by Norah Hess
For a moment Meg stared at her, the black eyes unreadable. "That's what you and Mike want, isn't it, Clara?" she was thinking spitefully. "Get me strong and out of here so the Stevens bitch can move in."
Forgotten was the fact that Clara had saved her life; only jealous hatred remained. "I don't want it," she snapped.
But simultaneously, she realized that she needed that broth—she needed it to get strong so that she could help Jarvis.
She sat up in bed and grumbled ill-humoredly, "Oh, all right. I guess you're right."
The broth was delicious, and as she drank, she could feel new strength pouring through her. When she lay back down, she was positive that by early morning she would be able to leave the bed.
Much to Clara's surprise, Meg was quite amiable for the rest of the evening, and drank another two bowls of broth before falling asleep.
But again, Meg wasn't asleep. She lay quietly until Clara rolled herself into Mike's blankets and slept.
But Clara was in no hurry to give up the night to sleep. Meg became anxious, and her feet grew cold and clammy from nervous perspiration.
But finally, Clara yawned and prepared for bed. Meg lay quietly and listened for the even breathing that came with a sound sleep.
In spite of the even breathing and gentle snoring, she still waited another half hour. Then she sat up slowly and swung her feet to the floor. She waited out a slight dizziness and gradually rose to her feet, holding on to the bed. For a moment her vision was fuzzy but it cleared as strength returned to her legs. As she dressed, she felt stronger. By the time she had shrugged into her coat and tied a scarf around her head, she felt almost like her old self.
Inching the door open, her eyes on the sleeping form, she stepped outside and closed the door softly. She stood a moment, debating whether to walk or take the boat. She had a good idea where Jarvis was holed up and she knew she could get to him by either route.
She decided on the boat. Too much walking might start her bleeding again. It took her awhile to untie the boat and clamber inside. But once inside, she needed only a few strokes of the oars to get to the middle of the stream and be on her way.
After paddling for about a half hour, she swung the boat into shore and tied it fast to an overhanging branch. Scrambling up the river bank, she followed a dim path for a short distance and came to what she was looking for. The cave was small and well hidden behind the foliage of hazelnut and sumac bushes.
It was eerily quiet as she parted the brush and timorously called Jarvis's name. When on the third call and there was still no answer, she became panicky. Where else in the wilderness could she look? Dejectedly, she turned and started to leave and then stopped short when from behind a harsh whisper called faintly, "Is that you, Meg?"
In her eagerness, she turned too quickly and tripped on a rock and fell to her knees. "Yes, Jarvis, yes," she panted. "Come on out. I'm alone."
He crawled out of the cave slowly, sending quick peering glances around the forest. Satisfied that she was alone, he stood up and growled at her, "Did you bring me something to eat?"
She didn't answer him at once, but stared at his rumpled appearance and gaunt, bewhiskered face. The half-wild look in his eyes made her cry out silently, "My God, he's sick."
He frowned at her, and she remembered the weight of his hand and the striking of his feet and her eyes widened in fear as she whimpered, "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't think about food."
His face went black with rage, and she drew back in the face of it. But she had moved too slowly. His hand caught her savagely across the mouth. "You rotten, slutty bitch," he panted, and raised his hand again.
She cringed away from the shower of blows that fell on her head and shoulders. "I'm sorry, Jarvis, I'm sorry," she whined. "I was so anxious to find you, I forgot."
He lifted his mud covered boot and placed it between her breasts and shoved viciously. She toppled into a pool of dirty water and lay there for a moment. Then, scrambling to her feet, she begged, "Jarvis, don't treat me this way. I have good news for you."
At his dark questioning look, she burst forth, "Mike's not looking for you anymore."
He stared at her suspiciously for a moment. "How do you know that?" he growled.
She cowered away and spoke fast in her fright. "I overheard Mike and Clara talkin'. According to Clara, Darcey is in love with Mike and always has been. Mike loves her, and between him and Clara they decided to let the law take care of you."
He stared down into her drawn face and fury leaped into his eyes. Kicking out at her, he snarled, "You damn stinkin' bitch, if it wasn't for you I wouldn't be hidin' here like some dog."
He wheeled around and staggered toward the boat. Meg jumped to her feet and ran after him, calling wildly, "Where are you goin', Jarvis? Wait for me."
Jarvis was pulling away so fast, that she barely had time to crawl into the boat. She sat huddled in its bottom, watching his shoulders strain as he worked the oar. She hadn't realized how weak he was and wondered how long it had been since he had eaten.
She wondered where he was going and finally got up the nerve to ask, "Where are we goin', Jarvis?"
"I don't know where you're goin', bitch," he snarled, "but I'm goin' back for Darcey."
Meg's eyes widened as his words cut at her. In despair, she thought, "Clara was right."
With her heart breaking, she felt that she had to try one last time to win him back. Gathering her courage, she cried out, "Jarvis, forget about her. Can't you see that she's not for you? Come back to me. I love you and will take care of you."
"I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole," he grunted in thick contempt.
Her face blanched, and she stood up and started slowly toward him. A stiff wind arose, and she pushed her flying hair out of her eyes, the better to see him.
Darcey sat before the dying fire, waiting. It was dark and silent outside, the rain having stopped some time ago. Inside, it was silent also with only an occasional sound of a burned-out log falling and scattering ashes on the hearth. Once in awhile she would hear Cindy or Simon turn over in the loft bed. They had been sleeping there since her illness. Dorie slept there, too, on a pallet.
"But I'm no longer ill," she thought. Cindy's tonic had fixed her right up. That and the news that Clara had brought her.
She had taken a long time with her toilette, believing that this night would be the most important time of her life. In her bath she had used her most expensive soap. After she had toweled herself, she dabbed her headiest perfume on Mike's favorite spots of her body. She wore her most revealing gown with matching robe. Her hair hung to her shoulders in loose curls, and she knew that she had never looked lovelier.
Yeller stood up, stretched lazily, then pushed his nose into her hand. Absentmindedly, she scratched his ears, wondering if Clara had talked to Mike yet. She would not accept the possibility that Mike might have already found Jarvis, shot him, and left the hills forever.
Suddenly Yeller gave a soft growl, his hackles standing up, and his nose pointing to the door. For a moment Darcey did not move, wondering if it were Mike, or Jarvis. He had threatened to return, and she, foolishly had left the latch down.
Her heart pounding and her eyes fastened on the door, she waited. Then slowly it opened, and Mike stood there, magnetic and compelling.
Her eyes lit up and her pulse leaped as she stood up and gazed at him uncertainly. His cool air was gone and she gave a little cry of delight. He came toward her, opened his arms wide, and enfolded her tightly.
"Mike, oh, Mike," she sobbed, "why did you leave me?"
"Because I was as sure as any man could be that it was Jarvis you loved," he murmured in her hair.
"Never, darling. It was always you."
He picked her up and moved to the bed. And when his hands stroked her in the way she remembered, she trembled with desire and couldn't wait for his hard, thrusting body.
It was almost daylight when they rose and sat before the fire. With his arms folded
around her curled up body, love talk flowed between them. It came in a steady stream, so long had it been stored up in them both.
They both agreed that it would take some time to get used to the peace and happiness that they shared now, having lived in hell for so long.
Finally, when all the words had been said, Mike stirred and said, "Why don't you put on a coat, and we'll walk by the river for a while."
They walked with their arms around each other, their steps keeping time. Once Mike stopped and raised his chin and sniffed the air like an animal. It would be an early winter with lots of snow. A good winter for hunting and trapping. "Look, Darce," he exclaimed. "A hunter's moon."
She gazed up at the full bright moon, slowly fading as the sky lightened. "A hunter's moon. You like that, don't you?" He squeezed her waist in answer.
They stopped many times to kiss and caress. One time Mike remembered Sarie and knew that she would miss him. But he felt no guilt. He had never lied to her about his feelings for Darcey. Once she recovered from her grief, he was sure she would be happy for him. That was Sarie's nature.
The wind grew sharp as the sun crept over the treetops and Mike thought that they should go inside. He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut.
Out in the middle of the river was a boat with two people in it. One was rowing and the other was making his slow way toward the rower's back.
"Darcey," he whispered. There's someone on the river, and I don't like the looks of them."
Darcey peered at the nearing craft and recognized it to be Clara's. Fear grabbed at her and she clung closer to Mike. "I think that's Jarvis rowing," she said in a shaky voice.
"I can see it is now," he answered. "And sure as hell that's Meg with him. And by God, she's up to something."
As they watched breathlessly, Meg continued to creep up on Jarvis, and a cold sweat broke out on Mike when he realized what she was going to do.
A wisp of wind traced icy fingers down Darcey's back, and a scream rose in her throat as Meg suddenly lunged at Jarvis and tried to push him into the river. Then she lost her footing and stood tottering a moment before falling sideways into the water.
In horror, Mike and Darcey watched Jarvis raise his paddle and strike at her bobbing head. And as Darcey cried out, "Oh, dear Lord," Mike shouted through his cupped hands, "Damn your soul to hell, Jarvis, you're gonna drown her."
Meg's head disappeared and Darcey's heart sank. "Another murder laid at Jarvis's door," she thought.
But then suddenly, Meg's head was pushing up from the side of the boat and she was clambering into it. Jarvis raised the paddle again, but before he could strike, Meg grabbed the other oar and, with her last strength, swung it across his temple.
His knees buckled slowly and he was in the water, rolling like a log. Meg threw herself upon his unconscious form and, wrapping her arms and legs around him, she pulled him down into the swirling depths of the river.
The pair on the bank stood dumb and motionless, hardly believing what they had seen.
At last Mike spoke in words slow and thoughtful. "Well, Meg got him. She always said that she would. I guess it's best it ended this way."
Darcey nodded, then asked, "Will their bodies be found, Mike?"
"I doubt it, honey. This old river is mean and treacherous. There's no tellin' how far it will carry them."
She shivered, thinking that the river had done what she had always feared it would.
A week later, the snowfall started silently, small flakes slanting down. By the time Darcey opened the door, the snow was several inches deep.
Mike turned over in bed. "Snowing, Darcey?"
"A little," she answered, gazing up at a hunter's moon.
She returned to bed and snuggled up against her brand-new husband. As she drifted off to sleep, into the quietness she heard clearly the boisterous laughter of her grandfather ring out.