Marna (2 page)

With a scolding caw, the bird flapped out of the tree,
winging its way into the forest. The girl made a graceful
leap over a narrow gully and landed on a beaten path
on the other side. She climbed upward with lithe, quick
steps, arguing inwardly, I'll be back before Grandma
even knows I'm gone.

Her feet rustling the dry leaves, she reached the crest
of the hill, then started downward. From below came
the sound of rushing water. Her feet didn't make a false
step as she hurried toward the riverbank. A subtle smile
hovered around her lips. The river was not to be trusted,
but she loved it with all her wild little heart.

Humming softly under her breath, she unwound the
line from the pole. She reached into a pocket and
brought out a small gourd, which she tied some sixteen
inches from the end of the line. This homegrown float would carry the line swiftly into the center current.
After skewering a piece of salt pork on the barbed hook,
the girl drew back her arm and whipped the line into
the water. Then, squatting down on the rocky bank, she
hugged her dirty knees to her. Her shoulders were
hunched under the thin sweater she wore as she concentrated on the bobbing gourd.

Three slick, black catfish lay flopping the reeds when
the sound of metal on stone brought the girl to her feet,
terror widening her eyes.

The old woman stood halfway up the hill. Her hand
caught and held back the wispy, gray-streaked hair that
the wind had torn loose from its knotted roll. She
peered out over the valley, her eyes anxious. Shaking
her head, she muttered, "Where has that young `un
gone off to?"

Her thin, careworn face drew itself into grim lines,
and as she turned to take up her laborious climb, she
mumbled darkly, "I'll wallop that girl good when I get
my hands on her."

Gaining the top of the hill, she leaned against a frosttinted maple to catch her breath. Then, cupping blueveined hands to her mouth, she called as loudly as her
reedy voice would allow, "Marniiiie, Marnie Traver,
answer me, you little dickens."

But the only answer old Hertha Aker received was
the echo of her own words.

Squinting her eyes against the white glare of the sun,
she stared down at the nameless river winding its way
across the valley floor. Marna loved to fish. Would she
defy Hertha's orders and fish there alone? But, though
her peering eyes could see the flowing water, the old
woman's eyesight was too poor to see whether or not
a young girl fished there. She sighed and sat down on a
tree stump, resting her hands on her bony knees. "Dadratted girl. I told her a hundred times not to go too far
away from the cabin."

Hertha pulled a long-stemmed clay pipe from the
pocket of the man's jacket that hung loosely over her
sharp shoulders and filled it with tobacco from another
pocket. After fumbling in her apron a moment, she
brought out a flint and struck it. Puffing noisily, the
smoke erupting in little jerks, she continued to worry
aloud about her granddaughter.

"I hope Emery and his rag-tailed friends don't come
across her. Them randy bastards would be atwixt her
legs faster'n a person could spit. And that Emery, he'd
probably be eggin' 'em on, chargin' 'em for it."

Hertha Akers had been deeply concerned about her
granddaughter for more than two years. Marna had
been a beautiful baby, and she was fast developing into
a beautiful woman. She had matured early, having her
first monthly at age eleven.

To hide the girl's fully grown figure from Hertha's
husband, Emery, Hertha had kept the child-woman in
loosely constructed gowns of homespun. She had forbade Marna to brush the rich, reddish brown hair, and
now it hung in matted strands across a face purposely
dirt-streaked. To all outward appearances, Marna was
just a grubby, unattractive girl.

Besides keeping Marna's maturity and unusual good
looks a secret from her grandfather, Hertha had so far
been successful in making him believe that the girl was
only thirteen. Actually, she had passed her fifteenth
birthday, but the two-year difference didn't signify a
great deal in these hills. Here, a girl of thirteen was
considered of marrying age.

But recently Emery had taken to studying his granddaughter, and Hertha's blood ran cold whenever his
mean, slitted eyes passed over the slim figure, probing
and gauging. She knew that his evil brain was hatching
ways to benefit himself through the girl. Hertha sighed
and rose stiffly to her feet. That old devil would swap
Marna for a jug of whiskey if he was dry enough.

Making her slow way to the old cabin she had called home for fourteen years, Hertha's thoughts went winging back to her youth in England.

Her beloved mother had passed away in the year
1706, leaving Hertha at the age of eighteen without any
relatives. Widowed for many years, the mother had left
only a modest little house and a small amount of
money.

Fortunately, her mother had been adamant about her
education, so Hertha was quite sure she'd be able to
earn a living somehow: Each morning she dressed herself neatly and went looking for work. But two weeks
passed and she was unable to find anything. Then, late
one afternoon, tired and despondent after futilely walking the streets all day, she stopped in a shop for tea and
biscuits. As she mentally counted her rapidly vanishing
money, her interest was caught and held by the conversation between a man and woman at the table behind
her.

"There's such a scarcity of decent women in the
Colonies," the man was saying, "a woman could be
guaranteed a husband almost immediately."

An excited flutter of hope stirred in Hertha's breast
as she paid her bill and hurried home. The sale of the
house and its furnishings would pay her passage to
America, she planned.

And so she made her way to Philadelphia, and in a
week's time she had met and married a polite young
cooper, Emery Aker, who was regarded as one of the
best when it came to making and repairing barrels and
tubs. Hertha was anxious to have a warm, comfortable
home and security.

But on her wedding night, Hertha's dream turned
into a nightmare. Her new husband became a stranger
on the closing of the bedroom door.

She turned to him, expecting to be taken into gentle
arms as had been his custom in the past. But his eyes
stared so strangely at her that she gasped and stepped back. His face took on a fiendish leer, and for the first
time she caught the odor of whiskey on his breath. His
brutal fingers ripped at her bodice, baring her breasts,
and he was upon her like an enraged animal.

The long night was agony for Hertha, as Emery
brutally raped her repeatedly. By morning she was delirious with fever, close to losing her mind, and-as she
discovered later-with child.

A kind physician brought Hertha back to health and
threatened Emery with hanging if he were ever to lay
a hand on her again. Frightened by the threat, Emery
avoided Hertha and turned to whores to satisfy his desires, often bringing them into the house.

In Philadelphia's worst blizzard of the year, Hertha's
baby was born. It was a perfectly shaped, healthy little
girl. When its first strong cry rang out, Hertha's love for
the child was overwhelming. At last she had someone
to love, and someone to love her back.

She named the baby Hester, after Hertha's dead
mother. Emery took no notice of the child, only
grumbling once that it wasn't a boy. Hertha made no
response to his remark, but she thought, Thank God,
little one, that you aren't a male. He would only raise
you to be like himself.

From the beginning Hester was a good baby. She
flourished under Hertha's tender care and grew into a
beautiful child. When she was five, Hertha began to
teach her to read and write and do sums. Every afternoon they sat in the small room added onto the oneroom house and went over her lessons.

The room, only about a year old, represented a personal victory for Hertha. Since the age of three, Hester
had become increasingly curious about the activities
going on between the man and his women in the big
bed. Hertha had pleaded with Emery for another room
so that their daughter wouldn't see his "carrying on."
But he had only laughed, remarking, "Let her watch. It
won't be too long before she's doin' the same thing herself. She'll know what's expected of her and won't
turn out like her milksop mother."

In desperation Hertha had turned to the doctor who
had saved her life. The good man called at the shack
and took Emery outside and talked to him for some
time. The next day the room was started.

It was not the fanciest room in the world. It was
small, with a slanting roof, and boasted only one tiny
window. But the rudely constructed fireplace drew well,
and there was space for their bed and two rockers.

Hester was a bright child, and in the years that sped
by, she learned everything her mother could teach her.
Their good friend the doctor stopped by often, his arms
full of books. Hester would carry them into the little
room and devour them, page by page. At mealtimes
Hertha would have to coax her to the table.

When Hester was thirteen, the doctor, worn out and
in his eighties, contracted the flu and was dead in a few
days. Hertha's grief was twofold. Not only had she lost
a dear friend, but she lost her only protection in Philadelphia.

Even before the old man's funeral, a change took
place in the Aker household. Emery ordered Hertha
back to his bed, and the horror of her wedding night
began all over again. Night after night she bit her lips
until they bled, holding back the sound of her pain. She
would put up with any torture so long as Hester did not
see the indignities forced upon her mother.

With the doctor gone, a new threat hovered over
Hertha. She worried constantly over Hester's future.
She often caught Emery staring at the girl, a calculating
gleam in his eyes. Hester was tall for her age and fully
developed. Each time Emery looked at his daughter,
Hertha's heart raced in dread, knowing what he was
thinking.

Then one night Emery returned from the tavern,
bringing with him a man named Egan Traver. Hertha
recognized the flashy gambler immediately. He was well known in the seamy back streets of the city. He was
involved in every business that operated on the outskirts of the law, and he owned and ran the largest redlight district in Philadelphia. He was pushing forty but
still retained hard good looks.

When he held out a smooth, firm hand to Hertha, a
large diamond flashed on his little finger. She took his
hand, shook it once, then dropped it quickly. Racing
through her mind was the question, What does this man
want here?

When Hester entered the room and Traver's eyes fell
hungrily upon her, Hertha's suspicions were confirmed.
The man was here for one reason only. Springing to
Hester's side, Hertha cried out, "Forget my little girl,
Mr. Traver. She's not going with you."

The words were barely out of her mouth when
Emery was upon her. His rough palm smacked against
her face so hard that tears welled in her eyes, blurring
her vision. "Shut your mouth, you bitch," Emery yelled,
grasping her arm and twisting. "I'll be the one to
decide that."

Traver, a dark frown on his face, moved in swiftly
and grabbed Emery by the shoulder. Spinning him
around, he said angrily, "Take it easy, Aker. There's no
need to get violent."

When the man turned back to Hertha, there was a
glimmer of pity in his eyes. "I don't want to take your
daughter away, Mrs. Aker," he said softly. "I have the
most honorable intentions toward her. I came here to
get your permission to call on Hester-to come courting her."

Hertha's eyes grew wide, and she gasped, "But
you're too old. She won't be but fourteen next month."
She stepped back and eyed him with mistrust. "You've
only seen her this one time. How could you know that
you want to come courting Hester?"

Traver gave a small, easy laugh. "I've seen Hester
before, Mrs. Aker. I've seen her many times. I've seen her on the streets with you, and all last summer I saw
her out back, working in your garden. I've been watching her close to a year now." The gambler turned his
head and looked boldly at Hester. "She has filled my
eyes with her beauty."

Hester blushed and looked down at the floor, fidgeting nervously with the hem of her apron. The firelight
shone on her red-brown hair and cast a rosy glow on
her cheeks. Hertha's heart sank. Hester was indeed a
beautiful girl, and her innocence would naturally attract
the jaded gambler.

Hertha brought her gaze back to Egan Traver and
frowned at the desire on his rough face. Speaking
sharply, she said, "I'll have to talk privately to Hester
about it. We'll let you know tomorrow."

Emery would have interrupted, but Egan motioned
him to silence. Nodding to Hertha, he smiled. "That
will be fine, Mrs. Aker."

The door closed behind him, and Emery swung
around to Hertha. Grabbing her arm and shoving it up
between her shoulders, he half screamed, "Slut! Why
did you tell him that? Do you think he will change his
mind if you dillydally?" He shoved her away from him,
yelling, "I ought to wring your skinny neck."

Hertha reeled across the room, coming up against
the wall with a dull thud. Hester ran to her side, crying
out anxiously, "Oh, Marna, are you hurt?"

Shaking her head to clear it, Hertha forced a smile to
her lips. "I'm all right, dear. It takes more than a
whack on a wall to hurt me."

Emery's eyes narrowed at Hertha's words. With a
snarl he bounded across the floor and took her arm in a
viselike grip. She winced in pain as he twisted slowly,
cruelly. Then, grinning wolfishly, he gave her a sharp
push toward the bed. "Get your bony self on that bed
and I'll show you pain."

Her eyes full of dread for her mother, Hester gave a small cry and grabbed her father's arm. "No, no, Papa.
Don't hurt Marna. There's no need. I want Mr. Traver
to come courting me."