Marna Read Free

Emery, at her
side, snored drunkenly.
    As Mrs. Egan Traver, Hester moved out of the
shabby little house and into fine rooms above Egan's
gambling parlor. Hertha saw her daughter only three
times after her marriage. On the last visit she announced
she was with child. Hertha gazed at her with stricken eyes. "Oh, Hester, you are so young. Promise me that
you'll take care of yourself while you're waiting."

    Six months later the young girl was dead. A premature birth had left her hemorrhaging, and a drunken
doctor had been unable to help her.
    The night after the funeral Egan Traver appeared at
the Akers' door. In his arms he carried his blanketed
baby girl. Silently he laid the child in Hertha's arms.
Hertha was struck by the grief in his eyes. This man
had truly loved her daughter.
    "Hester wanted her to be called Marna," he murmured, leaning down and kissing the baby's cheek. He
brushed away a tear and pressed some money into
Hertha's hand. "Take care of her, Hertha. Don't let
Emery get his hands on her."
    Hertha nodded mutely, and Egan Traver closed the
door behind him.
    Hertha had thought she would be unable to look at
her granddaughter, much less raise her. How could she
tend this baby who had caused her own child's death?
But at its first wailing cry she had turned back its
blanket, and the little helpless piece of humanity had
gone straight to her heart. It was as if she were gazing
down on Hester fourteen years earlier.
    The baby flourished, and gradually Hertha's grief
dulled to a point where she could live with it.
    Emery spent more time at the taverns and less time
at his job as a cooper. Many times Hertha was hard put
to make a nourishing meal for herself and baby Marna.
There were times when she was tempted to spend some
of the money Egan had slipped to her. It lay safely
hidden between the pages of her Bible, one place she
knew Emery would never look. But always when she
picked the Bible up to remove a few dollars, a small
voice would whisper, "Wait, Hertha, you will need it
more later on."

    Sighing, she would lay the big tome back on the
shelf. Their bowl of soup would be a little thinner that
night.
    In the mid-1700s a revival in religion came about in
Philadelphia. From it, a new kind of preacher emerged.
He was a preacher who did not stay in one church but
moved from place to place, preaching wherever people
would gather to listen. Many of this new breed found
their way into dimly lit taverns to preach in their dramatic and emotional way.
    One night one such man stood on a tabletop in a
tavern in Philadelphia. In a loud and threatening manner he warned his unwilling audience that they would
spend eternity in a burning hell unless they stopped
their drinking and whoring. In a dark corner, a whore
on each knee, sat Emery Aker. As he steadily poured
rum down his throat, he became quarrelsome and
began to call out insults to the preacher. When the man
singled him out and asked why he wasn't home with his
family, Emery became enraged and jumped to his feet.
He grabbed up a solid oak stool and, before he could be
stopped, brought it crashing down on the preacher's
head.
    The preacher wilted slowly to the floor, his head
cracked open.
    Speechless by the swiftness of Emery's action, everyone crowded around the dead man. Not too drunk to
realize he'd hang for the man's murder, Emery slipped
out the back door and hurried home.
    Barking orders to Hertha to pack their clothes and
some food, he took down his rifle and primed it. To
Hertha's anxious and alarmed queries, he would only
answer, "I'm fed up with this town. We're goin' to a
place called Kentucky. We're gonna homestead. There'll
be no more bosses standin' over me."
    At his insistent prodding, their few clothes were shoved into a pillowcase, and food and gear were
strapped together. She was careful to stow the Bible in
the grub sack.

    Hertha closed the door behind her without regret. So
much pain and