by Norah Hess
Marna's head jerked up, startled. "What do you mean, Grandma?"
"I mean you washed your face one day and took a look."
Marna dropped her eyes. "How did you know? You were down in the hollow, picking blackberries."
"I saw the pan of dirty water when I came home." She laughed sarcastically. "I knew that Emery hadn't washed his face."
"I'm sorry, Grandma. I just wanted to see what I'd look like with a clean face."
"And did you like what you saw?"
"I don't know. I didn't have time to take a good look. The old devil came home and I had to throw ashes on my face."
They laughed softly in companionable amusement. Hertha's constant reference to Emery as the old devil had half the settlement calling him that.
When they became serious again, Marna fidgeted a moment, then asked softly, "Grandma, may I wash my face and hair for my wedding? Be neat and clean from now on?"
Hertha sat staring thoughtfully for some moments. She wanted to say yes to the reasonable request It was only natural that a girl would want to look her best for her wedding. But the circumstances here were very different from the normal standing before the preacher. For Marna's best interests there were several things to take into consideration. For one thing, the hunter wasn't quite ready to settle down yet. He had to run awhile longer, run himself down. And then, as he had pointed out, he had a bunch of rough men living with him.
As gently as possible, she explained her refusal. "When Matt takes you to his camp, Marna, you're gonna be thrown in with a bunch of rough long hunters. For the time being I think it best you stay as you are."
"But, Grandma, the hunter won't want to take ...to make me his real wife." Marna's voice trailed off, her face crimson.
Hertha patted her clasped hands and laughed softly. "Don't fret about it, Marine. He will in time. But it's just as well he don't for a while. I want your body full grown before it's burdened with a baby. I don't want you followin' in your poor Marna's tracks." Hertha stood up stiffly. "I'm goin' for the preacher now. God willin', you'll be out of this hellhole tomorrow."
She turned to go, and Marna grabbed at her skirt With tears brimming in her eyes, she whimpered, "Will I see you anymore, Grandma, after I'm married?"
Hertha sat back down and took her in tender arms. "Hush now, child. Of course you'll see me. I'll be down the hill at least once a week to see how you're gettin' on.,,
Relief shone through Marna's tears. She rubbed grubby knuckles across her eyes, leaving a circle of white around each one. Hertha held her away, grinning. "You look like a little raccoon."
Becoming all business then, Hertha stood up and left the room.
Marna heard the outside door close softly, and she rose and put her eye to the crack in the door. Her grandfather had passed out on the floor. Her eyes dismissed him and swung to the bed. The hunter lay with his arms crossed under his head, staring up at the ceiling. What is he thinking? she wondered. Probably wishing he was a hundred miles away.
Giving a small sigh, she returned to the bed and waited.
In a very short time Hertha was back. She had in tow the old minister who had served the hill people's needs for the last five years. He cast a stern eye on the sleeping Emery and shook his head. If ever a man worked for the devil, it was Emery Aker. Old Hertha was right in taking any measure she thought necessary to get her woods queer girl out of the man's clutches.
He advanced to the bed, and Hertha opened Marna's door and motioned her out. In the fluttering light of the candle, and to the accompaniment of Emery's snoring, Marna Traver and Matt Barton were united in marriage.
Anxious for the preacher to be gone before Emery awakened, Hertha pressed some money into the preacher's hand and hustled him to the door.
Matt lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. Marna stood uncertainly a moment, then turned and went to her room. Sitting down, she stared at her ringless finger. Not only didn't she have a wedding band, the hunter had neither spoken to her nor looked at her. He had merely mumbled the required answers to the preacher with a big frown on his face. And the dratted preacher, as if sensing Matt's distaste, had omitted the phrase, "You may kiss the bride."
In the first gray light of dawn the cabin was roused by Emery's loud bellow. "Hertha, you old witch. Where's my whiskey?"
Hertha emerged from a curtained-off corner, fully dressed. Matt propped himself on an elbow and saw Hertha dodge Emery's threatening fist as she made her way to the fireplace. She raked back the ashes and laid kindling on the glowing coals. When hungry flames licked up the chimney, she moved to the table to fill the coffeepot.
Matt reached down, felt of his leg, and grunted in satisfaction. The swelling was gone, and only a little soreness remained. His lips lifted sardonically. He'd be able to leave with his bride. He wondered how much trouble he'd have with the old man.
Suffering the aftereffects of too much whiskey, Emery paced the floor in his dirty underwear. An overpowering odor of stale whiskey rose to assail Matt's nostrils.
Emery threw himself into a chair and stared belligerently about him. Hertha slipped Matt's shirt off the peg and hurried it to him. "Get dressed," she whispered, then added, "and don't forget your knife."
Understanding her meaning, Matt nodded. His eyes took on an an amused twinkle and he thought, Hell, I won't need a knife to tame that old rooster.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slipped on his buckskins. Pulling the matching shirt over his head, he reached for his footgear. He had just finished lacing his moccasins when Emery stood up and turned his back to the fire. For the first time his eyes fell on Matt. He stared in surprise.
"Who in the hell are you?" he finally growled.
Matt stood up, strapped on his knife, then moved toward his new in-law. "Don't you remember me, Grandpa Aker?" he grinned devilishly. "I'm Matt Barton, Mama's new husband."
Huddled beside the fire, Hertha gasped. She hadn't wanted the news to come out so suddenly. All hell would break loose now.
Emery stared at Matt openmouthed, mulling over Matt's words. Their meaning came to him, and his roar filled the cabin. "What in the blazes are you talkin' about? Mania's husband! I'll be the one to pick her husband. She's gonna bring me a good price, ugly face and all."
"Sorry, Aker," Matt said coolly. "You're too late. While you were passed out drunk, I had a preacher tie me and Marna up."
Rage leaped out of the madman's eyes, and he trembled in his fury. Giving a deep, low growl, he turned on Hertha. His hands reaching for her throat, he yelled, "You're behind this, you old witch."
Before he could reach the cringing woman, Matt grabbed him and spun him around. For a moment Emery glared blindly at the man who had robbed him. Then, uttering an animallike sound, he threw himself at Matt, his head boring for his stomach. Matt stepped aside, and his rock-hard fist smashed between the redrimmed eyes. There came the sound of crunching bones, and blood splattered the floor.
Emery hit the floor hard, shaking his head dazedly. Matt squatted down beside him. Catching the whiskered jaws in a viselike grip, he jerked Emery's head around and glared into the fear-filled eyes. "Listen to me good, you old bastard. I'm takin' Marna, and there's nothin' you can do about it. And if I ever hear that you've laid a hand on Hertha, I'll come back and take her away, too." He released the blood-streaming face and stood up. "You think on my words. With her gone, you'll have no one to sponge off of."
Matt turned to Hertha. "Is the girl ready, Grandma?"
A jubilant gleam in her eyes, Hertha hurried to Marna's room.
She returned almost immediately, Marna behind her. Her doe eyes swimming in tears, reluctant and afraid, she clutched a small bundle of clothes. For the second time pity for her ran through Matt.
Stubbornly he thrust the soft feeling from him and looked away. He didn't want to have any kind of feeling for this strange girl.
Hertha kissed Marna good-bye, and Matt and his new wife left for the camp that would be Marna's new
home.
It was not a happy pair who took the trail to Matt's camp. There was utter silence between them, each busy with his own thoughts.
Matt visualized the amusement that would creep into the hunters' eyes when he introduced this girl as his wife. They would remember how particular he was about the women he lay with, always insisting that they be clean and attractive. God, how they would snicker behind his back.
He shook his head in puzzlement Why did old Hertha let Marna go around dirty and yet keep clean clothing on her? For instance, the dress she wore now. It was worn thin and patched in a dozen places but was scrupulously clean and ironed smooth.
He shook his head again. Those two were certainly a pair.
Marna's thoughts were on the new life ahead. What would it be like? Would she be able to take proper care of a husband? Did she cook well enough, sew well enough?
She decided that she could. Grandma had said many times that she was a good cook and handled a needle well. And Grandma never lied.
About the other side of marriage, she knew she needn't worry. Her husband would never take her into his bed. Still, she wondered what it would be like to rest her head on his shoulder, how it would feel to lie in his arms. At that thought she blushed crimson.
The stallion gave a lurch as it stepped on a loose rock. Marna grabbed at the saddle, afraid to throw her arms around her husband's back. If she were to be that bold, he might make her get down and walk.
After a few miles of riding around ravines and large boulders, the mount started a descent into a shadowy hollow. Marna heard the rush of water before they rounded a bend and saw the river. She gave a small exclamation of pleasure at the beauty of the clear running water.
On the opposite side of the river the wilderness grew to its very edge. Great trees stretched branches over it, shading its depths at all times. Big, shiny trout lay there, waiting to be caught and placed in a frying pan.
On the side of the river where the hunters camped, there was a small clearing about fifty feet in diameter. In this hollowed-out spot lush grass grew among the scattered boulders. The hunters' horses grazed there now.
Directly in front of the largest rock formation, several men were gathered around a campfire. Matt knew they waited impatiently for Corey's squaw to prepare breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee floated to him, tantalizing his taste buds.
The riders were almost upon the group when the men looked up, their faces cracking in friendly greeting. "Where have you been, Matt?" Caleb called. "We was beginnin' to get worried."
Matt swung to the ground, disclosing Marna to their view. The men rose as one, gathering around the horse, staring up at the trembling girl. Corey spat a stream of tobacco juice at a rock and snickered, "What you got there, Matt? Is it human?"
The others would have added uncomplimentary remarks to Corey's, but Matt's body stiffened, and in a voice dangerously low he said, "This is Marna. She saved my life yesterday."
The men all spoke at once, demanding details. As they stared curiously at the bent head of tangled hair, Matt explained how the snake had bitten him and how Marna had sucked out the poison.
When Corey laid a hand on Marna's knee and leered, "She's a good sucker, eh?" Matt struck the hand away and blurted out, "She's my wife. I married her last night."
His announcement left the men staring, stunned and speechless.
Corey was the first to recover. He opened his mouth to vent his mirth, but then he glimpsed the dark warning in Matt's eyes and snapped it shut.
Wordlessly the men turned and moved back to the fire. Matt dropped the reins and followed them. Marna stared after him, disconcerted. How was she to get off this tall animal's back? She was used to riding the sturdy little Indian ponies. From atop this great black stallion, the ground seemed a great distance away.
There was only one way. She would have to slide down the horse's side. As she threw a leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, she caught Corey's beady eyes fastened on her. She looked away, knowing the look. Clutching the bundle of clothes to her, she let her gaze survey the camp.
Dirty bedrolls were scattered about and gear tossed among the cooking utensils. The men spat tobacco juice into the fire, where it sputtered and steamed against the iron pot suspended over the flames. Distaste firmed her soft lips. She stepped lightly to a tall oak several yards away and sat down.
The sun had been up a couple of hours before Dove called the men to eat They trooped over to the dirty blanket spread on the ground and scooped salt pork and beans into tin plates. Marna was surprised when Matt filled a plate and moved toward her.
"Here," he growled, thrusting the unappetizing mess at her. Then he turned on his heel and stalked back to the blanket.
Matt began conversing with the men, and Marna listened intently to the sound of his voice. Already her husband had entered her wild little heart, where only before old Hertha had held a spot.
"I'm gonna start it as soon as I finish this pipe," Matt answered in response to a question put to him. When are you men gonna start yours?"
"We started yesterday," one of the men said. Jerking his head in the direction of the forest behind him, he added, "Got all the trees chopped down back there in the woods."
"How you gonna work it?" Matt inquired. "One big place, or each man his own?"
Corey answered this time. "We ain't fancy, like some I could name. One place is good enough for us common folk."
Matt looked over at Corey, holding his gaze steadily. The man still burned from their first encounter. He would have trouble from this quarter all winter long, but he decided to let the remark pass. Matt shouldered his rifle and picked up an ax.
As he headed into the forest, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and waited for Marna to catch up with him. When she stood before him, her fingers gripped nervously together, he asked sharply, "What do you want?"
"I will go with you," she muttered.
"But I'm going to start our winter quarters," he explained, not unkindly. "You go back to camp and wait for me."
She shook her head. "I will help you," she insisted in the husky voice that roused him so strangely.
He gazed down at the stubborn set of the chin peeping through a strand of hair. His words would be wasted in argument with her. Grunting agreement, he led off, walking swiftly. Let the little witch keep up with him if she could.
But no matter how he lengthened his stride, she was always at his heels. When they had walked about fifty yards from the camp, she touched his back timidly. He swung around and demanded impatiently, "What is it now?"
She pointed to an outcropping boulder a few feet to the left of them. "There's a spring coming out of there. We'll build here," she stated flatly.
Matt stared down at her, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Look, miss, I'll be the one who decides where the hut goes."
"I'm not a miss anymore," Marna said evenly. "And since it's my home, too, with me mostly in it, I should decide where it goes."
She waited fearfully for his hand to come out and strike her down. When he only continued to stare at her in disbelief, she drew on her courage and added, "Also, it won't be a hut. It will be a regular cabin, with a wooden floor and windows."
Matt jerked threateningly toward her. "And if I say no?"
There was a touch of mischief in her soft laugh as she answered, "Then I'll have to put a hex on you... make your hound drop dead."
Despite himself, a slow smile crept up and crinkled the corners of Matt's eyes. "If anyone is capable of it," he remarked, "it's you.,,
He moved to a good-sized maple, about eight inches around, and swung the ax into the wood. Marna watched him a minute, then disappeared. She was back shortly with one of the pack horses. As fast as Matt felled a tree and trimmed it, she tied a rope to it, then attached the rope to the animal. Then, calling loudly to the horse and interjecting colorful swear words whenever she thought it necessary, she drove the animal to the spot she had selected for her home.
Surreptitiously Matt watched and listened to her, a wide grin curving his lips. He was being managed, he realized, and he didn't know whether to be angry or not.
What the hell, he thought. It don't make no difference to me.where we build. Since she's got a husband in name only, it don't hurt to let her pick the site of the cabin.
But as he chopped down one tree after the other and the sun shone hotly on his back, it came to him irritatingly that this young female had bested him in every decision. First she had had her way in accompanying him, then in the choosing of the area. Next she had insisted on a cabin, not a hut, and to top it all off, it must have a floor and windows.
A frown of suspicion furrowed his forehead. Damned if she wasn't acting like this was to be a permanent home. He leaned the ax against a tree and drew his arm across his sweating face. He'd better get things straight with her right now.
At his approach, Marna looked up and waited silently for him to speak. "Look, miss," he began, then corrected himself. "I mean Marna. I think we'd better get somethin' clear between us. This ain't no permanent quarters I'm buildin'. Come next fall, we'll be movin' on.,,
He saw her shoulders stiffen, but her voice was soft as she answered, "I understand that. I know that a long hunter always moves around. But I see no reason why we can't have a snug, two-room cabin every winter, regardless of where it might be."
Matt's eyes opened wide and he let out a roar. "Just a damned minute there. Who said anything about two rooms? Why do we need two?"
But even as he asked the question, understanding flashed in his eyes.
Mama dropped her head and moved her bare toes nervously in the dust. Matt waited for her to answer, then grew nervous himself at her continued silence.
Finally, stubbornly, he snapped, "Well, answer me."
Marna touched dry lips with the tip of her tongue. When she answered him, her voice was so low he had to bend down to hear her.
"I need the extra room for myself. I will not be an audience to your carrying on with squaws."
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.
