Marna (19 page)

His response had more than satisfied the hunger of
approval she had longed for all these years. It had
taken a giggle from Dove to bring his mouth closed. He
started across the floor toward Marna, his eyes mirroring the beauty he saw. He pulled her into his arms and
she could feel his heart beating madly. She laughed
nervously and pulled away from him. Flustered, she
said, "Is that the way to greet a married woman,
Caleb?"

Pain had shot into his eyes, and she was sorry for
having reminded him so frankly that nothing had
changed. He had stayed but a short time then, not even
sitting down. When he had gone, a part of the joy in her
new appearance was gone also.

As the length of material grew from the loom, Marna
continued to dwell on Caleb. The vibrancy of his body
had felt good that day. She blushed guiltily, wondering
how that body would feel in bed. ..bare, holding her
close.

Her cheeks glowed even redder when she looked out
the window and saw Caleb walking toward the cabin.
Had he sensed her thoughts and come to carry them
out? She swung it wide and waited for him to enter. But
Caleb remained on the porch, and she was forced to lift
her eyes to him.

He smiled at her and urged, "Let's go for a walk.
You've been cooped up in here for days."

"Well, I don't know," she began nervously, looking
across the room at Dove. "Dove might need me."

But Dove ignored her silent cry of help. Instead, she
urged, "Go on, Marna. It will do you good.. .put
some color in your cheeks."

Marna tossed her head angrily, but Dove just gave
her a mocking smile and teased, "Maybe the wind will
blow the cobwebs out of your brains."

"Or blow my brains out," Marna retorted, glancing
out at the tall, brown grass bending before the wind.

"Aw, come on, Marna," Caleb coaxed. "It's not that
bad. I think it's gonna snow tonight, and this will be
your last chance to walk on bare ground for a while."

Reluctantly, Marna tied a scarf over her head and,
throwing Dove an accusing look, moved out onto the
porch. She heard the door close softly, then felt Caleb's
hand on her elbow. He steered across the yard and
away from the river. The sharp, fresh air on her face
did feel good, and she lifted her head to receive the cold bite of the wind. They walked in silence for several
minutes, until they came to a small cedar glade.

Then Caleb said, "I wanted to talk to you in private,
Marna. That's why I asked you to go walkin' with me."

The pulse quickened in Marna's throat. Caleb was
going to ask questions she wasn't ready to answer yet.
A hot flush of confusion swept over her.

When she made no answer, Caleb stopped and pulled
her around to face him. A desperate longing in his eyes,
he asked, "Don't you even care to hear what I have to
say, Marna?"

The hurt in his voice moved her soft heart. Unconsciously she leaned into him. Too late she realized her
action had given him false hope. His arms went around
her and he gazed into her startled eyes.

"Caleb!" she protested, but his lips came down on
hers with an urgency that took her breath.

For a moment she struggled against him. Then suddenly his warm, moving lips struck a spark within her.
Against her will her body grew soft and her lips began
to stir beneath his. Caleb's arms tightened and he drew
her closer, molding her body into his. Caught up in his
fever, she strained into him as her arms came up
around his neck. In the warm stillness she heard his
harsh breathing and felt the heat of his body. His lips
became more demanding, forcing hers open.

A small warning bell went off in Marna's head then,
and the softness began to leave her body. When his
hand came up to cup a breast, her arms came down to
push against him, and she wrenched her lips free.

Caleb stared at her, his eyes glazed over with his
want. Breathing heavy, he tried to pull her back into his
arms. "What's wrong, Marna? Are you afraid?"

She pressed her hands against his chest. "You
mustn't, Caleb," she began, then stopped short, her
eyes staring.

Directly behind them, sitting quietly in the saddle, was Matt. At his side, a tall, strikingly handsome
woman sat astride her mount. Caleb swung around and
swore softly under his breath. Releasing Marna, he
took her arm and gently forced her to walk alongside
him as he moved toward the two riders.

Marna stared up at Matt. His eyes cold and hard,
he stared back at her. She grew rigid with desperation
and cried out, "It's not what you think, Matt."

Matt's lips lifted in a sneer. With bitter accusation in
his voice, he said, "It didn't take you long to get Caleb
in your bed, did it?"

"That's not true," Marna protested wildly. Turning
to Caleb, she appealed, "Tell him, Caleb. Tell him he's
wrong."

When Caleb made no answer to her urgent request,
she turned a questioning look at him. Hope died
slowly in her breast. She would get no help from him.
He was smiling up at Matt's set face, a mocking significance in his eyes. Her eyes wide in disbelief, she
whirled back around to face Matt.

"Matt, I swear by all that's holy, it's not what you
think."

Matt's expression didn't change. His voice was like
chipped ice as he said, "He's had you, lady. I can see it
in your cat eyes."

Marna stepped back with a little cry, her hand going
to her quivering lips. There was silence for a moment,
then Matt gave a sharp, short laugh, wheeled his
mount, and raced out of the glade. After a pitying look
at Marna, the woman followed him more slowly.

Caleb touched Mama's arm timidly. "I'm sorry,
Mama, but I had to do it. Matt's not worthy of your
love. I could have told you he's been livin' with Big
Betsy."

Her shoulders drooping, Marna sighed, "It doesn't
matter, Caleb. Let's go home."

They neither talked nor touched as they walked back to the cabin. Each was deep in private thoughts. Caleb
worried that he had taken the wrong approach back
there in the cedars. Maybe he should have acknowledged the truth of her statement to Matt. Now he was
afraid he had lost Marna forever.

Marna's mind was obsessed with one thought: Who
is Big Betsy? The words nagged over and over.

Matt raced away after hurling his insults at Marna. If
he'd had to look at Caleb's gloating face another second, he'd have killed him.

He rode several miles before the stallion slackened
its pace and Betsy came thundering up beside him.
Over the noise of the pounding hooves, she shouted,
"What's wrong with you, Matt? Your wife wasn't lying,
you know. That Caleb deliberately let you believe the
worst."

"I don't know any such thing," he shouted back.
"She certainly wasn't fightin' him off."

"She was probably too stunned. From all I've heard
about her, likely it's the first time she was ever kissed.
Did you ever kiss her?"

Matt's answer was to kick the stallion into a fast
gallop. Again Betsy was left to ride alone.

Racing along, Matt questioned if Betsy had been
right about Marna. She had seemed so sincere, her
beautiful face turned up to him. Even over his anger,
hunger for her had shot through him. He had clenched
his fists against his rising tide of desire.

The stallion swept into the settlement, and Matt
raced him on to the house at the edge of the forest. He
flung himself off the horse and hurried inside. Grabbing
up a bottle of whiskey, he picked out a table and sat
down. He had downed a cupful by the time Betsy arrived.

She stood over him, her eyes snapping. "Is this how
you're going to straighten out things between you and
your wife?"

Matt glowered up at her impatiently. "What's there
to straighten out? Caleb can have her. I was a damn
fool for ever lettin' myself get tied up with her."

He filled the tin cup again and raised it to his lips. As
the fiery liquid smarted down his throat, he banged
the cup down on the table and glared at Betsy. "Go on,
leave me alone. I'm gonna get roarin' drunk."

Betsy glared back at him for a second. Then she
wheeled around and walked away, mumbling, "Go
ahead, you damn fool. You're not worth the girl, anyway."

Numerous times Matt lifted the cup to his lips. Finally he lost control of his muscles and his head hit the
table with a thud. At last, for a bit, his mind was free of
his wife.

When he awakened the next morning, he was alone
in the bedroom next to Betsy's. It had been a restless
night, with Marna and Caleb filling his dreams, but he
had come to a decision. Coldly, he laid out the facts as
he saw them. Strictly keeping to the dictates of his
mind, ignoring the urgings of his heart, he analyzed the
events leading up to the present time. Through his own
fault he had lost his wife. But life would continue on,
and he must find away to be a part of it. He had lived
for thirty-odd years before knowing the sloe-eyed hill
girl. Her brief interruption of his life would have to be
put behind him. He had enjoyed his way of life before
she came along, and he would in time enjoy it again. He
would start by returning to his men and setting out his
traps. He would visit Betsy when the urge came upon
him and, in essence, resume his old life.

Picking his buckskins off the floor, he frowned and
winced. Even though the wound in his back had healed,
it was still sensitive to any sudden movement. He carefully pulled the shirt over his head and eased it down
his back. He slipped into his moccasins, laced them up
to his knees, and moved down the hall and into the
deserted main room.

In the morning light there was no resemblance to
what the room had been a few hours earlier. The garishly colored chairs and sofas, now placed in haphazard
positions, somehow resembled the women who entertained in them... faded and worn out.

His nose twitched from the fumes of spilled whiskey
and ale. The fight between lingering cheap perfume and
stale body odor sent him hurrying outside.

Matt stood a minute, gulping in the fresh air, then
stepped onto the hard-packed path and strode toward
the small stable sitting in the fringe of the forest. He'd
be glad to get back to camp. It didn't smell like wild
roses there, but at least there were enough cracks in the
building to keep the fresh air moving through it.

The stallion whinnied a shrill greeting as Matt swung
the door open. The big animal was hungry, but a quick
search showed no grain of any kind. He threw a saddle
on the wide back and promised Sam there would be
breakfast when they reached camp.

Outside, he swung into the saddle and nudged the
mount lightly. With a course to follow now, he was
anxious to get started.

The evening after Marna's unhappy encounter with
Matt, a strong wind came out of the north. It blew
through the hills and whipped through the valleys. Driving before it was a sheet of flying white. In just a short
time it had dropped a snowy blanket over the hills and
buried the valleys in a feathery softness. Intense cold
followed the storm, and no one stirred outside unnecessarily.

When Marna glanced out the window around noon
and saw her grandmother trudging along on a pair of
snowshoes, she couldn't believe her eyes. She hurried to
fling open the door. "Grandma, what in the world are
you doing out in such weather?"

Hertha held onto the porch support with one hand
while she unfastened the shoes with her other. The
corners of her eyes crinkled. "Weather don't bother me,
Marnie. You know that."

"Well, hurry on in. It's freezing out here."

She took Hertha's coat and hurried her to the fire.
"Here," she said, dragging up a rocker. "Sit in the chair
Caleb made for me."

The old woman cast a quick, searching look at her
granddaughter. How were things progressing between
those two? she wondered. She stretched her chllled feet
to the fire and asked casually, "You see a lot of Caleb,
do you?"