Marna (18 page)

A small sound, as though of acute pain, escaped
Jake. Matt looked at him curiously. His new friend sat
with a hand covering his face, the big head bent low.
He must he thinking of his dead wife, Matt thought,
and was in sympathy with him.

On the fourth day, before he left, Matt asked, "Can I
help you with your traps before I go, Jake? I notice you
ain't been foolin' with them. I hope it's not on my
account."

"Traps? What traps?" Jake laughed. "Hell, I'm not
gonna freeze my butt off runnin' traps. I'm gonna stay
close to this fire all winter."

Matt stared his surprise. "What are you doin' up
here, then?"

"I'm lookin' for someone."

It was on the tip of Matt's tongue to ask, "Who?"
Then he remembered in time that you didn't ask that
kind of question in the hills. You took whatever a man
volunteered.

When he stood on the porch, ready to take his leave,
Matt thanked Jake for his care and hospitality. "My
camp is situated a half day's ride from here. If you
follow the river, you can't miss it. And if you ever need
my help, just come and ask."

"Thanks, Matt. I'll be lookin' in on you."

At the edge of the forest, Matt looked back at the
lone figure. There was a forlornness about him as he
leaned against the porch post. He wondered about
Jake's past, and who he was looking for. Lifting the
reins, he said aloud, "If it takes that gloomy look off his
face, I hope he finds his man."

It was dark when he reined Sam in on a boulderstrewn hill and gazed down on the small post. Among
the lights shining below, the kerosene-lit tavern shone
the brightest. The flickering candles in the scattered
cabins cast a dim light through the windows. Betsy's
place was barely discernible, the lights were so low.

He smiled in amusement as he pictured Betsy going
through the motions with her customers. He remembered that he had been a long time without a woman. A
few hours spent with the madam was just what he
needed. Besides, Marna might welcome him more
readily if he showed up with a chair or something.

He nudged the stallion, sending him down the rocky
path. His mind went over the pieces of furniture in the
bawdy house. None of it really appealed to him. Just
like the bed, it was out of place in the rustic cabin. He
was almost sorry he had brought it to Marna. He
should have made her one when he made the table and
benches.

Matt pushed the too-late thought from his mind. To
keep it from returning, he put his mind to the girls who
worked for Betsy. Maybe he should try one of them for
a change. He might be missing something. Their
painted faces and flamboyant clothes were kind of attractive. An idea came to him, and his face showed
excitement. Clothes. That was the answer. Marna
needed clothes.

He had seen Betsy's wardrobe, and he imagined her
girls had the same kind of garb. His mental eye ran
over the other women. He decided that the slim redhead was Marna's size and that her clothing would do
nicely. He urged Sam on.

Even before the long building came into sight, Matt
heard the loud laughter of revelers. Tying Sam to the
hitchrack, he grinned. He had recognized the voices of
some of his men. It would be good to see them again.

Easing the door open, he stood in the shadows a
moment, watching the men and women in the lowceilinged room. It was as usual. There were some
paired off in dark corners, and the more indifferent
ones were carrying on in plain view. The men without
partners stood at a small bar, waiting their turn.

Matt shook his head. He wanted privacy when he
fooled around with a woman. Having an audience made
him feel like an animal running with a pack.

Partly concealed in a large chair was one of his men.
Oblivious to everything but the half-clad body sitting
on his lap, the hunter gazed at the ceiling, a dazed look
on his face. Betsy removed her hand from inside his
buckskins and whispered in his ear. The man nodded
his head vigorously.

A humorous smile curled Matt's lips. He would burst
the hunter's bubble, he decided, and stepped out into
the light. Betsy's gaze fell on him at once, and she let
out an excited squeal. She jumped to her feet, the
hunter forgotten. Throwing her arms around Matt's
neck, she rubbed herself against him. "When did you get back?" she purred. "They said you had gone to the
Valley for the winter."

"I was there. I came back because I missed you so
much," he teased.

Betsy laughed liltingly. "I doubt that." Lowering her
voice, she teased also, "Did you think of something else
your wife needed?"

Matt chuckled. "You hit it, Betsy. She needs some
clothes."

"Clothes? I somehow had the idea your wife is on
the small side."

"She is." Matt's eyes wandered to the redhead who
worked desultorily to arouse a drunken homesteader.
He jerked a thumb in her direction. "That one's clothes
would fit just right."

"Hell, Matt, I can't ask Julie to give up her finery."

Matt's arms loosened from around her waist. "Maybe
if I spent a couple of hours with her, she'd give them
to me herself."

Betsy jerked his arms back around her. "I'll make
the whore give them up."

Matt smiled down at her. "You won't regret it,
Betsy. I've been a long time without a woman."

Betsy's breathing became rapid at the promise in his
eyes. "Come show me," she whispered, tugging him
toward the door in the back.

Matt held back. "Get my friend a replacement. He
looks in a bad way."

Betsy glanced at the sullen-faced hunter, then motioned to a plump young girl. "Rosie, take care of my
friend here. Give him the works.. .on the house."

Following Betsy's trim figure down the hall, Matt
asked, "What's the works?"

Betsy smiled coyly over her shoulder. "You'll find
out in a minute."

A couple of hours later they were going through
Julie's clothing. Matt picked out filmy underwear,
gowns and robes. Everything was in shades of blue and green. His fingers trembled as he visualized Marna's
body shimmering through the sheer material.

Betsy, always sensitive to what went on around her,
sensed his thoughts. Jealousy rushed through her. "That's enough," she snapped sharply. "Leave Julie
something. Besides, I'm going to have to replace these."

Matt tossed her a grin and rolled the clothes into a
neat bundle.

Back in the main room again, three of Matt's men
gathered around him. "Glad you're back, Matt," one of
them said. "The place has gone to hell since you left."

"I told Henry to keep an eye on things while I was
gone-keep you men in line."

"Hell, we don't hardly see Henry. Dove lives with
him now, and he's always smellin' around her."

"I see," Matt muttered, moving to a corner and setting down at a table. Betsy brought over a jug of
whiskey and some glasses. Uninvited, the hunters
joined him and waited for him to say more.

For some time Matt only studied his folded hands
clasped on the tabletop. Then, almost reluctantly, he
asked, "What about Caleb? He'd have made you a good
leader."

The men looked away from him, an uneasy embarrassment on their faces. Then one of the hunters gave a
decisive grunt. Leaning across the table, he said, "Matt,
I hate to say this, but since you left, Caleb spends a lot
of time with Marna. Mind you, I'm not sayin' anything
is goin' on, but Caleb don't give a blast what goes on in
camp."

Matt gave no sign of being upset by the man's words.
He coolly picked up the jug and splashed the clear
liquid into the glasses. The hunters watched him, intent
to see if his hands shook.

Admiration came into their eyes as he calmly and
steadily raised his glass and drank.

Later, as Matt picked up the clothes and headed for the door, Betsy grabbed up her wrap and scarf. "I'll ride
partway with you," she said. "I need some fresh air."

Little was said between them as they rode along.
Matt's mind was on Marna and of how she would greet
him. Did he have a chance with her? Inwardly he railed
at himself for not having taken her to bed.

Matt and Betsy had arrived at a small cedar glade
not far from the cabin when he brought the stallion to a
sudden halt. Deep within the glade stood Caleb, his
arms around a woman. The woman leaned away from
him, staring up into his face. His heart thudding against
his ribs, Matt recognized the woman as Marna.

A wild and blinding anger shot through him. Unconsciously he lifted the reins and pressed the animal toward the pair.

Weeks had passed since Matt had left. The morning
cold extended throughout the day now. The wild ducks
that had splashed in the rivers all summer had long
since flown south, and still the snow had not come. The
old-timers said that this was the latest in their memory
that snow hadn't fallen. The hunters were becoming
restless in their quarters and debated whether to set out
their traps anyhow.

Marna was back to her normal health, with only the
thin, long marks on her shoulders and tiny, indented
teeth marks on her leg to remind her of the cat.

Hertha had returned home some weeks ago, back to
Emery and his orneriness. But she had promised to visit
every week.

Henry and Dove were still living at the cabin, but
every day Henry worked on a small place of their own,
only a short distance away. He wanted it ready against
the time Matt would come home. Hertha had come
close to telling him the day before she left that it would
be awhile before Matt returned.

She had been tending Dove, who lay moaning with
pain inside her little enclosure. Henry was crouched at
the girl's head, awkwardly stroking her forehead. As his
hand moved over the smooth skin, he talked to her
soothingly. "Pretty soon Matt will be back, and then
we'll be in our own place. You'd like that, wouldn't
you?"

Hertha opened her mouth to speak of Matt, but just
then Dove groaned loudly, and Henry gazed up at her helplessly, "Is she gonna suffer like this every time she
gets her monthly?" he whispered hoarsely.

Hertha looked away from his anxious face. "No, no.
She's only fifteen, you know. Young girls get bad
cramps at first. Could be this will be her last bad one."

"Thank God for that," Henry muttered. "I don't
think I could stand this every month."

Hertha shot him a side glance and answered drily,
"No, I'm sure you couldn't."

As she laid a warmed, folded blanket across Dove's
stomach, her lips drew together. Inwardly she said, I
wonder if he could stand the thought that Dove carried
Corey's baby until a few hours ago.

Tucking the blankets around the dusky shoulders,
she prayed silently that God would forgive her part in
the termination of the unfortunate pregnancy.

She had come upon Dove one morning, crouched in
the chimney corner, retching up her breakfast. When
the girl discovered she was being watched, she turned
away in shame. Pity had flashed in Hertha's eyes and
she had moved to the young squaw's side.

"Is the child Corey's?" she asked softly. When Dove
nodded her head, she asked, still softly, "Do you want
it?"

"Never!" Dove ground out between clenched teeth.
"I will kill it as soon as it is born."

The girl had started to cry then, great sobs that
shook her thin body. "Henry will turn me out as soon
as he learns of it."

Hertha had said no more, but the next morning
Dove's coffee had been unusually bitter. By the afternoon she was bent over in pain, a trickle of blood
running down her leg. Her black eyes had darted a
question at Hertha. Hertha had given her a tiny, significant nod. Thankfulness had welled in the girl's eyes,
then she was wilting to the floor.

A month later Dove was still convalescing. Mama
took care of the semi-invalid whenever Henry was
away. A warm friendship grew between the two girls as
they continued to live together.

Marna brought out the loom Caleb had made for
her. She placed it in front of the window to catch what
light there was. Grandma had brought her some flax,
and she would make a length of homespun from it. She
was tired of wearing the buckskins all the time.

As her fingers worked nimbly with the flax, her mind
was on Matt. Was she foolish to hang on to that tightly
rolled piece of paper that made her a wife? Wouldn't
she be wise to have the meaningless words struck aside
and put Matt Barton out of her mind? She might never
lay eyes on him again. She could have Caleb's arms if
she wanted them. And what was more important, he
had declared his love for her even before she washed
her face.

Her eyes sparkled as she recalled the first time Caleb
saw her new face. Grandma had allowed no visitors in
the cabin while she was bedfast. She had been up and
moving about stiffly for two days, when in the afternoon a knock had sounded at the door. Her heart had
lurched madly. Matt had returned. Common sense reminded her then that Matt wouldn't knock at his own
door. Still, when Grandma opened the door and Caleb
stood there, she was filled with excitement. How would
he react to her new beauty?