Hunter’s Moon Page 11

  Darkness came on, but he wasn't conscious of it. Then for a while he was lost. Completely turned around. He looked to the sky, found the North Star, and straightened out his bearings. Feeling heavy, thick and slow, he trudged wearily toward the river.

  He was worn, spiritually and physically, to the bone. Without pausing to make conscious plans, he decided that he would take to the trail again.

  "And this time it will be for good," he muttered.

  At last the river was in front of him. A short distance away he found his gear where he had stored it in his hurry to see Darcey. He laughed. "Fool, you couldn't wait to see that pale-haired deceiver. Couldn't wait to make an ass out of yourself."

  Shortly he had built a fire and filled a coffee pot, scarred and battered from many fires. As he set it on the flames to brew, a bitter rain started to fall. It struck the fire, making it splutter and spit.

  As he sat before it, its light showed an added mark in his lean, lined face. There was a deep sadness in the depths of his black eyes.

  In that dark hour he pondered on his brief and hopeless love. He raged at himself for ever thinking that she would love a man like himself.

  The aroma of coffee brought him out of his thoughts. He poured a cup and listened to the mournful howl of a wolf off in the darkness as he hunkered beside the fire.

  Gradually the fire flickered and died altogether, leaving the river bank black. In the soothing sound of the moving water, he wrapped himself in a blanket and, despite the continuing patter of rain, slept.

  The next morning he awoke to the brightness of a clear day. His bones and muscles were sore, but for a short moment he was at peace with himself.

  Then the events of the previous day came crowding back. With determination and the last strength of his mind, he pushed Darcey out of his mind and crawled out of his blankets.

  As he prepared a meager breakfast over the fire he had coaxed to life, he realized that he was becoming tired of this life. He was tired of sleeping in the rain and snow. Tired of being half warm in the winter and eaten alive by bugs in the summer. And more important, he was deathly tired of being lonely.

  Gone were the days when he had desired the solitude of the wilderness. He knew the wilderness, knew what the silence could do to a man in time. Nearing forty, he was tired of it all.

  He would not run again. He would remain on his homestead and face whatever he must.

  It was well past noon when he washed his coffee pot in the river and broke camp.

  CHAPTER 13

  March hurried by, and by April the ice was out of the river. One bright morning, Darcey stood in the doorway of the cabin, listening to a robin. Her eyes strayed across the river to a clump of willow that showed a mist of green. Spring was here.

  She looked down at the mud in the yard. They had had a regular gully-washer yesterday. It had poured all day, causing the river to come dangerously close to the cabin. But Clara had assured her that never, to her knowledge, had the river ever gone into the cabin.

  The sound of Simon's axe drew her attention. He was some yards from the house, notching logs. All winter, whenever weather permitted, he had gone into the woods and chopped down trees. He meant to build a barn before the summer was out and to add on to the cabin as soon as possible.

  She made her careful way through the mire and joined him. "You're just about finished with them, aren't you?"

  "I figure to finish today."

  "I suppose you'll start your crops next?"

  "Yes, if the dratted rain ever stops falling long enough for me to plow."

  "I guess we're going to be awfully busy before long."

  "We've had a lazy time all winter. Now it's time to get busy."

  He looked at the thin wrapper she wore. "Don't stay out here very long in that thin robe. Spring is the easiest time in the world to catch cold."

  She nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts on the fact that spring hadn't brought her what she had hoped for. It hadn't brought her Mike.

  She hadn't seen him since that terrible afternoon when Jarvis's damnable lie drove Mike away.

  She had returned to Clara's cabin that day and found a sullen Jarvis. Then seeing the anger in her eyes, he had turned unsure and a little apprehensive.

  "Why did you lie to Mike?" she had demanded.

  Uneasy at first, he had shrugged his shoulders. Then anger had darkened his face, and he had grabbed her wrist and glared down at her. "My words worked, and that was my intention. You might as well know right now, Darcey, I've marked you for my own. Telling a lie ain't nothin' compared to how far I'm willin' to go to keep you."

  Clara had intervened then. "Turn Darcey loose, Jarvis, and stop talking like a damned fool. You can't force a woman to marry you. And if you keep actin' this way, she'll never want to."

  She had jerked away from Jarvis and shouted in his face, "Put that thought out of your mind, Jarvis. I'll never marry you."

  His mouth became a thin line, and his eyes slitted. "Then you won't marry any other man."

  She had wanted to laugh at him and tell him that he was being ridiculous. But there was something in his face that held her tongue. She only stared back, striving to keep hidden the fright that had taken hold of her.

  She had swooped up her cape and left, and he had hurried after her announcing firmly, "I'll walk you home."

  Clara had called after them, "Jarvis, you'd better behave yourself. You hurt her, and you'll have Mike to answer to."

  She remembered thinking at the time, "How foolish, Clara. Mike could care less what Jarvis does to me now."

  She had walked swiftly, ignoring any comment he made. The old relationship between them was gone, and she avoided him whenever possible now.

  But he was persistent, and eluding him wasn't always easy. And although he had become almost repugnant to her, still her body responded to his touch.

  When she occasionally allowed him to make love to her, she justified it by saying, "Why not. Mike is getting his pleasure."

  The new woman at Molly's was the only topic of conversation these days. Her name was Sarie, and everyone knew that Mike had brought her there. It was also common knowledge that he visited her regularly.

  And although she was definitely a prostitute, gossip had it that she was quite different from the average fallen woman. It was told that she was honest, never stealing from the men and that she had the easy, good-natured ways that drew all of Molly's patrons to her.

  Darcey had pangs of jealousy for the second time and hated herself for even giving serious thought to a prostitute. But this new woman seemed to wield a power over Mike that she had been unable to.

  And to make the pill a little more bitter, Jarvis had succumbed to Sarie's charms also. Simon had heard that bit of gossip at the mill and had wanted to take a whip to him. But she had laughed and told him not to bother.

  Cindy came and stood in the door. "If you two want to eat, you'd better get in here."

  They ate their breakfast in a room filled with steam. It was washday, and a huge iron kettle of water straddled the flames in the fireplace. Later, when the weather warmed, the kettle would be moved to the chipyard.

  As Cindy poured Simon a cup of coffee, she announced, "I want to hang the clothes outside today, Simon."

  Simon nodded and, after he had drunk his coffee, took some strong rope from a cupboard and strung it between some trees. In a short time Cindy had clothes flapping in the wind.

  Darcey was restless. After she had dressed, made the beds, and straightened the cabin, there was nothing for her to do. She paced between the window and the door, started small chores only to leave them unfinished and wandered aimlessly around the room. And after she had bumped into Cindy for the third time, the grumpy woman exploded.

  "Damn it to hell, Darcey. Can't you keep out of my way? Why don't you go for a walk?"

  Darcey walked with her head down, deep in concentration. Her thoughts were on the settlement and its people. Would the settlement some day become
a town or city? Would the different trails she had trod become streets or wide roads? Who could tell—there might come a day when thousands of people, some of them not yet born, would travel this trail.

  She climbed the crest of a ridge and looked down into a valley. She thrilled at the knowledge that the land lying before her belonged to Darcey Stevens. And just as Grandaddy had left it to her, she in turn would leave it to her children. It was a good feeling.

  Her gaze traveled to a dark patch of timber marking the end of an open field. Later this spring, thanks to Simon's axe, the forest would recede a little farther, and the farm grow a little bigger. By the time her children were grown, there would be a hundred acres or more, cleared and producing.

  To the left of her in a small dell belonging to Bill Wilson, her eyes caught a movement. Looking closely, she saw men working among some fallen trees. Shading her eyes against the sun, she searched eagerly for Mike. Finally she saw him. There was no mistaking the broad shoulders that moved with such grace as he chopped branches from a large oak.

  She stood quietly, her eyes taking in his every movement. Holding her breath, she prayed that he would look her way and wave—or, better yet, come and speak to her.

  She had thought that she was over the worst part of losing him. Sometimes she went for an entire day without thinking of him. But seeing him now brought everything surging back. She sighed raggedly as Mike finished the tree and walked farther into the forest and out of view. Dejectedly, she turned and started for home.

  She was still some distance from the cabin when she saw Jim and Charlie sitting on the porch. She perked up. Their youthful zest for everything going on around them was just what she needed right now. She waved and called out, "Hey, what brings you two rascals over here?"

  They stood up and Charlie quipped, "Oh, we just felt like lookin' at a pretty face for a while."

  Darcey laughed and roughed up his hair. "You've been hanging around your Uncle Jarvis too much, picking up his honey words."

  Charlie's face reddened, and Jim laughed at him.

  They sat on the porch laughing and carrying on like the youngsters they were. As Cindy passed back and forth to the clothes line, they lazily moved their feet for her. Once Charlie giggled when Cindy hung Darcey's filmy underwear and a brisk wind came and billowed them out. Jim poked him and he grunted.

  Cindy had called that lunch was ready before Jim spoke of the real reason they had come. "Me and the pest was wonderin' if you'd like to go deer huntin' with us? My brother Mike saw traces of them about ten miles from our place."

  "We'll have a good time, Darce," Charlie urged. "We'll be gone a couple of days."

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse but then, why not. It would be good to get away from everything for a while. Away from Cindy's prying eyes and Clara's pitying looks. And especially Jarvis's forever, "What's wrong, Darcey?"

  She nodded and smiled. "I think I'd like that. I've never been deer hunting, but I used to hunt squirrel with Grandaddy and I enjoyed it."

  "Good. We'll pick you up late tomorrow morning," Jim said. "Pack a couple of blankets in your gear. The nights still get pretty nippy."

  They said good-bye to Cindy and left. Darcey watched them amble out of sight and turned back to the cabin, her spirits lifted.

  CHAPTER 14

  Mike lay down his axe, stretched sore muscles, and looked up at the sun. He gauged it to be around two o'clock. He had finished the rest of the trees and decided that he had put in a good day. Picking up the axe and rifle and calling the dog, he started home, his mind on a cup of coffee and something to eat.

  Coming over a ridge, he was startled to see Meg scurrying down the river trail. She was headed west and kept a constant watch on the forest. Her stealth raised his suspicions and he wondered out loud, "What's that bitch up to? She's goin' toward my place."

  He debated following her, then rejected the idea. He had no desire to know any of her business.

  He did want to talk to her however. He wanted to find out just how far she would go in her mad jealousy. He knew there was evil in Meg, born perhaps from a suspicious and wary nature. But whatever its cause, it looked out of her eyes and sounded in her raspy voice. There was every reason for him to fear that someday she might try to harm Darcey.

  He would wait for her return. Leaning the axe and rifle against a tree, he felt in his pocket for his pipe. Tamping it tight with long green and using his flint, he settled down and leaned back against a big boulder.

  He looked out over the greening earth and thought, "Good old spring. There's something about it that starts the sap to running in your veins. Makes a regular tonic for your blood."

  He had noticed that seldom did old people die in the spring. At that time, hope seemed to spring forth in the promise of new life for them.

  He had sat for an hour and the dampness of the forest floor was beginning to penetrate his clothing. He squirmed uncomfortably, anxious for Meg to return. A heavy fog was beginning to roll in from the river, announcing that dusk would soon be appearing.

  When the sun was a red ball slowly disappearing behind the timberline, he saw Meg coming. The previous rains had left the trail slippery with wet pine needles, and Meg's movements were slow and careful. Her step was more waddle than walk.

  Unobserved, he watched her draw closer and noted the swollen condition of her face and legs. He shook his head. What had happened to the sprightly woman he had lain with so many times?

  Remembering that woman, he was amazed that the wild and uncaring Meg had fallen in love. But actually, why should she be any different from him? He had been the same way once. He laughed harshly to himself. Of all the people in the world for him and Meg to pick, they had chosen the most unlikely pair to return their love.

  Well, he for one had faced up to the impossibility of Darcey ever returning his love, and he was going to try his damnedest to convince Meg of the futility of her ever regaining Jarvis's love.

  When she drew even with him, he rose slowly, so as not to startle her. "Howdy, Meg. It's good to see you again. How have you been?"

  For a moment she returned his look through sullen, brooding eyes. Then she spat out at him, "Who are you trying to slick, Mike Delaney? You don't give a tinker's damn how I've been."

  He studied her impassive features and wondered what he had ever seen in this hateful woman. Hell, he thought, I didn't even like her when I was layin' her.

  He had always thought that Jarvis's timely arrival had saved him a lot of trouble and aggravation. Meg did not easily let go of a strong and lusty-minded man.

  His voice was hard when he answered her. "By God, Meg, you're still an ugly actin' bitch. Them whores at Molly's act better than you do."

  "I act as well as you do, Mike Delaney," she retorted. "And don't you dare go comparin' me to Molly's whores." She glared a moment longer, then added, "I still say that you don't give a damn how I feel."

  He gave a feline grin, his eyes flickering over her wickedly. "Now that ain't exactly true, Meg. I've been real concerned ever since I heard about Jarvis dropping you like last year's whore."

  Meg started violently, and her cheeks flushed with quick anger as he continued, "You can't blame Jarvis too much though, Meg. That widow Stevens is a real juicy piece."

  A low guttural sound came from behind her clenched teeth, and she sprang at him, her hands going for his throat. He caught her wrists and laughed at her struggling. He continued to tease. "Whew, is she a looker. Real young, too, real fresh."

  When Meg stood still in his grasp and only stared at him out of hate-filled eyes, he realized that he had gone too far, pushed her too hard. He used complimentary words to help calm her down.

  "Not that she could hold a candle to you, Meg, once you've gotten rid of your stomach and wear your fancy clothes again."

  Feeling her hands begin to relax, he let a sigh of relief escape his lips slowly. He had been a fool to rile her. He could have driven her to hurt Darcey.

  Talking
softly, he continued to mollify her and knew that his words were working when the pulse in her throat quickened and a gleam appeared in her dull eyes.

  He released her wrists, and she grabbed at his arm. "It's true, Mike. They'll all want me again. They'll line up just like before and fight to see who goes first."

  Mike's look was a mixture of pity and disgust as he moved his arm. He thought, "Poor stupid thing. Don't even know that the men were a pack of dogs fighting over a bitch in heat."

  He couldn't believe that he had heard her right when she went on to say, "Jarvis will want me back, too. But that bastard is gonna crawl plenty before he gets between my legs again."

  "What in the hell do I say to her now?" Mike wondered. "Should I pretend to go along with her or give her the truth straight on?"

  He would try to do both. "Hell, Meg, you're crazy if you take Jarvis back now. You don't want to waste your time on a married man—a handsome woman like yourself."

  A tremor visibly shook her body. She had known nothing about Jarvis's coming marriage. Tears brimmed in her eyes and traced dirty streaks down her face. He reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Meg. I thought you knew."

  She shook her head dumbly. "When?"

  "Soon I guess. Jarvis told me, but he didn't mention no special date."

  Her face crumbled, and she looked like an old woman. "Oh, Mike, what am I gonna do? It's Jarvis's baby I'm carryin'."

  "I know, Meg," he soothed. "And I feel real bad about it."

  And he did feel bad. It wasn't like a Delaney man to push his responsibility onto another man's shoulders. But he wasn't surprised that Jarvis would involve himself in such an act. He would think nothing of carelessly planting his seed and never giving a damn about its consequences. It wouldn't bother him in the least that a child of his would have to grow up the best way it could. To him it would be an event to laugh and brag about.

  A frown gathered between his eyes when Meg said, "Abe is threatening to throw me out. He knows for a fact that this baby ain't his, the old dried-up bastard. We ain't done nothin' for over a year."