by Norah Hess
"Well," Milly snapped, offended at his rough manner, "you shouldn't have spent so much time in that little bitch's bed. I hope you know that she only let you bed her because Hunter O'Hara wasn't there to satisfy her."
Fletch jerked up in bed, his rage making Milly catch her breath. "If you don't get off this bed right now, I swear I'll knock you off."
Milly jumped to her feet and moved out of his reach as she continued, "Just because you don't want to hear the truth doesn't mean it isn't so. She meets O'Hara at Big Bertha's place every Thursday. If you don't believe me, just watch around one o'clock tomorrow and you'll see her leave her cabin and walk toward the pleasure house. Then, if you keep watchin', you'll see O'Hara leave his place and go to Big Bertha's too. They always stay there at least a couple hours."
"You're lying, woman." Fletch glared at Milly. "You forget that he bartends in the tavern. I'd know if he left it."
"And you forget that he doesn't work on Thursdays," Millie shot back. "Old Elisha fills in for him."
Was Milly telling the truth? Fletch thought rapidly. Now that he remembered, O'Hara didn't work on Thursdays. Did he and Laura meet at the pleasure house then? Jealousy was added to the rage inside him as he remembered Laura repulsing him this morning. Was it because she was involved with the Southerner?
A thought struck him that made his eyes glitter. Had it been Hunter O'Hara all the time? Was he Jolie's father? There could be blonds among his relatives. His mother or his father.
His voice was dangerously quiet when he looked at Milly and ordered, "Get out."
Milly wished that she could recall every word she had said as she spun around and practically ran from the room. The very devil had shone out of Fletch's eyes. She feared that she had ruined any chances of ever getting Fletch for her husband. Before she got home, however, she had convinced herself that after Fletch cooled down she could eventually get back to her old footing with him.
Sleep deserted Fletch. He was too torn up inside even to close his eyes. Milly had sounded too truthful when she said that Laura met O'Hara at Bertha's every week. He couldn't say he was surprised. O'Hara was handsome, had courtly ways, and always acted the gentleman, even with the whores.
But why hadn't Laura married him when she found that she was carrying his baby? Why foster it off on Pa?
Because Hunter O'Hara has nothing, the little voice inside him whispered. He couldn't provide for her and a child. He couldn't even buy the land to build her a shack on. Miss Laura wouldn't want to lose her comfortable home and easy living. She'd also want her child to have the same good life.
"And carry on with the Southerner as usual," Fletch growled to himself.
Suddenly he felt that he had to get out of the cabin, to walk around outside, try to decide what in the world he was going to do. He couldn't endure the way things were much longer.
Fletch avoided the shoveled paths, striking out through the woods in back of the cabin. He didn't want to run into anyone and have to talk while his mind was in such turmoil.
It wasn't hard walking. The trees grew so close together there was scarcely eight inches of snow on the ground. Fletch had walked for about half an hour, thinking and rethinking his suspicions about Laura and Hunter O'Hara, when he heard female voices from back of the Morse place. He wondered if lazy George had sent his women out to hunt or gather wood for their fireplace. He had done it before, according to gossip.
I'll give them a hand, he thought, and walked in the direction of the voices. He stopped short when he rounded a large pine. A few yards away Agnes and her oldest daughter, Mary, each gripping an ankle of George, were dragging him through the snow. The way the fat man's head wobbled, Fletch knew he was dead.
Which of the family had killed him? he asked himself That had to be the case, otherwise why were they taking George out into the woods for the wolves to find him?
The teenager Jebbie wasn't involved, Fletch decided. Otherwise he instead of his sister would be helping his mother. Had it been the girl who had done George in? He thought not. George had been a worthless father in- not providing for his children, but to Fletch's knowledge he had never mistreated them.
That left Agnes. God knew she had ample reason to kill the man. She was worn out from his using her, breeding her as if she were one of his cows and bragging about it, shaming her.
I guess I should just turn around and walk away; Fletch decided, and at that moment Agnes looked up and saw him. Her face, which had been red from exertion, turned deathly white.
They stood gazing at each other for several seconds; then Fletch walked up to Agnes and said gently, "Let me give you a hand, Agnes." Agnes's mouth gaped open a moment; then she stepped aside, letting Fletch take her place. He smiled at Mary and they moved forward.
"It was an accident, Fletch," Agnes said, walking alongside him. "This morning while I was milking the cow he came into the barn and ordered me to lie down. I've had a misery in my side all winter and I knew I couldn't bear his weight on me. I rose as if to mind him, but in-stead I grabbed up the pitchfork lying nearby and held it in front of me. It was the first time I ever tried to defend myself, and he let out a roar and charged at me. He rammed against the fork. I guess one of the tines pierced his heart, because he fell down dead."
She looked up at Fletch, tears running down her thin cheeks. "I guess you'll tell the village folks."
"I guess you're wrong, Agnes," Fletcher answered quietly. "I'm not telling you anything except how to handle this."
While Agnes and Mary waited, their eyes glued hopefully on him, Fletcher told them what he had hurriedly thought out. "First, I'm going to roll George's body into that ravine about a dozen yards from here. Then tonight when it's full dark, Agnes, you go to the post and tell whoever is there that George went hunting and hasn't returned home yet. Say that you're afraid he might have been set upon by wolves."
"Now, there will only be a sickle moon tonight, plus it's cloudy. The men won't be in no hurry to go out into them wolf-infested woods to look for a man they don't like in the first place. But if by chance one or two should stir themselves, you point them in the opposite direction from here."
"God bless you, Fletch," young Mary said when her mother was too choked with tears to voice her thanks. When they came to the shallow ravine, Fletch said, "Agnes, you and Mary look about frozen. Go on back to your cabin and I'll take care of the rest." Agnes squeezed his arm with thin, gloveless fingers; then she and her daughter turned around and trudged back toward the shack they called home.
When they were out of sight, Fletch dragged the heavy body to the edge of the depression in the earth, and with one shove sent it rolling down into it. "Too bad you were such a bastard, George Morse," he said. "May God have mercy on your soul."
The next morning Fletch learned that Agnes had done as he had advised her. When full darkness settled in, she had gone to the tavern, a lantern in her hand and Jebbie at her side. Her announcement that George hadn't come home from hunting hadn't made much of an impression on the men gathered there. One man expressed the opinion that it was too dark for him to go looking, and the others agreed, saying that they'd search the woods tomorrow morning.
"He went into the north woods," Agnes said as she opened the door and left, Jebbie behind her.
When she and the teenager were out of hearing distance, one of the trappers voiced everybody's thought. "It'll be a useless, cold trip. We won't find anything but ole George's clothes and a pile of bones."
Chapter Fourteen
Two weeks had passed and George Morse's disappearance had made only a slight stir in the village. Four men had made a halfhearted attempt to search the forest back of the post. They had returned within an hour saying that they had found no trace of the man.
As far as anyone knew, only his sister, Martha Louden, had shed any tears when it was decided that the wolves had gotten the fat man. Martha, however, showed no sympathy toward her sister-in-law, nieces, and nephews. When asked if she would be helping them
out over the winter months, she had answered coolly, "No, I will not. Agnes would only waste the money."
"You mean like buying food with it?" old Elisha had asked sarcastically, which the widow ignored.
But others had pitched in to help out Agnes and her brood. Fletch looked at the big glass pickle jar he had placed on the counter for donations. It was almost full of greenbacks and loose change. Reverend Stiles had passed the basket for the Morses at last Sunday's meeting and was pleased with his parishioners' generosity. All last week Big Bertha had charged the men a little extra for the use of her girls and had turned that money over to the store to be used for provisions for the Morse family.
Maida and Justine had gone to the families with children, asking for any clothing they could spare. And the day after George's disappearance, Taylor had sent over a side of beef, a hundred-pound bag of potatoes, and other staples the family might be out of.
Fletch felt a real sense of pride for the people of Big Pine. They looked out for each other. He looked up at the clock. It was time to pick up Pa's lunch. As he shrugged into his jacket he knew that Laura would be watching for him through the window. As soon as she saw him coming she would set the basket out on the porch, then lock the door behind her.
She is wise to do that, he thought wryly. He ached for her so badly, he would surely try to seduce her. As Fletch made his way up the tunnel-like path to the cabin he remembered that it was Thursday. Laura would be meeting O'Hara at Big Bertha's place today.
Milly hadn't lied when she told him that if he watched he would see the two of them go to the pleasure house about ten minutes apart. When he had seen it happen, it had taken all his willpower not to go after them. He had wanted so badly to beat O'Hara to a pulp and haul Laura home. But she'd had Jolie with her, and he didn't want to fight in front of the little one.
But how it had hurt, thinking how the baby's father would play with her and hold her for a while before taking her mother into one of Bertha's back bedrooms. His stomach had tied in knots as he visualized them in bed together, making love. Did Laura respond to the Irishman the same way she did with him?
As he had expected, the basket sat waiting on the porch for him. The wolf dog that Laura had named Brave stuck his head out of the doghouse that someone had made for him. The growl in his throat died away when he recognized Fletch.
"You're getting to be quite handsome with all that good food you get now, aren't you, fellow?" Fletch said, wishing he dared pat the large head. So far, the dog allowed only Laura to touch him. He acted like a foolish puppy with her, jumping around, wanting her to play with him.
Fletch picked up the pail, muttering sourly, "You're like all the other males in Big Pine. They all want to play with her too. But none as badly as me," he added as he struck off for the post.
Taylor was sitting on the edge of the cot when Fletch brought the lunch basket to him. Daniel had made him a pair of crutches, and each day as his leg mended, he used them a little longer. He spent a lot of his daylight hours in the store and tavern, happy to have the company of friends and neighbors again.
As Fletch transferred Taylor's lunch onto a tray and placed it on the bed beside him he noted the bright afghan around his shoulders. "Where'd you get that? I've never seen it before." He arched a teasing eyebrow at his father. "Did Widow Louden knit it for you?"
"I wouldn't be wearing it if she did." Taylor dipped a spoon into the potato soup Laura had sent him. "Laura gave it to me last week. It's my Christmas gift from her and Jolie."
Fletch realized with a start that Christmas had come and gone while he and Laura were at the Indian village. "Did the usual celebrating go on?" Fletch asked.
"No, it was kinda gloomy. No one had the holiday spirit, worrying if influenza was going to spread to the village. But thanks to you and Laura, there's no more threat of that."
Butterfly had visited Taylor last night, the first time in two weeks. Fletch wondered if they had managed to make love, what with Pa's leg in splints. He remembered the old saying, Where there's a will there's a way. Pa looked so relaxed today, Fletch was pretty sure they had found a way.
It seemed to him that everybody except himself had found ways of making love. Milly had wheedled her way back into their cabin, and last night in a desperate effort to banish Laura from his mind he had given in to Milly's urging and had taken her to bed. He had been embarrassed and Milly had been enraged when, despite everything she tried, he remained flaccid.
She had finally jumped out of bed, yelling, "Did you freeze that damn thing when you were in Canada, or is it that whorin' little bitch Laura that has you actin' like a gelded stallion?" She had flounced out of the cabin, and hadn't been back. In one sense he was relieved, in another a little disappointed. If she wasn't hanging around him, how could he pretend to Laura that they were lovers?
"How are Laura and the little one?" Taylor asked after taking a swallow of coffee. "Did you tell her I wanted to see them?"
"I forgot to," Fletch lied. He didn't want Taylor to know that things were worse than ever between him and Laura.
"That was real nice of Hunter to make Laura's dog a house, wasn't it?"
"Oh, yes, O'Hara's a very obliging fellow," Fletch said.
Taylor heard the sarcasm in Fletch's tone and, frowning at him, said, "I thought you and Hunter had made it up since your fight. You sound like you're ready to fight him again. Have you had words?"
You don't know how badly I want to fight him again, Pa, Fletch thought, a nerve jerking in his jaw. I'd like to tear him apart. But what he said was, "No, we haven't had words. Sometimes he just rubs me the wrong way."
Taylor's eyes twinkled. "I imagine sometimes you do the same thing to him. You two remind me of two bull moose, each afraid the other is going to move in on his territory."
Fletch gave his father a narrowed look, wondering what he meant by that. He didn't ask him, though, as he picked up the tray and went back into the store. He idled about a bit, swearing that he would not watch out of the window to see if Laura went to Bertha's this Thursday.
But no matter how hard he tried not to, his eyes kept straying toward the window. His hands clenched into fists when in about 15 minutes the cabin door opened and Laura stepped out onto the porch. A bundled-up Jolie was clasped to her breast. He waited a few minutes, then, knowing that he was chancing a blow to his heart but unable to help himself, he went into the tavern and stood at the window that gave him a view of the pleasure house.
He hadn't long to wait before Hunter approached the building. When Bertha opened the door to the Southerner, Fletch wheeled around, his face stony, not answering Elisha when the old man said, "I'm gonna need more whiskey, Fletch."
Bertha had coffee and cookies waiting for Laura and Hunter. The big woman was mystified about the relationship between the pair. They were very fond of each other, there was no doubt about that. But they never asked to be alone together. They seemed content to sit at her table and visit with her.
And that was the poser. Every single man, and many married ones, would almost sell his soul to the devil to make love to Laura Thomas, and the single girls were crazy about Hunter O'Hara. Yet neither seemed eager to get into bed together.
Bertha decided that today she was going to invent some excuse to leave the pair alone together. She would give them the opportunity to use one of her rooms without having to ask, if that was their problem.
Laura and Hunter had been in her kitchen about 20 minutes, she holding Jolie, when Bertha asked, "Is it all right if I take the little one into the parlor so the girls can play with her awhile? I'll stay and keep an eye on her."
"Of course." Laura smiled. "The little scamp loves being made a fuss over."
When the madam left the kitchen, a chortling Jolie grabbing at her frizzed hair, Laura looked at Hunter with an amused grin. "She thinks we want to be alone."
Hunter nodded, his eyes twinkling. Then looking soberly at Laura he said, "Laura, you must have wondered why I haven't tried to ma
ke our friendship into something more serious."
"Not really, Hunter. But since you've brought it up, why haven't you?"
Hunter hesitated a minute, fingering the scar on his cheek. Then he said, "Do you recall me telling you I got this in the war and that I have other scars?" Laura nodded, and he went on. "The other scar that I carry robbed me of my manhood. There will never be a wife and children for me."
Shocked, Laura could only stare at Hunter, the misery in his eyes. Then making a sound of sympathy, she stood up and rounded the table to press his head against her breasts. "I am so sorry, my dear friend," she whispered.
Hunter put his arms around her waist and they stayed that way for several seconds, tears in both their eyes.
"Don't feel bad for me, Laura," Hunter said, dropping his arms from around her. "I've gotten used to it. It was hell at first. I only felt like half a man. Then an old wise Indian pointed out to me that the thing that hung between a man's legs didn't necessarily make him a man. It was what he carried inside him."
"He was so right, Hunter." Laura returned to her chair. "I have never known any man who was more manly than you."
The subject was dropped, and they talked of Taylor's birthday coming up nest week and the party Laura planned for him. When Bertha returned an hour later, she found them where she had left them, having a second cup of coffee and debating whether Taylor's party should be a surprise or not.
Laura and Hunter winked at each other, seeing the disappointment on the painted face.
Pushing back her frustration, Bertha handed the baby to Laura and poured herself a cup of coffee. The three sat around discussing the Morse family, wondering how they were getting on. "Much better, I'd think, with that lazy-ass George out of their lives," Bertha said.
Hunter agreed. "They do look happier these days. That pinched, hungry look is gone from their faces."
"And what a change in Agnes," Laura said, "you can tell that she was once a very attractive woman."
