by Norah Hess
ROMANTIC TIMES PRAISES NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR NORAH HESS!
LARK
"As with all Ms. Hess's books, the ending is joyous for everyone. The road to happiness is filled with wonderful characters, surprises, passion, pathos and plot twists and turns as only the inimitable Norah Hess can create."
LACEY
"Emotions leap off the pages and right into the reader's heart. You'll savor every word."
FLINT
"Ms. Hess has once again created a memorable love story with characters who find a place in readers' hearts."
FANCY
"The lively action... from the talented Ms. Hess is sure to catch your FANCY."
SNOW FIRE
"Ms. Hess fills.. .each page with excitement and twists. This warm and sultry romance is a perfect dessert for a cold winter day."
RAVEN
"Ms. Hess has again written a steamy love story [that] moves along as fast as a herd of buffalo. There's evil, laughter, sexy romance, earthy delights and a cast of characters to keep the reader turning the pages."
Matt straightened up. He had thought right. He began slowly to realize that this simple, young hill girl wasn't so simple after all. She was highly sensitive and had a deep awareness of decency. Guilt stirred inside him. If it bothered her that much, he wouldn't bring other women to the cabin.
He gazed down at the tangled mass of hair, trying to see the face behind it. Blue eyes stared back at him.
Turning from her, a surprising truth hit him. Marna was, in most ways, clean and sweet-smelling. There was a scent about her that reminded him of wild roses that grew in the hedges back home. He recalled the milky white of the perfectly shaped breasts and grew more confused. He turned back to gaze at her, his eyes drawn to the white column of her throat and the full breasts pushing against the thin material of her dress. He fought the urge to lay hands on her, to rip open the buttons and feast his eyes on the cherry-tipped mounds.
Other books by Norah Hess:
CALEB'S BRIDE
LARK
LACEY
TENNESSEE MOON
FLINT
SNOW FIRE
RAVEN
SAGE
DEVIL IN SPURS
TANNER
KENTUCKY BRIDE
WILLOW
JADE
BLAZE
KENTUCKY WOMAN
HAWKE'S PRIDE
MOUNTAIN ROSE
FANCY
WINTER LOVE
FOREVER THE FLAME
WILDFIRE
STORM
NORAH HESS
For Jackie.
This title was previously published by Dorchester Publishing; this version has been reproduced from the Dorchester book archive files.
It was early October. Fall had arrived, and nature's beauty was a splendid sight in the hills. The slight though rounded figure of a girl leaned against a tall stone ledge, a raised arm shielding her eyes from the bright autumn sun. She was unwashed, and her hair hung in greasy strands. Her bare toes dug into the warm earth.
A blackbird, high in a tree, eyed her curiously. She eyed it back a moment; then, taking up the slender fishing pole at her feet, she poked among the branches. "Get going, you old black crow. It's none of your business if I'm going fishing. Grandma won't care.. .very much. She's been hankering for some catfish. Said so this morning."
With a scolding caw, the bird flapped out of the tree, winging its way into the forest. The girl made a graceful leap over a narrow gully and landed on a beaten path on the other side. She climbed upward with lithe, quick steps, arguing inwardly, I'll be back before Grandma even knows I'm gone.
Her feet rustling the dry leaves, she reached the crest of the hill, then started downward. From below came the sound of rushing water. Her feet didn't make a false step as she hurried toward the riverbank. A subtle smile hovered around her lips. The river was not to be trusted, but she loved it with all her wild little heart.
Humming softly under her breath, she unwound the line from the pole. She reached into a pocket and brought out a small gourd, which she tied some sixteen inches from the end of the line. This homegrown float would carry the line swiftly into the center current. After skewering a piece of salt pork on the barbed hook, the girl drew back her arm and whipped the line into the water. Then, squatting down on the rocky bank, she hugged her dirty knees to her. Her shoulders were hunched under the thin sweater she wore as she concentrated on the bobbing gourd.
Three slick, black catfish lay flopping the reeds when the sound of metal on stone brought the girl to her feet, terror widening her eyes.
The old woman stood halfway up the hill. Her hand caught and held back the wispy, gray-streaked hair that the wind had torn loose from its knotted roll. She peered out over the valley, her eyes anxious. Shaking her head, she muttered, "Where has that young `un gone off to?"
Her thin, careworn face drew itself into grim lines, and as she turned to take up her laborious climb, she mumbled darkly, "I'll wallop that girl good when I get my hands on her."
Gaining the top of the hill, she leaned against a frosttinted maple to catch her breath. Then, cupping blueveined hands to her mouth, she called as loudly as her reedy voice would allow, "Marniiiie, Marnie Traver, answer me, you little dickens."
But the only answer old Hertha Aker received was the echo of her own words.
Squinting her eyes against the white glare of the sun, she stared down at the nameless river winding its way across the valley floor. Marna loved to fish. Would she defy Hertha's orders and fish there alone? But, though her peering eyes could see the flowing water, the old woman's eyesight was too poor to see whether or not a young girl fished there. She sighed and sat down on a tree stump, resting her hands on her bony knees. "Dadratted girl. I told her a hundred times not to go too far away from the cabin."
Hertha pulled a long-stemmed clay pipe from the pocket of the man's jacket that hung loosely over her sharp shoulders and filled it with tobacco from another pocket. After fumbling in her apron a moment, she brought out a flint and struck it. Puffing noisily, the smoke erupting in little jerks, she continued to worry aloud about her granddaughter.
"I hope Emery and his rag-tailed friends don't come across her. Them randy bastards would be atwixt her legs faster'n a person could spit. And that Emery, he'd probably be eggin' 'em on, chargin' 'em for it."
Hertha Akers had been deeply concerned about her granddaughter for more than two years. Marna had been a beautiful baby, and she was fast developing into a beautiful woman. She had matured early, having her first monthly at age eleven.
To hide the girl's fully grown figure from Hertha's husband, Emery, Hertha had kept the child-woman in loosely constructed gowns of homespun. She had forbade Marna to brush the rich, reddish brown hair, and now it hung in matted strands across a face purposely dirt-streaked. To all outward appearances, Marna was just a grubby, unattractive girl.
Besides keeping Marna's maturity and unusual good looks a secret from her grandfather, Hertha had so far been successful in making him believe that the girl was only thirteen. Actually, she had passed her fifteenth birthday, but the two-year difference didn't signify a great deal in these hills. Here, a girl of thirteen was considered of marrying age.
But recently Emery had taken to studying his granddaughter, and Hertha's blood ran cold whenever his mean, slitted eyes passed over the slim figure, probing and gauging. She knew that his evil brain was hatching ways to benefit himself through the girl. Hertha sighed and rose stiffly to her feet. That old devil would swap Marna for a jug of whiskey if he was dry enough.
Making her slow way to the old cabin she had called home for fourteen years, Hertha's thoughts went winging back to her youth in England.
Her beloved mother had passed away in
the year 1706, leaving Hertha at the age of eighteen without any relatives. Widowed for many years, the mother had left only a modest little house and a small amount of money.
Fortunately, her mother had been adamant about her education, so Hertha was quite sure she'd be able to earn a living somehow: Each morning she dressed herself neatly and went looking for work. But two weeks passed and she was unable to find anything. Then, late one afternoon, tired and despondent after futilely walking the streets all day, she stopped in a shop for tea and biscuits. As she mentally counted her rapidly vanishing money, her interest was caught and held by the conversation between a man and woman at the table behind her.
"There's such a scarcity of decent women in the Colonies," the man was saying, "a woman could be guaranteed a husband almost immediately."
An excited flutter of hope stirred in Hertha's breast as she paid her bill and hurried home. The sale of the house and its furnishings would pay her passage to America, she planned.
And so she made her way to Philadelphia, and in a week's time she had met and married a polite young cooper, Emery Aker, who was regarded as one of the best when it came to making and repairing barrels and tubs. Hertha was anxious to have a warm, comfortable home and security.
But on her wedding night, Hertha's dream turned into a nightmare. Her new husband became a stranger on the closing of the bedroom door.
She turned to him, expecting to be taken into gentle arms as had been his custom in the past. But his eyes stared so strangely at her that she gasped and stepped back. His face took on a fiendish leer, and for the first time she caught the odor of whiskey on his breath. His brutal fingers ripped at her bodice, baring her breasts, and he was upon her like an enraged animal.
The long night was agony for Hertha, as Emery brutally raped her repeatedly. By morning she was delirious with fever, close to losing her mind, and-as she discovered later-with child.
A kind physician brought Hertha back to health and threatened Emery with hanging if he were ever to lay a hand on her again. Frightened by the threat, Emery avoided Hertha and turned to whores to satisfy his desires, often bringing them into the house.
In Philadelphia's worst blizzard of the year, Hertha's baby was born. It was a perfectly shaped, healthy little girl. When its first strong cry rang out, Hertha's love for the child was overwhelming. At last she had someone to love, and someone to love her back.
She named the baby Hester, after Hertha's dead mother. Emery took no notice of the child, only grumbling once that it wasn't a boy. Hertha made no response to his remark, but she thought, Thank God, little one, that you aren't a male. He would only raise you to be like himself.
From the beginning Hester was a good baby. She flourished under Hertha's tender care and grew into a beautiful child. When she was five, Hertha began to teach her to read and write and do sums. Every afternoon they sat in the small room added onto the oneroom house and went over her lessons.
The room, only about a year old, represented a personal victory for Hertha. Since the age of three, Hester had become increasingly curious about the activities going on between the man and his women in the big bed. Hertha had pleaded with Emery for another room so that their daughter wouldn't see his "carrying on." But he had only laughed, remarking, "Let her watch. It won't be too long before she's doin' the same thing herself. She'll know what's expected of her and won't turn out like her milksop mother."
In desperation Hertha had turned to the doctor who had saved her life. The good man called at the shack and took Emery outside and talked to him for some time. The next day the room was started.
It was not the fanciest room in the world. It was small, with a slanting roof, and boasted only one tiny window. But the rudely constructed fireplace drew well, and there was space for their bed and two rockers.
Hester was a bright child, and in the years that sped by, she learned everything her mother could teach her. Their good friend the doctor stopped by often, his arms full of books. Hester would carry them into the little room and devour them, page by page. At mealtimes Hertha would have to coax her to the table.
When Hester was thirteen, the doctor, worn out and in his eighties, contracted the flu and was dead in a few days. Hertha's grief was twofold. Not only had she lost a dear friend, but she lost her only protection in Philadelphia.
Even before the old man's funeral, a change took place in the Aker household. Emery ordered Hertha back to his bed, and the horror of her wedding night began all over again. Night after night she bit her lips until they bled, holding back the sound of her pain. She would put up with any torture so long as Hester did not see the indignities forced upon her mother.
With the doctor gone, a new threat hovered over Hertha. She worried constantly over Hester's future. She often caught Emery staring at the girl, a calculating gleam in his eyes. Hester was tall for her age and fully developed. Each time Emery looked at his daughter, Hertha's heart raced in dread, knowing what he was thinking.
Then one night Emery returned from the tavern, bringing with him a man named Egan Traver. Hertha recognized the flashy gambler immediately. He was well known in the seamy back streets of the city. He was involved in every business that operated on the outskirts of the law, and he owned and ran the largest redlight district in Philadelphia. He was pushing forty but still retained hard good looks.
When he held out a smooth, firm hand to Hertha, a large diamond flashed on his little finger. She took his hand, shook it once, then dropped it quickly. Racing through her mind was the question, What does this man want here?
When Hester entered the room and Traver's eyes fell hungrily upon her, Hertha's suspicions were confirmed. The man was here for one reason only. Springing to Hester's side, Hertha cried out, "Forget my little girl, Mr. Traver. She's not going with you."
The words were barely out of her mouth when Emery was upon her. His rough palm smacked against her face so hard that tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. "Shut your mouth, you bitch," Emery yelled, grasping her arm and twisting. "I'll be the one to decide that."
Traver, a dark frown on his face, moved in swiftly and grabbed Emery by the shoulder. Spinning him around, he said angrily, "Take it easy, Aker. There's no need to get violent."
When the man turned back to Hertha, there was a glimmer of pity in his eyes. "I don't want to take your daughter away, Mrs. Aker," he said softly. "I have the most honorable intentions toward her. I came here to get your permission to call on Hester-to come courting her."
Hertha's eyes grew wide, and she gasped, "But you're too old. She won't be but fourteen next month." She stepped back and eyed him with mistrust. "You've only seen her this one time. How could you know that you want to come courting Hester?"
Traver gave a small, easy laugh. "I've seen Hester before, Mrs. Aker. I've seen her many times. I've seen her on the streets with you, and all last summer I saw her out back, working in your garden. I've been watching her close to a year now." The gambler turned his head and looked boldly at Hester. "She has filled my eyes with her beauty."
Hester blushed and looked down at the floor, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her apron. The firelight shone on her red-brown hair and cast a rosy glow on her cheeks. Hertha's heart sank. Hester was indeed a beautiful girl, and her innocence would naturally attract the jaded gambler.
Hertha brought her gaze back to Egan Traver and frowned at the desire on his rough face. Speaking sharply, she said, "I'll have to talk privately to Hester about it. We'll let you know tomorrow."
Emery would have interrupted, but Egan motioned him to silence. Nodding to Hertha, he smiled. "That will be fine, Mrs. Aker."
The door closed behind him, and Emery swung around to Hertha. Grabbing her arm and shoving it up between her shoulders, he half screamed, "Slut! Why did you tell him that? Do you think he will change his mind if you dillydally?" He shoved her away from him, yelling, "I ought to wring your skinny neck."
Hertha reeled across the room, coming up against the
wall with a dull thud. Hester ran to her side, crying out anxiously, "Oh, Marna, are you hurt?"
Shaking her head to clear it, Hertha forced a smile to her lips. "I'm all right, dear. It takes more than a whack on a wall to hurt me."
Emery's eyes narrowed at Hertha's words. With a snarl he bounded across the floor and took her arm in a viselike grip. She winced in pain as he twisted slowly, cruelly. Then, grinning wolfishly, he gave her a sharp push toward the bed. "Get your bony self on that bed and I'll show you pain."
Her eyes full of dread for her mother, Hester gave a small cry and grabbed her father's arm. "No, no, Papa. Don't hurt Marna. There's no need. I want Mr. Traver to come courting me."
Both parents stared at her, Emery with surprised pleasure and Hertha with startled disbelief.
His lips spread in a wide grin, Emery patted his daughter's shoulder clumsily. "You're a good daughter, Hessie. Egan will make you a fine husband. He'll see to it that your Maw and Paw are taken care of, too."
Hertha's face blazed with anger, and she lashed out, "You mean that he'll supply you with whiskey and whores." She stepped up to him and stared unafraid into his small, glittering eyes. "I won't have it. I will not allow you to sell my daughter."
Emery's face went black with fury at her unexpected impertinence. Raising his knotted fist, he thundered, "Who is asking your permission? I have only given you a choice. The girl can either marry Traver or go to work for him in one of his whorehouses. Either way, he gets her."
Hertha's face went white. "You wouldn't do that Even you wouldn't sell your daughter into sin."
Emery threw back his shaggy head, and his laugh was a hideous sound in the room. "Wouldn' I just," he roared. "You watch me."
He clapped his hat on his head and slammed out the door.
On Hester's fourteenth birthday, in a quiet ceremony, she married Egan Traver. Hertha cried bitter tears through the preacher's words, while Emery, at her side, snored drunkenly.
As Mrs. Egan Traver, Hester moved out of the shabby little house and into fine rooms above Egan's gambling parlor. Hertha saw her daughter only three times after her marriage. On the last visit she announced she was with child. Hertha gazed at her with stricken eyes. "Oh, Hester, you are so young. Promise me that you'll take care of yourself while you're waiting."
