanted to borrow a horse:"
"A horse? Why?"
I didn't ask-just gave him one'
"He's not who we think he is, Pa. He speaks English"
"What's that?"
"He said he wasn't going to hurt me. But I don't believe him.
Even if he's as well-spoken as a white man, he's still a savage"
She shook her head in dismay. "We've opened our door to them
and made fools of ourselves, believing he spoke only Shawnee.
All this time he's been misleading us-making us think-"
"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
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