Near the Bone(5)

He was too distracted to scold her. “What in God’s name?”

Mattie peeked around his arm and gasped.

Before them was a scarlet pool of blood, sinking into the powdery snow. Something very large had been killed, and recently. There were no remains, however, and no sign of the thing that killed it. The only prints nearby were their own.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” William muttered.

Mattie tilted her head back, saw the bent branches overhead, and thought that perhaps it made more sense than William thought. But she wouldn’t say that aloud. It was never a good idea for her to contradict him.

But I do wonder what it might be. Even if I’m not supposed to wonder about anything at all.

William was preoccupied for the remainder of the day. He appeared to hardly notice what Mattie did—and this was certainly a blessing, since the only time he ever cared about her work was when she did it wrong.

He brooded all through supper, saying not a word, shoveling the rabbit stew into his mouth without seeming to taste it. After supper he stared into the fire while she carefully mended a ripped sleeve and a torn trouser hem and darned two pairs of socks.

She began to hope that he might forget about her daily duty, that he might be so lost in thought she would be allowed to go straight to sleep. But the moment she put away her needle and stretched her cramped fingers he seemed to waken.

His ice-chip eyes caught hers as sure as a rabbit in a snare. “A man has to have sons, Mattie.”

She stood silently and went into the bedroom.



* * *



? ? ?

Mattie woke some hours later with the song she’d been trying to remember on her lips. A dove sings . . . she thought, but she couldn’t catch the rest of it and it slipped away again.

William snored beside her. The noise must have woken her—it often did, though she’d never dare complain about it. She slowly climbed out of bed so as not to disturb him with sudden movement.

Mattie went into the main room of the cabin, closing the bedroom door behind her. The room was freezing. She hadn’t stopped to put a dressing gown over her nightgown. She wrapped a quilt over her shoulders like a shawl. Her breath made a cold fog in front of her face.

She didn’t feel tired anymore, though she knew she ought to sleep. There would be more work in the morning, and if she was tired or slow or clumsy then William would notice and . . .

And the same thing will happen that always happens, Mattie thought, tears pricking her eyes.

Once, when she was younger, Mattie asked why he had to hit her so often and so much. He’d hit her again for this impertinence and then explained that it was his duty as a man and her husband to discipline her, that he did it so she would learn the proper obedience of a wife.

Then he handed her the Bible and told her to read aloud from Ephesians.

She did, though there was blood in her mouth and her cheek swelled and tears streamed out of her right eye. “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.”

He’d taken the Bible from her then and knelt before her, gently cradling her head in his big hands. “God wishes for you to obey me. I don’t want to hurt you, Mattie. I get no pleasure from it. If you would only listen and perform your duties properly, I wouldn’t have to. Do you understand?”

She nodded, even though she didn’t, even though she thought William should do some more contemplating on the part about husbands loving their wives.

He’d kissed her forehead and said, “I chose you out of all the girls in the world to be my bride. You’re my special, special girl.”

William didn’t celebrate birthdays, and the days seemed to run into one another here, but Mattie tried to keep track of the years as best she could. She thought she was about twenty, maybe a little older. William was older than her, but that was because it was right and proper for an older man to guide his younger wife.

She went to the window that faced the woodpile and the storage shed. There was a long narrow table under the sill where Mattie prepared food and did other tasks. Earlier she’d skinned and dressed the rabbits there, all the while keeping a wary eye on William as he chopped wood.

Mattie kept a jug of water and a cup for drinking on one end of the table. There was a thin crust of ice on the water. She broke the crust with the handle of a spoon and poured out a little water. It was so cold it made her gasp.

She stared blindly out into the shadows of the forest. What would happen if she just pulled on her boots, opened the door and ran out into the night? William would never know. He slept so hard these days that he might not notice she was gone until hours from now. She might be able to make it as far as the town by then.

Mattie wasn’t certain where the town was but surely she could find it. It was at the bottom of the mountain, and William always managed to go there and back in the same day.

But . . . Mattie’s thoughts stuttered to a halt, her momentary hope dying on the vine. The people of the town knew her husband. They would only send her back to William.

He had always told her that if she tried to run away they would return Mattie to him, for she was his property and they knew where she belonged.