Marna (33 page)

But once in Marna's room, it was a question of who
was in command of the lovemaking. Immediately on
closing the door she turned to Aaron, her arms encircling his neck. As he drew her close, she stretched on
her toes to receive his kiss.

His blood a drumbeat in his ears, he swept her into
his arms and strode swiftly to the bed. When the small
buttons did not give way readily, he ripped the delicate
material with a twist of his fingers. Then, hurrying out
of his own clothes, he knelt on the bed. He wanted to
feast his eyes upon her loveliness. But with a small
purring sound, Marna held her arms up to him.

In the hours until dawn, Aaron found himself carried to heights he had never known. His mind and body
were inflamed with the intensity of her desire.

When finally Marna lay sleeping, her sweated body
pressed closely to his, it came to Aaron that not once
had she uttered a word of tenderness or endearment.
He smiled wryly. Now he knew what a whore felt like
after being used all night.

But his arms only tightened around her all the more.
When she sighed and murmured some incoherent word,
he buried his face in her moist, tumbled curls. "I don't
care," he whispered, "I'll take you on any terms. Some
day you'll speak the words I want to hear."

As if Washington had waited for his men to recover, he
visited camp one windy morning. After greeting the
men, he announced that they should start breaking
camp. Spring was almost upon them, and he was ready
to carry on with the war, he declared. Tomorrow
morning they would start the march to Philadelphia.

With fresh, strong blood beating in their veins again,
the soldiers greeted the news with loud shouts of enthusiasm. Matt stood back, shaking his head. "Damn
idiot fools. Actin' like they're goin' to a party. Don't
they realize that most of them won't walk away from
the bloody battle?"

That night he helped Hertha prepare for her return
to the hills. "I'm glad you're goin' back, Grandma," he
said, cramming a leather pouch with smoked venison
and cold corn dodger. "You'll be safe there. All hell is
gonna break loose in Philadelphia."

Her weathered face a mask of worry, Hertha lost
control and wailed, "Oh, Matt, I wish Marna was out
of it. Howe is quartered just a short piece from her.
What if Washington carries the fight into the city?"

Matt patted her shoulder, carefully covering his own
concern. "Don't fret about it, Grandma. South will take
care of her."

Matt finished lacing up the pouch. Setting it beside
the door, he said, "I only wish I knew for sure that
you'll be all right on the trail. It will take you at least a
week, you know."

Hertha patted his arm. "You're not to worry about me, Matt. There ain't an Indian around that don't know
I'm his friend. I'll come to no harm from them."

Matt picked up her rifle and checked it. "You sure
you can still use this?"

With a dry snort Hertha jerked it out of his hands.
"The day before we left for Philadelphia, I shot me a
mess of squirrel with this old rifle." She looked up at
him, birdlike, and said, "Do you think that old devil
kept me and Marna in fresh meat?"

They smiled at each other a moment, then their eyes
went serious. This was good-bye, and they might never
see each other again. Matt folded the bony figure in his
arms and held her a moment "Take care of yourself,
Grandma."

The door closed softly behind him. Silent tears slid
down Hertha's wrinkled cheeks. She whispered, "Please,
God, watch over him and my Marna. Bring them
together again and let there be peace between them."

The next day at dawn, she watched the men march
away. Heaving a sigh, she picked up the grub sack and
clambered onto the little pony's back. She kicked his
now-fat belly, urging him on. A week away was home.

It was bitter cold, and the soldiers plodded along,
their shoulders hunched against the wind. Besides
Washington and his lieutenants, only Matt and Caleb
were mounted. For this reason they had been sent on
ahead to scout the territory. They rode side by side,
alert and silent. And though their eyes constantly
roamed the forest, each man mused on what lay ahead.
Howe was a strong and canny enemy. They were aware
that in the past he had defeated Washington every time
they met. He was an excellent strategist, and it was
Matt's fear they would run into a trap. On the second
day and only about five miles out of Philadelphia, Matt
reined in suddenly and motioned Caleb to do the same.
Behind the shelter of a scrub pine, they listened intently.

At first there was only the sound of lapping water
some yards to the left of them. But as they waited patiently, their hands clamped over their mounts' nostrils, a low murmur of voices came to them. There was
a short burst of laughter, then a resonant voice barked
an order for silence. The area became so quiet that the
small animals and birds took up their scampering and
chirping again.

"What do you think, Matt?" Caleb's whisper came
low. "Do you think it's a scouting party, or Howe's
whole army?"

Matt shook his head. "I don't know. I sure don't like
the idea of goin' closer to find out, either."

"Hell, no, we're not going any closer," Caleb said.
"Let's get back to the General. We'll just tell him that
they're waitin' for us. It won't matter if there's only a
handful of them."

Matt nodded agreement, and they turned their
mounts around. They walked the horses until they were
out of hearing distance of the men along the Delaware.
Then, jabbing their heels into their mounts, they raced
to meet the marching men.

Their news reported, the gleam of battle flashed in
Washington's eyes. He instructed the men to step up
their pace and have their rifles ready. "Keep your
powder dry, men," he called after them as they sprang
past him.

Their eyes aglow with the thought of battle, the soldiers ran swiftly and silently. Their breathing labored
and their hearts ready to burst, they were within a few
yards of the river when Matt halted them with an uplifted hand. Mutely he pointed in the direction he and
Caleb had heard the voices.

General Washington rode among them, motioning
them to spread out. Their nerves pitched to breaking,
they waited eagerly for his signal to move on. The General's hand started to rise, then held poised. A lone
horseman had appeared from out of the mists along the
river. When the Redcoat's eyes fell on the line of
bedraggled men, he reined in, staring openmouthed. His tongue finally found release, and he let out a yell that
echoed the forest. He swept his rifle to his shoulder and
it spit fire.

The hastily aimed bullet whizzed harmlessly overhead, but the fighting had begun.

The Colonial soldiers swarmed through the woods,
yelling defiance at the British who rushed to meet them.
Booming gunfire filled the air that was suddenly thick
with smoke. Bent almost double, with Caleb at his
heels, Matt raced under low-hanging branches and
leaped across ravines, felling the enemy before him.
Caught up in the excitement of the battle, he was barely
aware of the bullet that grazed his thigh.

Suddenly the rifle shots were spasmodic, and gradually they ceased altogether. The skirmish was over.
The British, taken by surprise, had lost heavily. Redclad men were strewn all through the forest. Matt rode
among the trees, sorrowfully noting that there were a
liberal number of buckskinned figures also. He recognized three that Hertha had nursed back to life. How
her heart would bleed if she knew.

His face beaming with his easy conquest, Washington called his remaining men around him. He moved
among them, uttering congratulations and proclaiming
it would be equally easy to take the city.

"It will be an easy undertaking," he assured them. "I
am told on good authority that Howe has spent the
winter months drinking and wenching. I am told that he
has taken himself a mistress and seldom leaves his bed.
As you saw today, he was totally unprepared for our
attack."

Matt, however, lacked Washington's enthusiasm. It
wasn't going to be that simple. In the first volley of
shots he had seen a British officer race off toward the
city. At this very moment Howe was gathering his remaining men and settling in.

He prayed that Howe would bring his forces to the
outskirts of Philadelphia. His lovely wife was in the center of that city and would be in the middle of the
fight. He hadn't fully believed the assurance he had
given Hertha. The townspeople would have little, if
any, warning of an impending battle. South probably
wouldn't have time to do anything to protect his building.

Suddenly his heart was a leaden weight in his breast.
If anything happened to Marna, life would stop for
him.

Washington gave the signal to march. As Matt automatically lifted the reins, his mind schemed ways of
getting to Marna during the battle.

A month had passed since Aaron had first made love to
Marna. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever hear
the words he so desperately wanted to hear Marna say.
How much longer could he bear it if night after night
only her hunger reached out for him? What would he
do if that faraway look continued to hover in her eyes?
He sighed heavily. How much longer would she grieve
over her dead husband?

He lay watching her as she stood at the window, her
naked body clearly visible beneath the thin material of
her robe. He knew that if he could look into her eyes at
this moment there would be a look of despair in their
blue depths.

A lonesome note in his voice, he called softly,
"Marna, please come back to bed."

Lost in thought, Marna did not hear the voice that
called her so urgently.

The crowing of an optimistic rooster had awakened
her about an hour ago. She had slipped out of Aaron's
arms and padded to the window. Her spirits, already
low, plummeted to new depths. What an ugly, damp
day. A mist had rolled in from the river and settled
over the entire city, shutting off the view within a few
yards. The two trees outside the window regularly
dripped water to the ground.

She peered down at the outbuildings below. The area
looked more dismal than ever under the gray skies. A
dozen or so hens hovered together, pathetic-looking as
they tucked their heads under damp feathers, trying to keep warm. In a pen next to the stables several squealing pigs fought over a slop-filled trough. A lone cow
gave an occasional low, anxious to have her udder
emptied.

Marna sighed softly. The sight reminded her so much
of Grandma and the old rundown homestead. She
wondered if it was raining in the hills and if Grandma
had gone home yet. There had been no more letters.

Her thoughts still on the hills, she imagined how it
would be this time of year. The homesteaders would be
starting their spring plowing about now, putting in
gardens and crops. She could not suppress another sigh.
How nice it would be to roam the warm earth in her
bare feet again. To be back in her own little cabin,
wondering if Matt was coming home for supper. Her
lips firmed tightly as she added, wondering if he'd come
home at all would be more like it.

She gave herself a mental shake. Matt was gone.
Why couldn't she accept that?

When Aaron called to her again, this time the urgency in his voice penetrated her thoughts. When be
begged, "Don't go off in your dreamworld again," she
looked at him in surprise. Did she live in a dreamworld?

Slowly she realized and admitted that Aaron was
right. She had been living, if not in a dreamworld, at
least in a world of the past. As she gazed at Aaron,
many things stood out clearly. She must accept the fact
that Matt was no longer of her world. That she must
force herself to forget him and start a new life. Aaron
loved her, and what better place to start? She owed it to
him to try to discover if there was anything between
them other than the enjoyment of each other's body. It
was time now to find out about the meeting of their
minds.