Courting Morrow Little: A Novel Read Free Page B

cross-legged by the fire. She served him, and he ate her thick
stew with his fingers like he was starved to death.
    "Bring some clean rags-and put on a kettle to boil:' Pa said
next.
    She did so, and then, without being asked, she went to the
medicine chest mounted on a far wall. Truly, no words were
needed to see that the boy was sick. His feverish face was the
color of dried blood, and she could see small spots, like a hundred
bee stings, covering his flesh when Pa removed his buckskin
shirt.
    Standing over him, she finally found her voice, but it was as
shaky as a windblown leaf. "Boneset tea will break a fever."
    "Aye, Morrow, so it will:"
    "Is he bad sick, Pa?"
    "I'm afraid so:"
    What if he died in their care? She cast a look at the fierce
Indian again. Would he hack them to pieces with the tomahawk
hanging from his belt? Fear chewed a hole in her stomach, and
she thought she might be ill herself.

    Beside her, Pa ran a hand over his sandy beard. "Empty the
water bucket and fill it with snow. We've got to pack him in it to
bring the fever down. Then we'll try to break it with boneset"
    The wind had driven a foot of snow against the cabin steps,
and she scooped some of it up, filling the bucket. She heaved it
to the bed, so addled she left the door open. Finished with the
stew, the tall Indian shut the door for her, then stood at the foot
of the bed watching them, his face like brown granite. Under
his scrutiny they worked, packing the boy in new snow, the icy
shards shining like broken glass against his dusky skin.
    "Strain the tea and we'll ease it down, Pa told her.
    She worked carefully, efficiently, trying to still her shaking.
Using a small spoon, they slowly fed the boy the tea, only to have
it come up again. She remembered Aunt Sally, the settlement
midwife, saying, "Boneset tea will nearly always break a fever, but
makes you ill when taken hot:" In her befuddlement, Morrow had
forgotten. She surveyed the mess, about to burst into tears.
    "Let's pray," Pa said when they'd cleaned things up, as if it was
the Sabbath and he was finishing a sermon. Only this time he
got down on his knees. She darted a glance at the Indian at the
foot of the bed. Would he pray too? Did Indians pray?
    She knelt down beside Pa, folding her small, cold hands. Only
the Almighty could help them now, and revive the sodden feather
tick twice ruined by Indians. She hardly heard what Pa prayed.
When he finished, he attempted to talk to the tall man while
Morrow stood by the strange boy and watched the snow melt
against his feverish skin.
    He looked to be older than she, perhaps the same age as Jess
would be now. His hair was almost as long as hers but stickstraight where hers curled a bit. It was the first time in her life
she'd seen an Indian up close. Some of the settlement women
said the savages had black hearts. She wished he'd open his eyes
so she could see if his eyes were black as well.

    "What kind of Indian do you reckon he is?" she whispered
when Pa returned to the bed.
    He eyed her thoughtfully. "Shawnee, I think:"
    She looked up at him, mouth agape, fresh fear in her heart.
    "If it were Jess lying there so ill among the Shawnee, I hope
someone would care for him, he said.
    She bit her lip. There was no use arguing with Pa, as he always
had the right answers straight from Scripture. She said before he
could, "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good
to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use
you, and persecute you:"
    He smiled. "Well done, Morrow"
    The Shawnee stayed for four days. As she and Pa tended to
the boy, the tall Indian would go hunting in deep snow, bringing
in all manner of meat. Rabbit, deer, even buffalo.
    When the boy's spots receded and Morrow's began, the Indians finally went away. She lay on the filthy feather tick and
wanted to die, but Pa and the Almighty kept her alive.
    "You're meant to live, Morrow," Pa told her, rocking her by
the