Marna (7 page)

She took her pipe from the small table and packed
tobacco into it. Fumbling for her flint, she observed,
"Marryin' my little girl has other benefits, too. A wife
would come in mighty handy to keep those other
women off your neck. You know, those who are always
wantin' to get married. And there's another thing.
Marna knows medicine almost as good as I do. That
would come in mighty handy in a trapper's camp."

Hoping to induce him further, she added, "Marna
knows how to read and write, too."

Matt looked up in surprise. "She knows that?"

"That's right. I also taught her how to speak proper.
Hertha clamped the pipe stem between her teeth then and drew on it in little anxious jerks. She had brought
out every good reason she could think of. She prayed
the hunter would recognize all those good points.

Matt lay back on the pillows and stared up at the
smoke-stained rafters. The old woman sure gave a good
argument. A wife would keep those scheming women
off his back. And the men were always brawling, either
among themselves or in some tavern. The girl would
come in handy to treat and bandage their knife wounds.
He'd seen many a man die from lack of knowledgeable
care.

His eyes narrowed tenaciously. If he married the girl,
there was one thing he wanted to get straight from the
beginning. She was to make no demands on his time.
He would come and go as he pleased, and he would
also sleep with squaws when he pleased. He would
never be able to bed the old lady's granddaughter. It
would be like laying with some wild creature.

He brought his gaze back to Hertha's waiting eyes.
"If I should marry the girl, is it understood that I'll not
change my way of living in any manner? That I'm only
marryin' her to give her protection?"

Hertha nodded eagerly, her breath held tightly.

Matt sighed heavily. "It's against my better judgment, but I'll do it."

Hertha grabbed both his hands and squeezed them
hard. "Thank you, Matt Barton. You'll never regret it
My Marna will bring you happiness and contentment,
you'll see."

Matt opened his mouth to say he didn't see how in
the world that unattractive girl could bring him anything, then didn't have the heart in the face of the old
woman's happiness.

She scooted her chair closer to him and whispered,
"As soon as the old devil passes out, I'll go fetch the
preacher. By tomorrow mornin' the swellin' will be out
of your leg, and you and Marna can leave."

She started to leave, then sat back down. After a
moment she asked quietly, "Will you treat her kindly?"

Matt's eyes rested on the old, worried face. He
reached over and patted her knee. "You can rest easy
on that score, Grandma. I promise you, I'll never lay a
hand on her."

Tears ran down the leathery cheeks. "God bless you,
Matt."

In her room Marna stood with an ear to a crack in
the door. Her future was being planned out there, and a
mixture of emotions ran through her. The big, handsome hunter was going to marry her, but his heart
wasn't in it. She had clearly heard him say he wouldn't
sleep with her. She had flinched at his words and pulled
back. Her clenched fists came down on her knee. She
was as pretty as the next woman. She had discovered
that much early this summer.

Finding herself alone in the cabin one day, curiosity
had been stronger than her grandmother's wishes. She
had filled a pan with warm water and dropped a bar of
Hertha's specially prepared soap into it. Standing in
front of the scrap of mirror propped on the windowsill,
she had scrubbed away the dirt and grime. She had just
lifted back the tangled hair for a close look at her face
when Emery's heavy tread hit the porch. Her grandmother's warning words had echoed in her mind. Keep
your face dirty, child.

In a panic she scooped up a handful of cold ashes
and charcoal from the fireplace and smeared them over
her clean face. She had hurried to her room then, disappointed that she had been unable to scrutinize her
face more closely. But the fast glimpse she'd had didn't
look ugly to her.

Her doorknob turned quietly, and Hertha entered her
room, holding a candle to light her way. Closing the
door, she scolded gently, "I figured you'd be sittin' in
here in the dark."

Sitting down next to her granddaughter, she took her
cold hands into her own. In a voice mixed with regret
and gladness, she said, "Marna, child, I have somethin'
to tell you."

Marna squeezed her fingers. "I know, Grandma. I
was listening at the door."

Noting the strain in the low-toned voice, Hertha sent
her a fast glance. "Oh? An eavesdropper never hears
any good of themselves, Marna."

Marna gave a short, bitter laugh. "That's the truth."

Pity for the girl washed over Hertha. "Did you hear
everything?"

"Yes. The hunter is like everyone else. He thinks I'm

ugly."

Hertha was silent a moment, then said softly, "But
we know he's mistaken, don't we?"

Marna's head jerked up, startled. "What do you
mean, Grandma?"

"I mean you washed your face one day and took a
look."

Marna dropped her eyes. "How did you know? You
were down in the hollow, picking blackberries."

"I saw the pan of dirty water when I came home."
She laughed sarcastically. "I knew that Emery hadn't
washed his face."

"I'm sorry, Grandma. I just wanted to see what I'd
look like with a clean face."

"And did you like what you saw?"

"I don't know. I didn't have time to take a good
look. The old devil came home and I had to throw
ashes on my face."

They laughed softly in companionable amusement.
Hertha's constant reference to Emery as the old devil
had half the settlement calling him that.

When they became serious again, Marna fidgeted a
moment, then asked softly, "Grandma, may I wash my
face and hair for my wedding? Be neat and clean from
now on?"

Hertha sat staring thoughtfully for some moments.
She wanted to say yes to the reasonable request It was
only natural that a girl would want to look her best for
her wedding. But the circumstances here were very different from the normal standing before the preacher.
For Marna's best interests there were several things to
take into consideration. For one thing, the hunter
wasn't quite ready to settle down yet. He had to run
awhile longer, run himself down. And then, as he had
pointed out, he had a bunch of rough men living with
him.

As gently as possible, she explained her refusal.
"When Matt takes you to his camp, Marna, you're
gonna be thrown in with a bunch of rough long hunters.
For the time being I think it best you stay as you are."

"But, Grandma, the hunter won't want to take ...to
make me his real wife." Marna's voice trailed off, her
face crimson.

Hertha patted her clasped hands and laughed softly.
"Don't fret about it, Marine. He will in time. But it's
just as well he don't for a while. I want your body full
grown before it's burdened with a baby. I don't want
you followin' in your poor Marna's tracks." Hertha
stood up stiffly. "I'm goin' for the preacher now. God
willin', you'll be out of this hellhole tomorrow."

She turned to go, and Marna grabbed at her skirt
With tears brimming in her eyes, she whimpered, "Will
I see you anymore, Grandma, after I'm married?"

Hertha sat back down and took her in tender arms.
"Hush now, child. Of course you'll see me. I'll be down
the hill at least once a week to see how you're gettin'
on.,,

Relief shone through Marna's tears. She rubbed
grubby knuckles across her eyes, leaving a circle of
white around each one. Hertha held her away, grinning.
"You look like a little raccoon."

Becoming all business then, Hertha stood up and left
the room.

Marna heard the outside door close softly, and she
rose and put her eye to the crack in the door. Her
grandfather had passed out on the floor. Her eyes dismissed him and swung to the bed. The hunter lay with
his arms crossed under his head, staring up at the ceiling. What is he thinking? she wondered. Probably wishing he was a hundred miles away.

Giving a small sigh, she returned to the bed and
waited.

In a very short time Hertha was back. She had in tow
the old minister who had served the hill people's needs
for the last five years. He cast a stern eye on the sleeping Emery and shook his head. If ever a man worked
for the devil, it was Emery Aker. Old Hertha was right
in taking any measure she thought necessary to get her
woods queer girl out of the man's clutches.

He advanced to the bed, and Hertha opened Marna's
door and motioned her out. In the fluttering light of the
candle, and to the accompaniment of Emery's snoring,
Marna Traver and Matt Barton were united in marriage.

Anxious for the preacher to be gone before Emery
awakened, Hertha pressed some money into the preacher's hand and hustled him to the door.

Matt lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.
Marna stood uncertainly a moment, then turned and
went to her room. Sitting down, she stared at her ringless finger. Not only didn't she have a wedding band,
the hunter had neither spoken to her nor looked at her.
He had merely mumbled the required answers to the
preacher with a big frown on his face. And the dratted
preacher, as if sensing Matt's distaste, had omitted the
phrase, "You may kiss the bride."

In the first gray light of dawn the cabin was roused
by Emery's loud bellow. "Hertha, you old witch.
Where's my whiskey?"

Hertha emerged from a curtained-off corner, fully
dressed. Matt propped himself on an elbow and saw Hertha dodge Emery's threatening fist as she made her
way to the fireplace. She raked back the ashes and
laid kindling on the glowing coals. When hungry flames
licked up the chimney, she moved to the table to fill the
coffeepot.

Matt reached down, felt of his leg, and grunted in
satisfaction. The swelling was gone, and only a little
soreness remained. His lips lifted sardonically. He'd be
able to leave with his bride. He wondered how much
trouble he'd have with the old man.

Suffering the aftereffects of too much whiskey,
Emery paced the floor in his dirty underwear. An overpowering odor of stale whiskey rose to assail Matt's
nostrils.

Emery threw himself into a chair and stared belligerently about him. Hertha slipped Matt's shirt off the peg
and hurried it to him. "Get dressed," she whispered,
then added, "and don't forget your knife."

Understanding her meaning, Matt nodded. His eyes
took on an an amused twinkle and he thought, Hell, I
won't need a knife to tame that old rooster.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and
slipped on his buckskins. Pulling the matching shirt
over his head, he reached for his footgear. He had just
finished lacing his moccasins when Emery stood up and
turned his back to the fire. For the first time his eyes
fell on Matt. He stared in surprise.

"Who in the hell are you?" he finally growled.

Matt stood up, strapped on his knife, then moved
toward his new in-law. "Don't you remember me,
Grandpa Aker?" he grinned devilishly. "I'm Matt Barton, Mama's new husband."

Huddled beside the fire, Hertha gasped. She hadn't
wanted the news to come out so suddenly. All hell
would break loose now.

Emery stared at Matt openmouthed, mulling over
Matt's words. Their meaning came to him, and his roar filled the cabin. "What in the blazes are you talkin'
about? Mania's husband! I'll be the one to pick her
husband. She's gonna bring me a good price, ugly face
and all."

"Sorry, Aker," Matt said coolly. "You're too late.
While you were passed out drunk, I had a preacher tie
me and Marna up."

Rage leaped out of the madman's eyes, and he
trembled in his fury. Giving a deep, low growl, he
turned on Hertha. His hands reaching for her throat, he
yelled, "You're behind this, you old witch."

Before he could reach the cringing woman, Matt
grabbed him and spun him around. For a moment
Emery glared blindly at the man who had robbed him.
Then, uttering an animallike sound, he threw himself at
Matt, his head boring for his stomach. Matt stepped
aside, and his rock-hard fist smashed between the redrimmed eyes. There came the sound of crunching
bones, and blood splattered the floor.

Emery hit the floor hard, shaking his head dazedly.
Matt squatted down beside him. Catching the whiskered jaws in a viselike grip, he jerked Emery's head
around and glared into the fear-filled eyes. "Listen to
me good, you old bastard. I'm takin' Marna, and
there's nothin' you can do about it. And if I ever hear
that you've laid a hand on Hertha, I'll come back and
take her away, too." He released the blood-streaming
face and stood up. "You think on my words. With her
gone, you'll have no one to sponge off of."

Matt turned to Hertha. "Is the girl ready, Grandma?"

A jubilant gleam in her eyes, Hertha hurried to
Marna's room.

She returned almost immediately, Marna behind her.
Her doe eyes swimming in tears, reluctant and afraid,
she clutched a small bundle of clothes. For the second
time pity for her ran through Matt.

Stubbornly he thrust the soft feeling from him and looked away. He didn't want to have any kind of feeling for this strange girl.

Hertha kissed Marna good-bye, and Matt and his
new wife left for the camp that would be Marna's new
home.