Marna (9 page)

Matt stared back at her for a long moment Then,
muttering something about a strange woods queer creature, he got back to work.

In the late afternoon, when he called a halt for the
day, the pile of logs accumulated would have been
enough for a one-room cabin. He looked down at his
blistered hands and swore softly. He would have to cut
as many tomorrow.

Marna saw him examining his hands and reached out
to take them in her own. Turning them palm up, she
ran a finger lightly over the puffs of water-filled tissue.
"You should have worn gloves," she remarked. "When
we get back to camp, I'll fix a solution for you to soak
them in."

As she walked away from him, his eyes followed her.
He was struck by how gracefully she moved, and was
again aware of the rose scent

The pack horse nudged his shoulder, startling him
out of his reverie. He grabbed the reins and jerked the
animal along behind him. Damn her, to walk away and
leave him to bring the animal in. One of these times she
was going to push him too far.

Staking the work horse a few yards away from the
stallion, Matt heard the others coming in. Some were in
loud, pleasant conversation, while others grumbled
about aching muscles and sore hands. He grinned
crookedly. The hunters weren't used to hard labor.

He was about to fling himself in front of the fire
when Marna called to him. Annoyed, he looked up.
Standing beside the tree she had marked as her own
that morning, she held a steaming bowl in her hand.
She gave a small jerk of her head. "Bring your blanket
over here and I'll attend to your hand."

Too tired to argue, Matt picked up the corner of the
blanket and trailed it across the clearing to where she
stood. He spread it out and plopped down on it Gracefully Marna settled down beside him, placing the container before his crossed knees.

A pungent, acrid aroma floated up in the vapor,
stinging his eyes. "I'm not stickin' my hands in that,"
he declared, "It'll take the hide right off me."

Marna made an impatient sound, and before he
knew it she had grabbed his hands and thrust them into
the water. He jerked and waited for the stinging fire he
knew was sure to come. But surprisingly only a soothing, drawing sensation occurred. He grunted his satisfaction, flexing his fingers slowly.

"Keep them in there until I get back," Marna
ordered.

Used to her orders now, it didn't enter his head to
disobey her.

The hunters had watched Matt's wife ministering to
him, and the camp was suddenly strangely quiet. Her
bossy tenderness had brought back memories of longago years. Each recalled a mother who in his youth had
tended cuts and bruises in much the same way.

Their gaze was drawn often to Marna as she bustled
around her own small fire, frying salt pork and slicing
potatoes into a frying pan. Matt noted how intently the
men watched for the graceful thrust of a hip or thigh as
she bent to turn meat or stir potatoes, and his feelings
swung between anger and amusement. Then his eyes
fell on Corey, and his amusement fled. Pure lust burned
in Corey's steady, burning gaze, and when he slid a
hand down the front of his buckskins and openly
fondled himself, Matt rose to one knee. Would the varmint lay hands on his wife next?

The others were aware of Corey's arousal also and
told themselves that it would be but a matter of time
before the hunter tried something with Matt's wife.

Marna set the heaped plates down on the blanket,
then turned to Matt. She took his hands from the water
and studied the palms carefully. Using the hem of her
petticoat, she patted them dry. Reaching into a pocket,
she brought out a small, flat tin and gently spread an
aromatic salve onto each blister.

Then she sat back on her heels and said, `The soreness will be gone soon, but wear a pair of gloves tomorrow."

Before he could growl a retort to her command, she
shoved a plate into his hand. Picking up the other one,
she began to eat

Without Matt's realizing it, she had set them apart
from the others as belonging together.. .a family.

When Matt finished the meal, grudgingly admitting
to himself that it was uncommonly good, Marna
gathered up the plates and forks and took them to the
river. After she had scrubbed them throughly with fine
sand, she returned and placed them with Matt's gear.

While the rest of the men ate silently, too tired to
engage in their usual loud, bantering chatter, Marna
joined Matt with two cups of steaming coffee in her
hands. Sipping the hot, fragrant liquid, he couldn't remember when he had been so relaxed and at peace with
himself.

Dusk came on, bringing a chill with it The cry of a
nighthawk sweeping through the forest startled Marna
and made her shiver. Matt, thinking that the night air
had caused it, ran his eyes over her inadequate clothing.
"I'll get you some buckskins to wear tomorrow," he
said gruffly.

Matt joined his friends at the fire and Caleb brought
out a deck of soiled, dog-eared cards. His fingers riffled
them dexterously a moment, then began to deal them
out Marna rose and dug her blanket out of Matt's gear.
Her husband wouldn't be returning to her anymore tonight.

Spreading the blanket in the shelter of two boulders,
she rolled herself in it. From her spot in the darkness
she could watch Matt openly with no danger of someone reading her eyes.

She was unused to sleeping on the ground and missed
her feather bed at home. Thoughts of her grandmother
came swiftly, and already she was homesick for the old woman. How lonely she must be tonight. Had Grandpa
beaten her after they had left? Her eyes became damp
with pity and tenderness. Poor Grandma. She had
struggled so bravely against Grandpa through the years
so that her granddaughter would have a half-decent
home. Suddenly she was weeping hard, her head buried
in the blanket. Was she also to have the same kind of
life? It was true Matt hadn't hurt her physically yet, but
he had hurt her mentally a dozen times. And as for
striking her, that could change any time. She had sensed
the violence in him, ready to erupt at any time.

Her heart heavy, Marna turned her back to the campfire and cried herself to sleep.

The sun was well up when Marna awakened. The ringing sound of axes and the loud hammering of mallets
filled the air. She raised her head and peered from behind her shelter. Milling around and getting into each
other's way, the hunters worked ineptly at putting together their winter quarters.

It was a haphazard-looking affair, standing starkly in
the center of the clearing. The logs were of varying
sizes and lengths. There was no sign of a window, and
Marna mused how dark it would be inside. Also, it
looked awfully small for eight people to spend a winter
in it

The thought of her own cabin thrilled Marna and
brought her up on an elbow. Matt would think her lazy
and uncaring about her new home. She should have
been up hours ago.

Throwing back the blankets, she found her dress
hopelessly wrinkled. She frowned irritably. Her natural
neatness would not let her be seen in such a slovenly
manner. Her eyes traveled to where she had stored her
bundle of spare clothes. It was gone!

Marna swept to her feet, and then she saw the set of
buckskins spread over a boulder behind her. They were
of a small size, and she remembered Matt saying that
he would get some for her.

As she picked them up, understanding flashed in her
eyes. Of course. He had sent the squaw for them last
night. A pleased smile tilted her lips.

Marna crawled back into the blankets, drawing the
buckskins with her. Feeling Corey's lustful eyes upon her, she was careful to keep the covers pulled to her
chin as she struggled into her new clothes.

They were on at last, and she stood up. The fit was
snug but comfortable. The softness of the tanned hides
against her body felt good. She walked about in them
and was delighted with her new freedom of movement.
No more long skirts flapping about her legs, catching on
every bush she passed. She leaned against the boulder
and slipped on the beaded moccasins that lay on the
ground. She smiled with pleasure. She had forgotten to
bring along shoes, and in the evenings and early mornings the ground was becoming quite cold.

Unaware of the hungry eyes that fed upon the curves
the buckskins had brought to light, she hurried to the
distant sound of Matt's ax.

Matt heard Marna coming before she reached him.
The soft sound of her pattering feet and the whip of the
underbrush against her clothes told him she was in a
hurry. His lips turned down at the corners. "Afraid I'll
do somethin' without her say-so," he growled to himself.

When her shy "Good mornin' "came across the few
feet that separated them, he looked up, his blood quickening. The soft, tanned leather clung to her body like a
second skin. Slender hips curved down from a tiny
waist, meeting long, slim legs that moved gracefully
toward him. His gaze traveled up to the proudly pointing breasts.

The two top lacings of the shirt were undone, and he
became oblivious to everything except the gentle swell
of the partially bared mounds. The palms of his hands
grew moist, and a hot throbbing began to beat in his
loins. He wanted to possess that vibrantly alive body so
badly that everything else was driven from his mind. He
dropped the ax and took the one step that separated
them.

But the spell was broken as Marna asked in a small
voice, "What can I do to help?"

He drew a shuddering breath and pulled his gaze to her face. Her eyes peered at him through the tangled
mass of hair, and he smothered an oath.

Hiding the pain his ill-concealed repugnance had
caused her, Marna suggested with a twisted smile,
"Maybe I can start chinking between the logs."

Matt looked away, answering disagreeably, "If you
want to."

Pushing up her sleeves, Marna began to gather dry
grass. When the pile grew sufficiently tall, she went
back to camp for the wooden tub to hold the red clay.
Back again, she hummed happily as she mixed clay,
grass, and water.

As fast as Matt notched a log and fitted it over the
last one, she was there with her mixture. Carefully and
tightly she packed it in the crevices. She couldn't believe the time had gone so quickly when Matt threw
down the ax and announced it was time to stop for the
day.

The next day, with three sides of the cabin up, Matt
was ready to start the fireplace. He eyed the huge pile
of stones heaped at one corner of the building. "You
got enough stones there to build three fireplaces," he
growled disagreeably.

"It does look like a lot," Marna agreed softly. "But it
takes a lot to build it big enough to take a backlog.
That's the only way you can heat a cabin properly,
Grandma says. Then there's the hearth. We don't want
to burn the cabin down after all your hard work. And
of course one end will hold the oven."

"Now hold on there!" Matt shouted, throwing down
his ax. "You might be right about the hearth, but by all
that's holy, I ain't takin' no time to build a dratted
oven. That ain't in no way necessary."

"If you insist," Mama murmured, turning her back
and sorting through the pile of stones. "I just thought
you'd enjoy hot biscuits with your supper. Not to mention the pies and cakes I could bake in it."

Matt picked up a stone and tossed it up and down absentmindedly. Hot biscuits and pies. Lord, that made
a man's mouth water.

Tossing the stone to the ground, he inquired surlily,
"How big do you want the blasted thing?"

Marna hid her smile. Her husband spent the day on
the fireplace under her carefully camouflaged tutelage.

When it was finished, he stood back eyeing it with
pride. It was a handsome affair, he thought, taking up
most of one wall. It boasted a hearth some eighteen
inches tall, and almost the same in width. At one end
was the clay-lined oven. He grinned wryly. What would
Grandpop say to that fancy piece of work if he could
see it?

The next day Matt started on the roof. He worked
rapidly, saying little other than issuing an order or request to Marna as she pushed the logs up to him. Dusk
came early these days, shortening the work hours, and
he must get to the business of preparing his traps. The
other men had finished their place and had moved in
already.

He scowled as he pounded a log in place. The damn
buzzards. Wandering over here, giving him advice while
their eyes followed every move Marna made. They
weren't fooling him. And that Corey, staring at Marna
so intently he made her blush. Finally Matt had had
enough and ordered them all away. But Caleb made
some excuse for dropping by every day. Matt stopped
to gaze thoughtfully before him. Maybe he was keeping
an eye on the wrong man. Maybe he'd better start
watching Caleb instead of Corey.