by Norah Hess
She gave herself a mental shake. Matt was gone. Why couldn't she accept that?
When Aaron called to her again, this time the urgency in his voice penetrated her thoughts. When be begged, "Don't go off in your dreamworld again," she looked at him in surprise. Did she live in a dreamworld?
Slowly she realized and admitted that Aaron was right. She had been living, if not in a dreamworld, at least in a world of the past. As she gazed at Aaron, many things stood out clearly. She must accept the fact that Matt was no longer of her world. That she must force herself to forget him and start a new life. Aaron loved her, and what better place to start? She owed it to him to try to discover if there was anything between them other than the enjoyment of each other's body. It was time now to find out about the meeting of their minds.
Leaning against the window, she looked closely at the gambler, her eyes for the first time devoid of Matt's image. For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile came to her lips. As she moved toward the bed, there was a glimmering in her eyes that made Aaron watch her warily. When she stopped a few feet away and asked, "How did you know I was in a daydream, Aaron?" something put him on his guard.
Watching her closely, he answered, "You're always in a dreamworld, Marna."
She sat down on the edge of the bed and braced her hands on either side of his waist. Smiling down at him, she said softly, "Ah, but this time you don't know what I was dreaming."
His lips curved wistfully. "I don't imagine you were dreaming of me."
"Oh, but I was. I was thinking of Grandma and the home place, and I got to wondering if you'd care to go back there with me."
Surprise flickered in Aaron's eyes, and he leaned on an elbow to gaze at her searchingly. "Do you mean it, Marna? You're not teasing?"
"I mean it, Aaron. I think that we should try to discover our real selves. It would be impossible to do so in the life we live here. The hills have a way of clarifying things for a person. The country pushes aside unimportant things and emphasizes the values that are necessary between a man and woman." Her face saddened. "Usually it works that way."
Aaron knew her last remark was in memory of her dead husband. He held her away from him and searched her face earnestly. "Are you sure, Marna? No more memories between us?"
"I'm sure, Aaron. No more memories."
His laugh was a happy sound as he lay back on the pillows, pulling her with him. His hands moved over her body, and Marna closed her eyes, shutting out Matt's face. Then the bedroom door banged open and they pulled apart.
Egan's face and body shouted his anxiety as he stood over them. "Marna, get up and get dressed. You've got to get out of Philadelphia and back to the hills. Washington and his men are just outside the city. All hell is gonna break loose any minute."
Torn abruptly from the warm cocoon of Aaron's arms, Marna could only sit and stare at her father. Inanely, she complained, "But, Pa, it's going to rain any minute."
His whole being bristling with his fear for her, Egan snorted explosively, "Dammit, girl, what's wrong with you? What's a little rain to a hill girl? Gettin' a little wet is better than gettin' your head blown off. Now get out of that bed and get dressed. I've sent orders to the stable to have a mount waitin' for you. Take the alleys until you come to the edge of town. Then find the wagon road we came in on and follow it back to Grandma's."
Scrambling out of the tumbled covers and wrapping her robe around her, Marna exclaimed, "But what about Betsy, and you and Aaron?"
"Betsy won't leave, and Aaron has to stay and help me guard the house. There's a lot of money downstairs in my safe, and I don't trust either army that might get in here."
Aaron, hurrying into his clothes, gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about anything, Marna. When it's all over, I'll join you at your grandmother's. Nothing has changed, it's just pushed back a little."
Egan gave his arm an impatient tug. "Come on, Aaron, let her get dressed and out of here." At the door he called, "We'll be waiting in the parlor to tell you good-bye."
The door snapped shut behind them, and Marna flew to the wardrobe. Silken finery was tossed to the floor as she searched for her buckskins. Something had told her to hang on to them that day Egan had urged her to throw them away. Her hands brushed the velvet soft ness of the leather, and she yanked them off the perfumed rod. She slid into them, quickly caught her hair back with a ribbon, then hurried to Betsy's room.
As usual, Betsy's room was in total disorder. Gowns of velvet and silk, in a confusion of color, lay all over the room. Betsy sat on a sofa in a billow of lace and chiffon, loading rifles and muskets. She looked up at Marna's entrance and sprang to her feet, her arms open.
"Oh, Betsy," Marna cried, rushing to her. They held each other a moment, then pulled apart. Hooking her arm in Marna's, Betsy steered their way back to the door. "You mustn't linger, dear. Now I want you to be careful on the trail, and don't worry about me and your father. Just as soon as things calm down, we'll come check on you. Bring you back to Philadelphia."
They clasped each other again, then Mama hurried to the parlor.
She had just kissed Egan good-bye and turned to Aaron when the first round of shots came from River Street. Swearing under his breath, Aaron grabbed her arm and hurried her down the stairs. Midway down, a battering on the door brought them to a halt. They stood frozen there a moment, then Aaron pulled her swiftly down the remaining four stairs. He gazed wildly around for a second, then jerked open a short door to a small closet under the stairs. Pushing her inside, he whispered, "Stay here until I come for you."
Her knees pulled up to her chin in the close quarters, Marna waited, her breath fast and rasping. She heard Aaron's feet flying back upstairs, then heard the door burst open under the heavy ramming. As she crouched in the darkness, barely breathing, a grating voice shouted, "Halt!"
On the heels of the command, a rifle boomed. Aaron's strangled cry came faintly, followed by the sound of his body tumbling slowly, step by step. As Marna stifled an agonized scream, another rifle thun dered at the top of the stairs. The acrid smell of gunpowder seeped into her hiding place, and she heard the thump of a falling body close by.
She heard feet racing down the stairs, then Egan's voice as he called her name frantically. She pushed open the door and crawled out of the cubbyhole. Egan's grasp was rough in his relief as he held her.
But he held her for only a moment. Then he was pushing her toward the back door, urging, "Hurry, Marna. Aaron is dead, and so is the Redcoat. You've got to get out of here before someone comes investigating them shots."
Before she could catch her breath, he had wrenched the door open, taken a fast look, then pushed her outside. She stood dazed a moment, not quite grasping the speeding events. But the cool mist on her face had a calming effect, and she hurried to the stables.
She found a clean-limbed mare saddled and waiting. A filled grub sack was fastened to the saddle. Leading the animal to a narrow back door, she peeked outside. Nothing stirred. Pulling the mare outside, she swung onto its back. Ready to head out, she sat a moment, recalling Egan's instructions. Over the roar of the battle two blocks down, there came dimly the sound of hurrying, trampling feet. Was it British soldiers? She slipped from the mare and raced toward the end of the alley. She peered down at River Street. It was alive with the shoddy inhabitants who usually were born and died in that section of town. Leading the pack who struggled to get away from the fighting were the thin, worn-out prostitutes. Marna turned and raced back to her mount. That horde would be heading down the alley any minute. She would have to forget Pa's instructions. That frenzied mob would kill her for the horse.
She sprang into the saddle and turned the mare to her right She would be going in the wrong direction, but it was the course that would lead her most quickly into the shelter of the forest
With a quick jab of her heel she urged the horse toward the woods. Gaining the cover of the trees, she thanked God for the mist that rolled on the ground like a cloud. Without its
protection, she would have surely been spotted.
As she circled the town, making her way to the road that would take her back to the hills, the battle raged on. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she worried about the ones left behind
When Washington and his men marched into Philadelphia, the General found Howe and his soldiers waiting for them. They had barely reached the main street when they were opened upon. Fire blazed out at them from every building. A paralyzing fear for Marna gripped Matt's breast. He grabbed Caleb's mount by the bit and jerked it into an alley.
"What's wrong with you, Matt?" Caleb barked angrily. "I was damn near thrown from the saddle."
"Caleb, Marna is just a couple of blocks from here. I've got to get to her."
Caleb's face blanched under the black gunpowder covering his face. "You got any plans?"
"I thought maybe I could slip down the alleys and go in the back way. Would you stay here and cover this entrance?"
Caleb nodded and moved the horse into the shadows of the buildings. Both hands gripped his rifle as he peered intently at the short piece of street open to his view. Matt edged the stallion down the paved alley, cursing the noise the shod hoofs made on the pavement. With tall houses on either side, the sound bounced from wall to wall. He'd be damned lucky if he wasn't discovered. He frowned uneasily. The misty gloom shrouding the alley was a perfect place for a British soldier to hide with his rifle.
The end of the first alley was only feet away when he heard the thundering feet of the townspeople fleeing the city. He lifted the reins, ready to make a dash across the street and enter the alley where Marna lived. As he leaned forward to speak in Sam's ear, a volley of shots exploded behind him. He swiveled in the saddle in time to see Caleb tumble slowly to the ground.
"Dear God," he whispered hoarsely, jerking his mount around. Racing toward the inert man, he was out of the saddle before the animal came to a rearing halt. Kneeling on one knee, he lifted Caleb partway in his arms. The long hunter opened his eyes, bringing them to focus on Matt with difficulty. "Sorry, Matt," he whispered. "I don't know where they came from."
Matt eased him back down and spread open the bullet-torn jacket. With his knife he slit open the buckskin shirt and laid bare the bleeding wound in the chest. He choked back a groan. His friend was mortally wounded. If he were to live, he had to get him to a doctor fast.
Several precious minutes were wasted trying to mount with Caleb in his arms. The stallion was spooked at the smell of blood and sidled away each time Matt attempted to put a foot in the stirrup. He ended by first propping Caleb in the saddle, then hurriedly jumping on behind him. Supporting Caleb between his arms, he gathered up the reins. He moved out into the street, hoping that friends were nearby.
Six soldiers from cabin four were crouched beneath a high porch midway down the block. Recognizing the big stallion, they immediately formed an escort. The heavy fighting had moved to River Street, and they arrived shortly at where the doctor had set up his tent. They carried Caleb inside, and the harried doctor, his white coat stained red, bent over their friend. With gentle fingers he prodded around the wound, then shook his head at the anxiously waiting men. As he dressed the jagged hole, he explained that the bullet was too close to the lungs for him to go after it. He apologized that he had no laudanum for the soldier's pain. "I ran out half an hour ago. I'm afraid all we can do is try to keep him as comfortable as possible."
Together they wrapped Caleb in two blankets and laid him dangerously close to the fire. Still his teeth chattered. While the men squatted helplessly around him, the city grew quiet. After two hours of pitched battle, Howe had been routed. Strewn about the streets were many slain, from both sides. A weary soldier approached the handful of men around the fire. "Washington has set up headquarters in that fancy hotel down on the corner. He wants everyone to report to him there."
"The General can go wet a tree," one of the men growled at the retreating back of the soldier.
Torn between staying with his dying friend and searching for his wife, Matt stared down at his dangling hands. Then Caleb stirred. Matt knelt over him. "How are you, old hoss?" he questioned gently.
Through pain-filled eyes, Caleb gazed up at him. "I'm about played out, Matt."
"Naw, don't talk that way, Caleb. We're gonna move you to our new headquarters, and the Doc will take care of you."
Caleb's hand came up to fasten on Matt's wrist. There was still a surprising amount of strength in the slim fingers. Feverish eyes staring out of his white face, Caleb whispered, "No, Matt. You gotta promise me you'll take me back to the hills to die. Right now. We'll start back right now."
A long minute passed before Matt reluctantly nodded his head. It was a useless promise, he knew. Caleb would never make the trip. But if it eased his mind, it was the least they could do for him. In the meantime he could only pray that South had taken care of Marna.
He moved to his gear and dug out a hatchet. He disappeared into the forest and the sound of his chopping filled the air. When he returned with two slender poles, Jim helped to fashion a travois by fastening a blanket between the poles. Caleb was gently lifted and placed upon it. Then, backing Matt's mount up close to the Indian-style sled, they used strips of deer hide as traces to fasten the sled to the horse.
Swinging onto Sam's back then, Matt motioned the others to their feet. With the setting sun at their back, they started the long journey back to the hills. "Are we deserters?" asked a soldier limping alongside Matt's horse.
"Most likely," Matt answered. Then he added brusquely, "If they want me to fight in this crazy war anymore, they'll have to fight me to get me back there."
"Yeah, that's my sentiment, too," the soldier muttered, and fell behind the stallion.
Each day on the trail, Caleb grew steadily worse. On the fourth day they topped a rise and spotted a cabin in the distance. Matt called a halt and dismounted. Moving to Caleb, who lay moaning on the stretcher, he knelt down beside him. His friend's face was hot to his touch, and his eyes were glazed over with fever. How had Caleb lasted so long? he wondered.
He shook the thin shoulder gently. "Caleb, there's a cabin up ahead. We're gonna stop there a day or so. Get some hot food in you and let you rest up."
Caleb nodded, but Matt doubted if he had understood his words.
Remounting, he led the weary procession slowly down to the bleak, dilapidated cabin. It didn't look like much, but at least they would have protection from the bitter spring wind. He hoped that the crumbling chimney would draw well enough to provide them a fire.
The sagging door creaked inward at his shove. He ducked as an owl screeched over his head, soaring off into the forest. He was pleased to find that the place was in better repair inside than it was outside. Glancing around, he got the impression that the previous owners had just up and left. The single room was completely furnished, down to pots and pans and an iron kettle swinging from a crane.
There was a large woodbox sitting beside the hearth, and when Matt flipped it open he found it more than half filled with dry wood. While two of the men carried Caleb in, he built a roaring fire. As he piled the wood on, he hoped that a live cinder wouldn't light on the roof and burn the place down.
The homemade bed was pulled close to the fire and Caleb laid upon it. When the men had toasted themselves on both sides, Matt spoke to a tall, rangy man. "Tom, you've got the best rifle among us. Do you think you could go out and shoot us a mess of squirrels? I've been pokin' around in them shelves over there and found quite a few supplies. There's some salt and flour, and even a little sugar and coffee. If we get a good warm meal in us, we'll all feel better."
By nightfall the dozen squirrels brought in by Tom had been stewed and eaten. Matt coaxed Caleb to eat some of the tender bits of meat. "Come on, Caleb, it's good. It'll give you strength."
But after only a couple of bites, Caleb pushed Matt's hand away. He smiled wanly at Matt and turned his head to the wall. A few minutes later Matt checked him, and he was asleep
. Before the others sought sleep also, Matt propped a pole against the warped door. Not only were there Indians skulking about, there were also ranging packs of hungry wolves.
It was around midnight when Matt jerked awake. It was eerily quiet in the room. As he lay listening, wondering what had aroused him, a faint, rasping rattle broke the silence.
"Caleb!" he whispered hoarsely.
Scrambling to his feet, he bent over his friend. Lifting him up and cradling him against his shoulder, he caught and held the hot, dry fingers that clawed futilely at his collar. As the dying man fought desperately for his breath, Matt, in anguished panic, swabbed at the bloody froth bubbling from his lips.
"Hang in there, Caleb," he begged. "We'll have you home soon. Hertha will have you on your feet in no time."
Caleb opened his eyes and gazed up at him. Matt couldn't believe how clear and steady his eyes had suddenly become. But Caleb's voice was barely above a whisper as he said, "It's no use, Matt. My time has run out." He clutched weakly at Matt's hand. "I want you to tell ...Marna ...I died lovin' her."
His voice harsh with the tears that threatened to break it, Matt chided gently, "You can tell her yourself, old friend. I promise, I'll get you back to the hills. Just hang on a little longer."
Caleb's eyes were turning glassy and his gaze becoming a stare. But when his fingers tightened on Matt's wrist, they had a strength that made the hunter wince. "Matt, you must bring Marna back to the hills. You've got everything wrong about her, you fool... fool... fool."
The wasted body went limp, and a gentle sigh escaped through his teeth. Matt closed the staring eyes and sat rocking the body back and forth. His mind went back to the good times they had shared. A good and true friend was gone. A man always laughing, always gentle. One who was not afraid to tell a woods girl that he loved her.
He laid his friend down and covered him. Then he moved across the room and slumped on a bench. Stretching out his arms, he put his head on the table in weary sadness.
The next morning in a small secluded valley the remaining soldiers gathered in a silent circle around Caleb's blanket bound body. As Jim said a short prayer, Matt recalled the many prayers Caleb had said over fallen companions. He turned away as his friend was lowered into the ground.
