Marna

by Norah Hess

  Finally Matt became aware of the foul air and pushed the jug away. He stood up, shaking his head. His lungs cried out for a sharp, tangy breath of piney air. Staggering a bit as he walked to the door, he grinned loosely. Maybe his head was clear, but his feet were sure fuzzy.

  He stood outside, breathing deep of the pure, cold air. The pale yellow of the moon was hazy, and he giggled as it became twins. "Ole Matt is seein' double," he slurred. "Me and ole Sam had better take ourselves a ride.. .get my eyes straightened out."

  Along the river trail the stallion's hooves flashed by the glitter of water, then turned sharply to race down the valley. Before long, dark clouds began to pass across the moon. Feeling almost himself again, Matt sighed and turned the mount around. It was going to snow, and sooner than he had thought

  As he retraced his way, the air become bitterly cold, and the moon disappeared altogether. Within minutes white flakes were settling softly onto the ground.

  Arriving back at the clearing, Matt's eyes automatically searched for the soft candlelight in Marna's window. Reining in, he sat gazing longingly at it. A derisive smile stirred the corners of his mouth. Here he sat, in freezing weather, hiding in the dark, trying to catch a glimpse of his own wife. Why wasn't he man enough to go to her and say, "Marna, I've been a damn fool Will you take me back?"

  The little voice that almost always nagged at him urged, Go on, knock at the door. She's a little thing, she can 't hurt you. He swung from Sam's back and tied him to the porch. He thought wryly that he'd rather be going to face a tribe of warring Indians.

  He raised his fist to knock and, in his nervousness, rapped unnecessarily hard. He frowned and swore under his breath. The door opened so swiftly that his face still wore its look of annoyance.

  The breath whooshed out of his lungs at the picture Marna made standing in front of the light. She wore a gown and robe of sheer, blue material, her shapely body clearly outlined beneath it. It resembled one he had chosen from the redhead's wardrobe, and he wondered if Betsy had sent it on.

  The firelight glistened on the cloud of red-brown hair tumbling around her shoulders and down her back. He could not see her features in the shadow, but he knew that smoky blue eyes gazed up at him from the delicately boned face.

  "Good evening, Matt," she said in her low, throaty voice.

  "I saw your light," he began, then floundered helplessly.

  She stepped to one side and invited, "Won't you come in and visit awhile?"

  He stepped inside, his heart pounding. She took his coat, and he trembled at her nearness. When she went to hang it up, he moved to the fire. Standing with his back to the flames, he slowly surveyed the room. It was much different from the last time he had seen it.

  The barren look was gone. And although the big bed was no longer in the main room, other pieces of furniture had taken its place. A long couch, heavily padded and covered with a bright material, stood before the hearth. And though it was homemade, as was another chair and two tables, all the pieces were well crafted. He frowned, wondering if Jake had made or bought them for Marna.

  Marna joined him and sat down on the couch. There was a flare of mischief behind her eyes as she asked softly, "How do you like my little nest?"

  Matt shot her a dark, wary look. Was she rubbing Jake South in his face? His eyes narrowed. If that was her game, he wasn't going to fall into her trap. He answered smoothly, "It's a very nice room."

  She sat forward, her lovely face glowing. "Do you really think so, Matt? I covered the couch myself. Jake made the frame and padded it with old pieces of blankets and furs, and Grandma gave me the homespun. We had so much fun making it."

  She patted the space beside her. "Sit down and see how comfortable it is."

  Matt glanced nervously at the patting hand. Did he dare to sit that close to her and still keep his hands to himself? He sat down gingerly, allowing that the couch was comfortable. Then the remembered fragrance of wild roses floated around him, and he sat forward on the edge of the seat A film of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his hands trembled. The scent, coupled with the soft contours of her body shimmering through her clothes, was almost more than he could bear.

  Suddenly then, he was fiercely angry with her. Angry that she could make him lose control of himself. He wanted to lash out at her, say words that would wipe away the composed look on her face.

  He began by saying coolly, "Jake visits you often, doesn't he?"

  He caught the warm glow that came into the darkly fringed eyes. When she answered, "Yes, he does, at least once a week," he wanted to hit her.

  Matt glanced around the room. "I see he has brought you many gifts.. .those pictures and other little geegaws layin' around."

  "Yes, he has. He seldom comes empty-handed. He said they were in the cabin he bought"

  His probing gaze was full of mocking significance when he sneered, "And to pay him for all the pretty little things, you take him into the back room?"

  For a moment Marna could only stare at him, uncertain of his words, uncertain of their meaning. "What did you say?" she whispered.

  "You heard me. I asked you if you paid him back by layin' with him. The way you did with Caleb before you tired of him."

  Her eyes flashing with hurt indignation, Mama jumped to her feet Without warning, her hand slapped across his cheek.

  His eyes furious, Matt bounded to his feet. Grasping her wrist and twisting it cruelly, he hissed out at her, "Does the truth hurt too much, bitch?"

  For a split second Marna's eyes glittered with hate. Then in a flicker her teeth sank into his hand, and a slender foot kicked him in the shins. With a loud, surprised yowl of pain, Matt released her. He swore as he examined his bleeding hand. Marna swept into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

  Though she had left the room proudly enough, her back straight and her head held high, when she closed the door behind her, all her pride was gone. She threw herself onto the bed, hot tears brimming in her eyes. "I hate him, I hate him," she sobbed into the pillow.

  She was dabbing at her eyes with the corner of the pillowcase when the door banged open. Jerking her head around, she stared angrily at the broad figure filling the doorway. "What do you want?" she gasped in a whisper.

  With a low, mocking laugh, Matt answered, "What do you think I want?"

  Scooting to the other side of the bed, Marna shook her head. But Matt had flung himself down beside her. His voice smothered and bitter, he breathed, "Yes. I intend to have what Caleb and Jake have enjoyed."

  His hand snaked out, and in one tearing sound the gown and robe were ripped off her body. The firelight from the other room shone red on her body. For a long time he remained hanging over her. His eyes feasted on the proudly jutting breasts, the soft, hollowed meeting of the thighs. Then, never taking his eyes from her, he rose and disrobed.

  All the while Marna lay quietly, staring up at him. He avoided her eyes as he stretched out beside her. When he reached rough hands toward her, she pushed against his chest, whispering, "Please, Matt, not this way."

  His eyes glazed over with desire, he pushed away her hands and sneered, "What's wrong? Ain't I doin' it like Caleb and Jake?"

  Her hand flashed out to slap him again. But this time he was ready for her. He grabbed it and pinned it over her head. His eyes, narrow slits, burned down at her. "Go ahead, you wildcat," he panted, "fight me."

  And fight him she did. With her head swinging back and forth, refusing to meet his lips, her free hand scratched at his face and tore at his hair. When he pushed a knee between her legs and and strove to push them apart, she threshed her body about until he was half-crazed with the desire to possess her.

  Gradually the force of her blows became weaker and slower. Matt felt her body slacken, and he knew that the fight had gone out of her. He gathered her sweatmoistened body into his arms and pulled her in tight. Smoothing the damp curls away from her forehead, he ran his lips across the tortured, tearless eyes that gazed up at him. Slowly then,
he lowered his head and hungrily captured the parted red lips. After he had pulled the soft underlip between his teeth and sucked it gently for several seconds, his lips trailed down the white column of her throat to her breasts.

  Matt felt her tight body relax, then start a trembling that matched his own. He smiled and began to trace fast kisses down the smooth, flat stomach.

  Matt started out being gentle in his lovemaking. But as he kissed and stroked her, became acquainted with every curve and valley, his long-suppressed hunger for her burst loose. Suddenly he was like a man possessed, raining kisses up and down her body as though he couldn't get enough of her. And sometime during the wild caressing of his hands and lips, Marna had begun to respond with an abandonment that made his blood sing.

  When finally she sobbed, tossed her head, and called his name, he parted the soft thighs and climbed between them. After two unsuccessful attempts to enter her, he raised up and gazed at her in bewilderment. "Marna," he asked huskily, "haven't you known a man before?"

  Her eyes dull with desire, Marna shook her head.

  His mind reeling with elation at her answer and his loins an aching throb, he gently but steadily pushed his way into his bride.

  Twice she moaned softly, but she continued to strain eagerly toward him.

  The sky was a light gray when Matt slumped over Marna's exhausted but contented body for the last time. But even in his sleep he held her close, not really finished with it. He would only rest awhile.

  The sun awakened Marna hours later. "Goodness," she murmured, stretching lazily, "it must be at least two o'clock."

  She ran her fingers lightly over her bare body, flinching when she hit a tender spot. Matt had been so intense in his lovemaking. She pushed the covers down to her waist and examined the faint red marks scattered across her breasts. Remembering the pleasure those marks had brought her, she grew warm again with desire. She wished that Matt were here this very minute.

  She had responded, but sleepily, to him this morning just before he rose to run his traps. The rhythmic thrust of his body had quickly brought her to that joyous crest, then she slid back into dreamland. She had vaguely heard his soft chuckle as he withdrew and kissed her mouth softly.

  She swung her feet to the floor, curling her toes away from the cold planks. Her body a mass of gooseflesh, she grabbed up her old, soft, wool robe that Hertha had made for her two years ago. The day was much too cold for the thin, fancy robes that Jake had brought her one day. She didn't like them much, anyway. He could have only gotten such clothes from Betsy. And she hadn't made up her mind yet about the big, attractive woman.

  Digging her fur-lined slippers from under the bed, she scuffed into the other room and headed for the fire. Sometimes she was sorry she had had the bed taken to the other room. It had always been so cozy, nestled up against the chimney.

  Hefting the coffeepot, she smiled. Almost full, and still warm. Matt had taken the time to brew it before leaving. She poured a cup of the strong, dark liquid and carried it to a small table under the window. Glancing out, she saw Jake coming across the clearing, his boots kicking up the new-fallen snow.

  He seems in a hurry, she thought as she went to the door.

  Jake immediately noticed the new softness in her face, and wondered at it. "She gets lovelier every day," he marveled.

  "What brings you here today, Jake? Did your new houseguest kick you out already?"

  Jake smiled at her sally as he removed his coat and laid his hat on the hearth. "My houseguest, as you call her, didn't move in."

  "Oh, Jake, I am sorry," Marna exclaimed, hanging up his coat. "I know how much you wanted her to." She sat down on the couch, pulling him down beside her. "May I ask why Betsy didn't move in?"

  Jake picked up her hand and held it between his own. "That's why I'm here. I have something to tell you. It's a long story, so can I have a cup of coffee?"

  "Of course," Marna said, jumping to her feet. "I was just about to offer you some."

  But when the coffee was poured, and Jake held it in his hands, he still didn't speak. He sat turning the cup in his hands, weighing his thoughts. On his way here he had rehearsed what he would say, and it had sounded fine. Encouraged by Hertha's assurance, he had thought it would be easy, and had even looked forward to the telling. But now that he faced Marna, he was finding it difficult to even get started.

  Marna liked him as a friend, he knew, but all that could change rapidly if she knew that he was her father, the man who had run away and left her to the doubtful care of Emery Aker.

  He closed his eyes against the thought of that fondness turning to hate.

  Watching him, Marna could contain her curiosity no longer. Peering quizzically into his face, she urged, "Well, Jake, what were you going to tell me?"

  Jake set the cup on the table at his elbow and rose to stare down into the fire. After several seconds, he began with a question. "How much do you know of your parents, Marna?"

  Puzzled, she stared up at him for a moment. Then an excited fluttering began in her breast. Did Jake know her father?

  Her blue eyes almost purple in her eagerness, she sat forward and answered, "I don't know a great deal about them, Jake. My mother died when I was born, and Grandma said that my father was so broken up about it that he left Philadelphia. She's never heard of him since, and we fear that he is dead. Why do you ask?"

  In a voice that came out weak and uncertain, Jake asked, "Do you hold it against your father for leaving you-leaving you with such a man as Emery Aker?"

  Marna gazed solemnly before her. "I did when I was little. When Grandpa used to abuse Grandma, I would think to myself, why doesn't my father come and take us away from this old devil? Then one day Grandma explained to me that even if my father still lived, he would have no way of knowing where we were. It seems that we had to leave Philadelphia very quickly."

  Jake gazed down at her, hope building in his breast. "Then ...then if your father should show up today, you wouldn't hate him?"

  As if floating in a dream, Marna stood up. A look of half fear, half hope on her face, she whispered, "Oh, Jake, do you know who my father is? Does he still live?"

  His body held tensely, Jake stared back at her. The time had arrived. Taking a shuddering breath, he answered, "Your father lives, Marna. I am your father."

  For a moment Marna stared at him blankly, not grasping his words. Then her eyes widened in understanding and she uttered a little sound. It was so clear now. Why hadn't she realized it before? She had her father's eyes. That was why he looked so familiar to her. Grandma had told her many times that she had her father's eyes.

  "Oh, Jake," she sobbed, throwing herself into his arms.

  It was as if nature had spread a clean white blanket on the ground, Matt thought as he stepped off the porch and into the newly fallen snow. It was totally silent in the grayness of the morning, and somehow strange. Usually the loud, raucous voices of the hunters could be heard competing with the wild barking of the hounds.

  But today he had at least an hour's start on the others. He wanted to run his traps and get back to the warm arms of his wife.

  He walked rapidly. Much time was saved by his ability to see a great distance ahead. In the new snow small tracks could be seen easily.

  It was well past noon when he was almost finished running the line. Fourteen fat, sleek beaver, strung together, hung across his shoulder. Matt was about to take a straight course for home. Then off in the distance he heard the fussy gobbling of wild turkeys. He smiled. Maybe his extra steps weren't for nothing after all. Marna would be pleased if he brought home a big, fat bird. They could invite Henry and Dove over for supper.

  Turning off his trodden path and heading into a cedar grove, he came upon them. In a small clearing, surrounded by wide, towering trees, a dozen or so big toms scratched busily in the protected soil under the trees. High in the branches, another dozen sat preening their feathers in the sun.

  Standing quietly beside a lone, bare oak, Matt lif
ted the rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim. The rifle spat, sending the fowl into a fluttering, gobbling panic. The beat of their wings was like rolling thunder as they swept off through the woods.

  He walked over to the inert pile of shining red and brown feathers and picked it up. Twenty pounds or more, he thought, pleased.

  After cleaning the rifle and reloading it, he took the bird and headed for home.

  But as he came closer to the cabin, his steps slowed. A queer chill had stolen over him, a vague dread that all was not well.

  He came to the familar clearing and stopped short. Booted footprints crossed his, then followed them to the cabin. A defensive, uneasy expression crossed his face. Only Jake South wore boots around here.

  Matt moved slowly up the narrow, snow-covered path, and stopped at the porch, reluctant to enter the cabin.

  He slid the furs off his shoulders, and laid them, along with the turkey, in the snow beside the steps. With a deep breath, he crossed the porch and opened the door.

  He felt sick and empty inside. Clasped in Jake South's arms, her face radiant, was Marna. The past wonderful hours had meant nothing to her. She had only wanted release from the desire he had roused in her.

  He kicked the door shut with his heel. The pair swung around and stared into eyes that were as cold as the icicles hanging from the eaves.

  Overwhelmed with confusion at the burning accusation in Matt's eyes, Mama stood rooted, Jake's arms still about her. The silence in the room grew heavy and oppressive before she found her voice. Then, drawing away from Jake, she spoke with a quivering catch in her voice.

  "I know how this must look to you, Matt, but Jake is-"

  His voice full of contempt, Matt interrupted her through clenched teeth. "Save your breath. I'm not interested in the excuses of whores."