Heaven Sent

by Pamela Morsi

  Carefully securing the lid back on the pork barrel, Hannah headed up the ladder to the cabin carrying her prized ham with her. She was going to fix Henry Lee the most delicious meal he had ever eaten. Everyone knew that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Once Henry Lee fell in love with her cooking, he would begin to get used to the idea of Hannah as his wife.

  With that thought in her mind, she began her dinner preparations and for the first time in many days began singing in her unfashionably husky soprano.

  "There shall be showers of blessing,

  This is the promise of love;

  There shall be season's refreshing,

  Sent from the savior above.

  Showers of blessing, showers of blessing we need;

  Mercy drops round us are falling,

  But for the showers we plead."

  Henry Lee headed down the side of the bluff and made his way by circuitous route to the creek side trail and then back to the cabin.

  He heard her singing as he came up into the yard. Not having spent much of his time in churches, or in the company of churchgoers, he was unfamiliar with the song, but he knew that it was a hymn. He was quite fond of music, and as far as he was concerned, the only difference between hymns and regular music was that you weren't supposed to dance to the hymns.

  He stopped beside the shade tree and listened. He liked the sound of her voice. It wasn't high and breathy like he imagined churchgoing women to sing. It was deep and husky and reminded him of a girl he'd heard sing in the Pink Slipper up in Wichita when he'd gone to buy his whiskey barrels. He'd wanted to get a chance to lift the girl's skirts after the show, but he hadn't had enough cash. Hannah's voice was as sexy as hers had been.

  Maybe he'd missed something by not going to church all this time. He smiled to himself. Who would have thought that Henry Lee Watson could get himself stirred up by hymn singing. Lately, it didn't seem to take much, but this was downright blasphemous. Laughing away his foolish reaction Henry Lee went into the cabin.

  Hannah stopped in mid-verse at the sight of him. He was smiling at her. She knew he had always been a man with a ready smile; people had said that about him for years. But now, his dazzling smile was directed at her and it made her heart beat a little bit faster and a flush seep into her cheeks.

  "Don't stop singing on my account, ma'am," he said.

  Hannah lowered her eyes in embarrassment; he was not smiling at her, he was laughing at her singing.

  "I know I haven't much of a voice," she said quietly, "but the Bible says to 'make a joyful noise,' so that's what I do."

  "It is joyful and a pleasure, for sure," he told her. "I like the sound of your singing. It's unusual, but the tone is real nice."

  Hannah looked at him gratefully, assuming that he was being polite. Her husband might be rough-hewn, she thought, but he was a gentleman.

  Today's noon meal was a vast improvement over the previous day, Hannah thought, and Henry Lee apparently agreed. He complimented her outrageously, although he was a little surprised to find one of his Christmas hams on his summertime dinner table.

  "I'm going to grind the rest of that corn right after lunch," Henry Lee told her conversationally.

  "Oh, the corn is all done, I left it in those buckets out on the porch."

  His jaw dropped in disbelief. "You finished all that corn this morning?"

  Hannah nodded, glad that she had surprised him and shown herself to be a good worker.

  Henry Lee was pleased at her obvious industry and decided that he'd put up his sweet mash first and then fix himself a bed for the workroom. He thought about explaining to her now that he didn't plan to sleep with her. But she seemed in such a good mood and the meal was going so smoothly, that he decided not to bring it up. He would just move into the workroom and if she wanted to know why, she could ask him.

  After putting away an amazing amount of Hannah's good cooking for his noon meal, Henry Lee slipped down into the cellar and brought out one of his prized oak barrels. Hoisting it on his shoulder, he set out to find the perfect spot to make sweet mash. Normally he made it out on the south side of the front porch. It got good sun there, and it was easy to keep an eye on it. But Henry Lee imagined that a fine-looking barrel sitting on the front porch was bound to raise Hannah's curiosity. He thought it best to head for a less obvious location.

  He stopped at the outdoor hearth and checked the small fire burning there. Hannah was certainly efficient; she hadn't let the little fire go out all morning. Filling the big, black, iron kettle in the creek, he hung it on the crossbar. As the water heated, Henry Lee inspected and rejected several potential spots to set up the barrel, finally deciding on a spot facing the creek behind the pigsty. It had all the sun that it would have had on the porch and the barrel was close enough to the sty that, if an animal came out of the woods to investigate, the pigs would let him know.

  He placed it securely in the spot that he thought best, adjusting it slightly a couple of times to get it just right. He placed the corn grits that Hannah had so dutifully made for him in a layer at the bottom and poured a half barrel of hot water over them. He replaced the tight-fitting cover over the mix and hoped for the best. It would take three or four days for the grits to ferment. Until then, the corn was on its own.

  * * *

  Hannah made short work of the mealtime dishes and the small amount of housework that needed attention. She was anxious to get those oak barrels out of the cellar and get them cleaned up. If Henry Lee was impressed with how fast she could grind corn, well he would be amazed at how thoroughly she would clean up those fancy barrels.

  She was surprised to find only one barrel in the cellar, and hoped that Henry Lee hadn't thrown away the other. She knew it would take a good deal of scrubbing, and some strong lye soap, but she was sure that she could get the barrels clean and fresh again.

  It was late afternoon as Hannah headed into the house to start supper that she heard the sound of an approaching horse. Shading her eyes from the sun, she looked up to see her father riding into the yard.

  Surprised to see him, she was glad too. She was happy he had shown up this afternoon instead of this morning. He would have known that there was trouble in her marriage. But now, after the congenial dinner with Henry Lee she was optimistic again that things would work out.

  Her father stopped beside her smiling a little tentatively and seemed to be examining her closely. Hannah misread his look of concern and thought he must be able to tell how she behaved last night in front of the fire. Her face flamed fiery red and her father, seeing it, blushed himself.

  He cleared his throat several times, and shifted on one foot and then another.

  "How are you, Hannah?" he asked her. "I was heading out this way and I wanted to stop by and see that you two had got home all right."

  With a shy smile she told him, "Everything is just fine, here. How are Myrtie and Violet?"

  "Oh, they're fine, fine," he answered nodding. They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. "I'll be going into town this weekend," he said. "Violet was wondering if you're needing anything."

  "No, I think I have everything I need. Tell Violet that the house was in very good shape. Henry Lee is very clean and neat," she boasted. "And it will take me no time at all to set the place up to suit me."

  "That sounds good," the preacher said, obviously pleased that his son-in-law was neither slovenly nor unclean. "If you think of anything you might need, just send word. I thought I might take Myrtie and Violet to Ingalls with me if the weather holds out. I suspect they both will have some ideas of things for me to spend my money on," he joked feebly.

  "I was just fixing to start supper," she said. "Can you stay for a bite? Henry Lee's out working, but he'll be showing up for supper pretty soon."

  Reverend Bunch tied his horse to the front porch and followed his daughter into the cabin.

  * * *

  Henry Lee had left his barrel of corn grits and water working to become sweet
mash and brought his cot down from the cave. It was nothing fancy, he'd used it for years to sleep in the cave when the mash was cooking. It wasn't as comfortable as a real bed, of course, but he figured that he'd only have to sleep on it a few months. And he figured there was no way to really be comfortable when sleeping next door to the woman he wanted to sleep beside.

  He smelled his dinner cooking as he neared the house and hurried his step. Unfortunately, the horse tied to the front porch was out of his range of vision. When he walked in the back door, carrying what was obviously a bed, to find his father-in-law sitting at his table, he was speechless.

  The two stared at each other for a minute and Henry Lee saw the reverend eyeing the bed with curiosity. Henry Lee couldn't for the world think of one explanation that he wanted to give to Farnam Bunch. Fortunately, the man didn't ask any questions.

  "Evening, Reverend," he finally offered and quickly moved to put the bed in the workroom and out of sight. Returning to the table, he tried to be congenial.

  "Nice of you to drop in this evening. You staying for supper?"

  "Hannah already asked me. Guess I will sample a bit of my daughter's cooking, if that's fine with you?"

  "Of course," he answered tightly. "My father-in-law is always welcome at my table."

  Feeling distinctly unwelcome the reverend went on quickly to explain, "I'm taking my wife to Ingalls on Saturday and was wondering if Hannah was in need of anything. I haven't bought you two a wedding gift yet."

  Henry Lee didn't believe his excuse for a minute. He knew that he was being checked on, but he was determined to be gracious about it.

  Hannah passed by him as she placed a bowl of red-eye gravy on the table. Henry Lee reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist. Drawing her close, he smiled up at her.

  "Just having Hannah for my bride is gift enough for any man," he said, trying to reassure the older man that his daughter was happy and safe.

  He hoped that the reverend wouldn't make a habit of dropping in unexpectedly. That could embarrass his customers and hurt his business. Although he normally took his moonshine elsewhere to sell it, sometimes a customer came by looking.

  Hannah served supper to her husband and father with a great sense of pride. She'd fried up some Indian bread to go with the ham and gravy and a huge mess of poke salad seasoned with just a dash of dill weed and a mountain of white potatoes whipped up to a frothy texture and sprinkled with big chunks of real black pepper.

  To their credit, the men ate heartily and dispensed compliments liberally, until they had Hannah thinking herself to be a housewife of exceptional quality.

  Hannah's father leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his belly in a gesture of sated appetite and smiled at his daughter.

  "You planning to drive Henry Lee's buggy in to church on Sunday?"

  Rather than answering affirmatively as Henry Lee expected, she turned to him for permission.

  "Would that be all right, Henry Lee?"

  Surprise that she sought his approval, as well as having a full mouth, gave Henry Lee a moment to consider before he answered. Even so, he was stunned to hear the words come out of his own mouth.

  "It's pretty far for you to be driving that buggy alone, Hannah. I suspect that I can drive you over once a week for Sunday service."

  Reverend Bunch raised his eyebrows.

  "Well, I'm pleased to hear that, Henry Lee. I know that you don't care much for the services, but it's real fine of you to come and bring my Hannah."

  Henry Lee shrugged. "I don't imagine a bit of churching would hurt me much." But it sure will come as a surprise to my customers, he thought.

  The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, with the reverend asking no embarrassing questions about the bed or anything else. Finally the older man prepared to leave, and Henry Lee gratefully waved good-bye to him, admonishing him not to linger so that he'd be home before it was too dark.

  Hannah stood beside her husband as they watched her father headed toward the west, his horse at a clipped trot, as he slowly disappeared out of sight into the gray prairie evening on the other side of the creek. Unthinking, Henry Lee put his arm around Hannah's waist. She looked up at him and smiled shyly. Her eyes held him entranced for a moment and her lips seemed to part in invitation. He wanted to pull her into his arms and scorch her lips with his own. She was his wife, lawfully his own, but in fact she was another man's. Remembering, he pulled away from her.

  "I'll be moving my things into the workroom for the time being," he said gruffly.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 7

  « ^ »

  Zanola Little was the proprietress of the converted barn that was the dance hall in Sandy Creek. Elijah Brown, the community's religious leader, described it in one of his sermons as "a den of corruption in the midst of God's children." God's children, for the most part, were very willing to spend their one carefree night of the week laughing, dancing, and drinking moonshine whiskey in that corrupted den.

  Zanola was, for six nights a week, a hardworking black farmwoman trying to make it on her own in the new territory. But on Saturdays, she opened up her barn to the neighbors. They could play their own music, dance, or just sit and talk, and it didn't cost them a thing. If they wanted to drink whiskey they had to buy it from her. She made enough, on the whiskey alone, to keep the place open and herself comfortable. The whiskey was very important and this afternoon she was a bit concerned because her supply was very low.

  Her whiskey man should have shown up yesterday. Sometimes he came late, but he always came. He was very dependable, and she knew she shouldn't worry, but she'd heard a rumor in town that troubled her.

  It was said that he had tied the knot with the preacher's daughter over at Plainview. He'd been caught messing with her by the preacher himself, and there was nothing to be done but marry up. That kind of bad luck had happened to other men before, but the fact that she was the preacher's daughter and, according to the rumor, not even the young, pretty one. All this boded no good as far as Zanola was concerned.

  What she'd heard about Hannah Bunch was that she was plain, hardworking, a dutiful daughter, and a God-fearing church member. Zanola was certain those would be great characteristics for a farmer's wife, but wholly unacceptable in the wife of a moonshiner.

  For all that folks said you couldn't change a husband, Zanola thought women have too much influence on their men. She worried that sharing his bed with a God-fearing woman might lead the best whiskey man in the territory to do some God-fearing himself. As she swept out her barn, preparing for the evening ahead, she kept glancing down the road, shading her eyes from the sun as she waited for the whiskey man.

  When Henry Lee finally arrived, well before her customers, Zanola was very relieved to see him.

  "Good afternoon there, Mr. Henry Lee," she greeted him, "I was getting plumb worried that you weren't about to show up."

  Henry Lee was surprised. Laughing he jumped down from the wagon and gave her a boyish grin.

  "I'm sorry that I couldn't make it over yesterday, but I'd never let the folks in Sandy Creek go thirsty on Saturday night," he teased her good-naturedly.

  The small community of former slaves of the Creek Nation was nestled on the banks of a tributary to the Cimarron River. When the Dawes Act divided tribal lands into individual allotments, the blacks, as members of the tribe, were granted acreage of their own and lived relatively free of outside interference.

  Growing up only a few miles away, Henry Lee had known the residents of Sandy Creek most of his life.

  "We've been doing business together for a good while now," Henry Lee told the woman. "You know just about everything there is to know about me, and when I say that I'll be here, I will."

  "Yes, that's true," Zanola said looking him over. "But that was in the past. I don't know what you're going to be like now that you're a married man."

  There was an unspoken question in her statement and Henry Lee was taken aback. It was the first tim
e he'd been referred to as a married man, and it didn't sit as well with him as it should have. He hadn't thought that the word would have made it down here so fast. He almost wished that none of his customers would ever know. But in the territory gossip flew around like a whirlwind.

  "You heard about that, did you?" he asked, as he thrust his hands into his pockets.

  She squinted at him and grinned. "It's the truth then?"

  He nodded affirmatively.

  "And it's really that preacher's oldest daughter, not the pretty one?" she teased.

  Henry Lee felt a spark of indignation.

  "Hannah is plenty pretty enough. Why, that sister of hers is just a flighty child."

  Zanola's face broke into a wide grin and she laughed and shook her head. "Lord, boy," she told him, "you done got it bad, don't you."

  "What do you mean?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

  "That little gal done got you wrapped around her little finger. Well, I'm hoping that before you get out of the business you teach somebody how to make that fine whiskey of yours. It goes down smoothest of any in the territory."

  "What are you talking about?" he asked her, genuinely confused. "I don't have any plans of getting out of the whiskey business. What would make you think a thing like that?"

  "That little gal don't think much of the whiskey making, I'd be betting. And I'd wager she's already planning to turn you into a respectable farmer."

  "She's not turning me into anything," he retorted. "I like my life just like it is, and I get all the respect I need. Like you said, I make the smoothest whiskey in the territory. You know me, Zanola, no woman is going to be giving me orders."

  Zanola looked at him speculatively. "You saying that she don't mind that you make your living from whiskey?"