Marna (36 page)

His eyes roamed over the neat, sturdy building, and
it looked so sad and lonely to him. The curtained windows seemed to look at him accusingly. And where
Marna had kept the little yardlike area around the
cabin so neat and cleared of rubbish, tall brown grass
and weeds grew to the door now.

He swung to the ground, eager to start putting his
place to rights. He lifted the latch and stepped inside. It
was exactly as it was the day he had stood inside the
door, shouting cruel accusations at Marna. How angry
Jake South had been at him when he wouldn't listen to
Marna. How many times had he cursed himself for not
listening to her.

The inside looked all right to him, and he spent the
remaining daylight hours cleaning away the debris and
weeds from the cabin area. Near dusk his stomach
rumbled, and he picked up the rifle and headed into the
forest. He hadn't shot those squirrels yet.

Matt was barely into the woods when a yipping,
furry body threw itself on him. He dropped to his
knees, hugging the joyful, wiggling hound. "Jawer, you
old hound, it's good to see you."

Jawer's rough tongue licked at his face and hands, a
welcoming whine in his throat. Matt felt over his body
and found him well-nourished. The men hadn't neglected him in his absence. He rose and started off
again, the hound running around him in circles.

It was nearly dark when Matt started back with two
squirrels hanging from his belt. He rounded the pine
that hid his cabin, and the breath caught in his throat.
Candlelight glimmered in the window, and he could
make out a woman's form. Had Marna returned home?

He slid quickly to the ground. His legs weak as water
and his heart pounding, he moved eagerly up the path.
But when he slowly pushed the door open, only Dove
was there, busily sweeping the floor. Startled, she
turned quickly, then clutched at her throat while her eyes stared. Matt moved toward her, a concerned hand
held out"I'm sorry I scared you, Dove."

"Matt," she whispered. "Is it really you?"

"Of course it's me. Who did you think?"

"But we heard you were dead, Matt. Killed by an
Indian arrow."

Matt looked at her, amusement in his eyes. "Me,
killed? Who told you that whopper?"

"Corey told Henry. He said a soldier from General
Washington told him. Said he ran into the man midway
between here and Philadelphia. He said the man was
looking for Marna to give her the message."

Matt's smile faded. "That sounds like some trumped
up lie of Corey's."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Dove agreed. "That man
is a mischief-maker if I ever saw one."

Dove set the broom down and asked, "How is
Caleb? Did he come back with you?"

Matt moved to the fireplace and stared into it.
"Caleb was killed in battle at Philadelphia."

Dove's eyes went wide and she leaned against the
table. "Oh, no, Matt. Not that happy, laughing man."
After a moment, she said, "He loved Marna so. She'll
be deeply saddened to hear it."

Matt nodded. "Yes, she will. He was a good friend to
her."

Dove looked at him curiously, thinking that Matt
Barton had mellowed some. This time last year, he
might have struck her for saying such. "How is Marna?
Is she ever coming back here?"

Matt's smile was a little thin" as he answered, "If it's
in my power, she'll be back here."

"That's good. This is where she belongs." She waited
a minute, then asked, "Have you visited Hertha yet?"

"Not yet. I plan on goin' up as soon as I finish
supper. I'm anxious to hear if she's had any word from
Marna. Have you seen her lately?"

"No, come to think of it, I haven't seen her all week.
I hope she's all right."

"I'm sure she is. Probably busy puttin' in her garden."

Dove picked up her light shawl and draped it around
her shoulders. "I'd better get Henry's supper on the
table. He'll be coming in soon. Come and have deer
steak with us."

"Thanks, Dove, but I got a hankerin' for some
squirrel. Tell Henry I'll be over after I've visited
Hertha."

Dove turned at the door. "Henry will be so glad
you're alive, Matt."

"I'm right glad myself, Dove." Matt smiled.

When Matt turned the stallion onto the trail to
Hertha's, the moon was just skimming the skyline of
trees. The wind had died down, and there was a balminess in the air. Spring is here, he thought, his heart
light. Everything started anew in the spring. For him,
he hoped, a new life with Marna.

But as he mused on the joys of life with Marna, he
also worried that maybe she had grown to like the comforts Jake South provided her. She had seemed to be at
home in the fancy surroundings. His body suddenly
stiffened. What if Marna had received the news that he
was dead? She might even have married Jake South.

A rider had emerged from the darkness and was
coming toward him. A dark anger grew inside Matt.
There was the ugly varmint who had started the rumor.
When Corey was almost on him, he pulled the stallion
across the trail. "Howdy, Corey," he said gruffly.

Corey went still at the sound of his voice, and he
jerked his mount's head back sharply. Not looking at
Matt directly, he said, "Howdy, Barton, where did you
come from?"

Suspicion of the hunter grew in Matt. Corey was
startled at seeing him, but he wasn't surprised. With a
sarcastic inflection in his voice, he said, "Maybe I come from hell." Then, abruptly he shot at him, "How come
you're not surprised to see me? You're the one who told
everybody I had been killed by an Indian."

Corey's nervous laugh pulled his lips back from
tobacco-stained teeth. "Go on, Matt. I never believed
that for a minute. I told them all that an Indian arrow
would never get that slick Matt Barton."

Corey's fawning compliment convinced Matt that the
man had made up the whole story. There had been no
message for Marna from General Washington. He
prodded the stallion into Corey's horse until he was
only inches from the hunter. "Corey, you bastard," he
grated out, "you lie. Now, damn your hide, tell me why
you spread that story."

Backing his mount and ramming it into a tree in his
haste to get away from Matt, Corey whined, "Now,
Matt, I swear to you I did no such thing. The soldier I
ran into told me that."

A dangerous light was in Matt's eyes as he pressed
his mount after the fear-sweated Corey. "How much
did you pay the soldier to tell that lie?"

Corey cringed from the angry face and held out a
protesting hand. "Matt, I swear I don't know what
you're talkin' about. Why should I do a thing like that?"

"That's what I'm tryin' to figure out. I can't hit on
your reason right now, but it'll come to me. In the
meantime, you stay out of my way." He shook out the
reins and turned the stallion back on the path. As he
rode away, the hair on his neck stood up. He had done
a damn fool thing, turning his back on that skunk. The
coward wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in his back.

Almost to the top of the hill, Matt suddenly lost his
urge to see Hertha. She would bring back memories he
couldn't deal with at the moment. What he needed now
was man talk. He would go visit Henry instead.

"You seem restless this mornin'," Hertha said to Marna
as she stood in the doorway.

"I am, kind of. I guess I'm getting the fidgets, hanging around the cabin so much."

"I wouldn't be surprised. You've been home over a
week now and haven't once been off the hill. Wouldn't
you like to go visit Dove and Henry, let them know
you're back? They'd be awful glad to see you."

"I'm not ready to go down there yet, Grandma.
Dove, the hunters, the cabin-I couldn't stand the
memories."

Hertha nodded in understanding. It would be a long
time before Marna got over her loss. She had loved
Matt so deeply.

Pulling her barks and roots toward her, Hertha resumed sorting and tying them together. Marna continued to gaze out on the sunny spring morning.

Everything was turning green. Her attention was
called to the pasture, where a quail called out Suddenly
she needed to be out, to walk in the new grass, to
move through the woods. She turned to Hertha.
"Grandma, I'm going to go look for poke greens. Do
you think it' s too early for them to be up?"

"I don't think so. Why don't you walk down to
where the woodruff grows? It always comes up early
there."

Marna picked up a fustian sack and took a knife
from a drawer. As she stepped out on the small porch,
Hertha called after her, "Keep a sharp eye out, Marna. Be on the lookout for that Corey. I'm sure I seen him
sneakin' round here yesterday."

"I will, Grandma. I don't think he'd bother me,
though. He knows Henry and the others would go after
him. Out of memory for Matt."

"I still don't trust him. You just be careful."

The forest, as usual, held Mama spellbound. She
hadn't realized how much she loved these dear, dear
hills. She would like nothing better than to live here
always. She knew suddenly that she would. She had not
gotten on with society. Its standards had gone against
her grain. And though it would sadden her father, when
he came to get her, she would send him and Betsy back
alone.

Mama arrived at the sunny little hollow and saw
immediately that she was about two weeks early. Even
the woodruff hadh't come alive yet. But the sun was
warm and the birds sang, and a nearby flat boulder
looked inviting. She climbed upon it and stretched out
on her stomach.

She had basked in the sun's rays about half an hour
when a queer tightness gathered between her shoulder
blades. Someone was watching her. She lay still, listening intently. There came no sound that was unnatural
to the forest, but the feeling persisted. When the sharp
rapping of a woodpecker stopped abruptly, she sprang
from the boulder and raced up the hill. Over the beating of the heart she thought she heard a crashing
through the brush. But a fast glance over her shoulder
showed nothing moving. The cabin came in sight, and
she slowed her pace to catch her breath. She turned to
survey the trail behind her and still saw nothing out of
the ordinary.

"Scaredy-cat," she sneered at herself. "There was no
one there. You just got spooked."

Marna decided she wouldn't mention her foolishness
to Hertha. The old woman would only become upset. Then, stepping onto the porch, Marna realized she had
left the bag and knife behind. She stood on the porch,
debating if she should go back and retrieve them. She
looked down toward the hollow and decided she
wouldn't. After all, she wasn't absolutely sure someone
hadn't hidden there and spied on her.

When she walked into the cabin, it was empty. And
when later she found Hertha in the garden, she merely
stated that the poke wasn't up yet. She took the hoe
from Hertha and said, "You drop the potatoes,
Grandma, and I'll cover them."

The sun was quite low by the time they had planted
three long rows of potatoes. Hertha picked up the
empty basket that had held the "eye cut" of the vegetable and remarked, "Let's have our supper. I didn't realize it was gettin' so close to dark."

They sat at the scrubbed table, eating the rest of the
ham, along with chunks of golden cornbread. Hertha
glanced out the window and noted that it had grown
dark. She rose stiffly. "I'd better go milk that cow before the calf gets it all," she said, taking the lantern
down from the wall. "I think I'll start weanin' the little
bugger tomorrow. With you home now, we need the
milk."

Marna washed the dishes and straightened the kitchen
area. Then, tired from her trip to the hollow and the
work in the garden, she sat down in front of the fire and
stretched her legs in front of her. A light wind came up
and sighed softly down the chimney. Drowsily she
watched the mass of red coals glow as the air fanned
them. Her head began to nod. Then the backlog fell,
sending up a shower of sparks. She was jerked back to
awareness.

She had just raked all the wood back together and
was about to sit back down when she heard a brushing,
stealthy sound from the porch. Was it Grandma? No,
she could see Grandma's lantern bobbing back and
forth as she tended the chores. A chill of dread came over her. Whoever was out there was up to no good. An
honest man always hailed a cabin before approaching
it. Her glance shot to the latchstring, and it was out.
Would she have time to drop the bar in place? She
doubted it. It was so heavy. She looked at the old dog
asleep by her chair and dismissed him as any hope of
help. The old fellow was half blind and so deaf he
hadn't even heard the furtive footsteps on the porch.

She stepped quickly to the mantel and took down
Hertha's long rifle. She stood in the gloom, debating
what she should do next, when the door creaked open
and a man's form darkened the doorway. With a frightened gasp and blood pounding in her ears, Marna
brought the rifle to her shoulder, took fast aim at the
man's head, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled the
trigger.