Marna (31 page)

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 mind 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.