Marna (29 page)

From the beginning, when she first met the man, she
had been drawn to the dark, handsome gambler. Every
night he sat quietly at his table, his slim fingers flashing
expertly as he dealt the cards. His table was always
crowded with beautiful women, their jaded eyes fastened hungrily on his thin, almost melancholy face.

Marna tried to conceal her interest in the man by
scarcely ever looking at him. But one evening as she
passed through the doorway of the gambling parlor her
trailing gown had caught on a thick splinter sticking out
of the wood. She had given an exasperated cry and
jerked at it impatiently. The material held, and she bent
to unfasten it. But the gambler had quit his table and knelt at her feet, his nimble fingers releasing the dress.
When he stood up, his black eyes had caused confusion
to sweep over her. She had stammered, "Thank you,"
and hurried on. But before ascending the stairs to the
apartment, she had glanced back in his direction. He
stood leaning against "the doorframe, his hooded dark
eyes watching her. He caught her glance, and his lips
had curled in a sensuous feline smile.

Since that day, every time she looked his way, his
eyes were upon her, probing and undressing her. She
had the feeling that he waited patiently for her to come
to him some night.

Marna flipped over on her stomach and gave the
pillow a sharp whack. "I wish I weren't so attracted
to him," she wailed inwardly. He was the type of man
who would be so easy to fall in love with. And she had
promised herself never to be so foolish again.

As Matt closed the door behind him, the other cabins
were barely visible in the early gray dawn. The wind
coming down from the hills was sharp and cold. He
pulled his collar up around his ears as he crunched to
the stables.

Sam stood hunched in a corner, away from the draft
coming through the flimsy door. As Matt had predicted,
the heavy blanket had been pulled off the animal's neck
the very first night. He gave the big rump an affectionate whack and filled a pail with some oats.

He had scraped the bottom of the feed bin and made
a mental note that his first priority on returning was to
scout up some hay for Sam.

The saddle creaked in the frosty silence as Matt
swung into it and headed out of the valley.

The second day out Matt came across a fresh set of
wagon tracks, and he followed them. If Caleb's instructions were right, the road should lead him right into
Philadelphia.

On the widely cut trail the stallion was eager to run,
and Matt let him have his way. The sooner he arrived
in Philadelphia, the sooner he'd get back to the desperately ill men.

It had been dark a couple of hours when he saw the
dim lights of the city. Pulling Sam down to a walk, he
approached the outskirts cautiously.

As Caleb had stated, there were many British soldiers on the streets. Few civilians were about, and those
were mostly confined within fancy coaches that rumbled back and forth on the ice-rutted pavement.

Keeping his eyes straight ahead and his hands firm
on the rifle, Matt moved slowly down the main
thoroughfare. On each corner a lantern hung from a
post, dimly lighting a small area. This, and the scatterings of wavering candlelight from store windows, was
the only illumination in the solid blackness. The moon
had struggled for a time to peer through the black
clouds that raced before the wind but had finally given
up. Matt looked up at the sky, and not one star winked
back at him. He swore disgustedly under his breath,
"More snow comin'." He covered the length of the
street without a trace of what he sought. His shoulders
drooped dispiritedly as he turned Sam onto a shorter,
narrower street. He doubted that he'd find an _apothecary shop in this hellhole of a street.

He drew Sam in and studied the alleylike street before entering it. Canting and crumbling buildings
loomed gray against the black skyline, ominous with
their peeling paint and broken windows. Drunken men
and women staggered back and forth on the wooden
sidewalk, the painted women openly advertising their
vocation. As he watched, a man stumbled out of a
tavern and was immediately seized by two harpies.
While the man stared at them owlishly, they hustled
him into a dilapidated building.

Matt grinned ruefully. The drunk would be pulled
down onto a dirty pallet and, after getting little for his
money, would be pushed out onto the street again.

A quick glance told him there was no apothecary on
this street. He turned in the saddle and gazed down the
street behind him. It appeared that street was better
lighted and the buildings more sound. However, from
what he could make out, it too consisted mainly of
taverns and gambling halls. Loud music and laughter
floated out to the street every time a door was swung
open. "It won't hurt to try," he muttered, and turned
Sam around.

He was in the middle of the crosswalk when a bright
red coach careened around a corner. He jerked the
reins, trying to pull the mount out of the way. But one
of the large wheels grazed the stallion on the flank and
slender leg. He gave a frightened scream and reared
straight up. Almost unseated, Matt swore loudly and
clutched at the saddle horn. Fighting the animal back to
the ground and patting the quivering neck, he stared
after the swaying vehicle as it bumped crazily down the
street.

The driver, sitting forward on the high seat, brought
the team to a plunging halt in front of a large brick
building. Hundreds of candles twinkled from its many
windows, proclaiming that only fun and laughter
abounded in its confines. As the coach rocked violently
upon its springs, Matt jabbed the stallion sharply with
his heel. He would have a few words with that crazy
driver.

The man sprang to the ground and stood at the
horses' heads, trying to quiet them. Matt was almost
upon him when the coach door opened and a familiar
figure stepped out. His body went rigid. Jake South!
What was he doing here? Was Marna with him?

Matt reined in and watched the well-dressed Jake
speak a few words to the driver. When Jake climbed the
three steps to the big, handsome door, Matt climbed out
of the saddle stiffly. He led Sam off the street and wound
the reins around a hitching post in front of the building.
Leaping upon the wide porch, he looked into a brightly
lighted room.

He blinked at the sight before him. Closely packed
under fancy chandeliers ablaze with dozens of candles
were fancily dressed men and women. The low murmur
of their laughing voices floated out to him. His eyes fell
on a long, polished bar running the length of the room.
Men, two deep, were crowded up to it, all clamoring for
drinks. In a constant hustle three bartenders served
them from bottles displayed in front of a mirrored wall.

The majority of the people, however, were gathered
around green felt tables. Their eyes were blinded to
everything but the game going on before them. Matt's
lips lifted in a sneer. "A rich man's gambling house,"
he muttered.

His eyes rested on a dark, handsome individual sitting at a table, his slender fingers slapping the cards
neatly on the soft cover. Mostly women hung around
this table, edging each other to get closer to the dealer.
A ladies' man, he thought, and dismissed him lightly.

Matt's eyes swung to a corner where a light burned
faintly. His body jerked and the breath caught in his
throat. Oblivious to the noise around her, Marna sat
there, lightly buffing her nails.

He could only gape at the new Marna. The buckskins
that he had so loved on her were gone. In their place
was a green velvet dress that bared her white shoulders
and a good part of her breasts. A large diamond on a
thin chain nestled just above her cleavage. Matching
earrings dangled from her small ears. He caught the
sparkles from her fingers and thought angrily, "She's
wearin' enough money to feed them starvin boys for
the rest of the winter."

Marna raised her head, and he followed her gaze to
Jake, who was hanging up his coat. Her lips spread in
an affectionate smile as the big man walked toward her.
When he bent and kissed her cheek in a matter-of-fact
manner, Matt felt like he had been kicked in the chest.
He scowled down at the muddy porch floor in indecision. Should he get on his horse and get the hell away
from her, or should he walk in there and shoot the
bastard in the head?

Common sense told him he'd never get away with it.
He would be grabbed by British soldiers and hung from
a tree before the powder cleared from his rifle. And the
boys back at camp would still be in their desperate
condition.

But there was one thing he had to do. He had to face
Marna with his new knowledge. He had to tell her how
low he felt she had fallen.

He stepped off the porch and slipped around the
corner of the building. After a fast glance up and down
the alley, he slipped quickly into a back door.

It was late when Mama left the gambling room. As
usual, the young crowd had arrived and swept her into
their fun-loving midst. But try as she would, tonight she
could not respond to them. Unexplainably, she felt depressingly lonely surrounded by their gay chatter. Finally, against their objecting cries, she complained of a
headache and retired.

As she left the room, she knew that the gambler
watched her. For a moment she was tempted to turn
around and smile the invitation she knew he waited for.
But she fought back the urge and climbed the stairs.

Marna pushed open her door and moved through the
darkness to the candle in the center of a table. She
fumbled for the flint and could not find it. Glancing at
the fireplace, she noted the fire was almost out, with
only glowing coals remaining. She sighed impatiently.
She would have to build it up before she could light the
candle. Stooping, she laid small pieces of wood on the
coals. When it broke into flames, she struggled a small
log onto it. Stepping back, she surveyed the fire with
satisfaction. She hadn't lost her knack of fire building.
She smiled wistfully. At least she would have the cheerfulness of leaping flames to keep her company.

The heat reached out into the room, burning her
face. She took a step back, and froze as her foot came
in contact with another foot. She gasped her alarm and
whirled around.

Matt, his legs stretched before him, stared into the
flames. When she gasped again and grabbed hold of a tabletop, he raised his eyes and deliberately surveyed
her. Then, stretching lazily, his eyes fastened on her
nearly bare breasts, his lips curled insultingly and he
began to rub his groin.

Marna ignored his gesture and ran her eyes over him.
His travel-stained buckskins indicated he had been on
the road for some time, and the mud splattered on them
said that the road had been rough. What was he doing
here?

In a nervous voice she stammered, "Wh-where
did you come from?"

Her nearness affecting him as it always did, and
angry at himself because of it, Matt answered brusquely,
"Does it matter where I came from? Shouldn't you be
more concerned with where I've found you...and
with whom?"

Becoming angry immediately at his old attitude,
Marna's eyes flashed her hostility. "It's none of your
business where I am or who I'm with. You went off and
left me, remember?"

Matt gave a short, ugly laugh. "What was I supposed
to do, stay there and watch you carry on with your
lover?"

Marna's eyes blurred with angry tears. "I've tried to
tell you repeatedly that Jake and I don't have that kind
of relationship. I would like to explain it to you now if
you'll let me."

His yellow eyes stabbed out at her. "You expect me
to believe your lies? You think I didn't see him kissing
you downstairs? You think I don't know that you lay
with him in that bed every night?"

Without warning Matt's head was jerking with the
force of her slap.