by Norah Hess
Matt flinched, but he gave the bony fingers a squeeze. "I'll keep in touch, Grandma."
He clapped his coonskin on his head, and with a last lingering look at the sleeping figure, quietly closed the door behind him.
Outside, Henry was struggling with the large mirror. He grinned at Matt, and Matt wondered what he was going to say to the older hunter. He hated like hell to admit he had lost his wife's affections. Never before had a woman turned away from him.
He laid a detaining hand on Henry's arm. "Would you prop that thing against the wall there a minute, Henry? I got something I want to say to you."
At the seriousness in his voice, Henry hurried to do as he requested. Returning to him then, he asked, "What's on your mind, Matt?"
Matt stared into the darkness a moment, then started slowly to speak. "It's hard for me to say this, but I've been actin' the fool here lately. I've been too damned proud and blind to realize how fortunate I was to be married to that little girl in there. All my dumb brain could think was that she's not pretty like all my other women."
Matt continued. "Last night before the cat got her, I hurt Marna somethin' fierce with my damnable tongue. I said things to her she'll never forgive." He waited a long minute, then said quietly, "I'm takin' off, Henry."
Henry gazed for a long time at the pain in his friend's eyes. The big hunter suffered and wasn't ashamed to let it be seen. Never had Henry liked and respected the man more.
Matt stepped off the porch. "I gotta get away. At least for a while. In the meantime I'd appreciate it if you'd look after Marna and Hertha as long as they need it. I'd like for Dove to stay, too. She has a good way with Marna. If Corey gives you any trouble, shoot the bastard."
Accompanying Matt to his stallion, Henry agreed readily. "Of course I'll look after them, Matt But when will you be back? It'll be trappin' time soon, and we're gonna need you."
"No, you won't, Henry. Do like you always done before. You can tell the men I left you in charge. They'll listen to you."
Matt swung into the saddle and leaned down to grip Henry's hand. "Remember, keep an eye on Marna. Make sure that damn Corey don't hang around."
"I'll do that, Matt," Henry spoke over the lump in his throat.
It wasn't until Matt was several yards away that Henry realized he hadn't answered his question. Through cupped hands he called, "How long you gonna be gone, Matt?"
The stallion plunged into the forest, carrying his unheeding rider from view.
Hertha stood at the window, mentally echoing Henry's words. When would Matt return? He would return, she was sure of that. His pride and the dread of Marna's rejecting him would keep him away for a while. But in the end, his love for his wife would pull him back.
She glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping Marna and thought, "I hope he's not gone too long."
She turned her gaze back to the moonlit clearing. Everyone was so unhappy. There was poor Caleb, loving Marna just as strongly as Matt did, and unable to do anything about it. He did not have Matt's wounded pride, but he suffered the knowledge that Marna loved her husband. And the Indian girl Dove, who now lay in an exhausted sleep before the fire. What misery and unhappiness she must have endured at the hands of the brutish Corey. Why were men such as he and Emery allowed to inhabit the world? she wondered wearily.
Hertha moved over to the bed. Shaking Marna's shoulder gently, she urged, "Honey, I want you to wake up long enough to eat some soup."
Marna stirred and nodded sleepily. By the time Hertha had carefully rolled her over to her side, doubled the pillow under her head, and ladled out the soup, she was fairly awake. But when the last spoonful was gone, her eyes were becoming heavy again.
Hertha smiled as Marna relaxed into a deep sleep. The ground poppy seed was doing its job. She would sleep for a couple of days, postponing the time when she would begin asking questions about Matt.
Hertha laid the spoon in the empty bowl and rose to her feet Grimacing with the pain that shot through her stiff joints, she hobbled to the table. Snuffing out the candle, she undressed quickly, then crawled into bed with Marna. She stretched her legs out in the feathery softness and relaxed. It had been a long, tiring day.
Hertha was almost asleep when Henry entered the cabin. Through heavy eyes she watched him shovel ashes over the live coals, banking the fire for the night. Then her eyes opened wider when Henry moved to where Dove slept She raised her head. Was he going to awaken that poor girl and crawl in beside her?
Ready to call out to the hunter in a scathing whisper, she saw Henry squat down and, with gentle fingers, pull the covers closer around Dove's shoulders. He remained a moment, gazing down thoughtfully on the girl. Then, removing his coat and boots, he stretched out beside her.
Hertha's lips curled in a faint smile. Was there another romance cooking?
The next morning everyone except Dove slept late. She arose with the first sunlight, feeling rested for the first time in weeks. Her glance fell on Henry, and her dark eyes softened. The older hunter was a good man. He had been so thoughtful and considerate last night, moving quietly and speaking softly. How nice it would be to belong to him.
Her eyes went blank and dull, Corey would never allow her to go to another man. She shuddered, thinking of what awaited her when she returned to the quarters.
Resigned to her fate, Dove bent to kindle a fire from the glowing coals beneath the dead ashes. When it burned to her satisfaction, she took the coffeepot from the table to fill it from the pail. She lifted the dipper, then frowned. A film of dust covered the water. She picked up the pail and slipped noislessly out of the cabin.
The morning air was frosty, and the dry grass and leaves crunched coldly under her feet. Hurrying along, wishing that she had taken the time to slip on her moccasins, she was halfway to the spring when she came to a faltering stop.
Corey had emerged from the forest and was stalking toward her. As he moved along, he slapped at his legs with a short riding crop. The smile that stretched his fat lips was ominous with the promise of laying it about her. Fear knotted Dove's stomach, and she began to back away from him, shaking her head mutely. He came on, his small eyes boring in at her. Then her foot turned on a loose rock and she sprawled on the ground.
She stared up helplessly as Corey stood over her. Vile oaths spilled from his loose lips. "Dirty whorin' bitch! Stayed with Henry all night, did you? Had him between your legs all night, huh?"
Frightened beyond speech, Dove could only continue to stare up at him in terror.
He stood over her a moment longer, then his arm came up. To save her face and breasts, she heaved herself over onto her stomach and took the crop across the shoulders. Again and again it cut into her back as she held back her cries. She could hear Corey's heavy breathing as his arm flailed up and down. She prayed that he would soon tire himself out. Then finally the crop's tip caught her across the cheek, and her agonized scream cut through the morning stillness.
"Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch," Corey panted, reaching down and jerking her to her feet. Giving her a push that sent her reeling, he grated out, "Get yourself into my blankets and be prepared for a ridin' you'll never forget" The whip came out, curling around her legs. "I just may ride the life out of you this time," he threatened, lashing at her again.
Dove's smarting, welted shoulders drooped wearily. She moved woodenly toward her punishment, the small whip playing about her.
They were almost to the big pine when, like a clap of thunder, the cabin door banged open. Dove looked over her shoulder, and hope stirred in her breast. Henry's burly figure had bounced onto the porch, his fringe of hair standing out from his head Close behind him came the thin frame of Hertha.
Dove made a whimpering sound in her throat and darted around Corey, into Henry's arms. Her eyes were wild with pain and terror. Henry held her for just a moment.
Corey's eyes widened at Henry's action, and he yelled out angrily, "Hand that bitch over to me, Henry. You know she belongs to me."
Corey laughed, a small nervous sound. "Are we gonna fight over a red whore, Henry?" he whined in his nasal voice. "There's no need to squabble over her. You know I'll share her with you anytime you want"
Henry stood before him on firmly planted feet His chin jutting out, he growled dangerously low, "I wouldn't share the same air with you, Corey, so get the hell out of here."
Corey made a feeble gesture toward his knife, blustering loudly, "I'm not talon' kindly to your words, Henry. But I'll forget about them if you hand Dove over to me right now."
The defiance in Corey's voice did not match the wavering in his eyes, and Henry's lips took on an amused smile. When Corey opened his mouth to speak again, Henry's hard fist lashed out, catching the bully in the throat.
Corey's body went limp, and he crashed to the ground.
Henry stood over him, his fists clenched. "You gonna leave Dove alone?" he asked quietly.
Corey, his eyes glazed, made a grunting sound of assent.
But when Henry put his arm around Dove's waist and led her to the waiting Hertha, Corey's eyes promised vengeance.
Back in the cabin Hertha gently eased the tattered shift down to Dove's waist The tawny back and shoulders were criss-crossed with long, angry-looking welts. The whip had drawn blood in several places, and Dove winced when Henry drew his fingers over them lightly.
He swore softly. "I think 1' 11 go back and knife the bastard after all."
Dove's hand flew out to stop him. "Let him go, Henry. I'm satisfied that I'll never have to be around him again." She looked up at the hunter and smiled shyly. "Dove would be happy to be your squaw, Henry."
Hertha's sharp eyes caught the pleased, red flush that spread over Henry's face. She moved across the room and pretended to be busy. But she could make out his words as he assured Dove that he would be pleased and honored to have her for his woman. As he gently washed her back, he said to Dove excitedly, "Once Matt gets back and his womenfolk don't need me anymore, I'll build us our own cabin. I'm not gonna have you waitin' on them other fellers."
Together, they made plans as Henry rubbed Hertha's curing salve into the welted back.
Hertha's eyes twinkled. She knew the two would like to be alone. Henry would, at any rate. She walked back to the table and suggested casually, "Henry, why don't you hang a blanket across one end of the room so that Dove can have some privacy when she rests."
Henry shot her a sheepish, grateful look, and Dove lowered her lids to hide the pleased gleam in her eyes.
Henry lost no time in preparing the makeshift room. He grabbed up two blankets, and with some wooden pegs left over from building the cabin, attached them to the rafters. It formed a cozy nook, and his grin widened. Replacing the poker he had used as a hammer, he turned to Hertha. "Do you suppose we...Dove could use Marna's pallet?"
Hertha nodded, and he hurried to Marna's room and gathered up the blankets and cedar boughs. The blanketed walls moved in and out as he worked, straightening out the bedding. He returned to the fire then and almost brusquely inquired, "Dove, would you like to lay down now?"
Dove's soft eyes looked up at him, a smile curving her lips as she nodded her head. Holding the shift across her breasts, she rose and disappeared behind the cloth wall.
Hertha shot Henry a fast look from the corner of her eyes. How long would it take him to find an excuse to follow the girl? she wondered.
It came in a short time. Clearing his throat nervously a couple of times, he muttered that he would see if Dove needed anything. It seemed to Hertha that almost immediately the sound of soft thumps were coming from the corner. She grinned. It sounded as though Henry had already found something that Dove needed.
She turned to lay some wood on the fire and was startled to see Marna leaning on an elbow, watching her.
"Why, honey, when did you wake up?"
"A few minutes ago. Why are those blankets hanging in the corner?"
"Henry put them up for Dove. They'll be stayin' with you for a while, and they needed some privacy."
A frown gathered across Marna's forehead. "How long a while?" she asked suspiciously.
Hertha poked nervously at the fire. "Just a short time. Until you get on your feet"
There was a long silence from the bed, and Hertha was hopeful that no more would be said on the subject She dreaded the time when she must tell Marna that Matt was gone.
But over the snapping of the fire, Marna's voice came quiet and deadened. "Matt has left me, hasn't he?"
The last two words ended in a quiver, and Hertha hastened to the bed. She sat down and smoothed the silky hair away from the smudged brow. "He'll be back, honey. Right now he thinks he's doin' the right thing. But he'll be back to you, you'll see."
A sharp, agonized sob raked through Marna. She had been so sure she hated Matt. The scornful words he hurled at her had cut her to the heart. But that was eons ago, it seemed, and his hateful words were forgotten. He was the only man she would ever love.
She stared vacantly before her. Why had she listened to Grandma? She should have washed her face. A husband had a right to see his wife as attractive as possible. She and Grandma had asked too much of him.
Her words muffled through her tears, she declared, "He won't be back, Grandma. He couldn't stand my ugliness, so there's nothing to bring him back."
Hertha took the cold, quivering hands into hers and held them still. "You're mistaken, Marna. Your sweetness and goodness will draw him back."
Marna's short laugh was bitter, as she painfully swung her feet to the floor. "I never showed him any sweetness. All I ever did was boss and nag him while he was building the cabin."
"Nevertheless, he built it the way you wanted it, didn't he? And what about this fine bed he bought for you? And look at that big mirror over there on the wall. Isn't that proof that he has some regard for you?"
Marna swung fascinated eyes from the bed to the mirror. But the mirror reflected her image too clearly, and with a groan, part anger and part despair, she covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Grandma, I look so awful."
"Honey, don't fret about that," Hertha exclaimed, putting her arms around her. "We can take care of your looks. As soon as you're on your feet and gettin' around, we'll start redoin' you. When Mr. Matt Barton returns home, he's gonna be in for a big surprise."
Hertha's voice was flat with satisfaction, and Marna glanced at her curiously. Grandma seemed angry with Matt. But, more interested in her promised good looks, she dismissed the thought. Doubtfully, she asked, "Grandma, do you really think that soap and water will make that much difference?"
"You'll see," Hertha assured her. "Now how about some breakfast? The more you eat, the faster you'll mend." She tweaked the short, straight nose. "And the quicker we can get on with beautifying you."
Caught up in Hertha's enthusiasm, Marna smiled eagerly. "Yes, yes. I am hungry."
She eased back down on her side and watched Hertha bustle around the fire and table while biscuits browned in the oven, salt pork sizzled in a skillet, and coffee brewed in the pot. She smiled, happy to have Grandma taking care of her again.
Mama fell to studying the big, handsome bed, rearing back her head to peer at the sturdy headboard. The wood was as shiny as dark silk, and hand-carved roses twined down the posts. Where in the world had Matt found it? she wondered. It must have cost him dearly. Could Grandma be right? Did he maybe care for her?
Thinking back on their times spent together and the harsh words spoken between them, her old doubts quickly returned. Of course her husband didn't care for her. He was merely proud and wanted to provide the best for her. It was of no importance that he didn't love his wife. It only mattered that he could point and say, "Look how well Matt Barton takes care of his wife."
Matt's stallion had taken its own pace as they left the cabin, easily traveling the familiar trail in the darkness. With his mind on Marna, Matt gave no thought to directing the horse.
At first Matt had some doubts about whether he was right to leave Marna. But then he thought of her stiffening up and rejecting him, and he became firmly convinced that she hated him. He decided to head for an outpost in the Ohio Valley where the Monongahela and Allegheny rivers joined to form the broad Ohio. He had heard that the rivers teemed with beaver.
After about a week of riding, Matt reached his destination. He found that the area abounded with caves. Some were small, hardly large enough for a small animal to crawl into, while others were the size of a small cabin. An idea took hold of him, and as he rode through the forest, he kept the sound of the river within hearing as his eyes searched intently.
Finally he reined in the stallion and sat gazing at a cave situated in a jumble of large boulders. Its opening was narrow, but tall. He reached down and patted Sam's neck. "I think you could get through there, fellow."
He swung down and tied the mount to a bushy hazelnut bush. Then, after searching awhile beneath the dense cedar that surrounded the pile of stones, he gave a satisfied grunt and picked up a long, large cedar knot. It was about eighteen inches long and dry to his touch. Kneeling down, he scraped together some dry twigs and leaves, then struck a spark from his flint. When the material burst into flames, he added larger pieces of wood until he had a brightly burning fire. Laying the oil-filled knot on the fire, he waited until it flamed, then picked it back up and moved to the cave.
As he stood in the dark opening, warm musty air floated against his face. He took a step inside and almost dropped the torch as the beating wings of an owl or a bat swept past him. He grinned in self-amusement at the fluttering of his heart. Then, holding the torch above his shoulder, its bright light throwing wavering shadows on the stone walls, he looked around. He judged the room to be about fifteen feet across and the ceiling a good foot taller than himself. But the length of the smooth, dry walls extended beyond the reach of his light.
