Marna

by Norah Hess

  He gazed down at the tangled mass of hair, trying to see the face behind it. Blue eyes stared back at him. A slow anger began to grow in him. Why should he have a guilty feeling about a female who was so dirty she stank?

  Turning from her, a surprising truth hit him. Mama 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. Certainly they had seen soap and water, and often, too. 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.

  He took a step toward her, and Marna bent over to pick a burr from her skirt. Her action broke the spell that held him. "All right," he grumbled, "you can have your damned two rooms."

  He picked up the ax and attacked the pile of logs with a consuming exertion. He must rid himself of the overpowering obsession to possess the rich, ripe body of his wife. Sweat gathered on his forehead and rolled down his face. Marna was about to move away from him when he swore softly and threw down the ax again. She looked up at him and asked, "Did you say something?"

  Angrily, Matt stared down at her. "Why don't you wash your face and brush your hair? You look like an old crone, do you know that?"

  Crushed by his words and tone, Marna could not answer immediately. She stared down at her trembling fingers, asking herself what sensible answer she could give him. It would sound so childish to say, "Grandma told me not to." Matt would never understand that kind of reasoning. She finally answered sullenly, "I will, someday."

  Matt took a step toward her. "Why someday? Why not now?"

  Marna searched her mind frantically for words that would satisfy him. If only she hadn't promised Grandma. She started when Matt repeated his question, "Why not now, Marna?"

  "The sun makes my face blister when I wash it," she blurted out, hardly aware of what she said.

  Matt narrowed his eyes at her. "Why don't you put bear grease on your face the way the Indians do? If it protects against mosquitoes, it would do the same against the sun."

  Marna felt an uncomfortable heat rush over her body. She was unused to deception. In all her life she had practiced it only on Grandpa, which didn't really count. She didn't love the evil old man. But her husband - She took a deep breath and mumbled, "It gives me a rash. Besides, I can't stand the smell of bear grease."

  Exasperation clouded Matt's eyes. "Are you tellin' me that you're never gonna wash your face?"

  There, was almost pleading in Marna's eyes as she gazed up at him. "I will, someday. When I am older. Grandma says that my skin will toughen as I grow older."

  Matt stared back at her for a long moment Then, muttering something about a strange woods queer creature, he got back to work.

  In the late afternoon, when he called a halt for the day, the pile of logs accumulated would have been enough for a one-room cabin. He looked down at his blistered hands and swore softly. He would have to cut as many tomorrow.

  Marna saw him examining his hands and reached out to take them in her own. Turning them palm up, she ran a finger lightly over the puffs of water-filled tissue. "You should have worn gloves," she remarked. "When we get back to camp, I'll fix a solution for you to soak them in."

  As she walked away from him, his eyes followed her. He was struck by how gracefully she moved, and was again aware of the rose scent

  The pack horse nudged his shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. He grabbed the reins and jerked the animal along behind him. Damn her, to walk away and leave him to bring the animal in. One of these times she was going to push him too far.

  Staking the work horse a few yards away from the stallion, Matt heard the others coming in. Some were in loud, pleasant conversation, while others grumbled about aching muscles and sore hands. He grinned crookedly. The hunters weren't used to hard labor.

  He was about to fling himself in front of the fire when Marna called to him. Annoyed, he looked up. Standing beside the tree she had marked as her own that morning, she held a steaming bowl in her hand. She gave a small jerk of her head. "Bring your blanket over here and I'll attend to your hand."

  Too tired to argue, Matt picked up the corner of the blanket and trailed it across the clearing to where she stood. He spread it out and plopped down on it Gracefully Marna settled down beside him, placing the container before his crossed knees.

  A pungent, acrid aroma floated up in the vapor, stinging his eyes. "I'm not stickin' my hands in that," he declared, "It'll take the hide right off me."

  Marna made an impatient sound, and before he knew it she had grabbed his hands and thrust them into the water. He jerked and waited for the stinging fire he knew was sure to come. But surprisingly only a soothing, drawing sensation occurred. He grunted his satisfaction, flexing his fingers slowly.

  "Keep them in there until I get back," Marna ordered.

  Used to her orders now, it didn't enter his head to disobey her.

  The hunters had watched Matt's wife ministering to him, and the camp was suddenly strangely quiet. Her bossy tenderness had brought back memories of longago years. Each recalled a mother who in his youth had tended cuts and bruises in much the same way.

  Their gaze was drawn often to Marna as she bustled around her own small fire, frying salt pork and slicing potatoes into a frying pan. Matt noted how intently the men watched for the graceful thrust of a hip or thigh as she bent to turn meat or stir potatoes, and his feelings swung between anger and amusement. Then his eyes fell on Corey, and his amusement fled. Pure lust burned in Corey's steady, burning gaze, and when he slid a hand down the front of his buckskins and openly fondled himself, Matt rose to one knee. Would the varmint lay hands on his wife next?

  The others were aware of Corey's arousal also and told themselves that it would be but a matter of time before the hunter tried something with Matt's wife.

  Marna set the heaped plates down on the blanket, then turned to Matt. She took his hands from the water and studied the palms carefully. Using the hem of her petticoat, she patted them dry. Reaching into a pocket, she brought out a small, flat tin and gently spread an aromatic salve onto each blister.

  Then she sat back on her heels and said, `The soreness will be gone soon, but wear a pair of gloves tomorrow."

  Before he could growl a retort to her command, she shoved a plate into his hand. Picking up the other one, she began to eat

  Without Matt's realizing it, she had set them apart from the others as belonging together.. .a family.

  When Matt finished the meal, grudgingly admitting to himself that it was uncommonly good, Marna gathered up the plates and forks and took them to the river. After she had scrubbed them throughly with fine sand, she returned and placed them with Matt's gear.

  While the rest of the men ate silently, too tired to engage in their usual loud, bantering chatter, Marna joined Matt with two cups of steaming coffee in her hands. Sipping the hot, fragrant liquid, he couldn't remember when he had been so relaxed and at peace with himself.

  Dusk came on, bringing a chill with it The cry of a nighthawk sweeping through the forest startled Marna and made her shiver. Matt, thinking that the night air had caused it, ran his eyes over her inadequate clothing. "I'll get you some buckskins to wear tomorrow," he said gruffly.

  Matt joined his friends at the fire and Caleb brought out a deck of soiled, dog-eared cards. His fingers riffled them dexterously a moment, then began to deal them out Marna rose and dug her blanket out of Matt's gear. Her husband wouldn't be returning to her anymore tonight.

  Spreading the blanket in the shelter of two boulders, she rolled herself in it. From her spot in the darkness she could watch Matt openly with no danger of someone reading her eyes.

  She was unused to sleeping on the ground and missed her feather bed at home. Thoughts of her g
randmother came swiftly, and already she was homesick for the old woman. How lonely she must be tonight. Had Grandpa beaten her after they had left? Her eyes became damp with pity and tenderness. Poor Grandma. She had struggled so bravely against Grandpa through the years so that her granddaughter would have a half-decent home. Suddenly she was weeping hard, her head buried in the blanket. Was she also to have the same kind of life? It was true Matt hadn't hurt her physically yet, but he had hurt her mentally a dozen times. And as for striking her, that could change any time. She had sensed the violence in him, ready to erupt at any time.

  Her heart heavy, Marna turned her back to the campfire and cried herself to sleep.

  The sun was well up when Marna awakened. The ringing sound of axes and the loud hammering of mallets filled the air. She raised her head and peered from behind her shelter. Milling around and getting into each other's way, the hunters worked ineptly at putting together their winter quarters.

  It was a haphazard-looking affair, standing starkly in the center of the clearing. The logs were of varying sizes and lengths. There was no sign of a window, and Marna mused how dark it would be inside. Also, it looked awfully small for eight people to spend a winter in it

  The thought of her own cabin thrilled Marna and brought her up on an elbow. Matt would think her lazy and uncaring about her new home. She should have been up hours ago.

  Throwing back the blankets, she found her dress hopelessly wrinkled. She frowned irritably. Her natural neatness would not let her be seen in such a slovenly manner. Her eyes traveled to where she had stored her bundle of spare clothes. It was gone!

  Marna swept to her feet, and then she saw the set of buckskins spread over a boulder behind her. They were of a small size, and she remembered Matt saying that he would get some for her.

  As she picked them up, understanding flashed in her eyes. Of course. He had sent the squaw for them last night. A pleased smile tilted her lips.

  Marna crawled back into the blankets, drawing the buckskins with her. Feeling Corey's lustful eyes upon her, she was careful to keep the covers pulled to her chin as she struggled into her new clothes.

  They were on at last, and she stood up. The fit was snug but comfortable. The softness of the tanned hides against her body felt good. She walked about in them and was delighted with her new freedom of movement. No more long skirts flapping about her legs, catching on every bush she passed. She leaned against the boulder and slipped on the beaded moccasins that lay on the ground. She smiled with pleasure. She had forgotten to bring along shoes, and in the evenings and early mornings the ground was becoming quite cold.

  Unaware of the hungry eyes that fed upon the curves the buckskins had brought to light, she hurried to the distant sound of Matt's ax.

  Matt heard Marna coming before she reached him. The soft sound of her pattering feet and the whip of the underbrush against her clothes told him she was in a hurry. His lips turned down at the corners. "Afraid I'll do somethin' without her say-so," he growled to himself.

  When her shy "Good mornin' "came across the few feet that separated them, he looked up, his blood quickening. The soft, tanned leather clung to her body like a second skin. Slender hips curved down from a tiny waist, meeting long, slim legs that moved gracefully toward him. His gaze traveled up to the proudly pointing breasts.

  The two top lacings of the shirt were undone, and he became oblivious to everything except the gentle swell of the partially bared mounds. The palms of his hands grew moist, and a hot throbbing began to beat in his loins. He wanted to possess that vibrantly alive body so badly that everything else was driven from his mind. He dropped the ax and took the one step that separated them.

  But the spell was broken as Marna asked in a small voice, "What can I do to help?"

  He drew a shuddering breath and pulled his gaze to her face. Her eyes peered at him through the tangled mass of hair, and he smothered an oath.

  Hiding the pain his ill-concealed repugnance had caused her, Marna suggested with a twisted smile, "Maybe I can start chinking between the logs."

  Matt looked away, answering disagreeably, "If you want to."

  Pushing up her sleeves, Marna began to gather dry grass. When the pile grew sufficiently tall, she went back to camp for the wooden tub to hold the red clay. Back again, she hummed happily as she mixed clay, grass, and water.

  As fast as Matt notched a log and fitted it over the last one, she was there with her mixture. Carefully and tightly she packed it in the crevices. She couldn't believe the time had gone so quickly when Matt threw down the ax and announced it was time to stop for the day.

  The next day, with three sides of the cabin up, Matt was ready to start the fireplace. He eyed the huge pile of stones heaped at one corner of the building. "You got enough stones there to build three fireplaces," he growled disagreeably.

  "It does look like a lot," Marna agreed softly. "But it takes a lot to build it big enough to take a backlog. That's the only way you can heat a cabin properly, Grandma says. Then there's the hearth. We don't want to burn the cabin down after all your hard work. And of course one end will hold the oven."

  "Now hold on there!" Matt shouted, throwing down his ax. "You might be right about the hearth, but by all that's holy, I ain't takin' no time to build a dratted oven. That ain't in no way necessary."

  "If you insist," Mama murmured, turning her back and sorting through the pile of stones. "I just thought you'd enjoy hot biscuits with your supper. Not to mention the pies and cakes I could bake in it."

  Matt picked up a stone and tossed it up and down absentmindedly. Hot biscuits and pies. Lord, that made a man's mouth water.

  Tossing the stone to the ground, he inquired surlily, "How big do you want the blasted thing?"

  Marna hid her smile. Her husband spent the day on the fireplace under her carefully camouflaged tutelage.

  When it was finished, he stood back eyeing it with pride. It was a handsome affair, he thought, taking up most of one wall. It boasted a hearth some eighteen inches tall, and almost the same in width. At one end was the clay-lined oven. He grinned wryly. What would Grandpop say to that fancy piece of work if he could see it?

  The next day Matt started on the roof. He worked rapidly, saying little other than issuing an order or request to Marna as she pushed the logs up to him. Dusk came early these days, shortening the work hours, and he must get to the business of preparing his traps. The other men had finished their place and had moved in already.

  He scowled as he pounded a log in place. The damn buzzards. Wandering over here, giving him advice while their eyes followed every move Marna made. They weren't fooling him. And that Corey, staring at Marna so intently he made her blush. Finally Matt had had enough and ordered them all away. But Caleb made some excuse for dropping by every day. Matt stopped to gaze thoughtfully before him. Maybe he was keeping an eye on the wrong man. Maybe he'd better start watching Caleb instead of Corey.

  It was early afternoon when the last log was forced into place. Mama hurried to daub it, then scrambled to the ground. There was one last thing she wanted, and it would take some arguing.

  She followed Matt inside, where he had gone to admire his fireplace before returning to camp. She stood beside him, commenting softly, "Isn't it grand? The cabin will be toasty warm on the coldest night."

  Matt nodded, and she added in a rush, "All it needs is a mantel to set it off."

  "Woman, forget it!" Matt exploded. "I'm not puttin' another lick of work on this place. A mantel is just plain foolishness."

  "It is not," Marna flared back. "It will pretty up the room. Besides, where will we put the clock?"

  "You damn woods queer fool, we don't have a clock."

  "We will have. Grandma has one for me, and that's where I want it."

  Under the pretense of squirrel hunting, Caleb came by and walked straight into their heated argument. He sat down on the hearth and listened to them quietly, a dreamy look on his face as he watched Marna. Agitated, she pace
d back and forth, her grace reminding him of a mountain cat sliding through the forest. When Matt wheeled and stalked angrily out of the cabin, Caleb rose to his feet and fell to studying the area where Marna wanted her mantel. After a couple of minutes he turned to her and remarked, "If you'll help me, I think I can do the job."

  "Oh, Caleb, could you?" She came and stood next to him, her eyes studying the wall also.

  Her nearness and the faint scent of roses that teased his nostrils were too much for Caleb. He reached for her and grasped her waist. Startled, she stared up at him. His hand came up and brushed the hair away from her face. His eyes probed her features, finding the beauty beneath the grime. He pulled her into his arms, whispering, "Why do you hide your beauty, Marna?"

  Marna's hands came up against his chest. She pushed away from him. "Let me go," she begged, her voice quivering.

  Caleb released his pressure but kept his arms loosely around her waist. "Marna, why do you stay with Matt? Putting up with his insulting orneriness? He's never gonna make you his true wife. You know he prefers squaws. He's bedded them since he was a youngster. Let me build us a cabin. I'll love you like you should be loved. I'll never look at another woman."

  "No!" she whispered fiercely, straining to pull away. "For better or worse, I'm Matt's wife."

  "But damn it, Marna, he doesn't love you. Don't you understand, he only married you because he felt obligated." His arms tightened, pulling her back in his arms, his lips trying to capture hers. She jerked her head back and forth, trying to avoid them.

  So engrossed were they in the silent struggle that neither heard the heavy door swing open. It wasn't until Caleb had almost caught her lips with his eager mouth that he became aware of Matt's presence as he slammed the door with a bang.

  Caleb's body went stiff. He swung away from Marna, one arm still around her. "I couldn't help myself, Matt. I love her."