Marna Read Free Page A

misery had gone on within the walls of
this house. She grieved only at leaving that lonely grave
behind. She stepped off the rickety porch and stopped
short. Emery was slinging their belongings over the back
of their neighbor's mule. Hertha hurried to him, grabbing his arm. "Emery Aker, we're not going to steal our
neighbor's mule. We'll walk."
    He jerked away from her, whispering fiercely, "Walk?
Are you out of your mind? Do you know how far we
have to travel?"
    Before Hertha could answer, Emery grabbed her and
tossed her astride the animal. With the baby in her
arms, she could only grab at the rough mane and hang
on as Emery sent it into a jiggling run with a crack on
its rump.
    They moved swiftly and silently through side streets
and alleys. Gradually the loud song and braying laughter of the taverns faded away. As they hurried along,
always keeping to the shadows, it came to Hertha that
Emery was running away from something-or somebody. In all likelihood some irate husband, she guessed.
    Whatever the reason, she was glad to be leaving behind the dirt and squalor of Philadelphia. A small stirring of hope began to beat within her. Maybe at long
last Emery would change and they could lead a normal
and decent life.
    Her arms tightened around baby Marna, and she
prayed silently that Hester's baby would know security.
    Soon the streets gave way to pastureland and homesteads. When Emery disappeared into the darkness of a
barn and emerged silently astride a strong, spirited
horse, the small hope of a better future dwindled and died in Hertha's breast. Her husband was in serious
trouble and wanted to leave the territory fast.

    He motioned her to follow him, and wordlessly she
nudged the mule. What use was there in questioning
him? His answer would only be a hand across her face.
    In the bright light of the moon she watched Emery
peer over his shoulder every several yards. Again she
wondered what terrible thing he had done to cause him
to fear pursuit. The spring night air was cool, and
Hertha shivered. Holding the baby close, she wondered
what end they would all come to.
    After the third day on the trail Emery began to lose
his hunted look and to become once again his usual
callous and brutal self. Each day they made early
camp, and Hertha barely had time to set camp in order
before he was pushing her toward the spread-out bedroll.
    All camp duties fell to Hertha, from the chopping of
the wood to the carrying of water from nearby streams.
Emery spent his time sprawled out on a blanket, talking
of the big farm they were going to have in Kentucky.
According to him, everything was going to be fine from
now on.
    One night as he talked and laid his plans, Hertha
asked timidly, "Do you have much money on you,
Emery?"
    He glared at her darkly, blurting out, "Don't worry
about it, woman. A man don't need much money in this
new country we're goin' to. He raises all he needs."
    From his blustery tone she knew he had little, if any,
money. She sneaked her hand into the pocket to which
she had transferred Egan's money. She knew now why
she had never spent any of it.
    On the sixth day they had their first human contact.
All that day they had climbed steadily. Around noon
they rode out of the forest and into a level clearing. It
was dotted thickly with black, charred tree stumps, standing starkly against the new green grass pushing up
around them. Hertha let her eyes run the long, narrow
strip to where a small barn stood, leaning dangerously
toward the ground. A man of medium height and
weight moved desultorily around the building, aiming
an occasional half-hearted kick at a stone. He stopped
often to squint toward a long, low cabin sitting at the
edge of the forest. As Hertha and Emery watched him,
the door swung open and a woman, lean and angular,
stepped out on the porch. Cupping her hands to her
mouth, she called loudly, "Come and eat."

    The man hitched up his pants, spit out a wad of