Hunter’s Moon

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Hunter’s Moon Page 17

by Norah Hess


  It had been easy. As a small child, Dorie had seen every imaginable act that existed carried out between a drunken father and careless mother and had thought that anything she and Jim did was a natural happening. She had entered into the furious heat of first love with wild abandon. What Jim only dreamed and suspected, Dorie had seen happen. Many times she was the teacher, leading Jim to ecstasies he had never dreamed possible.

  While he had grown thinner on his daily diet of love, Dorie had thrived on it and filled out in all the right places. Her breasts almost rivaled Darcey's now. Every time she and Jim were alone, she would unbutton her blouse and bare them. Then in a coaxing voice she would murmur, "Suck them, Jim. It feels so good, and besides it makes them grow."

  The first time she did this, Jim had teased, "Do you think that would make me grow, too?"

  She had laughed gaily and said, "It might. Maybe you should let me try."

  It was an everyday procedure with them now.

  Dorie's attractiveness had caught Jarvis's attention, and Jim had caught him staring at Dorie several times. He didn't like it a little bit, and if the looking turned to touching, he would speak to Mike about it.

  He saw Mike often now, meeting him on prearranged days at the river. Sometimes they fished, but mostly they sat in the shade, relaxing and enjoying the breeze that was cooled by the water.

  Mike would ask how things went with Dorie and Jim, a smile spreading across his face, as Jim told him—and told him. And while Mike enjoyed hearing about Jim's love and what new thing he and Dorie had done, he never mentioned his own personal life.

  As Darcey's wedding date drew closer, Mike slid back into his old way of life. He drank too much, and the wild brawls he started were vicious and deadly.

  Once again the hill men were becoming wary of him. At any gathering, the talk soon got around to Mike Delaney and his latest escapade.

  "I've seen Mike on some drunks, but this last one beat all the others to hollow," some man would say. And another would answer, "I don't know what's got into Mike lately. He looks and acts like the devil."

  In his sober moments, he worked his homestead with the same intensity that he drank and brawled. He was in the fields from early dawn until it became too dark for him to see what he was doing. He returned to the cabin to eat when he was hungry and to roll himself in a blanket when he was exhausted.

  CHAPTER 22

  The summer had flown, and the wind was sharp with a tang of autumn as it blew down from the high hills. When Darcey went for water in the early mornings, there was a crispness in the air.

  The wild geese and robins had gone south, and everything was in readiness for winter. The Stevens's cellar was so crammed with food that one could hardly walk through it. Cindy had an overriding fear of death by starvation and had canned and preserved everything that had come to her hand. They might not eat fancy, but they would eat plentifully.

  On this particular day, at midmorning, Darcey and Simon were admiring the new barn. Simon's pride in the building showed. It was a big barn, larger than any in the settlement. Its loft was high and filled to overflowing with fragrant, new hay. Darcey felt that she could still feel the chaff sifting down her back and lodging at her neck and waist as she helped Simon put the hay up there.

  There were stalls on either side of the building with a wide walkway in between. The livestock, which had increased very well in the spring, were in there now, munching on the grain that Simon had raised.

  The shed that had housed the animals the past winter, had been turned over to the hogs. Cindy had complained about their stench ever since Simon had brought the pair home from a neighbor. And since the shed sat well away from the cabin, the sheep would be put there, too.

  Darcey had found that the sheep's wool not only made warm clothing, but it also contained an oil that was good for her skin. Everyday she would rub her hands back and forth on their backs collecting the oil and putting it on her face. Her skin was always soft, no matter how the sun and wind beat at it.

  "It was nice of the neighbors to help me raise the barn, don't you think?" Simon spoke.

  "Yes, it was. We're certainly blessed with good ones."

  "I think they enjoyed themselves."

  "Oh, I'm sure of it. Abe Johnson had a good time. Clara said she hadn't heard him laugh that much since he got married."

  Simon grunted and spat on the ground. "That whore he married would drive the laughter out of anybody."

  Darcey stayed with Simon for a while longer enjoying the sounds that only autumn could produce. Mingling with the rustle of new-fallen leaves was the incessant hum of tree frogs. Soon they would be burrowing deep within the earth to wait out the long winter.

  Darcey's attention was drawn to Dorie as she came out on the porch with a basket over her arm. She and Dorie were going across the river to hunt mushrooms.

  They climbed into the boat and Simon pushed it into the water, its bottom scraping on the gravelly sand. Darcey picked up the paddle and with swift, sure strokes pointed the craft toward the other shore.

  In a short time they reached the spot that Darcey had marked with her eyes, and she expertly brought the boat alongside a fallen pine extending into the water. Dorie jumped out and tied it fast to a branch.

  As they walked through the woods, kicking aside leaves and looking around stumps, Darcey was careful to keep the river in sight. She had heard too many stories of people getting lost in this vast wilderness and never being seen or heard from again. Death by starvation would be bad enough, she thought, but meeting it in the jaws of a bear or a pack of wolves gave her the cold shivers.

  There was a constant rustle of leaves in the forest as animal life scurried about also preparing for winter. They were always in pairs, and Darcey was reminded of words her grandfather had spoken once. "You will notice, honey, that all vital things come in pairs. All things, people and animals, must have their opposite. Even without evil, we could not define good."

  They had not been in the forest long when the erratic behavior of autumn weather changed. A stiff breeze came out of the northwest, sharply cool. Darcey shivered and wished that she had brought along a shawl.

  She had been thinking of her fast-approaching marriage and wasn't too sure that her shivering had something to do with that. She and Cindy had finished her wedding gown last night. It hung in the loft, wrapped in a sheet to protect it from the dirt and dust that managed to seep through the cracks. The preacher had been spoken to and the date set. Clara and Bill would stand up with them, and Simon would give her away. It seemed that everything was ready except herself.

  "It's not that I'm not ready," she had tried to explain to Cindy, "It's just that I'm not excited about it. I know there will be times when I'll become so bored with him that I'll want to run away and hide."

  Cindy had nodded her head. "You will, child. If you're bound and determined to marry him, the best thing for you to do is get his seed planted as soon as possible. When the babies start comin', you'll be too busy to be bored."

  Having Jarvis's babies was another thing that bothered her. She had no desire to bear his offspring and she felt guilty and worried that she wouldn't love her children when they came.

  Her mind jumped to Meg's unborn baby. She wondered if the man-hungry woman wanted and loved her babies, or if she only accepted them as an aftermath of her pleasure. Did Meg, she wondered, know who the father of her expected child was? Clara claimed that it belonged to Jarvis, and she had thought that too until the night that Mike had championed Meg. All kinds of doubts plagued her now.

  Angrily she brushed away the unbidden tears that rolled down her cheeks and put her mind to why she had crossed the river. But after an hour or so of fruitless searching, she was ready to return home.

  "I don't think we're going to find any mushrooms, Dorie. It's too late in the season. What say we go home?"

  "I wuz gonna ask you if we could go. I'm cold," Dorie answered, her teeth chattering.

  They returned to
the boat and pushed off. With long sweeping dips of the oars, Darcey sent it skimming toward home.

  About mid-stream, she had the urge to see Clara. It was still early, and she had never gone to Clara's by the route.

  "Should we go down river and visit Clara?" she asked Dorie, then smiled at the eager nod of her head. Dorie never missed a chance to see Jim.

  It took a little longer by river, Darcey discovered. Where the path lay straight, the river wound in and out like a lost child. But the view was breath-taking, and she didn't mind the extra time.

  Sometime later, they banked the boat and walked toward Clara's cabin. It looked strangely quiet and empty to Darcey as they crossed the small porch and knocked on the door. After receiving no answer to her second knock, Darcey pushed open the unlocked door.

  The kitchen table holding the remnants of uneaten food and unwashed dishes was mute evidence that Clara had left the house in a hurry.

  Frowning and sighing her disappointment, Darcey wondered where Clara could have gone in such a hurry.

  They turned to leave and Darcey's eyes fell on the piece of paper pinned to the closed door. Apprehensively, she read the short message.

  Bill, I have gone home with Mike. Meg's time has come, and she's having a rough time of it. There is food in the cupboard. I'll be home as soon as I can.

  Love, Clara.

  A buzzing started in Darcey's head as she read the note again. "So the baby is coming," she thought numbly. She groped blindly for a chair as a solid blackness seemed to descend on her, leaving her nerveless with cold hands and a dry throat.

  Dorie was instantly beside her, crying out, "What's wrong, Darcey, ain't you feelin' well?"

  "It's all right, dear. I think I've caught cold. I'm afraid you'll have to paddle us home."

  "Oh, Darcey, don't you fret about that. I'll take care of you."

  Days later, Darcey could remember stumbling to the boat and Dorie helping her into it. But she had no recollection of the trip home. She remembered faintly, falling into Simon's arms and his frightened voice exclaiming, "What is it, child? What has happened to you?"

  CHAPTER 23

  That morning, Clara had sat at her kitchen table, absentmindedly stirring a fresh cup of coffee. This was her favorite time of the day, when the men had cleared out and she had the small room to herself.

  The morning sun had just reached the small window and she sat in its cozy warmth, wool gathering. In the quiet and serenity of this hour she could think and plan her day. And, sometimes, she would daydream. Daydreaming was about all the hill woman could do. Her life was very humdrum, filled with hard work and privation.

  But this morning, the wedding was on her mind. It gave her an excitement of sorts. Clara loved to plan and carry out large get-togethers. It was only Mike's unhappiness about the wedding that dampened her spirits. That and a feeling of uneasiness.

  Outside, the hound began to bark, and when Clara looked out the window, she saw Mike running up the path. From the anxious look on his face, she knew instantly that something had happened.

  Her heart fluttered in fear and apprehension as she ran to the door and jerked it open. "My God, Mike, what's happened?"

  He leaned against the door frame, fighting to catch his breath. His face was pale with anger and a demon stared out of his eyes.

  "It's Meg," he panted. "The baby is comin' and she's havin' an awful time."

  "But it's not due yet."

  "Thanks to brother Jarvis, she's due today."

  "Mike, what do you mean?"

  "I mean that he beat her last night, Clara.

  "Deliberately beat and kicked her. From what she told me, he wanted her and the baby dead. I think he's gonna get his wish about Meg. She's bleedin' somethin' fierce."

  Clara rushed for her shawl, her mind racing. "It can't be, it can't be." She disliked Meg, even feared the woman in an unknown way, but she didn't wish her dead especially not at her brother's hand.

  They were about to leave when Clara remembered Bill. She quickly wrote a note and pinned it on the door. Then walking swiftly without talking, they soon reached Mike's place. Through the closed door they could hear Meg's low, agonized moans.

  Inside, the room was unbearably hot and full of steam. Not knowing what else to do, Mike had placed three large kettles of water over a roaring fire. They were already half boiled away.

  Clara hurried to the bed with a mingling of emotions. She felt sorry for any woman in childbirth, but she wished that she didn't have to help Meg deliver hers.

  One look at Meg and she recoiled, gasping as she stepped back. She had not anticipated that Meg would look like this. The laboring woman was breathing heavily, and her dark face was pinched with pain. Her eyes were bruised and almost swollen closed. Her lips were puffed and split, and dried blood lay around her mouth and down one cheek.

  For a moment, Clara was dumb and motionless. Then she sprang to life and with competent hands pulled back the tumbled covers to examine Meg.

  She stifled a groan at what Jarvis had done. Her stomach and thighs were a mass of black and blue marks. Fear and anxiety washed over her as she saw the spreading pool of blood that Meg lay in.

  Rolling up her sleeves, Clara became busy and intent as she worked over Meg's hemorrhaging body. Tenderly and carefully she ran experienced fingers over the distended stomach, probing and feeling the position of the baby.

  The baby was in position, but she could detect no sign of life. Mike stood at the foot of the bed, his face a grim, frozen mask, and looked at her questioningly. Clara shook her head and turned back to Meg.

  Smoothing the sweat-soaked hair from Meg's forehead, she asked gently, "Have you felt it move lately, Meg?"

  Meg gazed back through pain-glazed eyes and shook her head. "Not since the pains started. At first it was real active, but nothin' since."

  Clara shook her head. "I was afraid of that . . . I'm afraid your baby is dead, Meg."

  For a shocked moment Meg stared up at Clara, her eyes wild and unbelieving. Then her swollen mouth was open and she was screaming, "No, no, no, Clara. I want this baby. It must live. Don't you understand that it belongs to Jarvis."

  Their faces mirroring their astonishment, Mike and Clara stared down at her. Then Mike gave a disgusted snort and left the cabin. It was incredible to him that a woman could love a man who had tried to kill her and her unborn child.

  The door slammed behind him, shaking the dishes in the cupboard. Clara sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to calm the sobbing woman.

  "Meg, I want you to listen to me and remember what I say, for it's pure gospel. You must get it in your head that Jarvis doesn't love you." She paused a moment for her words to sink in. "He's been the cause of your being kicked out of your home, and the only thing you'd ever get from him would be a quick roll in the hay."

  But Meg insisted, shaking her head from side to side. "You're wrong, Clara. He cares for me, and right now he's sorry for what he's done."

  In exasperation, Clara retorted, "Well, he didn't appear to be sorry this morning. He was laughing and talking and making plans for his marriage."

  When Meg's face blanched, Clara felt a twinge of guilt that she had spoken so bluntly.

  Suddenly the cabin reverberated with the sound of Meg's scream. "It's coming, Clara, it's coming."

  And with another high, piercing scream, a perfectly shaped little boy was born. His hair was coal black and he had the Delaney features. But there was no response to his Aunt Clara's smack on his tiny bottom. Life had left the little body several hours back.

  Clara stared mutely at the face of the beautiful child. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she murmured softly, "Oh, Jarvis, you have done a despicable thing."

  Suddenly Meg was demanding in a fierce voice, ragged with fear, "Why don't it cry, Clara, why don't it cry?"

  Clara took the half-crazed woman into her arms and rocked her back and forth. "Meg, I told you before that the little one was gone. There will be others for you. You'r
e still a young woman."

  The racking sobs ceased and with one last, long shudder, Meg replied in a dead voice, "No, Clara, there will be no more babies for me. This little fellow is my last."

  Clara laid her back on the pillow. "Time will heal your grief, Meg."

  After a time Mike returned and looked at Clara. She nodded and pointed to a chair. "Dead?" he asked, and she nodded again.

  His eyes narrowed and his hands doubled into fists. "That wolf needs killin'," he grated out and left the cabin once more.

  Clara stared after him, wondering where it all would end.

  She turned to give Meg her attention. She tried to stem the flow of blood, and by the time she had laid several cold compresses on Meg's stomach, she was encouraged to see less blood on them. "Maybe it's beginning to let up," she dared to think.

  Mike had been gone a long time. Was he already on the hunt for Jarvis, she worried. Silently she prayed that he would not find him. In his burning anger he might very well kill his brother.

  "I don't want Jarvis to go free," she thought inwardly. "He has committed murder, killed his own son, but Mike mustn't be the administrator of his justice."

  Faintly, from the shed in the back yard, came the muted sound of a hammer. Tears sprang in Clara's eyes. Mike wasn't out looking for Jarvis. He was making a coffin for the little boy who would soon join his grandparents. She thought sadly that there would be another grave for her to visit and bring flowers to.

  She had just lowered her bone-tired body into a chair when the door opened. Mike carried a small pine box in his arms, the edges and corners rubbed smooth and shining.

  Clara smiled at him. "You did a fine job, Mike."

  She looked at his hard face and urged, "Let me make you something to eat. You haven't had anything to eat all day."

  He shook his head. "I ain't hungry." He looked toward the bed and asked, "How's Meg doin'?"

 

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