Marna

by Norah Hess

  Warming to his friendly manner, Marna laughed lightly. "I talked to myself all the time when I was a child."

  "You know somethin'," the stranger laughed back, "I used to do the same thing." His eyes took on a mock somberness. "But it's not the same when you grow older. People stare at you, and pretty soon there's a rumor goin' round that you're woods queer."

  Marna's laughter pealed out. "I've been called that, too. And not so long ago."

  The man held out his hand to her. "My name is Jake South, miss."

  Gripping his hand firmly, Marna answered, "I'm not a miss, Jake. I'm Mrs. Marna Barton."

  "Well, now, what about that," Jake smiled. "I think I met your husband recently. He called himself Matt" Marna's eyes sparkled. "That's him." She stepped back to the open door. "Would you like to come in and visit awhile?"

  "I was beginning to think you weren't goin' to ask me," Jake teased, allowing her to enter before him.

  While he removed his hat and coat, Marna pushed the coffeepot closer to the flames. "How would a cup of coffee hit you?"

  "It would hit me just fine. I'm chilled to the bone."

  Marna pulled the rocking chair closer to the fire. "Sit down and tell me how you met my husband."

  Jake eased his big bulk into the chair and took a pipe from his shirt pocket. When he looked at Marna inquiringly, she was puzzled by his look. Then slowly it came to her that he was asking permission to smoke in the cabin. Her face flushed pink with embarrassed pleasure. Not even Caleb had showed her that consideration.

  She hurriedly nodded her head.

  When Jake had the pipe going to his satisfaction, he leaned back in the chair and recounted his meeting with Matt. "I met Matt about fifteen miles from here. He had an arrow in his back and a redskin ready to plunge a knife in him."

  Marna gasped, and Jake became solicitous when he saw her whitened face. "I'm sorry, Marna. I thought you knew. Didn't you see his wound?"

  Marna shook her head woodenly.

  Jake studied the sad, beautiful face. What kind of marriage did she have? How could she have not seen the ugly red scar on Matt's back?

  "Where is Matt?" he asked suddenly.

  Avoiding his eyes, Marna stammered that he was most likely out setting his traps.

  Jake continued to watch her secretly, growing angry at the pain in her eyes. His opinion of Matt was dropping sharply. It was plain he hadn't been near his wife since his return.

  Jake's eyes narrowed as he remembered something. On his way through, back at the post, he had seen a horse that resembled Matt's tied in front of the whorehouse. He hadn't been sure then because of the distance and the trees. But that's where Barton must be. The big hands lying on the chair arms doubled into fists. On his way home he would stop at that place and beat the living hell out of the hunter. The rotten no-good, to leave a beautiful girl like this so that he could go wallow in bed with some slut.

  The coffee began to steam, and Marna rose and took it from the fire. She smiled at Jake. "Are you ready?"

  The cookies were still on the table, and she pushed them toward him. "Have a cookie."

  Jake picked one up and bit into it. Its flavor brought a sad, gentle light to his eyes. "My wife used to bake cookies just like these."

  Marna looked up in surprise. "She did? I thought my grandmother was the only one who had the recipe. There's a special herb in them, you know."

  Jake stirred uneasily and mumbled, "Is that so?" He sipped at his coffee, then set the cup down. In a voice carefully controlled, he asked, "Who is your grandmother, Marna?"

  "Her name is Hertha Aker."

  Jake kept his eyes lowered. "Is she still alive?"

  "Oh, yes," Marna smiled. "She is very much alive. Grandma is like the old oaks around here. She draws her strength from the soil. The people around here call her old Hertha, the medicine woman. Everyone loves her."

  For the next half hour Jake slowly and carefully drew from Marna facts on her grandmother. He learned that Marna had come to Kentucky when she was just a baby and that Emery still lived and was meaner than ever, if that was possible. He also managed by indirect questioning to learn where Hertha lived, and how to get there.

  Darkness entered the room without either of them noticing it. The newly created shadows hid the somberness, and sometimes pain, that lay on Jake's face as Marna talked. What a hard life she and Hertha had lived.

  A sudden knock on the door startled them both. "My goodness," Marna exclaimed, "the sun is down."

  She rose and, looking at the flickering flame in the fireplace, said, "Jake, would you put some wood on the fire while I answer the door?"

  Henry and Dove, along with Caleb, stood shivering on the porch. "Why are you sittin' in the dark, Marna?" Caleb asked, walking past her.

  He started and stared angrily at the man straightening up from the fireplace. Matt was back. But when Marna lighted a candle and the wood blazed up, he saw his mistake.

  Caleb eyed Jake suspiciously. "Who's your visitor?" he asked, his usually soft voice now hard and sharp.

  Marna shot him a frowning glance and moved to stand next to Jake. "This is Jake South, a new friend of mine."

  Henry shook hands warmly, and Dove smiled shyly. But Caleb barely nodded his head, ignoring completely the outstretched hand. A smile tugged at Jake's lips. The young rooster was in love with Marna and was jealous as hell.

  Dove set a pot of still-steaming stew on the table. "I brought supper tonight," she said softly. "Henry shot a fine young deer this morning."

  Marna lifted the lid and sniffed. "It smells delicious." She turned to Jake. "Stay for supper, will you, Jake?"

  Jake shook his head and reached for his coat. "Another time, Marna. I have some business to take care of at the post."

  Marna walked with him to the door. Holding out a slim hand, she said, "I really enjoyed our talk. Will you come again soon?"

  Ignoring Caleb's scowling face, Jake answered that he would come again next week.

  The door closed behind him and he took a deep breath. After fifteen years of searching, he had found his daughter.

  Jake stood on the porch, hot tears of gratitude running down his cheeks. "So like my Hester," he whispered. "How I wanted to hold her.. .tell her who I am."

  From inside came Marna's raised voice, telling Caleb in no uncertain terms that it was none of his business who she invited into her home. He could not make out Caleb's answering words, but the tone of his voice was apologetic.

  Jake grinned, brushed at his eyes, and stepped off the porch. His daughter had a sharp tongue in her mouth. A trait she had inherited from him.

  A moon, full and white, shone so coldly that the knot in his chest felt like a piece of ice. His mind nagged at him, Why didn't you tell the girl who you were? Why didn't you say, Marna, I am your father, Egan Traver.

  "Because I'm a coward," he cried out, his voice carrying over the crunching snow. "I was afraid to face those open, honest eyes. She's bound to hate me for abandoning her to that bastard Emery."

  In his guilt Jake stepped up his pace, hoping to move away from his unhappy thoughts, but they kept pace with him. Had Marna suffered at Emery's hands? Had he ever struck her, beat her?

  As he had so often done in the past, Jake assured himself again that Hertha would never allow Emery to abuse the girl. But there remained the persistent question: would she be able to stop him?

  Slogging along in the snow, he told himself that he must talk to Hertha as soon as possible. The old woman would advise him what to do.

  Arriving at that decision, he fell to dreaming of Marna's future. He could do so much for his daughter, make up for all the lost years. He would take her back to Philadelphia. What a beauty she would be, all decked out in fancy clothes. And he would see to it that she made a suitable marriage, too. Not a mockery like the words that held her to Matt Barton. Hell, he was no husband.

  "I'd bet good money he's not even took her to bed yet," he muttered. "She's still got that innocent, unawa
kened look about her." A grin tilted the corners of his mouth. "Not that it's any fault of that Caleb fellow."

  The dim lights of the post shone before him. He leaned against a tree, pondering his next move. As badly as he wanted to plant his fist in the big hunter's face, he realized it wouldn't be the thing to do. What reason could he give for his actions? He couldn't walk up to him and say, "Barton, I don't like the way you've been treating your wife." He'd have every man in the place down on him. Interference between a man and his woman was unheard of in the hills, even though many a good woman had died because of that rule.

  As Jake stood musing, an idea struck him. He grinned widely. Maybe Matt had a favorite whore he visited. And maybe he could take her away from him. Jake did have a reputation for keeping a woman happy in bed.

  He rubbed himself slowly, reflecting. He hadn't had a woman since the last time he had checked on his many businesses. Hell, that was more than a month ago. He'd be in prime shape.

  He struck off toward the dim light at the edge of the settlement, slipping and sliding in his hurry. "I can take Matt's whore and keep her away from him all night," he grinned. "Maybe for all time."

  The thought of the pleasure awaiting him put a spring in his step. Reaching the house, he stepped quietly onto the porch. Standing back in the shadows, he watched the revelers through the window. The barely clad girls were a familiar sight to him. Back in Philadelphia he owned the fanciest whorehouses in the city. There wasn't one girl who worked for him that he hadn't tried out at least once. Surprisingly, these girls didn't look bad. A man wouldn't expect to see such young ones so far back in the hills.

  As he tried to decide which of them would appeal to Matt, his eyes fell on the hunter. He sat with four other men at a table, playing poker. But it was the woman sitting next to Matt that held Jake's interest. God, but she looked good. When Matt's hand came out to casually rub up and down her thigh, Jake's eyes creased at the corners. He'd go after this one regardless of whose woman she was. Being Matt's would only give him double pleasure.

  When Jake opened the door, Betsy spotted him at once. As always, when a new face appeared, her interest was piqued. There was always the chance that this one would give her what she wanted. She glanced up at Matt's profile bent over his cards and smiled wistfully. He hadn't sought her out last night, and she couldn't gamble that he would tonight.

  She picked up her drink and moved toward the stranger. The man was as tall as herself, and his blue, appraising eyes bored straight into hers. Then slowly he let his gaze travel over her firm, curving body.

  A pleasurable shiver went through her. This one had sampled the best, and she could hardly wait to get him in her room. He would know exactly what to do, and when and how.

  She smiled into his eyes. "Hello, stranger. My name is Betsy, and I own this place. What can I do for you?"

  Jake's eyes flared wickedly as he stretched a lazy hand to her white shoulder. Slowly, in a caressing movement, he slipped the thin strap of her gown down ward. When a large, firm breast stood free, he ran a finger lightly over its smooth contour. "I think you can do a lot of things for me, Betsy," he murmured.

  Betsy glanced down at the pulsating movement in his trousers, and hunger shone in her eyes. Jake caught her look and took her by the elbow. He turned her around, and wordlessly they walked to the rear door.

  Matt saw them leave and smiled to himself. The randy Jake could take good care of Betsy. Matt glanced around at the other whores. He'd have to start trying them out. A glint of amusement shone in his eyes. It was a good thing he didn't want any more clothes or furniture from the madam.

  A candle burned on a table beside Betsy's new bed. In its soft light the pair disrobed. Betsy stood gazing at the hard, muscular body, her eyes drawn to the throbbing part of him. Her breath came fast, and her tongue came out to lick her lips.

  Jake lay down across the bed, his legs hanging over the side. Giving her a slow, lazy smile, he thrust himself at her suggestively. "Come on, Betsy, you know what to do."

  Marna was occupied with mixing walnut ashes with her remaining salt. This was an old practice of Hertha's when her salt supply was running low. Salt was becoming a very scarce commodity these days. When this supply was gone, there was no way of knowing when there would be more.

  They were at war with England now. A friendly Indian had told Hertha that a blockade had been set up. Until someone was brave enough to run it, nothing would be coming through. The Indian had also said that Washington had been defeated in Brandywine and Germantown and had taken his soldiers to winter in Valley Forge. They had built quarters there and would wait out the snow and cold. In the meantime, with the British officer Howe keeping a firm hand on the rebel capital of Philadelphia, it would be next to impossible to get through the blockade.

  Quite a few young men from the settlement had joined the fighting, including Caleb. Marna paused in her operation. He had been gone a month now. But it seemed much longer since she had got up the nerve to tell him that he was wasting his time waiting for her. It had been hard telling him that she would always love Matt, no matter what

  She recalled that a couple of evenings later Caleb had knocked on the door. It was quite late, but she had invited him in pleasantly, always happy for his company. "Take off your coat and sit down. I'll heat us some coffee."

  Caleb had remained standing, fidgeting nervously with his coonskin. She noticed for the first time the somberness of his face. She looked up at him quizzically, and finally he blurted out, "Thank you, Marna, but I won't be stayin'. I'm pullin' out tonight, and I stopped to say good-bye."

  Startled, Marna sat down weakly. How lonesome it would be around here without his smiling face to cheer her up. She calmed her fluttering heart. "Pulling out, Caleb? Where are you going? I understand that trapping is good in these parts."

  "I'll not be trappin' for a while. I'm gonna join up with Washington."

  She had felt the blood drain from her face. Because of her, Caleb was going off to war. What if he should be killed? She touched his arm and asked softly, "Are you sure this is what you want to do, Caleb? Soldiering will be nothing like hunting and trapping, you know. There's rules and regulations you'll have to follow in the army. It won't be easy."

  Staring down at the floor, he had muttered, "I can get used to it."

  Then suddenly he gripped her hands. "I can get used to anything but seeing you and Matt together."

  Marna gave a bitter laugh as she gently drew her hands from his. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that happening. He hasn't been near me since his return. And from his carefree attitude, I don't think that he will."

  "Hah! Don't you believe that. His carefree manner ain't what it seems. He only wants you to believe his lightheartedness. His eyes are always starin' over here."

  And though her heart had sung at his words, she had managed to keep the joy from her eyes. Caleb felt bad enough.

  Caleb had left shortly after that, lingering at the door to lift a finger and brush away a tear that slid down her cheek. "Don't cry, Marna. You can't help who you love any more than I can. I'll write to you."

  She received his first letter two days ago. It had taken three weeks to reach her. It was soiled and wrinkled from the many hands it had passed through.

  She went to sit beside the fire to read it again.

  Valley Forge Dec. 1777

  Dear Marna,

  I promised to write you a letter and here it is. I arrived yesterday, and already I am missing you and my friends.

  It is bitter cold here, and the men tell me that half the time they don't get enough to eat. Most are dressed poorly for the weather, many still wearing the summer clothing they arrived in. Many have no shoes, only rags tied around their feet.

  And don't believe all that glorified talk about Washington suffering along with his men. He is quartered in a comfortable farmhouse with plenty of good food to eat. These poor devils in camp hardly ever see him.

  It don't look good, Marna.
If we don't have a complete turnaround, we're gonna lose this war. The men are praying that the French fleet will come in next spring and drive Howe out of Philadelphia. It has grown too dark to write anymore, Marna. We don't have any candles, and our wood supply is short. Tomorrow me and the men who have shoes are going out to chop wood and see if we can scare up some game.

  I think about you all the time. Give me a thought once in a while, will you?

  Loving you, Caleb

  Sighing, Marna refolded the letter and placed it in her pocket. Poor Caleb. Cold and hungry and away from friends. She missed the ready smile on his face and the fast quip on his tongue.

  She rocked slowly, staring before her. Had she been wrong in letting him go? Maybe she should have asked him to wait a little longer, give her more time.

  Since Matt had come back, she had seen him mainly at a distance. Once she had run into him at the spring. But he had not spoken, and his eyes had told her nothing.

  Disconsolately she rose to her feet. Sometimes she wished that Matt had never returned. Being so close, and yet farther away than he had ever been, kept her in a state of misery.

  She glanced at the clock Grandma had brought her and hurried back to the salt. Jake would be here any time.

  Pouring the salt mixture into a cloth bag and storing it away, she filled the coffeepot with water and grounds. Jake loved coffee as much as she did. Setting the pot on the flames, she wondered how long it would be before she was grinding roasted acorns as a coffee substitute. Luckily, if worse came to worst, there were Grandma's sassafras and herb teas.

  As Marna brought a fresh pumpkin cake from the back room, the thought hit her that she and Jake liked many of the same things. For instance, they both liked the songs Grandma had taught her. They had spent many afternoons singing them together. Setting out the battered tin cups and plates against Jake's arrival, she paused to puzzle over the strange behavior he sometimes displayed as they sang. More often than not during their renditions, he would get a faraway look in his eyes. And even the bounciest of songs would come from his lips sounding gloomy and sad.