by Norah Hess
Her eyes sparkled as she recalled the first time Caleb saw her new face. Grandma had allowed no visitors in the cabin while she was bedfast. She had been up and moving about stiffly for two days, when in the afternoon a knock had sounded at the door. Her heart had lurched madly. Matt had returned. Common sense reminded her then that Matt wouldn't knock at his own door. Still, when Grandma opened the door and Caleb stood there, she was filled with excitement. How would he react to her new beauty?
His response had more than satisfied the hunger of approval she had longed for all these years. It had taken a giggle from Dove to bring his mouth closed. He started across the floor toward Marna, his eyes mirroring the beauty he saw. He pulled her into his arms and she could feel his heart beating madly. She laughed nervously and pulled away from him. Flustered, she said, "Is that the way to greet a married woman, Caleb?"
Pain had shot into his eyes, and she was sorry for having reminded him so frankly that nothing had changed. He had stayed but a short time then, not even sitting down. When he had gone, a part of the joy in her new appearance was gone also.
As the length of material grew from the loom, Marna continued to dwell on Caleb. The vibrancy of his body had felt good that day. She blushed guiltily, wondering how that body would feel in bed. ..bare, holding her close.
Her cheeks glowed even redder when she looked out the window and saw Caleb walking toward the cabin. Had he sensed her thoughts and come to carry them out? She swung it wide and waited for him to enter. But Caleb remained on the porch, and she was forced to lift her eyes to him.
He smiled at her and urged, "Let's go for a walk. You've been cooped up in here for days."
"Well, I don't know," she began nervously, looking across the room at Dove. "Dove might need me."
But Dove ignored her silent cry of help. Instead, she urged, "Go on, Marna. It will do you good.. .put some color in your cheeks."
Marna tossed her head angrily, but Dove just gave her a mocking smile and teased, "Maybe the wind will blow the cobwebs out of your brains."
"Or blow my brains out," Marna retorted, glancing out at the tall, brown grass bending before the wind.
"Aw, come on, Marna," Caleb coaxed. "It's not that bad. I think it's gonna snow tonight, and this will be your last chance to walk on bare ground for a while."
Reluctantly, Marna tied a scarf over her head and, throwing Dove an accusing look, moved out onto the porch. She heard the door close softly, then felt Caleb's hand on her elbow. He steered across the yard and away from the river. The sharp, fresh air on her face did feel good, and she lifted her head to receive the cold bite of the wind. They walked in silence for several minutes, until they came to a small cedar glade.
Then Caleb said, "I wanted to talk to you in private, Marna. That's why I asked you to go walkin' with me."
The pulse quickened in Marna's throat. Caleb was going to ask questions she wasn't ready to answer yet. A hot flush of confusion swept over her.
When she made no answer, Caleb stopped and pulled her around to face him. A desperate longing in his eyes, he asked, "Don't you even care to hear what I have to say, Marna?"
The hurt in his voice moved her soft heart. Unconsciously she leaned into him. Too late she realized her action had given him false hope. His arms went around her and he gazed into her startled eyes.
"Caleb!" she protested, but his lips came down on hers with an urgency that took her breath.
For a moment she struggled against him. Then suddenly his warm, moving lips struck a spark within her. Against her will her body grew soft and her lips began to stir beneath his. Caleb's arms tightened and he drew her closer, molding her body into his. Caught up in his fever, she strained into him as her arms came up around his neck. In the warm stillness she heard his harsh breathing and felt the heat of his body. His lips became more demanding, forcing hers open.
A small warning bell went off in Marna's head then, and the softness began to leave her body. When his hand came up to cup a breast, her arms came down to push against him, and she wrenched her lips free.
Caleb stared at her, his eyes glazed over with his want. Breathing heavy, he tried to pull her back into his arms. "What's wrong, Marna? Are you afraid?"
She pressed her hands against his chest. "You mustn't, Caleb," she began, then stopped short, her eyes staring.
Directly behind them, sitting quietly in the saddle, was Matt. At his side, a tall, strikingly handsome woman sat astride her mount. Caleb swung around and swore softly under his breath. Releasing Marna, he took her arm and gently forced her to walk alongside him as he moved toward the two riders.
Marna stared up at Matt. His eyes cold and hard, he stared back at her. She grew rigid with desperation and cried out, "It's not what you think, Matt."
Matt's lips lifted in a sneer. With bitter accusation in his voice, he said, "It didn't take you long to get Caleb in your bed, did it?"
"That's not true," Marna protested wildly. Turning to Caleb, she appealed, "Tell him, Caleb. Tell him he's wrong."
When Caleb made no answer to her urgent request, she turned a questioning look at him. Hope died slowly in her breast. She would get no help from him. He was smiling up at Matt's set face, a mocking significance in his eyes. Her eyes wide in disbelief, she whirled back around to face Matt.
"Matt, I swear by all that's holy, it's not what you think."
Matt's expression didn't change. His voice was like chipped ice as he said, "He's had you, lady. I can see it in your cat eyes."
Marna stepped back with a little cry, her hand going to her quivering lips. There was silence for a moment, then Matt gave a sharp, short laugh, wheeled his mount, and raced out of the glade. After a pitying look at Marna, the woman followed him more slowly.
Caleb touched Mama's arm timidly. "I'm sorry, Mama, but I had to do it. Matt's not worthy of your love. I could have told you he's been livin' with Big Betsy."
Her shoulders drooping, Marna sighed, "It doesn't matter, Caleb. Let's go home."
They neither talked nor touched as they walked back to the cabin. Each was deep in private thoughts. Caleb worried that he had taken the wrong approach back there in the cedars. Maybe he should have acknowledged the truth of her statement to Matt. Now he was afraid he had lost Marna forever.
Marna's mind was obsessed with one thought: Who is Big Betsy? The words nagged over and over.
Matt raced away after hurling his insults at Marna. If he'd had to look at Caleb's gloating face another second, he'd have killed him.
He rode several miles before the stallion slackened its pace and Betsy came thundering up beside him. Over the noise of the pounding hooves, she shouted, "What's wrong with you, Matt? Your wife wasn't lying, you know. That Caleb deliberately let you believe the worst."
"I don't know any such thing," he shouted back. "She certainly wasn't fightin' him off."
"She was probably too stunned. From all I've heard about her, likely it's the first time she was ever kissed. Did you ever kiss her?"
Matt's answer was to kick the stallion into a fast gallop. Again Betsy was left to ride alone.
Racing along, Matt questioned if Betsy had been right about Marna. She had seemed so sincere, her beautiful face turned up to him. Even over his anger, hunger for her had shot through him. He had clenched his fists against his rising tide of desire.
The stallion swept into the settlement, and Matt raced him on to the house at the edge of the forest. He flung himself off the horse and hurried inside. Grabbing up a bottle of whiskey, he picked out a table and sat down. He had downed a cupful by the time Betsy arrived.
She stood over him, her eyes snapping. "Is this how you're going to straighten out things between you and your wife?"
Matt glowered up at her impatiently. "What's there to straighten out? Caleb can have her. I was a damn fool for ever lettin' myself get tied up with her."
He filled the tin cup again and raised it to his lips. As the fiery liquid smarted down his throat, he banged t
he cup down on the table and glared at Betsy. "Go on, leave me alone. I'm gonna get roarin' drunk."
Betsy glared back at him for a second. Then she wheeled around and walked away, mumbling, "Go ahead, you damn fool. You're not worth the girl, anyway."
Numerous times Matt lifted the cup to his lips. Finally he lost control of his muscles and his head hit the table with a thud. At last, for a bit, his mind was free of his wife.
When he awakened the next morning, he was alone in the bedroom next to Betsy's. It had been a restless night, with Marna and Caleb filling his dreams, but he had come to a decision. Coldly, he laid out the facts as he saw them. Strictly keeping to the dictates of his mind, ignoring the urgings of his heart, he analyzed the events leading up to the present time. Through his own fault he had lost his wife. But life would continue on, and he must find away to be a part of it. He had lived for thirty-odd years before knowing the sloe-eyed hill girl. Her brief interruption of his life would have to be put behind him. He had enjoyed his way of life before she came along, and he would in time enjoy it again. He would start by returning to his men and setting out his traps. He would visit Betsy when the urge came upon him and, in essence, resume his old life.
Picking his buckskins off the floor, he frowned and winced. Even though the wound in his back had healed, it was still sensitive to any sudden movement. He carefully pulled the shirt over his head and eased it down his back. He slipped into his moccasins, laced them up to his knees, and moved down the hall and into the deserted main room.
In the morning light there was no resemblance to what the room had been a few hours earlier. The garishly colored chairs and sofas, now placed in haphazard positions, somehow resembled the women who entertained in them... faded and worn out.
His nose twitched from the fumes of spilled whiskey and ale. The fight between lingering cheap perfume and stale body odor sent him hurrying outside.
Matt stood a minute, gulping in the fresh air, then stepped onto the hard-packed path and strode toward the small stable sitting in the fringe of the forest. He'd be glad to get back to camp. It didn't smell like wild roses there, but at least there were enough cracks in the building to keep the fresh air moving through it.
The stallion whinnied a shrill greeting as Matt swung the door open. The big animal was hungry, but a quick search showed no grain of any kind. He threw a saddle on the wide back and promised Sam there would be breakfast when they reached camp.
Outside, he swung into the saddle and nudged the mount lightly. With a course to follow now, he was anxious to get started.
The evening after Marna's unhappy encounter with Matt, a strong wind came out of the north. It blew through the hills and whipped through the valleys. Driving before it was a sheet of flying white. In just a short time it had dropped a snowy blanket over the hills and buried the valleys in a feathery softness. Intense cold followed the storm, and no one stirred outside unnecessarily.
When Marna glanced out the window around noon and saw her grandmother trudging along on a pair of snowshoes, she couldn't believe her eyes. She hurried to fling open the door. "Grandma, what in the world are you doing out in such weather?"
Hertha held onto the porch support with one hand while she unfastened the shoes with her other. The corners of her eyes crinkled. "Weather don't bother me, Marnie. You know that."
"Well, hurry on in. It's freezing out here."
She took Hertha's coat and hurried her to the fire. "Here," she said, dragging up a rocker. "Sit in the chair Caleb made for me."
The old woman cast a quick, searching look at her granddaughter. How were things progressing between those two? she wondered. She stretched her chllled feet to the fire and asked casually, "You see a lot of Caleb, do you?"
Marna sighed. "Yes, I do. More than I want to, actually." She sat down on the hearth, facing Hertha. "What am I going to do, Grandma? I'm afraid that Caleb has ruined everything between me and Matt."
Hertha pulled in her feet and sat forward. "What do you mean, Marna?"
"Matt's back, you know."
"No, I didn't know. I received a letter from him only yesterday. That's why I'm out today. He wrote that he was in the Ohio Valley, and that he liked it just fine."
"Well, he's not there now, unless he went back last night."
In broken sentences, she filled Hertha in on what had happened the day before. "He was so angry when he raced away, Grandma. I don't think he'll ever come back." She jumped to her feet and began to pace back and forth. "And I'd like to know who that woman was that was with him," she burst out. "She sat up there on her big horse, smiling like a cat."
Hertha reached out and grabbed her leg as she swept by. "Sit down, Marna," she said sharply. "You're makin' me dizzy, dartin' back and forth that way."
Marna sat back down and stared gloomily into the fire. Hertha gazed at her, pity in her eyes. She reached across and patted the girl's knee. "First of all, honey," she said, "cats don't smile. They grin. Now, about the woman, don't give her another thought."
"But, Grandma, Caleb said Matt has been living with her."
"Never mind what Caleb said. He would say anything to gain his own ends where you're concerned. A man never spends more than one night at a time with a woman like Betsy. She runs a sportin' house at the post. Matt does some tradin' with the woman once in a while," Hertha added sardonically. "You might say they are business acquaintances."
Relief shot into Marna's eyes. "Oh, Grandma, I'm so happy to hear that. I was afraid Matt was in love with her. She's awfully attractive."
"Yes, Betsy is a nice-looking woman. She's not a bad sort, either. She's sent a lot of business my way, what with her girls and the hunters who fight over them."
Marna looked interested. "You know her well, then?"
"I guess I know her as well as anybody. She's pretty closemouthed about her past. Matt maybe knows her a little better than most. But there's one thing I know about her-she's a mighty unhappy woman." Hertha glanced around the cabin. "By the way, where's Henry and Dove?"
"They've moved into their own cabin. They wanted to be alone, and after what happened with Matt yesterday, I know he won't be coming back. So this morning I told them to go ahead and move. I might as well get used to living alone." At the worried expression on her grandmother's face, she hurried to add, "I have Matt's hound, Jawer. He sleeps inside now. Besides, Henry and Dove are going to come over every night and sit with me until bedtime." She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Henry says he's watching out for me until Matt comes home. I feel like telling him he'll have a long wait."
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she slipped to the floor to lean her head against Hertha's knee. "Oh, Grandma, I can't stand the thought that I have lost him forever."
Hertha gently stroked the shining hair, thinking that the unhappy girl would be better off if the wild hellion didn't come back. A man that proud and stubborn couldn't bring happiness to any woman. But Marna didn't want to hear this now. She needed the comfort of encouraging words. She would have to work out in her own mind and heart if Matt Barton was worth the heartache he caused her.
Hertha raised the delicate face and wiped at the wet cheeks with her callused hands. "Don't give up hope, Marne. Matt will be drawn back to you. It will be against his stubborn will, but he'll come back."
"I don't know, Grandma. He was so angry at me yesterday."
"He'll get over it. Don't fret about it."
Somewhat heartened by Hertha's insistent assurance, Marna dropped the subject of Matt, and they chatted comfortably over coffee and cookies, happy to be together again.
"How is the old devil treating you?" Marna asked during a short silence.
"That old reprobate," Hertha snorted. "He's still as mean as a poisoned snake." She paused a moment. "That ornery Corey has been hangin' round our place. I don't trust him. I can't help but think you're the reason he's hangin' round with Emery."
"You must be mistaken, Grandma. Corey knows that
Matt, or C
aleb, would shoot him if he lays a hand on me.
"Nevertheless," Hertha insisted earnestly, "I want you to promise me that you'll keep the door barred night and day. I want you to promise that you won't open it to anyone you don't know or trust. And don't ever go out alone. Not even to the spring."
Marna assured her she would do as she asked.
The time passed all too quickly, and it was time for Hertha to leave. As she fumbled with her coat, Mania moved the stiff fingers aside and buttoned it for her. Tying the scarf under the sharp, scrawny chin, a mistiness came into her eyes. "You be careful, Grandma, you hear me?"
Hertha squeezed her hands and kissed her cheek. "Ain't nothin' gonna bother me. You watch out for yourself."
When Mama would have stayed in the open doorway while Hertha laced on her snowshoes, the old woman scolded, "Go on back to the fire. Do you want to catch your death out here?"
Marna smiled, but stepped back inside and closed the door. It was a waste of time to argue with Grandma. She moved to the window and waved as Hertha clumped by in the cumbersome snowshoes. She watched until the forest swallowed the frail, bent body.
Marna was about to turn away when her attention was caught by a movement at the edge of the clearing. Peering closer, she made out the figure of a man. Her first instinct was to grab up Henry's rifle and send a shot his way. Not to kill him, but to scare him away. But as she continued to study the man, she decided that he was quite harmless. He even looked sad somehow, leaning loosely against a tree.
Forgetting Hertha's warning, she opened the door and walked out on the porch. On seeing her, the man straightened up and moved toward the cabin. As he drew near, an unexpected fluttering stirred in her breast. There was something so familiar about the big figure.
The stranger stopped at the bottom of the single step, and for a long moment they studied one another. Finally Marna spoke. "May I help you? Are you looking for someone?"
The man smiled and shook his head. "No, miss, I'm not. To tell you the truth, I'm new around here, and I get lonesome. I get tired of talkie' to myself."
