Marna

by Norah Hess

  Marna gasped, and Jake's eyes grew wide at the insult Taking a threatening step toward the stony-faced hunter, he exploded, "Now you listen to me, Matt Barton. Marna has done no wrong. If you will just listen to her-"

  His voice heavy with the hurt and jealousy that festered inside him, Matt lashed out, "I'm sick to death of her smooth, lyin' tongue. She'll not make a fool of me again."

  Marna was incredulous. Make a fool of him? What about the times he had made her look worse than a fool? Well, those days were gone forever. She was no longer a woman without the protection of a man. She had a father now, and she had taken her last abuse from this stubborn, presumptuous, wild man.

  Aroused as she had never been, her tone scathing, Marna flared out at him, "You've got a nerve, Matt Barton, likening me to your whores. Where is the sameness between us? Your whores get your time, your attention, your nights. What do I get from you? One night in your bed, and then insults thrown at my head. You don't even have enough trust and respect for me to let me explain a very important event in my life."

  She pointed to the door with a shaking finger. "I want you to get out of here, and I don't want you to ever come back."

  Amazement stared out of Matt's eyes. He had not expected her to turn on him. She hadn't the right. Hadn't he found her in the arms of another man? Did she expect him to act as though there was nothing wrong with that?

  Unreasoning rage was a bitter taste in his throat. He'd get out, all right, but that lousy womanizer would never have her.

  Before Marna and Jake's stunned gaze, Matt brought the long rifle to his shoulder. Marna stood horrified, unable to move. He was going to shoot her father. Her father whom she had just gotten to know.

  She watched the lean finger whiten around the trigger, and suddenly she was released. Throwing herself in front of Jake, she screamed, "No! No! Don't shoot him!"

  Through the blackness that gripped him, Marna's words beat on Matt's ears. Her desperate plea sent a pain through his heart that was almost unbearable. His wife loved this man enough to take his bullet

  A weariness came over him, and he brought the rifle down to hang at his side. He gazed a moment at the anxious face, then wordlessly turned and left the cabin.

  The door closed softly behind him, and Marna raced to the window. She watched him ride by on the stallion and disappear down the trail. Her face crumpled and hot tears ran down her cheeks.

  "Damn you, Matt Barton, damn you. We could have had such a good life together."

  To calm the raging turmoil of her thoughts, Marna paced around the room, hardly aware that she was not alone.

  Jake watched her, his face sympathetic. He spoke softly. "Don't take it so hard, Marna. Give Matt a little time to cool off. After a while he'll realize that he acted like a jackass, and he'll come back."

  Suddenly weak, Marna stopped her pacing and sat down. Her tone of voice dead, she said quietly, "No, he won't come back." She stared vacantly into the fire for a moment, then added tiredly, "It's best he doesn't. We could never get along, what with his mulish ways."

  A line of bitterness formed around her mouth. So he was gone. So what? She had spent entirely too much time worrying and wondering about Matt Barton. Wondering when she would see him again. Worrying about who he was sleeping with. To have a lifetime of such torment would soon devastate your soul.

  Her slim hand came up to play with the curls lying on her shoulders. She was young, and all the men's eyes told her that she was desirable. From now on she was going to use her beauty. She would use it as a lever to obtain whatever she might desire from a man. But never again would she love a man, she told herself firmly.

  She glanced fondly at Jake. With the exception of Jake, of course. It seemed that she had loved him from the very beginning. From now on she was going to concentrate on making up to him all those lost years.

  Jake felt her eyes upon him, and he turned his head to smile at her. With a faint eagerness in his voice, he asked, "What now, Marna?"

  Marna sighed. "I don't know, Jake, except that I must start a life that doesn't include Matt in it. Do you have anything in mind?"

  "Well, for beginners, why don't you start callin' me Pa. Anyhow, Jake South isn't my name, you know."

  Marna's eyes twinkled. "I know it, Pa. It's Egan."

  Egan's face beamed. Finally he had heard the word he had longed to hear for so long. He sat forward. "Marna, what's your opinion of gathering up your grandmother and all of us movin' to Philadelphia?"

  Mama's eyes widened. Philadelphia? For a moment she sat stunned. She, a backwoods girl-live in a big city? She couldn't visualize, it. "What in the world would I do there, Ja...Pa?" she exclaimed.

  Laughing, Egan reached over to clasp her hand. "To start with, you could storm that city with your beauty. You would have them city dudes kneeling at your feet I'm not a poor man, Marna. I own many properties in Philadelphia, and can give you more than you ever dreamed of. You will have a comfortable home and more lovely clothes than you can wear. You will meet many wealthy men to choose your next husband from."

  A slight frown gathered between Marna's eyes. "I'm in no hurry to marry again, Pa."

  "That's good. I'm in no hurry to lose you again. But you can still let them young bucks squire you around."

  Mama's face took on an excited, pleased glow at his words and she turned her head shyly away. Unconsciously smoothing her hair, she murmured, "Am I really beautiful, Pa?"

  "Honey, during my lifetime I have seen many beautiful women. Next to your mother, I swear you have all the rest of them beat"

  She peeked up at him and said softly, "I hope that makes you proud, Pa."

  "It does indeed, girl, and I can't wait to show you off"

  Warming to the idea of moving to Philadelphia, Marna jumped to her feet and began to pace the floor excitedly. "I can't wait to tell Grandma. I know she'll want to come. You know her opinion of Grandpa. She'll be glad to get away from him."

  "Your grandmother's opinion of Emery would take her years to tell." Egan stood up. "Grandma knows about Philadelphia. She and I talked about it yesterday. She said it was up to you. If everything went well, we were going to leave at the end of the week. But I don't know why we have to put it off." Reaching for his coat, he asked, "Could you be ready to leave tomorrow morning, early?"

  Marna gave a short laugh. "Ten minutes from now wouldn't be too soon."

  Egan moved to the door; then, with the latch in his hand, he turned around. As he nervously shifted his feet, Marna gazed at him quizzically. "Was there something else, Pa?"

  "Well, yes...yes, there is. It's this way. I'd like to take Betsy with us if you don't mind."

  Marna walked over to him, an understanding smile on her lips. "Pa, I would love having Betsy go with us," she said softly.

  Egan's relieved smile made her laugh aloud. "Good," he exclaimed. I'll get word to your Grandma to come spend the night with you. Then in the morning we'll have no trouble slippin' away from Emery."

  Marna's eyes lightened. "I've been worrying how we'd get her away from him."

  Egan kissed her cheek again, remarking, "It's all set, then." He grinned and closed the door behind him.

  That evening, after Hertha had arrived, a bundle of clothes in her hand and a wide smile on her lips, they went to say good-bye to Henry and Dove.

  Marna did not mention the relationship between her and Egan. She merely said that she and Hertha were going to Philadelphia with him. She was a little surprised when the pair did not show shock at her announcement. They only smiled and wished her well. Henry even said that he didn't blame her for choosing Philadelphia over a wild, untamed wilderness. Her eyes grew wet as she kissed them good-bye. Besides Caleb, they had been her only friends. "I hope you have a son," she said, smiling and closing the door behind her.

  The sun had barely risen the next morning when Egan and Betsy came for them. Egan drove a team of horses hitched to a wide, deep wagon. A good foot of hay covered its bottom, and a stack of blankets a
nd bearskins waited in a corner for the ladies to cover themselves with. There was a canvas tarpaulin to fit snugly over the wagon as they slept. They should not have to suffer any hardship on their little trip.

  As they pulled creakingly away, Marna gazed back at the small building she had called home for such a short time. Her eyes brimmed, and a tear slid down her cheek. She brushed away the tear impatiently and turned her head away from the past. She forced a determined smile to her lips and said brightly to Hertha, "Well, Grandma, we're off."

  Hearing the catch in her voice, Hertha patted her hand. "It's for the best, Marnie. Your future will be better in Philadelphia."

  Marna nodded, thinking bleakly that anything would be better than her past. Pulling a bearskin up around her shoulders and chin, she watched the forest slip by. The snow glistened white among the green of the pines and cedar, almost blinding her. In the cold air the jingle of the trace chains was intensified, and Egan and Betsy's low voices came clearly as they talked foolish lovers' talk.

  Betsy must truly love my father, she thought, to sit up there, unprotected from the wind.

  Around noon Egan pulled the team into a sheltered cedar grove. "We'll have a bite to eat and rest the horses," he announced, swinging down into a foot of snow.

  Betsy lifted her legs over the seat and dropped into the wagon. She smiled her relief through chattering teeth as she scooted under the covers and hunched herself close to Marna's warm body. Marna shared her bearskin, tucking it around the shivering shoulders. "You'd best stay back here with me and Grandma," she scolded. "You're going to catch pneumonia up there."

  Betsy buried deeper into the hay. "I'd like to, but I'd feel so sorry for Egan sitting up there by himself."

  Marna glanced out at her robust father hanging feed bags over the horse's heads. "Pa?" she snorted. "This cold won't hurt him. He's like a piece of deer hide. Strong and enduring."

  A loving softness took possession of Betsy's lips. "Oh, he is that," she murmured, "but gentle at the right times."

  For lunch, they ate cold fare from a basket Hertha had packed. When they had finished the plain but hearty meal, she brought out a bottle of her prized whiskey. She passed it to Egan first, ordering, "Take a long draw on this, Egan. It'll warm your blood."

  Egan tipped the bottle and let it gurgle down his throat He laughed through the smarting of his eyes as he handed it to Betsy. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he gasped, "By God, Grandma, that would warm the dead."

  When Betsy had taken a good draught and handed the bottle to Marna, she chokingly agreed. But Marna and Hertha, used to the fiery liquid, never batted an eye as they finished off the bottle.

  When Egan climbed back up on the seat and picked up the reins, he pushed Betsy back into the wagon. "You stay down in there. I don't want no piece of ice up against me tonight."

  Betsy grinned and snuggled back into the covers. Her eyes said that he needn't worry.

  As the sturdy team plowed doggedly through snow, often shank deep, Betsy talked of Philadelphia and the good times they would have there. It turned out that she had lived there most of her life. She had left there two years ago to start her business in the settlement. "Too much competition in the cities," she explained. "There is always some madam trying to coax away your most attractive girls."

  At first Marna had been a little surprised at Betsy's frank reference to her business. But by the time they camped for the night, she realized Betsy was just like her father. They were what they were. Open with everything, nothing hidden. Respect for the former whore began to grow inside her.

  As they rolled toward Philadelphia, each day was much the same as the last No blizzards came howling in to hold them up, or possibly turn them back. But each day was bitter cold, and Betsy remained in the back of the wagon with Marna and Hertha. Much to Egan's pleasure, a warm and intimate bond was growing between the two people he loved most in the world.

  Finally, even though they had traveled in relative comfort, it was with great relief that early one afternoon they spotted the Delaware river. Just a short distance away, Philadelphia squatted on its banks.

  For the first time, Egan uncurled his whip. The team stepped out briskly. In a short time their road led them directly onto a narrow, cobblestoned pavement. They had arrived.

  With an exultant cry Egan stood up in the bumping wagon. His hands seesawed with the reins, and his vibrant voice forced the team into the stream of traffic. In wild terror, Marna shrank against Betsy as he passed a heavily loaded wain, their wheels only inches apart. While she held her breath, her eyes glued to the evernarrowing space between them, a jarring bump on the other side of the wagon brought a startled yell from her throat.

  Betsy, her eyes shining and her breath rapid, laughed in high glee as a burly wagoner, popping his whip over the backs of his straining team, bumped them again. The rough-featured face grinned at her as he moved ahead, pushing his way between two coaches and riding on the heels of a delicate, spindly wheeled phaeton.

  Betsy gave an easy, understanding laugh and put her arm around Marna's shoulders. "Don't be frightened, honey, you'll get used to it."

  Over the raucous voices of drivers swearing at teams and the angry cries of pedestrians who narrowly missed being run over, Marna shook her head vehemently. "I'll never get used to this noise and confusion." Her gaze swept the tall brick buildings pressing in on both sides of the street. "I feel so penned in, like I can't hardly breathe. And so many people. I didn't think there were that many in the world," she concluded, watching the jam of people pushing their way down the wooden sidewalk.

  The flow would thin a bit as some turned into different shops or into taverns, which outnumbered the other establishments two to one. Fancily dressed women, fur collars pulled high around their chins, strolled in and out of shops, sometimes stopping to gaze at the creations in a millinery window. Used only to wearing a poke bonnet, when she remembered to put it on, Marna gazed wide-eyed at the pieces of rolled netting, fancy feathers, and artificial flowers. How would she look in one of them? she wondered.

  She glanced up at Hertha, and the old woman's eyes were as wide as her own as she watched red-coated British shove and be shoved by blanket-draped Indians who sought their place among Philadelphia's populace. Her lips curved. Grandma didn't like it here, either. Much had changed since she had lived here as a young woman.

  Gradually Marna became aware of the glances, and sometimes outright stares, being sent her way. Unaware of the effect that her fresh young beauty was having on the jaded, disillusioned men, she tried to hide herself between Betsy and Hertha. What a fright she must look in her soiled buckskins and woodsy coat.

  Betsy caught her movement and, understanding, leaned forward and tapped Egan's shoulder. "Are we about there, Egan? We're beginning to draw quite a bit of attention."

  Egan turned to cast a look at his white-faced daughter. Pity for his woods girl stirred inside him. She looked scared to death. And why shouldn't she be? he asked himself. She's probably never seen more than a dozen people together in her life.

  He smiled encouragement at Marna and pointed down the street with his whip. "We're just about there, honey. That red brick building in the middle of the block."

  Darkness was approaching when Matt rode the stallion into a stretch of broken country, with boulders large as cabins, ravines both wide and narrow, and stunted pines. It wore such a look of utter desolation, Matt shivered.

  Matt was headed for Valley Forge. He hoped to lose himself in that unknown world of the soldier and forget the girl with the tip-tilted eyes.

  He sighed and lifted the reins.

  After an hour of steady loping he was in unfamilar country. He slackened his pace and gave his whole attention to the new surroundings. He also kept an alert eye on the stallion's ears. The animal would see or hear trouble long before he would, and the. twitching ears would alert him.

  He was ready to cross a river and make camp when he saw the moccasin tracks in the snow. They were fr
esh and sharp, maybe only minutes old. The hair on the back of his neck rose. Even now he could be watched.

  Letting Sam lower his head and crop at some bushes, Matt took the opportunity to run his eyes over the opposite bank. Nothing stirred. Had the Indians climbed into a boat here and gone down - or upriver?

  Peering intently at the patterns on the snow, he could make nothing of them. Should he leave the safety of Sam's back and study the prints more closely?

  He decided not. It would be dark soon, and he was cold and hungry. They were probably miles away by now, anyhow.

  He was about to edge Sam into the water when from behind him, back in the forest, there came the guttural voices of Indians. He turned the stallion around, steering him into a tall, dense thicket of black haws. Reaching down, he clamped a hand over the flaring nostrils and waited.

  In a short time six braves, jabbering excitedly, passed within feet of his scanty shelter. From their unkept appearance and the ragged blankets around their shoulders, he placed them as renegades. The shaggy, half-starved ponies looked beat and ready to drop in their tracks.

  On the back of the last pony a deer swayed loosely. Matt sighed in relief. Only a hunting party. The rest of the tribe could be miles away. He waited until they were well out of sight and hearing before he put Sam into the water. Matt kicked his feet free of the stirrups as the swiftly flowing water mixed with chunks of ice rose almost to Sam's belly.

  As Sam lunged onto the gravelly beach, the sun disappeared behind the tree line. It was time to camp. Spotting a thick stand of cedar a few yards away, Matt grunted, "That's as good a place as any."

  It was totally dark by the time he had stripped the saddle off Sam and staked him nearby. After giving him a handful of corn from his saddlebag, he hunkered down beneath a tree and munched his cold supper of dried beef. He would have liked the comfort of a fire, but he didn't dare build one. The renegade braves might be camped nearby.

  Later, rolled in his blankets, it occurred to him that it would be ironic if he got killed before he even joined the fighting. When Matt finally did sleep, his rest was disturbed with dreams of Marna. The next day, when he spotted Valley Forge in the distance, he breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe now he'd be so busy his sleep would be dreamless.