Marna (35 page)

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.

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.