Marna

by Norah Hess

  Wordlessly Matt stalked toward them, his face grim. Caleb held his gaze. "Let me have her. You don't want her. You know why you married her."

  "Yeah, it's too bad she didn't save your life, you're so hot to have her." Matt's eyes ran insolently over Marna's trembling body. "I think I'll keep her, though. Some real dark night when I can't find a squaw, she might take the edge off my appetite."

  His words ripped through Marna with the force of a blow. With a whimper of mortal pain she jerked out of Caleb's arms and rushed out of the cabin. As she dashed off the porch, she heard Caleb's angry roar, the smack of flesh on flesh, then the thump of a body hitting the floor and the savage grunts of the two men as they wrestled each other.

  With scalding tears running down her cheeks, Marna blindly climbed a steep footpath to the top of a hill, where she flung herself to the ground, her slender shoulders shaking with bitter sobs. When only dry sobs remained, she drew a hand across her wet cheeks. "At least he wants to keep me," she tried to console herself, "if only to cook and keep his clothes clean."

  She sighed wearily. Was Grandma right in insisting she keep her face cloaked behind a film of dirt? A neater appearance would give her some chance with Matt. He was stirred by her body, she knew. She had seen desire leap out of his eyes when he looked at her.

  She turned on her side, propping her head in her hand. Gazing out on the red sumac and the yellow, feathery goldenrod, she admitted to herself that Matt's lust wouldn't be enough. She wanted his love and respect.

  Her fingers dug into the sandy soil. She must talk to Grandma, make her see that this time she was wrong.

  Marna stayed on the hilltop until the sun was well in the west She didn't want to return to the cabin. What if Matt were still there, waiting for her? What if he were still angry and had more harsh words to pile on her head? She could not bear it.

  But when she finally descended the hill and timidly stepped through the cabin door, she was brought up short, her mouth hanging open. Acting as though nothing had happened, and sporting a huge black eye, Matt was busily constructing her mantel.

  Matt's fight with Caleb wasn't mentioned. In fact, Marna and Matt spoke very little as they moved into the cabin the following morning.

  Filled with excitement, Marna bustled about her new home. She first swept out the two rooms with a bushy pine bough, then cut piles of cedar branches and dragged them inside the cabin. As she formed two mattresses from them, one for each room, little bursts of song rose throatily. In between making up the pallets and stowing away food supplies, she tended a kettle of stew bubbling over the fire. Tonight they would have their first meal under their very own roof.

  Late in the afternoon Matt left to do some hunting. Although he said nothing, Marna was sure he'd return by evening. But dusk turned to dark and there was no sign of Matt. Marna made her third trip to the window. He won't be back, she thought, tears near to brimming.

  She moved to the table and lit a candle. Standing a moment in silent debate, she walked to the door and opened it. She picked up the kettle of stew from where she had placed it to keep cool, brought it inside, and set it close to the coals to warm slowly. If Matt should return, she would have his supper ready.

  She sat down and stared hopelessly into the flames. She might as well go to bed. The lonesome silence only made her more depressed.

  After checking to see if the latchstring was out, just in case Matt came back, she went into her room and changed into her gown. To her surprise, a drowsiness came swiftly, and she slipped into sleep.

  It was but minutes later that she was awakened by a rough hand on her naked breast. Her eyes flew open and she stared into the leering face of Corey. Automatically she struck away his hand and scrambled out of his reach. Desperately her eyes ran around the room. There was nothing to defend herself with.

  "Don't be afraid." Corey's nasal whine came softly. "I won't hurt you." He reached down and fumbled between his legs. "Look," he urged. "Look what I've got for you."

  For the first time she became aware that he wore only his shirt. As she stared wide-eyed at the pulsating member in his hand, panic swept over her. Grandpa always looked that way just before he jabbed himself into the women he brought home.

  Suddenly Marna was no longer afraid. Anger that this hulking beast would dare lay hands on her surged through her veins. She was a decent married woman, and this person had no right to treat her in this manner. With a sudden twist of her body, she darted past him and raced for the other room. With Corey swearing at her heels, she threw herself at Matt's saddlebags. Her fingers groped frantically for the long-bladed knife she had seen there earlier.

  Her fingers closed around the handle just as Corey sprang at her. He grabbed the neck of her gown and pulled. The worn material gave way, exposing her body. Her arm came up, poised to strike. Corey gripped her wrist and twisted. The knife dropped, and her only defense was gone. She gasped in terror as she was flipped onto her back and firmly pinned down.

  She fought him silently, furiously, her nails raking at his face, gouging at his eyes. But her meager strength was no match for his brutal power. She felt herself growing weaker and knew that her blows were only annoying pats to him. When she saw his raised fist coming toward her she used the rest of her breath to call Matt's name.

  Corey's fist landed on Marna's chin and her head fell limply to one side. He sat back on his heels and let his eyes run hungrily over the curves and valleys of her helpless body. Swiping at the trickles of blood running down his face, he licked his lips in anticipation. He reached out a hand to stroke her. Then, sensing the presence of someone else in the room, he stiffened. He turned his head fearfully and gazed on the figure of Matt.

  The large man stood there, strangely silent as his fingers opened and shut spasmodically. Corey scrambled to his feet, his ruddy complexion gone ashen. Forcing an artificial smile to his fat lips, he said, "No harm intended, Matt. I didn't think you'd mind... sleeping with squaws and all."

  A mirthless smile wreathed Matt's lips for a fleeting second. Then he lunged for Corey. "You rotten scum. Forcing yourself on an innocent woods girl."

  His right fist flashed up, found Corey's chin, and lifted him to his toes. As the hunter grunted, his left fist caught him just below the ear, sending him crashing to the ground. He stood over the fallen man, gasping for breath. "Get up, you bastard, and fight."

  But Corey had had enough and cowered away, shaking his head.

  Matt stared down at him, then swung a contemptuous foot to his ribs. His voice hoarse with emotion, he grated out, "Don't ever let me catch you around here again. Don't let me see you even lookin' at her."

  As Corey grabbed his trousers and crawled toward the door, Matt lifted Marna's limp body onto his bed of cedar boughs. Tucking the blanket around her nakedness, his fingers brushed the velvet feel of her and hot, surging liquid shot through his veins, making him catch his breath.

  The next morning Marna awakened, shivering with the cold. Half asleep, she pulled the covers closer around her shoulders. Her jaw ached painfully, and when she reached up to touch it, she realized that she was bare. Corey's hateful face swam before her. She stared at the wall, remembering her struggle with him. What had happened after he hit her? Had Matt heard her cry in time?

  She lay still, concentrating on her lower body. She felt all right-no different from any other time. There would be a telltale soreness, she imagined, if Corey had had his way with her. Matt must have come in time. She doubted that Corey would have put her in bed and covered her up.

  An embarrassed flush surged over her. If that were the case, Matt had seen her nakedness. She rolled herself tighter in the blankets. How could she ever face him?

  She lay a moment longer, then sat up. Drawing on her buckskins, she thought rapidly, I must start some new stew in case he comes home for supper.

  Her day was spent alternating between hope and shy dread of Matt's returning.

  It was full dark when Matt entered the tiny clearing and
saw the dim light in his cabin window. A flutter of excitement swept through him. That small candle welcomed him to his home. Inside it would be warm and clean, with good smells coming from the fire.

  He pulled the mount in. With this new glow of wellbeing, he slid eagerly to the ground.

  But before entering the cabin, he pulled his fresh kill from Sam's back and swung it high in a maple sapling. He had spotted the marks of a large mountain cat not too far away. The scent of the fresh meat might lure the animal toward the cabin, but the slender whip of tree would never bear its weight, and the meat would be safe. If the frosty weather held, they would have fresh meat for a long time. Well into the trapping season.

  Stripping the saddle from the stallion, Matt staked Sam only a few feet from the door, just in case the cat was hungry enough to try to attack the horse.

  Stepping upon the porch that Marna had argued for also, Matt propped-the saddle against the wall. He stood at the entrance, suddenly unsure of himself. Should he knock? he wondered. Irritably he reminded himself that the cabin was his home.

  Still he didn't go barging in, but opened the door quietly, the leather hinges barely squeaking. Moving inside, he carefully wiped his feet on a dressed deerskin placed there. His eyes swept the empty room, and it was as he'd imagined. The fire burned brightly, casting leaping shadows on the hearth and a bearskin rug a few feet from it.

  A fresh candle lit the table, and his glance took in the two plates and mugs sitting opposite each other. Moving to the fire, he lifted the lid off the kettle and took a long sniff. He heard Marna's door open, then heard her ask in a shy voice, "Are you hungry?"

  "I could eat a bear," he replied.

  Silently, and avoiding his eyes, she brought the plates from the table. With a long-handled ladle she filled them with tender pieces of meat and fresh vegetables bartered from an Indian. She placed the plates on the table and returned to the oven to pull out a pan of golden corn bread. Returning to the fire once more, she picked up the coffeepot and announced quietly, "Supper is ready."

  The stew was delicious, with a flavoring of herbs Matt had never tasted. The coffee was fresh and strong.

  At first he attacked the food in the manner he was used to doing with the hunters. He forked great chunks of meat into his mouth and chewed loudly. But gradually he became aware of the disapproving looks shot his way. From under lowered lids he watched Marna cut her food into small pieces, then chew slowly. Stubbornly he persisted in chomping and slurping. After a while, though, the noisy consumption of his food became obnoxious even to his own ears. By the time he was on his third cup of coffee, he was sipping as quietly as Marna.

  Later, as Marna cleared the table, Matt filled his pipe and stretched out on the fur rug. Leaning on an elbow, he puffed contentedly as he stared into the flames. How long had it been since he had felt such well-being?

  Marna finished tidying the kitchen area and pulled a bench up to the fire. From a wooden pail turned into a sewing basket, she pulled out a shirt of Matt's and began mending a rip in the sleeve. The fire snapped cheerfully, the dirge of a cricket somewhere around the hearth blending in. A comfortable silence existed between them.

  Matt lay on his back, his arms pillowing his head His eyes traveled often to Marna's rich curves. He wondered what it would feel like to have that ripeness lie beneath him, rising to meet his thrusts. Without warning, desire was shooting through him, burning like a fever. His gaze rose to the face bent over the sewing, and he jerked his eyes away and stared moodily into the fire.

  Damn her and her strange notions, he fumed inwardly. And Hertha was just as strange. Otherwise she would get after the girl, make her take more pride in herself. If the old woman could come up with something to cure snakebite, surely she could find something to protect the girl's face. He threw a fast glance at Marna. He felt like asking her again to wash the grime off her face. Maybe even demand that she did.

  As he wavered back and forth, debating whether to use his power as a husband or just forget about her completely, a knock sounded at the door. Marna hurried to answer it When she greeted Caleb, a frown gathered between Matt's eyes. What in the blazes did Caleb want?

  Matt glowered at Caleb. Caleb took a step toward him, "Matt, I want to talk to you seriously. The whole camp knows you don't love Marna. That's one reason Corey acted the way he did last night." He paused a moment to form his next words. "I love Marna and want to marry her. A real marriage in every way. Will you release her?"

  Marna stared up at Caleb, a small gasp rushing through her lips. Her heart raced. Caleb was sincere. Her eyes swung to Matt. What would her strange husband answer? She began to tremble in dread apprehension. He would agree, of course. He would be only too glad to be rid of her ugly presence and sharp tongue.

  Matt stood rigid, seething inside. Caleb had a hell of a nerve marching into a man's home and asking for his wife. Did he think a man would just turn over his wife like he would a clean pair of buckskins? It would serve him right if Matt did let him have her. Let him feel the bite of her tongue. Maybe he could see beyond that curving flesh then. That body that made a man ache until he could hardly stand it. Pulled at him until he wanted to kill every man who looked at her.

  Matt's face showed none of the thoughts. His voice cold and unemotional, he said, "I'll be keepin' her."

  Angry disappointment clouded Caleb's face. He glared at Matt a minute, then paced rapidly through the door.

  With a grim look, Matt slammed the door and leaned against it, his dark eyes stabbing out at Marna. "How often does he come here?" he demanded.

  Marna's chin came up sharply. "This is the first time."

  Matt gave a disagreeable laugh. "I'll just bet. I'll bet every man in this camp is laughing behind my back. That's why Corey sneaked over here last night. He wanted his share, too."

  Marna's head bent lower with each crushing word flung in the air.

  His emotions out of control, Matt did not see Marna's distress. A devil had risen in him, and all he could think of was to beat her down with more cruel words. Towering over her, he sneered, "What do they do, throw a blanket over your head?"

  The words had no sooner left his mouth than he longed to call them back. But before he could say something to take away the sting, Marna gave a tortured cry and darted into her room.

  The door slammed and he stood looking at it. Should he follow her, ask her to forgive him? He slowly shook his head. What could he possibly say that would wipe away the hurt he had given her? She could have nothing but hate for him now.

  Sighing, he threw a wistful look at his bed. His careless, angry words had taken care of that. Picking up his rifle, he stepped out into the night and reluctantly made his way to the men's quarters.

  Without lighting a candle, Marna stumbled through the darkness of her room and threw herself on the fragrant cedar bed. Dry-eyed, she stared into the blackness. Her hurt was too strong even for the comfort of tears. All her life she had been called ugly, and likened to many things. But the sarcasm her husband put into his words had spoken more plainly than any descriptive phrase he could have used.

  Unconsciously her fingers curled into fists. How she hated him. If only she were a man. She'd beat his hateful mouth into a bloody smear. As for washing her face, never! Never, as long as she lived. Let him be stuck for the rest of his life with a wife whose ugliness would embarrass him among his friends.

  Oh, I could have had him in my bed, she assured herself, remembering how his eyes had quickened as he watched her. All I'd have had to do was wash my face and he 'd have been at me. But if he's only looking for a pretty face in a wife, then hes not the man for me.

  She folded her arms across her breasts, pushing back the tingle that had risen at the thought of Matt's making love to her. Her lips firmed in a hard line. What a fool she'd been for ever wanting such a pride-filled, superficial man like that to love her. He did not know the meaning of true love.

  The lonely sound of the wind and the creaking of pine boughs
outside her window brought the relief of tears. Adrift between wanting the comfort of her grandmother's arms, and recognizing that she would always be denied the love of a husband, she finally lost herself in sleep.

  When Matt arrived at headquarters, the men were just breaking up a card game and preparing to go to bed. A heated argument was going on as to who would use Corey's squaw when he was finished with her.

  A low moan drew Matt's attention to the pair lying in a dark corner. Dove stared vacantly at the ceiling, limp and exhausted, waiting for the fat hunter to finish with her. Pity stirred in Matt. By the end of the trapping season the girl would be burned out, old beyond her age. Corey's treatment of the young squaw had caused her to lose her sanity. It was rumored that he had caused the death of two Indian women. In both instances the two had gotten with child and had miscarried due to his heavy demands on them. They had hemorrhaged to death. Yesterday Matt had learned that Dove, too, was in a family way, and he wondered how long it would be before she lost her burden.

  Corey's heavy body slumped over the thin form of the young girl, and it seemed that he would sleep now. He lay inert, breathing evenly. As Matt continued to watch, Dove began weakly to inch her body from beneath the great weight. She was almost free when the hunter stirred and mumbled an oath. She stared up at him in dread as his hand fastened in her hair. Half asleep, he growled, "Where do you think you're goin', bitch?"

  She gave a small whimper of pain as she was jerked back in place. Silent tears ran down her cheeks.

  The other men had also been watching in disgust. They yearned to pull Corey off the girl, but the law of the hills dictated no interference between a man and his squaw. She was his to do with as he pleased, and out of pure meanness Corey was going to keep the squaw in his bed all night. The two who had argued over Dove rolled themselves up in their blankets silently. She was half dead anyway, and neither one wanted any part in finishing her off.