by Norah Hess
When the shallow hole was filled with dirt and rocks had been piled on top of it, Matt led the way back to the cabin. Gathering up his gear, he announced to the men he would be leaving them. "I'm goin' on to Caleb's hills. If you want my advice, you men will go home, too. You're needed there more than you are in this damn stupid war." He stood a moment, staring into the fire. "I want to thank you men for helping me this far with Caleb."
They assured him that it had been a privilege to help Caleb what little bit they could. "He would have done it for us," a young soldier said.
They shook hands with Matt, and when he closed the door behind him, he could hear them saying good-bye to one another.
Marna found the road out of the city in a short time. Careful to keep to the trees, where her body would merge with the forest, she kept the road in sight as she moved along. The rain picked up its force, and in no time she was soaked to the skin. The sharp wind made her teeth chatter, and the sight of snow still lingering on the north sides of the trees only added to her shivering.
She straightened her shoulders, determined to ignore her discomfort. By the end of the week she would be home. Home to Grandma and the hills.
Cold and hungry as she was during that week, Marna was more comfortable back in the hills than she had been in Philadelphia. And almost before she knew it, she was drawing near the hunters' quarters.
For several moments Marna was undecided what to do. Should she go straight to Grandma's, or did she dare go back to the cabin for one fast look inside? Was her grief healed enough to allow her a look at the little place she and Matt had fought over as it took form? Then, as though her horse knew what Marna wanted, she found herself on the path to the cabin. She rounded the pine, and there it was.
She stopped beside the tree and let her eyes feast upon it. How she had missed it. She became aware of a tranquility surrounding the little building, a peacefulness that seemed to mock her. She could almost hear it say, "Go away, woman. I don't want you here with your fretting and weeping."
Marna choked back a sob. She headed the horse to the trail to the cabin on the hill.
The old place stood as it always had. Sturdy and low to the ground. And though it needed some fixing up and the roof needed to be patched, to Marna's eyes it was more beautiful than Egan's big, fancy brick.
Several laying hens scratched busily in the chipyard, scattering chips and grabbing at the fat worms hiding there. Over in a pen a cow chewed her cud slowly while her calf took its meal noisily. With Grandpa gone, Grandma can keep her livestock now, she thought.
She got off the horse, pushed open the cabin door, and called, "Grandma, are you home?" Silence greeted her as she closed the door. Familiar odors floated to her and she smiled. She raised her eyes to the cabin's rafters and sniffed deeply. Hanging in dried bunches were thyme, basil, sage, and catnip. On a high ledge, in neat rows, were jars of roots, barks, and liquids. Her gaze swung around the room. Everything was so neat now, with the old devil gone. She recalled how he had, on purpose, tracked in mud whenever he could, and always spit tobacco juice on Grandma's clean floor.
A mouth-watering aroma came from the pot swinging from the crane. Pleasure lit Marna's face. Brown beans and ham. After lifting the lid and sniffing, she walked outside again. She stood a moment, then walked behind the cabin where Hertha had her garden. As she had suspected, the old woman worked there.
Her eyes went damp with pity and tenderness as she watched the bent body move along, dropping seed into the earth. Poor Grandma. She had clung through hardships that were almost overwhelming sometimes to hold on to the few acres that had fed them over the years.
Her voice trailing with emotion, Marna called out to the thin figure. Hertha paused and straightened up slowly. With her bony fingers shading her eyes, she peered excitedly in Marna's direction. Then she threw down the "dirt rooter" she had just picked up. In a slow, hobbling run, she stretched her arms toward her beloved granddaughter.
Marna flew to meet her. They clung to one another, their joyful tears brimming over. Hertha held Marna away from her and gazed into the pain-shadowed eyes. She shook her head slowly. "You've lost weight, child. We heard about Matt. Are you grievin' hard for him?"
Marna nodded and drew a sleeve across her eyes. "And Aaron, too, Grandma," she whispered. "He was killed trying to help me escape."
"I'm sorry to hear that. He was a strange, quiet man, but I always liked him."
She took Marna's arm and moved toward the cabin. "Let's have a bite to eat, and you can catch me up on everything in Philadelphia."
After seven days on the trail, Matt crossed the familiar river he had missed so much. By early afternoon he arrived at camp.
He would have thought the camp deserted had it not been for the smoke curling out of the canting chimney. The men were probably out hunting. The traps had been put away weeks ago.
His glance followed the path to his cabin, and he gave a ragged sigh. He might as well get it over with. Sooner or later he had to enter it. Had to face the ghostly presence of a slim, elfinlike woman.
Riding past the spring, he was reminded of the night Marna had been attacked by the cat His shoulders drooped. It was on that night he had admitted to himself that he loved his dirty-faced, half wild wife. His knuckles showed white on the reins. He hadn't been man enough to tell her so. Well, that was all going to be changed now. He would rest up a few days, clean out the cabin, then return to Philadelphia. He would tell Marna straight out that he loved her and needed her. If he had to, he'd beg her to return with him. Even in front of Jake South he would beg.
The cabin stood before him, and memories rushed in. He thought sadly of how Marna had stubbornly but bravely insisted on things important to her. He had shouted at her, "This is no permanent place I'm building. Come next season, we'll be movin' on." His lips curved slightly. How those words came back to slap him in the face. All he wanted in the world now was to spend the rest of his life with her in this same little cabin.
His eyes roamed over the neat, sturdy building, and it looked so sad and lonely to him. The curtained windows seemed to look at him accusingly. And where Marna had kept the little yardlike area around the cabin so neat and cleared of rubbish, tall brown grass and weeds grew to the door now.
He swung to the ground, eager to start putting his place to rights. He lifted the latch and stepped inside. It was exactly as it was the day he had stood inside the door, shouting cruel accusations at Marna. How angry Jake South had been at him when he wouldn't listen to Marna. How many times had he cursed himself for not listening to her.
The inside looked all right to him, and he spent the remaining daylight hours cleaning away the debris and weeds from the cabin area. Near dusk his stomach rumbled, and he picked up the rifle and headed into the forest. He hadn't shot those squirrels yet.
Matt was barely into the woods when a yipping, furry body threw itself on him. He dropped to his knees, hugging the joyful, wiggling hound. "Jawer, you old hound, it's good to see you."
Jawer's rough tongue licked at his face and hands, a welcoming whine in his throat. Matt felt over his body and found him well-nourished. The men hadn't neglected him in his absence. He rose and started off again, the hound running around him in circles.
It was nearly dark when Matt started back with two squirrels hanging from his belt. He rounded the pine that hid his cabin, and the breath caught in his throat. Candlelight glimmered in the window, and he could make out a woman's form. Had Marna returned home?
He slid quickly to the ground. His legs weak as water and his heart pounding, he moved eagerly up the path. But when he slowly pushed the door open, only Dove was there, busily sweeping the floor. Startled, she turned quickly, then clutched at her throat while her eyes stared. Matt moved toward her, a concerned hand held out"I'm sorry I scared you, Dove."
"Matt," she whispered. "Is it really you?"
"Of course it's me. Who did you think?"
"But we heard you were dead, Matt. Killed
by an Indian arrow."
Matt looked at her, amusement in his eyes. "Me, killed? Who told you that whopper?"
"Corey told Henry. He said a soldier from General Washington told him. Said he ran into the man midway between here and Philadelphia. He said the man was looking for Marna to give her the message."
Matt's smile faded. "That sounds like some trumped up lie of Corey's."
"I wouldn't be surprised," Dove agreed. "That man is a mischief-maker if I ever saw one."
Dove set the broom down and asked, "How is Caleb? Did he come back with you?"
Matt moved to the fireplace and stared into it. "Caleb was killed in battle at Philadelphia."
Dove's eyes went wide and she leaned against the table. "Oh, no, Matt. Not that happy, laughing man." After a moment, she said, "He loved Marna so. She'll be deeply saddened to hear it."
Matt nodded. "Yes, she will. He was a good friend to her."
Dove looked at him curiously, thinking that Matt Barton had mellowed some. This time last year, he might have struck her for saying such. "How is Marna? Is she ever coming back here?"
Matt's smile was a little thin" as he answered, "If it's in my power, she'll be back here."
"That's good. This is where she belongs." She waited a minute, then asked, "Have you visited Hertha yet?"
"Not yet. I plan on goin' up as soon as I finish supper. I'm anxious to hear if she's had any word from Marna. Have you seen her lately?"
"No, come to think of it, I haven't seen her all week. I hope she's all right."
"I'm sure she is. Probably busy puttin' in her garden."
Dove picked up her light shawl and draped it around her shoulders. "I'd better get Henry's supper on the table. He'll be coming in soon. Come and have deer steak with us."
"Thanks, Dove, but I got a hankerin' for some squirrel. Tell Henry I'll be over after I've visited Hertha."
Dove turned at the door. "Henry will be so glad you're alive, Matt."
"I'm right glad myself, Dove." Matt smiled.
When Matt turned the stallion onto the trail to Hertha's, the moon was just skimming the skyline of trees. The wind had died down, and there was a balminess in the air. Spring is here, he thought, his heart light. Everything started anew in the spring. For him, he hoped, a new life with Marna.
But as he mused on the joys of life with Marna, he also worried that maybe she had grown to like the comforts Jake South provided her. She had seemed to be at home in the fancy surroundings. His body suddenly stiffened. What if Marna had received the news that he was dead? She might even have married Jake South.
A rider had emerged from the darkness and was coming toward him. A dark anger grew inside Matt. There was the ugly varmint who had started the rumor. When Corey was almost on him, he pulled the stallion across the trail. "Howdy, Corey," he said gruffly.
Corey went still at the sound of his voice, and he jerked his mount's head back sharply. Not looking at Matt directly, he said, "Howdy, Barton, where did you come from?"
Suspicion of the hunter grew in Matt. Corey was startled at seeing him, but he wasn't surprised. With a sarcastic inflection in his voice, he said, "Maybe I come from hell." Then, abruptly he shot at him, "How come you're not surprised to see me? You're the one who told everybody I had been killed by an Indian."
Corey's nervous laugh pulled his lips back from tobacco-stained teeth. "Go on, Matt. I never believed that for a minute. I told them all that an Indian arrow would never get that slick Matt Barton."
Corey's fawning compliment convinced Matt that the man had made up the whole story. There had been no message for Marna from General Washington. He prodded the stallion into Corey's horse until he was only inches from the hunter. "Corey, you bastard," he grated out, "you lie. Now, damn your hide, tell me why you spread that story."
Backing his mount and ramming it into a tree in his haste to get away from Matt, Corey whined, "Now, Matt, I swear to you I did no such thing. The soldier I ran into told me that."
A dangerous light was in Matt's eyes as he pressed his mount after the fear-sweated Corey. "How much did you pay the soldier to tell that lie?"
Corey cringed from the angry face and held out a protesting hand. "Matt, I swear I don't know what you're talkin' about. Why should I do a thing like that?"
"That's what I'm tryin' to figure out. I can't hit on your reason right now, but it'll come to me. In the meantime, you stay out of my way." He shook out the reins and turned the stallion back on the path. As he rode away, the hair on his neck stood up. He had done a damn fool thing, turning his back on that skunk. The coward wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in his back.
Almost to the top of the hill, Matt suddenly lost his urge to see Hertha. She would bring back memories he couldn't deal with at the moment. What he needed now was man talk. He would go visit Henry instead.
"You seem restless this mornin'," Hertha said to Marna as she stood in the doorway.
"I am, kind of. I guess I'm getting the fidgets, hanging around the cabin so much."
"I wouldn't be surprised. You've been home over a week now and haven't once been off the hill. Wouldn't you like to go visit Dove and Henry, let them know you're back? They'd be awful glad to see you."
"I'm not ready to go down there yet, Grandma. Dove, the hunters, the cabin-I couldn't stand the memories."
Hertha nodded in understanding. It would be a long time before Marna got over her loss. She had loved Matt so deeply.
Pulling her barks and roots toward her, Hertha resumed sorting and tying them together. Marna continued to gaze out on the sunny spring morning.
Everything was turning green. Her attention was called to the pasture, where a quail called out Suddenly she needed to be out, to walk in the new grass, to move through the woods. She turned to Hertha. "Grandma, I'm going to go look for poke greens. Do you think it' s too early for them to be up?"
"I don't think so. Why don't you walk down to where the woodruff grows? It always comes up early there."
Marna picked up a fustian sack and took a knife from a drawer. As she stepped out on the small porch, Hertha called after her, "Keep a sharp eye out, Marna. Be on the lookout for that Corey. I'm sure I seen him sneakin' round here yesterday."
"I will, Grandma. I don't think he'd bother me, though. He knows Henry and the others would go after him. Out of memory for Matt."
"I still don't trust him. You just be careful."
The forest, as usual, held Mama spellbound. She hadn't realized how much she loved these dear, dear hills. She would like nothing better than to live here always. She knew suddenly that she would. She had not gotten on with society. Its standards had gone against her grain. And though it would sadden her father, when he came to get her, she would send him and Betsy back alone.
Mama arrived at the sunny little hollow and saw immediately that she was about two weeks early. Even the woodruff hadh't come alive yet. But the sun was warm and the birds sang, and a nearby flat boulder looked inviting. She climbed upon it and stretched out on her stomach.
She had basked in the sun's rays about half an hour when a queer tightness gathered between her shoulder blades. Someone was watching her. She lay still, listening intently. There came no sound that was unnatural to the forest, but the feeling persisted. When the sharp rapping of a woodpecker stopped abruptly, she sprang from the boulder and raced up the hill. Over the beating of the heart she thought she heard a crashing through the brush. But a fast glance over her shoulder showed nothing moving. The cabin came in sight, and she slowed her pace to catch her breath. She turned to survey the trail behind her and still saw nothing out of the ordinary.
"Scaredy-cat," she sneered at herself. "There was no one there. You just got spooked."
Marna decided she wouldn't mention her foolishness to Hertha. The old woman would only become upset. Then, stepping onto the porch, Marna realized she had left the bag and knife behind. She stood on the porch, debating if she should go back and retrieve them. She looked down toward t
he hollow and decided she wouldn't. After all, she wasn't absolutely sure someone hadn't hidden there and spied on her.
When she walked into the cabin, it was empty. And when later she found Hertha in the garden, she merely stated that the poke wasn't up yet. She took the hoe from Hertha and said, "You drop the potatoes, Grandma, and I'll cover them."
The sun was quite low by the time they had planted three long rows of potatoes. Hertha picked up the empty basket that had held the "eye cut" of the vegetable and remarked, "Let's have our supper. I didn't realize it was gettin' so close to dark."
They sat at the scrubbed table, eating the rest of the ham, along with chunks of golden cornbread. Hertha glanced out the window and noted that it had grown dark. She rose stiffly. "I'd better go milk that cow before the calf gets it all," she said, taking the lantern down from the wall. "I think I'll start weanin' the little bugger tomorrow. With you home now, we need the milk."
Marna washed the dishes and straightened the kitchen area. Then, tired from her trip to the hollow and the work in the garden, she sat down in front of the fire and stretched her legs in front of her. A light wind came up and sighed softly down the chimney. Drowsily she watched the mass of red coals glow as the air fanned them. Her head began to nod. Then the backlog fell, sending up a shower of sparks. She was jerked back to awareness.
She had just raked all the wood back together and was about to sit back down when she heard a brushing, stealthy sound from the porch. Was it Grandma? No, she could see Grandma's lantern bobbing back and forth as she tended the chores. A chill of dread came over her. Whoever was out there was up to no good. An honest man always hailed a cabin before approaching it. Her glance shot to the latchstring, and it was out. Would she have time to drop the bar in place? She doubted it. It was so heavy. She looked at the old dog asleep by her chair and dismissed him as any hope of help. The old fellow was half blind and so deaf he hadn't even heard the furtive footsteps on the porch.
