Marna

by Norah Hess

  It was near dark when they came upon a cave. Matt drew rein and grinned across at Hertha. Nodding at the dark opening, he asked, "Would you object to pending' the night in there, Grandma? It beats sleepin' out in the open."

  "It won't bother me none, Matt. As long as I don't have to share it with any furry varmints."

  Matt swung down, remarking that he would check the cave out.

  The cave was small, with no back entrance. It was dry, with no evidence of animals or bats. The bedrolls were soon laid out and a small fire built. As soon as the coffee was brewed, Matt scattered the coals and scuffed dirt onto them. He had no intention of guiding a warring party to their quarters.

  Hertha was surprised to find that she was not at all uncomfortable rolled up in her blankets. The cold wind was completely shut off, and she felt quite secure with Matt only an arm's length away. She gazed at the dark outline of his long figure stretched out in front of the cave. How he had eaten from the food she had hurriedly packed. And how his face had lit up when she handed him the small pouch of tobacco.

  Buried in her blankets, she smiled smugly. He would be pleased when he discovered she had brought along a big bag to be passed out among the soldiers.

  Matt fully intended to stay awake, to keep an eye on the forest surrounding them. But his full stomach, along with the warmth of the blankets, soon made him drowsy. He thought of Marna and their night together. Without being aware of it, he slipped into a deep sleep.

  The next day, as the first traces of twilight filled the forest, they approached the valley. Matt pointed to the camp below. "There it is, Grandma. Your new home. Ain't she beautiful?"

  Hertha squinted her eyes and peered down at the dismal camp. She grinned widely and remarked, "The truth be told, Matt, it looks better than Philadelphia to me. At least the snow is clean and the air is pure. I just felt stifled back in the city."

  Grinning agreement, Matt lifted the reins and they began the descent. As they rode past the cedar, Matt lifted his eyes, fearful of how many new bodies he would see. There was only one, and he sighed in relief. Somehow, either by constant care or by plain willpower, Caleb was keeping them alive.

  After the sentry, Caleb was the first person they saw. His arms stacked full of wood, he was about to enter the cabin when Matt hailed him. He turned around to peer long and hard at the approaching riders. When he recognized Hertha's bent figure, the wood went tumbling to the ground. In awkward, loping stops he hurried toward them.

  Hertha, well acquainted with the signs, of sprains and ills, looked immediately at his feet. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of his broken and scuffed boots covering his stockingless feet. How cold he must be.

  But the coldness of Caleb's feet didn't seem to bother him as he swept Hertha out of the saddle. Laughing and crying his pleasure, he spun around and around, causing Hertha's thin legs to fly straight out. He exclaimed over and over, "Hertha, Hertha, I can't believe you're here. You don't know how I've longed to have you here."

  "Put me down, you big galoot," Hertha laughed, pleased at his warm welcome. "You're freezin' my legs, swinging' me round like that. The cold air goes right up my petticoat."

  It was close to midnight by the time Hertha had made the rounds to all the cabins. In each cabin she left her medicine, with instructions. There was one kind to soothe the stomach, another for the fever and headaches that plagued the soldiers. Over each fire she had started a venison stew to bubbling, liberally sprinkled with her dried, curing herbs. At each cabin she gave the same order. "Keep the fire burning warm all night. Give them the medicine every two hours straight through the night, and feed them as much as you can."

  And though every bone in her body ached and the wiry muscles were sore to the touch, Hertha's slumber was peaceful and satisfying when at last she rolled up in her blankets.

  The next morning she called Caleb and Matt together. "We gotta have a conference, men. I have to tell you that my medicine alone ain't gonna cure them boys. It's the meat diet that's killin' them. Now as me and Matt was comin' here, I saw a lot of homesteads. Why ain't you been to them people askin' for some vegetables?"

  "Hell, Hertha, we've been to them," Matt said. "They whine that they ain't got enough for themselves."

  "Hogwash! This here rich earth grows anything put in it Them homesteaders are just bein' plain miserly. I seen root cellars on every place we passed. From now on them cellars are gonna be visited when the candles are snuffed out."

  Thereafter, twice weekly, raids were made on the neighboring farms. The forays were made most often on the farm where General Washington was quartered. It seemed to the men that everything tasted sweeter from there.

  Within two weeks, under Hertha's careful ministering, not one soldier lay sick in bed. They did not enjoy robust health yet, but they were steadily improving. Also, every soldier's feet were shod now. They had been taught by Hertha, Matt, and Caleb how to tan deerskins and sew them into moccasins. Warm buckskin jackets were also crudely sewn, and each man enjoyed a warmth he hadn't known all winter. The men looked on Hertha as a saintly being, and there was not one soldier among them who wouldn't lay down his life for her.

  When Matt learned one day from a friendly Indian that Emery had died at the hands of a brave, the entire camp celebrated his death. Years seemed to drop off Hertha's face when Matt smilingly gave her the news. That evening she confided to him that she longed to go home now. "I have always wondered what it would be like to live in those beautiful hills without that old devil lurking in the background. It may be sinful of me, but I bless the redskin who scalped him."

  "Dove's father done him in. It seems Emery came across her little ten-year-old sister out alone in the woods. Emery raped her, and the girl's father caught him in the act. I guess the old man's death wasn't very pretty. According to my information, he was tortured a long time before he was allowed to die."

  Hertha gazed thoughtfully into the fire. "It's been a long time comin', but in the end the mean old varmint had to pay his dues like everyone else."

  As she continued to stare absently into the flames, Matt wondered if she were thinking of Mama and wishing that she were back in the hills also.

  God knew that he wished she were there.

  When Matt had slammed the door behind him, Marna hurried to the window for one last glimpse as he strode to his mount. She saw him shake his fist at her window, and she cringed. Did he hate her so?

  She turned from the window to find Hertha's pitying eyes on her. "Don't feel bad, lass," the old woman whispered, hugging her tight. "The stubborn devil loves you, and if he don't get himself killed in the war, he'll be back to you."

  Egan, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot Marna's maid had just brought in, gave an angry snort. "Marna, girl, that rakehell ain't worth one of your tears. Put the ignorant bastard out of your mind and concentrate on someone who'll appreciate you. You've wasted enough time on that wild hunter."

  When Marna would have objected to his harsh observation, Hertha laid a finger on her lips and shook her head. Tying a scarf around her head, she commented, "Matt's not a bad sort, Egan. You'll find that out someday."

  Egan gave a doubtful grunt as he added a good splash of brandy to his coffee. Matt Barton had disappointed him too many times.

  But Marna's eyes thanked Hertha for her words as she tucked wisps of gray hair back under the black scarf framing the wrinkled face. She ran a finger gently over a withered cheek, then moved with her grandmother to the door. Her hand gripped the doorknob for an instant, then with a little cry she threw her arms around the slight, wiry body.

  "Please be careful, Grandma. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you."

  Hertha's eyes were bright with tears as she put Marna away from her. With her gloved hand she brushed impatiently at a salty drop ready to spill. "Don't worry about me, child," she said gruffly. "Worry about them poor sick boys."

  Marna forced herself to smile. This kindhearted woman would have enough on her mi
nd without worrying that she was back here fretting all the time. Planting a light kiss on the broad forehead, she said, "There will be no need to worry about the soldiers once you arrive, Grandma. They'll be up and around in no time, with you taking care of them."

  Relief at Marna's recovery lightened Hertha's face. She stretched a hand to Egan. He grasped the gnarled hand warmly and bent to kiss her cheek. "Send us word how you are, Grandma. And if there's anything my money can do, just send me word."

  Hertha smiled and nodded, and then she was gone, hurrying to catch up with Matt.

  Marna stood in the open door, watching the bundledup figure disappear down the stairs. She turned an imploring look on Egan. "She will be all right, won't she, Pa?"

  Egan quickly nodded his head. "The only thing that could happen to her is she might get a little cold. Even though I got small use for Barton, I must say the man would guard her with his life. He's got a big likin' for the old lady."

  Marna gazed down the stairway once more. Matt did care for Grandma and was always solicitous of her welfare. She was the one person who ever brought a hint of softness to his hard features.

  A bitter smile stirred her lips. It was a pity he didn't look on Hertha Aker's granddaughter with more favor. She would be so grateful for a kind word, a soft look.

  Marna excused herself to go to Hertha's room, where she busied herself picking up and putting away hurriedly tossed clothes. She carefully folded the garments, letting her hands linger to lovingly smooth the plain material. How far along were she and Matt on their journey, she wondered.

  Afraid then that Matt would wedge himself into her mind, she sat down in Hertha's favorite rocker and gave her thoughts over to the gambler. As she rocked slowly, unbidden speculations came to mind. What would that lean body feel like pressing her down, his slim hips fitting over hers? Would she thrill to his beautiful hands moving over her body? She felt her blood heat and race. When she heard a door open and close, she jerked back to reality, blushing furiously, How could she think such thoughts about a man she hardly knew?

  When she returned to her bedroom, thoughts of Matt pushed in on her. With Egan and Betsy gone, the previous night came back, sharp and clear, to tease her. She recalled every moment and detail of those heated hours. The memory of his hard body on hers, demanding that she respond, left her weak and trembling.

  She moved about the room, fighting to control herself. She picked up clothes, smoothed Egan's rumpled newspaper, plumped pillows, all the time resolutely keeping her eyes from straying to the bed. But her ache for Matt kept gnawing at her, wearing her down. It was her lack of sleep that finally drove her to the bed. Wearily pulling the covers up around her shoulders, she clutched the pillow where Matt's head had rested With a long sigh, she fell asleep.

  Marna awakened to complete darkness. She had slept the day away. From downstairs came the murmur of voices in the gambling rooms. Occasionally a deep, laughing baritone would mingle with the high, nervous squeal of some woman who had won at cards.

  The dainty, gold-plated clock on the mantel struck seven. Marna sat up and swung her feet to the floor, feeling for her slippers. She might as well get dressed and join the merrymakers below, she mused halfheartedly. At least she'd be unable to think in the wild hilarity that always filled the gambling rooms.

  The daring cut of the gown she chose from the overflowing closet would not do, she discovered as she stood in front of a full-length mirror. Matt had left marks all up and down her throat and across the swelling curve of her breasts. She trailed her fingers across them, and her eyes grew heavy with remembering.

  Even so, the black silk gown she finally selected, with its high collar and snug-fitting bodice, highlighted her figure more than any dress she had ever worn. Fastening a diamond pin over her breast, she debated changing again. This gown made her look almost whorish.

  Then, with a cold recklessness, she snapped a matching bracelet on her wrist, muttering, "To blazes with them all. Let all of Philadelphia talk about me. Let the men fight over me." Picking up a small beaded purse, she swept down the stairs.

  She stood in the doorway of her favorite gambling room, where Aaron was working his table. Their glances locked immediately. His eyes were so hot and hungry and stabbed at her so fiercely that she looked away in confusion.

  Egan spotted her across the room and, smiling, raised his glass of wine in a toast to her beauty. Grinning, she made a small bow. Then the other men in the room, drawn by the passion that still lingered on her face and smudged her eyes, gathered around her, making it impossible for her to move. As they jostled and pushed to get nearer her, they watched each other with jealousy. Who had stamped that look on her face? None of them had been successful yet in luring her to their rooms.

  Marna accepted a glass of wine pushed into her hand, thinking how well guarded her father's help had kept her secret. Egan had insisted that no one but his most trusted employees should know about her long hunter husband.

  Marna's laughter grew wilder and louder as more and more wine was consumed. Often her musical trill was heard above the others, and she would catch Egan's disapproving frown and Betsy's look of concern. As usual, Marna didn't get to bed until the early hours of the morning.

  As the weeks went by, Marna was drawn more and more into Philadelphia's gay play world. At first she welcomed it; anything to keep her.from thinking about Matt. She had lost her battle completely, trying to push him from her mind.

  But it had seemed at first she might be successful, partying all night and sleeping all day. Then a growing restlessness took root inside her. Even her sleep was restless. She had dreams that were full of confusion. A world where she shared the arms of both Matt and Aaron. They always started with Matt beside her, his arms and lips cruel and demanding. She would cry out in anguish and despair, and the lips would turn gentle, but urging. Uttering a small sound of pleasure then, she would mover closer in the circle of Aaron's arms. As the mixed-up dreams continued almost nightly, she reached a point where she couldn't look at Aaron without blushing guiltily.

  Having a rare breakfast one morning, her small dining table set up in front of the fire, she gave serious thought to the dark, intense gambler. More and more he watched her. His knowing eyes seemed to search her face as though waiting for that moment she might weaken.

  She stirred her tea absentmindedly, asking herself whether it would happen. It was close to a month now since Matt had made his wild love to her. He had stirred emotions that now lay dormant, waiting to be aroused again. Sometimes she awakened in the middle of her dreams with an ache in her loins that would surely consume her. And the gambler, well aware of her need, was merely biding his time.

  She gave a start when a knock sounded on her anteroom door. Without waiting for an invitation, Egan and Betsy entered. There was a glow about them as they stood smiling at her. Almost jealous of their contentment with each other, Marna said crossly, "You two look awfully pleased with yourselves. What have you been up to?"

  Her silk gown rustling, Betsy sat down on the arm of Marna's chair, and Egan took a seat across from her. Marna poured them a cup of tea, eyeing them quizzically. They had something they were dying to tell her. Smiling shyly, Betsy broke the silence. "Marna, me and the big galoot are going to be married this afternoon."

  The teapot still in her hands and her mouth partly open, Marna stared at Betsy. The smile left Betsy's face, replaced by a hurt look in her eyes. Egan squirmed uncomfortably, eyes narrowing. Irritation in his voice, he asked, "Aren't you pleased, Marna?"

  The unconscious appeal in his voice released Mama's tongue. Throwing her arms around Betsy's waist and stretching a hand to Egan, she exclaimed, "Of course I'm pleased. I just couldn't talk for a minute. You're perfect for each other, and your marriage together is going to be perfect." She couldn't help teasing. "Besides, it's about time you two made your carrying-on legal."

  Egan whacked her knuckles and Betsy gave her hair a tug, joking, "Now is that any way to talk to your futu
re mother?"

  Egan joined their laughter, remarking as he stood up, "You look like a mother."

  Betsy flashed him an impudent grin. "Is that right? What would you do if I should present you with a son?"

  Egan's face was comical as the thought grew on him. By God, it was possible he could be a father again. Betsy was a young woman, still in her twenties. Hell, she could give him half a dozen children.

  He bent a look on his mistress, different from any he had ever given her. As he took her arm and started toward the door, there was a new gentleness in his touch.

  Betsy turned at the door to say, "Be ready by three. You're standing up for me, you know."

  Marna nodded and asked, "Who's standing with Pa?"

  "Aaron," Egan answered, closing the door behind them.

  "Oh," Marna murmured weakly, staring at the door.

  Turning back to her now-cold toast, Marna started as the door opened again. The young maid moved toward her, a letter in her hand. "It's from Valley Forge, Miss," she said, handing over the soiled envelope.

  Grandma or Caleb? Marna wondered as she ripped open the white square. A happy smile lit up her face as she recognized Hertha's handwriting. Moving to a chair by the window and pulling her feet up under her, she read:

  Feb. 1778 Valley Forge

  Dear Mama, Egan, and Betsy,

  I have only a few minutes to write this, I am so busy with my poor lads. But I wanted you to know Matt and I arrived safe. Thankfully I report the boys are improving. No more have died. Matt and Caleb are out every day hunting. The rich broth made from the deer is going a long way in their recovery.

  May God forgive my happiness, Marna, but I have learned that Emery is dead. So, when I'm finished here, I'll be returning to Kentucky. I miss my peaceful hills so much.

  Marna, please give considerable thought to returning home also. Matt tells me that Howe is winter quartered in Philadelphia and that when we march against him, it will be a bloody battle. When that time comes, I would like for you to be with me.