Heaven Sent

by Pamela Morsi

  "Looks like it might rain this evening," he commented. "Hope you've got your hay in."

  "Yep," the preacher replied. "Just got the last of it in yesterday." Henry Lee nodded his approval.

  The preacher gestured toward the washbench that was sitting in the shade of the big red oak. "You think I could have a seat there? I'm getting kind of old for these long standing-up conversations."

  Without any sign from Henry Lee, Reverend Bunch made his way to the bench and sat down. Henry Lee followed, but didn't sit. Leaning back against the tree with one knee raised and bracing himself with his foot behind him, Henry Lee stood with his arms crossed, solemnly waiting to hear what the preacher had to say.

  Farnam didn't much like having to look up to his son-in-law, but decided not to insist that he sit. He had things he wanted Henry Lee to hear and if he pushed too hard, it was certain that he wouldn't listen.

  "One of the men on my haying crew told me that you brought in your hay all by yourself."

  Henry Lee shrugged.

  "Did you think that no one would help you?" the preacher asked.

  Henry Lee didn't answer at first. It had occurred to him that the church folks might not be feeling real friendly toward him, but he didn't really think that neighbors would refuse to help get in a crop. That wouldn't be smart, a man never knew when and where he might need help next time.

  "I had plenty of time," Henry Lee finally said. "I knew I could do it myself. If I'd needed help, I would have asked for it."

  "Good," the preacher replied. "I want you to know that your troubles with Hannah, well, that's really between the two of you. I'm sure every soul in both Territories knows exactly what you two should do, and most will be quite willing to tell you. But whether you and Hannah work out your problems or not, I still consider you a member of this community and my son-in-law."

  This unexpected inclusion among the people of Plainview embarrassed Henry Lee. He had expected to be raked over the coals and cast out like refuse; instead, he was being offered kinship. The surprise compelled him to move away from the tree and walk a few paces in front of the preacher, staring out over his fields.

  He wanted the respect of the preacher. The respect of other men had always been a hunger that he had sought to satisfy. Unfortunately, with his background, and in his kind of business, respect was hard to come by and even harder to maintain.

  "You're being a bit too fair, aren't you, Bunch? You are a preacher and I'm a moonshiner. Shouldn't be too much common ground between the two of us."

  Farnam had to stop himself from smiling. It was as if the young man wanted to push him away. He was leery of any offer of friendship. And certainly not his.

  "I'd say there is some common ground between us," he replied, twisting a blade of grass into a fine sprig and slipping it into his mouth like a toothpick. "After all, we both love Hannah."

  Henry Lee turned to stare at the preacher. His first thought was to deny it, but he knew that he wouldn't be believed. He loved Hannah, he had never said it out loud, but he knew that it was so. Slowly he nodded his head.

  "Yes, well, there is that," he agreed. Henry Lee turned back to gaze out over the landscape in front of him; he wasn't seeing anything but it kept the feelings he couldn't strip from his face from being on display. When he'd gained a modicum of control he turned back, crossing his arms again, looking impassive.

  "She's glad to be home, I suspect," he said finally.

  Farnam smiled and offered a bit of a chuckle. "I wouldn't exactly say that. She spends most of her free time alone, these days. She stares into space, kinda dreamy like. She was never that way before. I think she misses you."

  Henry Lee shook his head with a gesture of disbelief. "I'm sure she's just pining away!" he said sarcastically.

  "No, Hannah's not like that," the preacher admitted. "She's doing her work, trying to stay busy and be pleasant to everyone."

  Reverend Bunch straightened his legs and scratched his head in contemplation as he gave Henry Lee a long thoughtful look. "I still think she misses you."

  The preacher let that soak in for a few minutes.

  "She did the funniest thing the other day," he began, then waited. When the younger man gave a nod to indicate his interest, he continued. "She told a joke."

  "Hannah told a joke," Henry Lee replied, not quite understanding what his father-in-law was getting at. "I don't remember her telling jokes too much."

  "That's what was so strange," the preacher insisted. "I have known that girl all her life, and she has a fine sense of humor and is as willing to enjoy a funny story as anyone. But I have never heard her tell one, ever. And she did it so well. She had all the haying crew hanging on her every word." The two stared at each other momentarily, until Henry Lee shrugged.

  "It was the one about the goat getting on top of the house."

  Henry Lee smiled. "That is a pretty good joke," he admitted.

  Farnam smiled back. "I knew it was your joke. I could see you in the telling of it."

  Henry Lee was confused. The old man seemed to be giving him his genuine approval, and there was definitely no reason for that. The reverend should be furious that he'd dragged Hannah's name through the mud, not talking to him as if he were a friend.

  "I know you think that you can just walk out of her life and everything will just go on like it has always been," the preacher told him. "But it's not so. She's changed. You've changed."

  "I didn't walk away from her. She left me," he pointed out. "And she's better off, we both know that."

  "I don't know that."

  Henry Lee ignored the dispute. Whether she was better or worse was not a consideration. She'd made her choice and they would both have to live with that.

  "I think she'd come back if you asked her, Henry Lee."

  "Why do you think that?" Henry Lee's voice was hoarse with controlled anger. "I'm still the whiskey man," he replied bitterly. "I don't intend to give up my business, just 'cause some starchy, stiff preacher's daughter doesn't approve."

  "Starchy stiff, is she?" The preacher laughed. "It's funny, when I've seen her look at you, it reminded me more of melting butter."

  Henry Lee's mind was immediately drawn to the image of Hannah melting in his arms, hot and eager against him. He quickly put a hold on those thoughts. "You said yourself that what's between me and Hannah is our business. I think you would do best to remember your own advice."

  "That's true, Henry Lee. I did say that, didn't I?" Farnam leaned down to scrape a bit of mud off the side of his boot. He was buying time, but time was important when discussing matters of the heart.

  "So what else is new with you?" he asked. "I take it you're not to do any jail time over the Muskogee escapade?"

  "Nope, they didn't have enough evidence to hold me."

  "I've heard Tom Quick is a bad man to cross. You'd best be watching out for yourself."

  Henry Lee shook his head in disbelief. "Hasn't anyone told you, Preacher? You're supposed to be praying that the moonshiner gets caught, not worrying that he might be."

  "I'm not worrying about the moonshiner. I'm worrying about Henry Lee."

  "I'm always careful," he answered. "At least I usually am, and I will try to take even more heed in the future."

  Farnam Bunch nodded his acceptance. There was no way to change a man, unless he was willing to change. Hannah was right about that at least. Badgering or threatening, giving ultimatums, only made a person angry, more rigid. Henry Lee would have to decide on his own what he wanted to do with his life, and the rest of them would just have to wait until he decided.

  The reverend decided it might be prudent to change the subject and asked Henry Lee about the lumber for the church pews. Henry Lee proudly led him to his workshop where, except for a second coat of varnish, he had one pew finished.

  "It's beautiful." The preacher couldn't keep the reverence out of his voice as he lovingly ran his hand along the satin finish of the walnut top.

  The five-foot benc
h had a straight seat and a curved back. The end pieces reflected the gentle curve in design and were attached by perfectly hand-cut, dovetail joints. The varnish Henry Lee used shined the wood while enhancing the natural beauty of the grain.

  "Try it out," Henry Lee said.

  "Henry Lee, I never imagined that they would look this good!" He seated himself, running his hand along the expertly finished surface. "This is as nice as any big city church pew I've ever seen."

  Henry Lee was very pleased at the compliment, but eased it away with a joke. "With the way you get wound up and preach on for hours, a man's got to do something to protect his behind!"

  Farnam smiled, but would not be dissuaded from his point. "This is fine quality workmanship, Henry Lee. I don't claim to know a thing about woodworking, but it's clear that you have a talent here, a talent you're not using like you should."

  He waved that away with an impatient gesture. "I like working with the wood and I do a good job, but I haven't got that much time for it, or the proper tools to really do it right. You should have seen the Oscar brothers' factory in Sallisaw. It was really something. With good wood and the right kind of tools, why, a man could make things so pretty it'd hurt your eyes to look at them."

  "Maybe you should take the time, and get yourself the proper tools. It's a long way to Sallisaw. Folks around here could use some furniture, too."

  Henry Lee considered for a moment and then sat himself down on a sawhorse, facing the reverend.

  "I know what you are trying to do, Preacher, and it won't work."

  "What am I trying to do?"

  "You're trying to get me to give up my business and try making a living building furniture."

  "You could, you know," the preacher replied.

  "Maybe," Henry Lee said. "I'm pretty sure I could make some nice things, things people might want to buy. But that isn't all there is to a business. The farmers around here, they might buy a table or a few chairs once in a while, but you can't live on that, Preacher. To be successful you've got to get yourself established on a big scale. Folks buy a table, it's supposed to last a lifetime. Even if they like your work, you can't expect them to buy another table next week."

  His father-in-law nodded his understanding. "Not like the whiskey business, where you know they will always be coming back for more."

  "That's right, Preacher." Henry Lee leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know that you mean well. That you think my life would be better if I gave up moonshining, but I'm not going to do that. I've built a good business. I have everything I need and money in the bank. I know the whiskey trade, I make good liquor and I know how to sell it. There is no reason in the world why I should throw all that away to try to do something else, something I really don't know anything about."

  "I think you're a little inaccurate about what it is that you know," the preacher answered. "You started up a business and made a success of it. I see that, Henry Lee, and I'm proud of you for it. But, you didn't make a success of it because you are inherently good at making whiskey. You had to learn to make whiskey. You worked hard at it, I'm sure, and you were determined to make the best; from what I hear, I understand that you do. You sell that whiskey all over the territory and people go out of their way to buy from you because they know you sell a good product and that you are fair and honest in your dealings."

  The preacher leaned back and crossed his legs, looking into Henry Lee's eyes to make sure he had the man's attention.

  "What you've learned, Henry Lee, is that if you make a quality product that people want to buy, and you deal fairly and openly with them, they will buy it from you. That is what you've learned. That is the talent you have. It wouldn't matter if it's whiskey or furniture or brushes, you are a man who will be successful because you expect nothing less of yourself."

  Henry Lee felt a swell of pride stirring in his breast, but he quickly beat it down. He was a whiskey man, that was who he was, who he had always been. The preacher might know about a lot of things, but it didn't mean he knew about him.

  "That's all well and good, Preacher. And I appreciate your confidence in me, but it's a lot easier to be successful in the whiskey business."

  "Yes, I guess so." The preacher smiled his agreement. "But then success in the whiskey business doesn't really mean as much, does it? Nothing worth having ever comes easy. When you don't play by the rules, being the winner doesn't seem much of an accomplishment."

  Farnam stood up and stretched. "These are going to be mighty fine benches, Henry Lee. I'll be very proud to have them in the church."

  "Thanks," Henry Lee replied quietly. He was still mulling over what the preacher had just said. He was trying to push it away, telling himself the preacher was wrong. But he was no longer sure.

  "I'd best be getting on my way," Farnam told him, heading for the door. "It's bad enough when you've got one woman watching out the window and worrying about you. With Hannah at home, there's two hens to fuss after me. I'm thinking that's one too many."

  As the two men walked across the yard, Henry Lee was lost in thought while Farnam rattled on about the crops and the weather.

  When he got to his horse, he turned to Henry Lee as if just recalling an errand.

  "By the way, thought I'd invite you to the house on Saturday night for dinner. I suspect you're getting pretty sick of your own cooking and I know that we'll be having a big spread 'cause Myrtie's beau is coming. I'd enjoy having you there, and I suspect it would ease Hannah's mind a bit to see that you are all right after your time in jail."

  "Did Hannah say to invite me?"

  "No, she had no idea that I would be coming by this way. I don't know that she'd even want me to ask you, but I do know that she'd like to see you."

  "Saturday is my busiest night. I've got no time for socializing on a night when folks are serious about buying corn liquor."

  The preacher nodded in understanding. "If you're too busy, you're too busy. But I'll leave the invitation open anyhow. If you can find your way clear to come, we would love to have you."

  Henry Lee shook his head as he watched the preacher ride out of sight. The last thing he needed was to see Hannah again. Things were just fine as they were, she'd soon forget about him and he'd get on with his life. But even as he thought it, he wasn't sure he would be able to resist the opportunity to see her.

  * * *

  In the Federal Courthouse in Muskogee, Tom Quick, three of his deputies, Neemie Pathkiller, and two Indian cohorts sat around a table planning the end of Henry Lee Watson's whiskey business.

  "We're not sure that we'd be able to find the still and if we start nosing around, he's bound to spot us," Quick explained to his men. "What we'll need to do is to get him to sell whiskey to you three. The money will be marked and the deputies and I will be able to testify that we saw the sale take place."

  The marshall nearly licked his lips in anticipation.

  "Once we've arrested him, we can take our time combing those hills until we find that still. This time we'll be able to put him away for twenty years."

  The men asked few questions. Everybody knew the job they had to do. It would be easy. No moonshiner would expect the marshall's office to go to this much trouble to arrest him. The three deputies wondered, among themselves, why they were doing it.

  It was what Marshall Quick wanted and they would all be getting paid for travel and a portion of the arrest payment, so why complain. There was very little chance of danger. This moonshiner was known to carry a gun only on very rare occasions. There would be no reason for him to be armed at his own back door. It would be like taking candy from a baby.

  As the men filed out, Quick motioned Pathkiller to stay.

  "I don't want any slip-ups. We want him dead to rights. I'm not about to be made a fool of a second time."

  Pathkiller understood the marshall's anger, and he too intended to be extremely careful that everything went smoothly.

  "Are you sure the Indians can be trusted?" Quick aske
d him.

  "Don't know why not," he answered. "Neither of them are drinkers and they both need the money."

  "I've seen the scar-faced one around town before, do you think Watson will recognize him?"

  "No, he's never seen Watson, I asked him first thing. He'll just be another drunk Indian to the Whiskey Man."

  "What about the young one? Where does he fit in?"

  "He's up from around Locust Grove. He's a college boy out at Bacone, clever and desperate for cash, just the kind we need."

  Tom Quick digested that information and finally nodded his head.

  "We are going to get him this time. I'm putting that no-account out of business forever."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 20

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  Late Saturday afternoon, Hannah sat at the kitchen table slicing tomatoes for supper. She watched Violet struggling with the canning of the last of the green beans.

  Will was coming for supper, and although Myrtie saw him several times a week, she continued to go into a tizzy each time, worrying about her dress and her hair. It was clear to all that Will already knew that she was the prettiest girl in the territory. Apparently Myrtie wanted to insure that he didn't change his mind.

  Hannah's mind wandered back, as it had dozens of times this week, to what Violet had said about Will and Myrtie as two parts of a whole. And about her and Henry Lee being the same way.

  At first she had tried simply to dismiss the idea. But things that made sense were difficult to just ignore. She realized how she had changed in the few weeks she had lived with Henry Lee. And she had enough honesty to admit that those changes were for the better. Had he changed too? Had she had some influence on his life? She didn't know. She would probably never know.

  As she began to set the table, Myrtie rushed in and stood in the doorway looking at Hannah. Her body blocking the view to the outside, she held herself stiff and her face revealed anxious agitation, as if some terrible calamity had occurred. She kept darting her eyes back over her shoulder as if someone were coming up behind her.