Marna (21 page)

Jake stood on the porch, hot tears of gratitude running
down his cheeks. "So like my Hester," he whispered.
"How I wanted to hold her.. .tell her who I am."

From inside came Marna's raised voice, telling Caleb
in no uncertain terms that it was none of his business
who she invited into her home. He could not make out
Caleb's answering words, but the tone of his voice was
apologetic.

Jake grinned, brushed at his eyes, and stepped off the
porch. His daughter had a sharp tongue in her mouth.
A trait she had inherited from him.

A moon, full and white, shone so coldly that the knot
in his chest felt like a piece of ice. His mind nagged at
him, Why didn't you tell the girl who you were? Why
didn't you say, Marna, I am your father, Egan Traver.

"Because I'm a coward," he cried out, his voice
carrying over the crunching snow. "I was afraid to face
those open, honest eyes. She's bound to hate me for
abandoning her to that bastard Emery."

In his guilt Jake stepped up his pace, hoping to move
away from his unhappy thoughts, but they kept pace
with him. Had Marna suffered at Emery's hands? Had
he ever struck her, beat her?

As he had so often done in the past, Jake assured
himself again that Hertha would never allow Emery to
abuse the girl. But there remained the persistent question: would she be able to stop him?

Slogging along in the snow, he told himself that he
must talk to Hertha as soon as possible. The old
woman would advise him what to do.

Arriving at that decision, he fell to dreaming of
Marna's future. He could do so much for his daughter,
make up for all the lost years. He would take her back
to Philadelphia. What a beauty she would be, all
decked out in fancy clothes. And he would see to it that
she made a suitable marriage, too. Not a mockery like
the words that held her to Matt Barton. Hell, he was no
husband.

"I'd bet good money he's not even took her to bed
yet," he muttered. "She's still got that innocent, unawakened look about her." A grin tilted the corners of
his mouth. "Not that it's any fault of that Caleb fellow."

The dim lights of the post shone before him. He
leaned against a tree, pondering his next move. As
badly as he wanted to plant his fist in the big hunter's
face, he realized it wouldn't be the thing to do. What
reason could he give for his actions? He couldn't walk
up to him and say, "Barton, I don't like the way you've
been treating your wife." He'd have every man in the
place down on him. Interference between a man and his
woman was unheard of in the hills, even though many a
good woman had died because of that rule.

As Jake stood musing, an idea struck him. He
grinned widely. Maybe Matt had a favorite whore he
visited. And maybe he could take her away from him.
Jake did have a reputation for keeping a woman happy
in bed.

He rubbed himself slowly, reflecting. He hadn't had a
woman since the last time he had checked on his many
businesses. Hell, that was more than a month ago. He'd
be in prime shape.

He struck off toward the dim light at the edge of the
settlement, slipping and sliding in his hurry. "I can take
Matt's whore and keep her away from him all night,"
he grinned. "Maybe for all time."

The thought of the pleasure awaiting him put a
spring in his step. Reaching the house, he stepped quietly onto the porch. Standing back in the shadows,
he watched the revelers through the window. The
barely clad girls were a familiar sight to him. Back in
Philadelphia he owned the fanciest whorehouses in the
city. There wasn't one girl who worked for him that he
hadn't tried out at least once. Surprisingly, these girls
didn't look bad. A man wouldn't expect to see such
young ones so far back in the hills.

As he tried to decide which of them would appeal to
Matt, his eyes fell on the hunter. He sat with four other
men at a table, playing poker. But it was the woman
sitting next to Matt that held Jake's interest. God, but
she looked good. When Matt's hand came out to casually rub up and down her thigh, Jake's eyes creased at
the corners. He'd go after this one regardless of whose
woman she was. Being Matt's would only give him
double pleasure.

When Jake opened the door, Betsy spotted him at
once. As always, when a new face appeared, her interest was piqued. There was always the chance that this
one would give her what she wanted. She glanced up at
Matt's profile bent over his cards and smiled wistfully.
He hadn't sought her out last night, and she couldn't
gamble that he would tonight.

She picked up her drink and moved toward the
stranger. The man was as tall as herself, and his blue,
appraising eyes bored straight into hers. Then slowly he
let his gaze travel over her firm, curving body.

A pleasurable shiver went through her. This one had
sampled the best, and she could hardly wait to get him
in her room. He would know exactly what to do, and
when and how.

She smiled into his eyes. "Hello, stranger. My name
is Betsy, and I own this place. What can I do for you?"

Jake's eyes flared wickedly as he stretched a lazy hand to her white shoulder. Slowly, in a caressing
movement, he slipped the thin strap of her gown down ward. When a large, firm breast stood free, he ran a
finger lightly over its smooth contour. "I think you can
do a lot of things for me, Betsy," he murmured.

Betsy glanced down at the pulsating movement in his
trousers, and hunger shone in her eyes. Jake caught her
look and took her by the elbow. He turned her around,
and wordlessly they walked to the rear door.

Matt saw them leave and smiled to himself. The
randy Jake could take good care of Betsy. Matt glanced
around at the other whores. He'd have to start trying
them out. A glint of amusement shone in his eyes. It
was a good thing he didn't want any more clothes or
furniture from the madam.

A candle burned on a table beside Betsy's new bed.
In its soft light the pair disrobed. Betsy stood gazing at
the hard, muscular body, her eyes drawn to the throbbing part of him. Her breath came fast, and her tongue
came out to lick her lips.

Jake lay down across the bed, his legs hanging over
the side. Giving her a slow, lazy smile, he thrust himself
at her suggestively. "Come on, Betsy, you know what
to do."

Marna was occupied with mixing walnut ashes with her
remaining salt. This was an old practice of Hertha's
when her salt supply was running low. Salt was becoming a very scarce commodity these days. When this
supply was gone, there was no way of knowing when
there would be more.

They were at war with England now. A friendly Indian had told Hertha that a blockade had been set up.
Until someone was brave enough to run it, nothing
would be coming through. The Indian had also said
that Washington had been defeated in Brandywine and
Germantown and had taken his soldiers to winter in
Valley Forge. They had built quarters there and would
wait out the snow and cold. In the meantime, with the
British officer Howe keeping a firm hand on the rebel
capital of Philadelphia, it would be next to impossible to
get through the blockade.

Quite a few young men from the settlement had
joined the fighting, including Caleb. Marna paused in
her operation. He had been gone a month now. But it
seemed much longer since she had got up the nerve to
tell him that he was wasting his time waiting for her. It
had been hard telling him that she would always love
Matt, no matter what

She recalled that a couple of evenings later Caleb
had knocked on the door. It was quite late, but she had
invited him in pleasantly, always happy for his company. "Take off your coat and sit down. I'll heat us
some coffee."

Caleb had remained standing, fidgeting nervously with his coonskin. She noticed for the first time the
somberness of his face. She looked up at him quizzically, and finally he blurted out, "Thank you, Marna,
but I won't be stayin'. I'm pullin' out tonight, and I
stopped to say good-bye."

Startled, Marna sat down weakly. How lonesome it
would be around here without his smiling face to cheer
her up. She calmed her fluttering heart. "Pulling out,
Caleb? Where are you going? I understand that trapping is good in these parts."

"I'll not be trappin' for a while. I'm gonna join up
with Washington."

She had felt the blood drain from her face. Because
of her, Caleb was going off to war. What if he should be
killed? She touched his arm and asked softly, "Are you
sure this is what you want to do, Caleb? Soldiering
will be nothing like hunting and trapping, you know.
There's rules and regulations you'll have to follow in
the army. It won't be easy."

Staring down at the floor, he had muttered, "I can
get used to it."

Then suddenly he gripped her hands. "I can get used
to anything but seeing you and Matt together."

Marna gave a bitter laugh as she gently drew her
hands from his. "I don't think you'll have to worry
about that happening. He hasn't been near me since his
return. And from his carefree attitude, I don't think
that he will."

"Hah! Don't you believe that. His carefree manner
ain't what it seems. He only wants you to believe his
lightheartedness. His eyes are always starin' over here."

And though her heart had sung at his words, she had
managed to keep the joy from her eyes. Caleb felt bad
enough.

Caleb had left shortly after that, lingering at the door
to lift a finger and brush away a tear that slid down her
cheek. "Don't cry, Marna. You can't help who you love
any more than I can. I'll write to you."

She received his first letter two days ago. It had
taken three weeks to reach her. It was soiled and
wrinkled from the many hands it had passed through.

She went to sit beside the fire to read it again.

Valley Forge
Dec. 1777

Dear Marna,

I promised to write you a letter and here it is. I
arrived yesterday, and already I am missing you
and my friends.

It is bitter cold here, and the men tell me that
half the time they don't get enough to eat. Most are
dressed poorly for the weather, many still wearing
the summer clothing they arrived in. Many have no
shoes, only rags tied around their feet.

And don't believe all that glorified talk about
Washington suffering along with his men. He is
quartered in a comfortable farmhouse with plenty
of good food to eat. These poor devils in camp
hardly ever see him.

It don't look good, Marna. If we don't have a
complete turnaround, we're gonna lose this war.
The men are praying that the French fleet will come
in next spring and drive Howe out of Philadelphia.
It has grown too dark to write anymore, Marna.
We don't have any candles, and our wood supply is
short. Tomorrow me and the men who have shoes
are going out to chop wood and see if we can scare
up some game.

I think about you all the time. Give me a thought
once in a while, will you?

Loving you,
Caleb

Sighing, Marna refolded the letter and placed it in
her pocket. Poor Caleb. Cold and hungry and away
from friends. She missed the ready smile on his face
and the fast quip on his tongue.

She rocked slowly, staring before her. Had she been
wrong in letting him go? Maybe she should have asked
him to wait a little longer, give her more time.

Since Matt had come back, she had seen him mainly
at a distance. Once she had run into him at the spring.
But he had not spoken, and his eyes had told her
nothing.

Disconsolately she rose to her feet. Sometimes she
wished that Matt had never returned. Being so close,
and yet farther away than he had ever been, kept her in
a state of misery.

She glanced at the clock Grandma had brought her
and hurried back to the salt. Jake would be here any
time.

Pouring the salt mixture into a cloth bag and storing
it away, she filled the coffeepot with water and grounds.
Jake loved coffee as much as she did. Setting the pot on
the flames, she wondered how long it would be before
she was grinding roasted acorns as a coffee substitute.
Luckily, if worse came to worst, there were Grandma's
sassafras and herb teas.

As Marna brought a fresh pumpkin cake from the
back room, the thought hit her that she and Jake liked
many of the same things. For instance, they both liked
the songs Grandma had taught her. They had spent
many afternoons singing them together. Setting out the
battered tin cups and plates against Jake's arrival, she
paused to puzzle over the strange behavior he sometimes displayed as they sang. More often than not during their renditions, he would get a faraway look in his
eyes. And even the bounciest of songs would come
from his lips sounding gloomy and sad.

Slicing the cake, she mused that she had spent much
time in wondering about her new friend. There were
times when he was so gay and full of fun that he reminded her of a young boy enthralled with the business
of being alive. Then there would be times when no matter what she said or did to bring a smile to his lips,
he remained morose and somehow withdrawn.