Marna (8 page)

It was not a happy pair who took the trail to Matt's
camp. There was utter silence between them, each busy
with his own thoughts.

Matt visualized the amusement that would creep into
the hunters' eyes when he introduced this girl as his
wife. They would remember how particular he was
about the women he lay with, always insisting that they
be clean and attractive. God, how they would snicker
behind his back.

He shook his head in puzzlement Why did old
Hertha let Marna go around dirty and yet keep clean
clothing on her? For instance, the dress she wore now.
It was worn thin and patched in a dozen places but was
scrupulously clean and ironed smooth.

He shook his head again. Those two were certainly a
pair.

Marna's thoughts were on the new life ahead. What
would it be like? Would she be able to take proper care
of a husband? Did she cook well enough, sew well
enough?

She decided that she could. Grandma had said many
times that she was a good cook and handled a needle
well. And Grandma never lied.

About the other side of marriage, she knew she
needn't worry. Her husband would never take her into
his bed. Still, she wondered what it would be like to rest
her head on his shoulder, how it would feel to lie in his
arms. At that thought she blushed crimson.

The stallion gave a lurch as it stepped on a loose
rock. Marna grabbed at the saddle, afraid to throw her arms around her husband's back. If she were to be that
bold, he might make her get down and walk.

After a few miles of riding around ravines and large
boulders, the mount started a descent into a shadowy
hollow. Marna heard the rush of water before they
rounded a bend and saw the river. She gave a small
exclamation of pleasure at the beauty of the clear running water.

On the opposite side of the river the wilderness grew
to its very edge. Great trees stretched branches over it,
shading its depths at all times. Big, shiny trout lay
there, waiting to be caught and placed in a frying pan.

On the side of the river where the hunters camped,
there was a small clearing about fifty feet in diameter.
In this hollowed-out spot lush grass grew among the
scattered boulders. The hunters' horses grazed there
now.

Directly in front of the largest rock formation, several men were gathered around a campfire. Matt knew
they waited impatiently for Corey's squaw to prepare
breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee floated
to him, tantalizing his taste buds.

The riders were almost upon the group when the men
looked up, their faces cracking in friendly greeting.
"Where have you been, Matt?" Caleb called. "We was
beginnin' to get worried."

Matt swung to the ground, disclosing Marna to their
view. The men rose as one, gathering around the horse,
staring up at the trembling girl. Corey spat a stream of
tobacco juice at a rock and snickered, "What you got
there, Matt? Is it human?"

The others would have added uncomplimentary remarks to Corey's, but Matt's body stiffened, and in a
voice dangerously low he said, "This is Marna. She
saved my life yesterday."

The men all spoke at once, demanding details. As
they stared curiously at the bent head of tangled hair, Matt explained how the snake had bitten him and how
Marna had sucked out the poison.

When Corey laid a hand on Marna's knee and leered,
"She's a good sucker, eh?" Matt struck the hand away
and blurted out, "She's my wife. I married her last
night."

His announcement left the men staring, stunned and
speechless.

Corey was the first to recover. He opened his mouth
to vent his mirth, but then he glimpsed the dark warning in Matt's eyes and snapped it shut.

Wordlessly the men turned and moved back to the
fire. Matt dropped the reins and followed them. Marna
stared after him, disconcerted. How was she to get off
this tall animal's back? She was used to riding the
sturdy little Indian ponies. From atop this great black
stallion, the ground seemed a great distance away.

There was only one way. She would have to slide
down the horse's side. As she threw a leg over the
saddle and slid to the ground, she caught Corey's beady
eyes fastened on her. She looked away, knowing the
look. Clutching the bundle of clothes to her, she let her
gaze survey the camp.

Dirty bedrolls were scattered about and gear tossed
among the cooking utensils. The men spat tobacco juice
into the fire, where it sputtered and steamed against
the iron pot suspended over the flames. Distaste firmed
her soft lips. She stepped lightly to a tall oak several
yards away and sat down.

The sun had been up a couple of hours before Dove
called the men to eat They trooped over to the dirty
blanket spread on the ground and scooped salt pork
and beans into tin plates. Marna was surprised when
Matt filled a plate and moved toward her.

"Here," he growled, thrusting the unappetizing mess
at her. Then he turned on his heel and stalked back to
the blanket.

Matt began conversing with the men, and Marna
listened intently to the sound of his voice. Already her
husband had entered her wild little heart, where only
before old Hertha had held a spot.

"I'm gonna start it as soon as I finish this pipe,"
Matt answered in response to a question put to him.
When are you men gonna start yours?"

"We started yesterday," one of the men said. Jerking
his head in the direction of the forest behind him, he
added, "Got all the trees chopped down back there in
the woods."

"How you gonna work it?" Matt inquired. "One big
place, or each man his own?"

Corey answered this time. "We ain't fancy, like some
I could name. One place is good enough for us common
folk."

Matt looked over at Corey, holding his gaze steadily.
The man still burned from their first encounter. He
would have trouble from this quarter all winter long,
but he decided to let the remark pass. Matt shouldered
his rifle and picked up an ax.

As he headed into the forest, he heard footsteps
behind him. He turned around and waited for Marna to
catch up with him. When she stood before him, her
fingers gripped nervously together, he asked sharply,
"What do you want?"

"I will go with you," she muttered.

"But I'm going to start our winter quarters," he explained, not unkindly. "You go back to camp and wait
for me."

She shook her head. "I will help you," she insisted in
the husky voice that roused him so strangely.

He gazed down at the stubborn set of the chin peeping through a strand of hair. His words would be
wasted in argument with her. Grunting agreement, he
led off, walking swiftly. Let the little witch keep up with
him if she could.

But no matter how he lengthened his stride, she was
always at his heels. When they had walked about fifty
yards from the camp, she touched his back timidly. He
swung around and demanded impatiently, "What is it
now?"

She pointed to an outcropping boulder a few feet to
the left of them. "There's a spring coming out of there.
We'll build here," she stated flatly.

Matt stared down at her, his eyes narrowing in anger.
"Look, miss, I'll be the one who decides where the hut
goes."

"I'm not a miss anymore," Marna said evenly. "And
since it's my home, too, with me mostly in it, I should
decide where it goes."

She waited fearfully for his hand to come out and
strike her down. When he only continued to stare at her
in disbelief, she drew on her courage and added, "Also,
it won't be a hut. It will be a regular cabin, with a
wooden floor and windows."

Matt jerked threateningly toward her. "And if I say
no?"

There was a touch of mischief in her soft laugh as
she answered, "Then I'll have to put a hex on you...
make your hound drop dead."

Despite himself, a slow smile crept up and crinkled
the corners of Matt's eyes. "If anyone is capable of it,"
he remarked, "it's you.,,

He moved to a good-sized maple, about eight inches
around, and swung the ax into the wood. Marna
watched him a minute, then disappeared. She was back
shortly with one of the pack horses. As fast as Matt
felled a tree and trimmed it, she tied a rope to it, then
attached the rope to the animal. Then, calling loudly to
the horse and interjecting colorful swear words whenever she thought it necessary, she drove the animal to
the spot she had selected for her home.

Surreptitiously Matt watched and listened to her, a wide grin curving his lips. He was being managed, he
realized, and he didn't know whether to be angry or
not.

What the hell, he thought. It don't make no difference to me.where we build. Since she's got a husband in
name only, it don't hurt to let her pick the site of the
cabin.

But as he chopped down one tree after the other and
the sun shone hotly on his back, it came to him irritatingly that this young female had bested him in every
decision. First she had had her way in accompanying
him, then in the choosing of the area. Next she had
insisted on a cabin, not a hut, and to top it all off, it
must have a floor and windows.

A frown of suspicion furrowed his forehead. Damned
if she wasn't acting like this was to be a permanent
home. He leaned the ax against a tree and drew his arm
across his sweating face. He'd better get things straight
with her right now.

At his approach, Marna looked up and waited silently for him to speak. "Look, miss," he began, then
corrected himself. "I mean Marna. I think we'd better
get somethin' clear between us. This ain't no permanent
quarters I'm buildin'. Come next fall, we'll be movin'
on.,,

He saw her shoulders stiffen, but her voice was soft
as she answered, "I understand that. I know that a long
hunter always moves around. But I see no reason why
we can't have a snug, two-room cabin every winter,
regardless of where it might be."

Matt's eyes opened wide and he let out a roar. "Just
a damned minute there. Who said anything about two
rooms? Why do we need two?"

But even as he asked the question, understanding
flashed in his eyes.

Mama dropped her head and moved her bare toes
nervously in the dust. Matt waited for her to answer,
then grew nervous himself at her continued silence.

Finally, stubbornly, he snapped, "Well, answer me."

Marna touched dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
When she answered him, her voice was so low he had
to bend down to hear her.

"I need the extra room for myself. I will not be an
audience to your carrying on with squaws."

Matt straightened up. He had thought right. He
began slowly to realize that this simple, young hill girl
wasn't so simple after all. She was highly sensitive and
had a deep awareness of decency. Guilt stirred inside
him. If it bothered her that much, he wouldn't bring
other women to the cabin.

He gazed down at the tangled mass of hair, trying
to see the face behind it. Blue eyes stared back at him.
A slow anger began to grow in him. Why should he
have a guilty feeling about a female who was so dirty
she stank?

Turning from her, a surprising truth hit him. Mama
was, in most ways, clean and sweet-smelling. There was
a scent about her that reminded him of wild roses that
grew in the hedges back home. He recalled the milky
white of the perfectly shaped breasts and grew more
confused. Certainly they had seen soap and water, and
often, too. He turned back to gaze at her, his eyes
drawn to the white column of her throat and the full
breasts pushing against the thin material of her dress.
He fought the urge to lay hands on her, to rip open the
buttons and feast his eyes on the cherry-tipped mounds.

He took a step toward her, and Marna bent over to
pick a burr from her skirt. Her action broke the spell
that held him. "All right," he grumbled, "you can have
your damned two rooms."

He picked up the ax and attacked the pile of logs
with a consuming exertion. He must rid himself of the
overpowering obsession to possess the rich, ripe body
of his wife. Sweat gathered on his forehead and rolled
down his face. Marna was about to move away from
him when he swore softly and threw down the ax again. She looked up at him and asked, "Did you say something?"

Angrily, Matt stared down at her. "Why don't you
wash your face and brush your hair? You look like an
old crone, do you know that?"

Crushed by his words and tone, Marna could not
answer immediately. She stared down at her trembling
fingers, asking herself what sensible answer she could
give him. It would sound so childish to say, "Grandma
told me not to." Matt would never understand that kind
of reasoning. She finally answered sullenly, "I will,
someday."

Matt took a step toward her. "Why someday? Why
not now?"

Marna searched her mind frantically for words that
would satisfy him. If only she hadn't promised
Grandma. She started when Matt repeated his question,
"Why not now, Marna?"

"The sun makes my face blister when I wash it," she
blurted out, hardly aware of what she said.

Matt narrowed his eyes at her. "Why don't you put
bear grease on your face the way the Indians do? If it
protects against mosquitoes, it would do the same
against the sun."

Marna felt an uncomfortable heat rush over her
body. She was unused to deception. In all her life she
had practiced it only on Grandpa, which didn't really
count. She didn't love the evil old man. But her
husband - She took a deep breath and mumbled, "It
gives me a rash. Besides, I can't stand the smell of bear
grease."

Exasperation clouded Matt's eyes. "Are you tellin'
me that you're never gonna wash your face?"

There, was almost pleading in Marna's eyes as she
gazed up at him. "I will, someday. When I am older.
Grandma says that my skin will toughen as I grow
older."