by Norah Hess
Your loving Grandma
So the old devil is dead, Marna thought, returning the letter to its envelope. At least Grandma would have a few peaceful years in her beloved hills. She leaned her head on the back of the chair, wishing that she would be going with her. Not because of the war, but for the hills themselves. Everyone knew that Howe was winter camped at the edge of town. He had even been seen riding with his mistress. But the townspeople had faith in their army and assured each other that Washington would never let a battle move inside their city.
Cast into a gloom over Hertha's mention of Matt, she rose and moved to the window. The huge maple just outside was green with fat buds ready to leaf out with the first bright rays of sunshine. Glancing up at the gray sky, she doubted that the sun would shine soon. It looked as though the long spring rains would start any day.
About to turn back into the room, she was halted by the sight of a rider coming up the cobbled street. He wore the buckskin garb of a hunter, and she held her breath as he swung down in front of their building. Her breath came out in a disappointed sound. She did not recognize the man.
When a knock sounded on the door, she wondered what a hunter would want at this hour. The gambling rooms didn't open until seven. She heard his footsteps on the stairs and hurried to crack open her door. The man stood with his back to her, talking to the maid. The twang of the hill country filled the hall as he asked to see Jake South. A wave of homesickness swept over her at the sound of the well-remembered speech.
When the maid answered that no Jake South lived here, Mama swung the door open to ask the stranger to wait. But Egan appeared at his door at the same time, announcing, "I'm Jake South. What can I do for you?"
After a suspicious look at the pop-eyed maid, the hunter turned his attention to Egan. "Mr. South, do you have a young woman living here by the name of Marna Barton?"
Gripping the door so hard that her knuckles turned white, Marna heard her father answer, "Yes. Why do you ask?"
"I've been tryin' to find her to give her a message."
"You can give it to me," Egan said. "I'll see that she gets it."
After a moment of hesitation, the man cleared his throat and parroted, "General Washington sends his regrets that her husband suffered an arrow in his chest and that he is now dead."
The words hung in the silence. Her eyes stricken, Marna stared wildly, mutely. Her throat worked convulsively as she tried to scream out, "No, no, it's only another one of my dreams." But while her heart cried no, her mind insisted yes. She stepped back silently. Crumpling to the floor, she heard Egan ask sharply, as from a distance, "Is that all? No written word?" Then she heard no more.
A stinging in her hands, and Egan's anxious voice, brought Mama back to consciousness. For a moment she stared bewilderedly into his and Betsy's concerned faces. Then remembrance flooded over her. A great shuddering took hold of her, and she was crying brokenheartedly.
Egan pulled her into his lap. Holding her close, he encouraged, "Cry it out, honey. Get it all out, once and for all."
When only dry sobs shook her body, Betsy sat down on the edge of the bed with a basin of water. While she gently bathed the red and swollen eyes, Egan poured a good amount of brandy into a glass. Handing it to Marna, he said softly, "Drink it all down, Marna. It will dull the pain."
Tears welled afresh and spilled down. "Oh, Pa, nothing will ever dull this pain."
Egan sat back down on the bed and stroked back her hair. "Believe me, Marna, enough of it helps. I should know. I lived on it for two years after your mother died. For a long time I didn't care for anything but it.,,
He reached across Marna and clasped Betsy's hand, which was lying on the coverlet. "It was only that I found you and met Betsy that life took on any real meaning for me."
Betsy stroked Mama's cheek. "We don't want you grieving that long for Matt, dear. You are young and must get on with the business of living."
They stood up then, and while Betsy smoothed the covers, Egan said kindly, "Finish your brandy and try to sleep a bit. I know you won't feel like attending our wedding, but it's the best thing you could do. Grief is something a person shouldn't be alone with. It will eat at you like a cancerous sore."
The door closed softly, and Marna lay staring at the ceiling. Sleep. How she dreaded it. You were so helpless then. So vulnerable to the thoughts you had held at bay in your conscious awareness.
She drained the glass of brandy and set it on the bedside table. Within minutes she was in an exhausted sleep.
Two hours later her maid was shaking her shoulder, reminding her in a hushed voice that it was time to start dressing for the wedding.
Marna moved in a vacuum of despair as she dressed. How would she ever get through the wedding, she asked the silent room, choosing the first street outfit her hands fell on. Hardly aware of her actions, she opened dresser drawers and pulled out hankerchiefs, a pair of gloves, a scarf. She pulled silk hose up over her long, shapely legs. Still in a daze, she sat numbly and let the maid dress her hair and hook up the back of her white blouse.
A small, foolish-looking hat was perched on her head, and a fur-trimmed cape was fixed about her shoulders. Ready, she sat down in a weary lassitude and waited for Egan and Betsy to come for her.
They came shortly, Aaron with them. The courthouse was only a block away, and they decided they would walk. As Aaron walked alongside Mama, she felt his sympathy like a warm blanket.
The civil service didn't take long, and Marna was reminded of the hurried words of the old preacher who had married her and Matt. The old fellow was so afraid that Grandpa would wake up, his words had tripped over each other. Maybe that's why our marriage didn't take, she thought bitterly.
She managed to smile and kiss Betsy and Egan. They looked so happy, she had to fight back her tears. Happiness did not fit into her world today. Aaron took her arm, and they followed the chattering pair outside.
Out on the boardwalk they found the sun sinking below the chimney line. Fog from the Delaware was rolling in, and twilight was fast approaching the city. The rumble of the coaches was somehow muted in this quiet time of the day. An old man moved down the street, lighting the hanging lanterns on every corner.
Marna sighed raggedly. Night was almost here. How would she ever get through it?
They went straight to one of the rooms at Egan's house, where the newlyweds' friends waited. Tonight this room would be closed to the public. There Egan and Betsy would celebrate with mountains of food and every available liquor the city had to offer. Marna pasted a smile on her lips, determined she wouldn't spoil the big event for these two dear people.
From a distance Aaron watched her struggle against her pain, trying to join in the festivities. Her face was pale and strained, her tilted eyes almost staring. She was on the verge of flying apart. A jab of jealousy ran through him. If someday she would love him only half as much, he'd be a happy man.
It was around midnight when he watched her making her way toward him. She reached his side and gazed up at him. There was a mute appeal in her eyes that made his body go weak. His weeks of waiting had not been for nothing. He took her arm, and wordlessly they left the room. As he silently followed her upstairs, he pushed the thought from his mind that she sought only oblivion in his arms. Before the night was over he would drive her dead husband from her mind. Aaron would make such love to her, there would be room only for him in her mind.
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.