Marna by Norah Hess

As she
dashed off the porch, she heard Caleb's angry roar,
the smack of flesh on flesh, then the thump of a body
hitting the floor and the savage grunts of the two men
as they wrestled each other.
    With scalding tears running down her cheeks, Marna
blindly climbed a steep footpath to the top of a hill,
where she flung herself to the ground, her slender
shoulders shaking with bitter sobs. When only dry sobs
remained, she drew a hand across her wet cheeks. "At least he wants to keep me," she tried to console herself,
"if only to cook and keep his clothes clean."

    She sighed wearily. Was Grandma right in insisting
she keep her face cloaked behind a film of dirt? A
neater appearance would give her some chance with
Matt. He was stirred by her body, she knew. She had
seen desire leap out of his eyes when he looked at
her.
    She turned on her side, propping her head in her
hand. Gazing out on the red sumac and the yellow,
feathery goldenrod, she admitted to herself that Matt's
lust wouldn't be enough. She wanted his love and respect.
    Her fingers dug into the sandy soil. She must talk to
Grandma, make her see that this time she was wrong.
    Marna stayed on the hilltop until the sun was well in
the west She didn't want to return to the cabin. What if
Matt were still there, waiting for her? What if he were
still angry and had more harsh words to pile on her
head? She could not bear it.
    But when she finally descended the hill and timidly
stepped through the cabin door, she was brought up
short, her mouth hanging open. Acting as though nothing had happened, and sporting a huge black eye, Matt
was busily constructing her mantel.

     

Matt's fight with Caleb wasn't mentioned. In fact,
Marna and Matt spoke very little as they moved into
the cabin the following morning.
    Filled with excitement, Marna bustled about her new
home. She first swept out the two rooms with a bushy
pine bough, then cut piles of cedar branches and
dragged them inside the cabin. As she formed two mattresses from them, one for each room, little bursts of
song rose throatily. In between making up the pallets
and stowing away food supplies, she tended a kettle of
stew bubbling over the fire. Tonight they would have
their first meal under their very own roof.
    Late in the afternoon Matt left to do some hunting.
Although he said nothing, Marna was sure he'd return
by evening. But dusk turned to dark and there was no
sign of Matt. Marna made her third trip to the window.
He won't be back, she thought, tears near to brimming.
    She moved to the table and lit a candle. Standing a
moment in silent debate, she walked to the door and
opened it. She picked up the kettle of stew from where
she had placed it to keep cool, brought it inside, and set
it close to the coals to warm slowly. If Matt should
return, she would have his supper ready.
    She sat down and stared hopelessly into the flames.
She might as well go to bed. The lonesome silence only
made her more depressed.
    After checking to see if the latchstring was out, just
in case Matt came back, she went into her room and
changed into her gown. To her surprise, a drowsiness
came swiftly, and she slipped into sleep.

    It was but minutes later that she was awakened by a
rough hand on her naked breast. Her eyes flew open
and she stared into the leering face of Corey. Automatically she struck away his hand and scrambled out of
his reach. Desperately her eyes ran around the room.
There was nothing to defend herself with.
    "Don't be afraid." Corey's nasal whine came softly.
"I won't hurt you." He reached down and fumbled between his legs. "Look," he urged. "Look what I've got
for you."
    For the first time she became aware that he wore
only his shirt. As she stared wide-eyed at the pulsating
member in his hand, panic swept over her. Grandpa
always looked that way just before he jabbed himself
into the women he brought home.
    Suddenly Marna was no longer afraid. Anger that
this