Marna (27 page)

Matt rubbed the weary horse down with a handful of
hay, then spread a blanket over the broad back. Of
course the blanket would be gone tomorrow, he thought,
forking some hay down for Sam. There were too
many freezing men around here.

The snow was coming down in earnest as Matt made
his way to number four cabin, the deer slung across his
shoulder. It was nearly dark, and the faint lights shining
through the slat-covered windows did little to light his
way.

When the cabin loomed in front of him, he was relieved to see a goodly amount of wood stacked against
its side. As he reached for the latch, he thought that at
least it would be halfway warm inside.

The cold wind rushed in behind him, scattering ashes
all over the dirt floor. "Shut the friggin' door," angry
voices yelled at him.

He closed the door and leaned against it, accustoming his eyes to the gloom. He dimly made out four
figures huddled closely around a poorly constructed
fireplace. Shifting his gaze, he saw three others curled
tightly beneath thin blankets on their bunks. The
labored breathing of a dying man came from one of
them.

While he stood gazing at the dismal quarters, suddenly a gaunt, bearded man was upon him. The ragged
fellow grabbed his hand and shook it heartily.

"Matt, you ole buzzard, where did you come from?"

Matt stared at the thin, bony face thrust close to his
own. Snarled strands of hair hung to the soldier's shoulders, and an uncombed beard curled rebelliously around
his lips and chin. His eyes traveled up to gaze into a
pair of twinkling eyes.

"Caleb? Is it you?"

"It sure as hell is, you old tomcat," Caleb cried out,
giving him a whack on the back.

Clasping him affectionately by the arm, Matt ex claimed back, "You look like a woolly bear, you old
varmint. Did you lose your razor?"

"Now, I donated it to the doctor over at the dispensary." Caleb gave a short laugh. "He wore his knife
plumb out, bleedin' everybody in sight. That's about all
that bastard knows how to do."

"I heard you had some sickness here."

Caleb sighed heavily. "Yeah. It's bad, Matt. They're
dyin' off fast. Come spring, there won't be a handful
left to help Washington drive Howe out of Philadelphia."

"That's the plan, is it?"

"Yeah, I reckon. That's the rumor, anyhow."

Caleb reached for the deer still hanging over Matt's
shoulder. "You sure knew what we needed, Matt."

Glancing toward the men grouped by the fire, he
motioned to one of them. "Get this skinned as soon
as possible, Jim. Then dole it out to the cabins. Tell the
man in charge of cookie' to make broth out of most of
it.,,

Turning back to Matt, he stated gloomily, `We're
damned near _starving', Matt. It's good to have you and
your rifle here."

Taking Matt by the arm, he said, "Take off your coat
and come over by the fire. I want you to meet some
friends."

Caleb's companions, though younger, were almost
exact copies of himself. The same feverish, hungry eyes
looked out of gaunt faces. One by one they shook
Matt's hand, uttering words of welcome and declaring
that his deer and rifle were the most welcomed things
they had seen in days.

Matt sat down cross-legged on the floor and pulled
out his pipe and tobacco. As he filled the well-charred
bowl, he felt the men's eager eyes boring into the halffilled pouch. When he had tamped the pipe tight, he
passed the pouch on to Caleb. He sighed inwardly. It was his last, and the pouch was sure to be empty when
it returned to him.

When Caleb had his own pipe going to his satisfaction, he stretched out on an elbow and glanced over at
Matt. "How's Mama? Who's lookin' after her while
you're gone?"

There was a long moment of silence as Matt stared
into the fire. Then, uncomfortably aware of Caleb's
probing stare, he answered bitterly, "That one doesn't
need me to take care of her. She's got herself a new
man."

With no change of expression Caleb reached out and
picked up a short stick. "Is that so?" he asked, turning
over a log and sending showers of sparks up the chimney. "Is he anybody I know?"

"I don't think so. Wait, maybe you do know him, at
that. He's an older man, name of Jake South."

"Hell, yes, I remember him. He was always hangin'
round Marna. He seemed like a nice enough fellow."

"A nice fellow, hell," Matt barked testily. "He's
nothin' but a wife stealer."

Caleb studied Matt carefully for a moment, then ventured," "Pardon my askin', Matt, but did you ever really
make Marna your wife?"

Matt gave a short, sharp laugh. "Yeah, I was fool
enough to be taken in by her one night."

Caleb looked back into the fire. Of course the stubborn fool had everything wrong. His wife loved him
deeply. Without looking at Matt, he said quietly, "I
can't think that Marna would take up with another
man, Matt."

"Believe it. It's true. I know what I saw."

Caleb opened his mouth to question him more
closely, then snapped it shut. He'd be wasting his
breath. Instead, he grinned and said, "It's good to have
you here, Matt. I've been missin' you. It will be good to
have a strong man with me for a change. These fellows here are willin', but they're so damned young. They're
mostly settler boys that's never been away from home
before. I was sure I' tired, motherin' them all by
myself."

Matt knocked his dead pipe out on the hearth. "We'll
pull them through, Caleb. We're both head huntin'
parties now."

Relief on his face, Caleb said, "We'd better get to
bed, then. I planned on getting' an early start in the
motherin'."

Egan Traver drew the team to a stop in front of his
home, and the three women stared up at the two-story
brick building. Like its owner, it was big and imposing.
Flanking the huge oak door were two sets of long, narrow windows. On the second floor, beneath identical
windows, was a balcony, its balustrade supported by
intricately carved pillars. Differentiating it from its
neighbors was a large sign suspended from the second
floor, between the two balconies. In big, bold letters it
proclaimed, "TRAVER'S GAMBLING PARLOUR."

"Oh, Egan, it's grand!" Betsy exclaimed, standing up
in her excitement.

With a pleased smile wreathing his face, Egan
jumped to the pavement and swung her down beside
him. "And what do you say, Marna?" he asked, swinging her down.

"Oh, it is grand, Dad," she breathed in openmouthed wonder. "It makes four of my cabin."

"More like six," Hertha interposed, as Egan helped
her down.

He led them up a brick walk, swept clean of all ice
and snow. Grasping the the shiny brass doorknob, he
swung wide the heavy door and stepped aside for them
to enter.

Betsy led the way down a long hall, its floor heavily
carpeted with a dark blue material. Hurrying along behind her, Marna glimpsed her reflection in wide strips
of mirror fastened between the doors leading off the
hall on either side. Their way was lighted by tall, fat
candles in pewter reflectors, set above each door. Marna learned later that candles burned night and day
there in the wintertime. Most days the Delaware sent
dark gray fog into the city, shutting away the sun.

Indicating the highly polished doors, Egan explained,
"They lead into the gambling rooms."

At the end of the hall he ushered them up a handsome staircase, carpeted in the same blue material. As
Marna climbed behind Betsy, she marveled at the shine
of the twin banisters rising upward, then curving back,
forming two open hallways.

At the head of the stairs, Egan pushed open a door.
He watched the women's faces eagerly as they stepped
over the threshold.

Mama gasped in sheer delight as her feet sank into a
light blue carpet with the texture of velvet. Her eyes
flew from heavy drapery of the same color to beautiful
high-backed, tapestry-covered chairs to a blue-andwhite flowered sofa. A cozy fire in the marble-topped
fireplace cast a soft glow on rosewood tables placed
handily about.

Egan's face beamed as he watched the wonder in her
eyes. Hugging her to him, he demanded, "Didn't I tell
you you'd live like a queen here in Philadelphia?"

"Oh, Dad," Marna exclaimed quietly, "I never knew
such lovely things existed."

"This ain't _othing'," Egan informed her heartily.
"Wait until I get you and Betsy all dressed up and take
you to parties and balls and the theater. Boy, will we
make them sit up and look."

Hearing a discreet cough behind him, Egan turned
around. "Ali, Mrs. Brown." He smiled at a plump,
middle-aged woman. "I was just going to go look for
you. I want you to meet my three ladies." He took hold
of Hertha's arm. "This is Hertha Akers, grandmother
to my daughter, Mama, here." He smiled proudly at
Marna. Then, not stopping at the woman's surprised
look, he pulled Betsy forward, adding, "And this is
Betsy."

The pleasant-faced woman had gained control of her
shock and said how pleased she was to meet Mr.
Traver's womenfolk. She turned to Egan then and
asked, "Will you be having supper in, sir?"

Egan looked at the women questioningly. They
nodded yes, with Betsy explaining, "We've had a long
journey and I think we're all pretty tired. I, for one,
intend to seek my bed early tonight."

The housekeeper murmured, "Very well, I' 11 go
attend to it."

Egan overtook her at the door. "I was wonderin',
Mrs. Brown, if you knew of any girls who would like to
hire on as maids for my women?"

"Why, yes, I do. I have three nieces who are real
quick and willing."

"Two of them will be enough," Hertha called from
across the room. "I've taken care of myself all my life.
I don't need anyone to fetch and carry for me at this
late date."

Marna would have added her refusal also, but Betsy
caught her eye and shook her head imperceptibly. Her
eyes seemed to say, "Let Egan do this for you. It's
important to him." So Marna kept her silence, but she
wondered what she would do with a personal maid.

Mrs. Brown said, "Yes, Mum," to Hertha, and
closed the door softly behind her.

Marna hardly knew what she was eating that evening, so entranced was she with the white damask tablecloth, the fine china and silver gracing it, and the shining crystal reflected in the mirrored walls.

But none of this was new to Betsy. The dark-eyed
beauty sparkled and glowed as she ate thinly sliced
roast, whipped potatoes, and buttered peas. She went
into such ecstasies over the plum pudding, Mrs. Brown
blushed with pleasure.

A heavy drowsiness came over Marna, and as soon
as dessert was finished, she asked for her room. Mrs.
Brown took a candle and holder from the sideboard and, when Marna had kissed everyone good night, led
her down one of the halls, stopping at the second door.
"That is your father's room," she said, nodding toward
the door closest to the drawing room.

The housekeeper opened the door into a small
anteroom and moved through it into a bedroom. Marna
walked more slowly, taking in the cozy sitting room. The
sofa was small but looked very comfortable. She ran
her fingers across the back of a padded rocker while her
eyes took in the marquetry table beside it and then the
kneehole desk in a corner. Again, the carpet was a
shade of blue, and it extended on into the bedroom.

She stood admiringly in the bedroom door. It was
completely furnished in delicate, dark mahogany. The
tall tester bed against the wall waited, its blue coverlet
laid back to expose smooth, white linen sheets.

"My father certainly has a preference for blue,"
Marna remarked, stroking the soft velvet cover.

"Yes, miss," Mrs. Brown said, smiling. "He explained to me once that it was your mother's favorite
color. When he furnished this place, he had her in
mind."

Marna wished that her little mother had known of
her husband's gesture. Mrs. Brown directed her attention to a draped-off area.

"Your toilet table and other necessities are behind
here, Miss Marna," she said.

Marna smiled back at her, having no idea what a
toilet table was. When the woman bade her good night
and left the room, Marna whipped the blue drapes
aside. She gazed in wonder at a small table, its surface
covered with bottles of perfume, small pots of cream,
and little jars of red and pink ingredients.

Her gaze went to a corner shelf where big heavy
towels were stacked along with bars of scented soap.
On a shelf alongside the oval mirror above the table
was a china pitcher and matching basin. She smiled
sadly, remembering her beloved water pail, battered washbasin, and scrap of broken mirror. Uncapping
bottles and sniffing at lovely scents, opening jars and
touching the creams inside, she longed for her cold
water and fustian towels.

She gave a tiny sigh. That was all behind her now,
and she must work at accepting her new world.