If Wishes Were Kisses: Six Beloved Americana Romances, a Collection (Small Town Swains)

by Pamela Morsi

  Skut had not intended to wed her, but when he found out that her half-breed status could get them a piece of land, he immediately tied the knot. Feeling safer once he'd taken her away from friends and family, he'd traded her allotment in the Cherokee hills for a useless piece of hilly, wooded ground in the Creek Nation. It was as far away as he could get from those things familiar to her.

  His mother, Molly Fish, had not been particularly happy with her new marriage, but she was young and scared and pregnant, and she really had no other choice. She knew that Skut had received gold and she wanted to stay around long enough to take it away from him.

  First she needed someplace to winter and have her baby, so she stayed with Skut for a while. As it happened, she never left. She was sickly after Henry Lee's birth and kept waiting for her strength to return. Lulled by the pleasure of watching her handsome son grow, the weeks stretched into years and she stayed with Skut. Their marriage could never have been called a happy one, but she had learned to just turn her thoughts inward when life around her became too hard. Seeking a quiet corner, the reality of her life faded away as pieces of tree branches came alive in her hands. Her talented fingers held the knife as she formed the small wooden creatures that pleased her bright, blue-eyed son as he played near her.

  Over the years, Skut became involved in one get-rich scheme after another. He'd always managed to keep body and soul together, but he had never made the big success that he desired. His most successful venture had been whiskey.

  Alcohol was in great demand among the Indians. Skut remembered stills back in his home in Tennessee, but he could never quite get his attempts at distillery to work. So instead, he carted in wagon load after wagon load of moonshine from the stills in the Ozarks and made a good living for several years.

  Eventually, he took Henry Lee with him to help, and ultimately to do most of the work. Skut had developed a taste for liquor and felt it necessary to sample every shipment heavily.

  Henry Lee, who was quick and sharp, learned faster than Watson. By observing and listening to the whiskey makers, Henry Lee soon understood the whiskey business in a way that his adopted father never had.

  As Hannah and Henry Lee, on that first morning of their married life, rode silently down the road, Henry Lee ruminated on the irony that he had been claimed and raised by a man who was not his father, and now he was going to have to do the same for another man's child.

  Henry Lee felt both glad that he had let her know that she wasn't fooling him, and angry at the situation and at her for choosing him as the scapegoat. He decided philosophically, that since his mother was a whore, having a wife who was no better than she should be certainly made sense. At least, she could never throw up his background to him. The fancy preacher's daughter had proved to be no better than trash herself. It was hard to believe that Hannah Bunch was of such low morals, but she hadn't even tried to deny it.

  Henry Lee despised himself for hanging onto his anger and purposely put it away. She was here, she was his wife and he needed to accept her duplicity. He had learned long ago that a man's blind rage only served to make him prone to mistakes and miserable in his mind He'd schooled himself to vent his anger in quick little explosions and then get on with his life. Taking a deep cleansing breath, he did just that.

  His bride was a light skirt. She had been with another man and carried his bastard. Those were facts, he would grow to accept them. The past was past, he would see that she never strayed again. The first one might not be his, but he'd be damn sure the rest would be. He wasn't the first man to make that vow, he knew. But he would keep it if he had to tie her to the kitchen door.

  Hannah concentrated on watching the scenery and not making any moves that might catch Henry Lee's attention. Apparently Henry Lee knew that she had been out at the wellhouse to trap another man. She couldn't imagine how he'd discovered that, but she was glad that it was finally out in the open, and that the embarrassment of explanation was behind her. She wanted to stay out of his way until the anger cooled. She knew that she wouldn't get off scot-free, but she wouldn't volunteer for a dressing-down.

  They passed a couple of miles in silence until they reached a place where a small trail wound away from the road and down to a creek bed. Henry Lee turned off and drove the wagon down the steep sides. The water was only about knee-high and the creek had a quiet peaceful feeling to it.

  "Is this Pearson's Creek?" she asked him tentatively, her voice quiet with inquiry.

  When he nodded, she could see that he was in control of his temper, and smiled animatedly. "I thought I recognized it. We held a baptism downstream last fall. It's so peaceful and serene; it's like I think the River Jordan must be."

  "I don't know much about the River Jordan, but come spring, this little creek runs so fast, it's one quick way to die. You'll have to watch my pigs, make sure they stay clear of here during the rain."

  "Is that what you do for a living? Raise pigs?"

  Henry Lee turned abruptly to look at her. Was it possible that she really didn't know how he made his living? He always assumed that everyone in the community knew of his clandestine business interests, but he guessed that it was quite possible that the farmers would spare their womenfolk the horrifying experience of knowing they had a moonshiner living in their midst. He thought of how shocked and embarrassed she was going to be when she learned the truth, and it brought the first smile that Hannah had seen on his face since they started the trip.

  "Yes, ma'am, I do indeed raise pigs," he told her. "Some of the most well fed duroc hogs in the territory live right on my premises."

  Hannah was encouraged by his smile and decided that she had finally found a subject to discuss with him, his hog business. Not knowing much more about the creatures than how to feed them and make them into ham and sausage, she began eagerly questioning him on hog farming. Henry Lee seemed to find this very amusing and was delighted to fill her in on the secrets of swine husbandry.

  As they came up on the other side of Pearson's Creek, the landscape made a clear change. The wide-open prairie had given way to a rather loosely wooded area, and the trail headed generally upward.

  When they reached the site of Henry Lee's home, Hannah looked about eagerly. It was a good-sized cabin looking to the west with a porch running the length of the front, facing the creek. On the north side was a well-kept cornfield, green and prosperous. To the south a huge red oak, at least four feet across at the base, sheltered the cabin, its outstretched branches enfolding the small house and yard like a canopy.

  Henry Lee drove the wagon around back. From there Hannah could see the outbuildings. One was obviously a barn and another a pigsty. There was an outhouse, a workshed, chicken coop and a couple more whose purpose was not immediately discernible. The yard was well-kept and clean. An outdoor hearth, undoubtedly used for doing laundry, was in evidence and a cord clothesline ran along the back of the cabin, one end hooked to the henhouse and the other attached to a freestanding wooden crosspole.

  A strange sort of snorty bark caught Hannah's attention and she turned to see a herd of pigs heading for the wagon. Probably a dozen or so rust-red swine of varying sizes rushed toward them in minor stampede.

  "What's going on?" Hannah asked, gripping the side rail as the strange rumbling chorus drew closer.

  "Don't worry, they're friendly little beasts," Henry Lee assured her. “Just looking for something to eat. They like acorns plenty fine, but after two days they're anxious for something a bit more filling."

  He jumped down from the wagon, securing the horse to the hitching post. Then by yelling, stomping, and kicking, he discouraged the hungry pigs from invading the wagon area.

  "Let me go slop them and get them back in the pen," he told Hannah, offering a congenial smile. "You can have a look at the cabin," he suggested as he headed toward the pigsty, the snorting hogs following him as if he were the pied piper.

  Hannah helped herself down from the wagon. At the back of the cabin was a lean-to section
, obviously built after the original structure, through which she made her entrance to her new home. The lean-to was a porch of sorts, a wash porch she would have thought, but there was no evidence of wash having ever been done there.

  She walked into the main cabin through the back door. It was very neat and in good repair, although it looked like a good bit of dust was building up in the corners. The cook stove was practically brand new, nicer than the one back home.

  There were cabinets and counters built from local pine that shone with a glaze that seemed to add light to the room. The table and chairs were oak, strong and sturdy enough to last a hundred years, with a glaze that matched the cabinets. A huge gray stone fireplace dominated the room. In front of it sat a hand-hewn fruitwood rocker, beautifully carved and finished. Hannah remembered that her father had said that Henry Lee was an excellent cabinet maker. She knew now why he wanted Henry Lee to do the pews for the new church.

  Off to the right of the main room were two doors. Hannah opened the first one to find sawhorses, wood supplies, carpentry tools, and a lathe. She rightly decided that this must be Henry Lee's workshop and proceeded on to the next door.

  The bedroom contained an extra-long four-poster bed with posts shaped like stalks of corn. Hannah had never seen such a thing in her life. The bed was at least four feet off the floor and a small step had been constructed on one side.

  A matching table with the same unusual cornstalk design sported the water pitcher and basin. A wardrobe was built into the wall. It was made of a different type of wood, and was more crude in aspect. It obviously had already been in the room when the furniture was made.

  Hannah slowly turned, looking about the room, reminding herself that she now lived here. She tried to imagine having her babies in the cornstalk bed, but just couldn't seem to see it.

  The intimacy of the bedroom disconcerted her. Mentally shaking herself, she decided to stop daydreaming and get to work. There were all her things from the wagon to be brought into the house, and dinner was late already.

  Chapter Five

  When Henry Lee had finished feeding and penning the hogs, he headed down a well-worn trail toward the creek. Turning off the main track, he continued in a parallel direction on a path that was so well disguised only the very best trackers would have even noticed it. He automatically took the careful precautions necessary for traveling to the still, pondering the events of the last two days.

  Seeking peace in those things familiar, he decided that today would be a good day for starting a new batch of corn liquor. He hadn't planned on doing this yet. He liked to time it so that the distilling took place during the waxing moon, which was a good ten days away. But with his temper so close to the edge and his confusion of feelings, he decided that making a batch would be a good occupation.

  The unexposed trail that he had been following abruptly ended at a sandstone bluff that rose high above Pearson's Creek. He moved along the side of it until he found the "bench," a small ledge about three feet across and a couple of feet deep. He hopped up on the bench, and finding small toeholds in the sandstone he continued upward. About ten feet higher was what appeared from the ground to be a small indentation in the rock. Actually the indentation was a well-disguised overhang that hid a cavern that went far enough back to be completely private. At that height the smoke from the fire could diffuse easily and was rarely seen or smelled. There was a spring at the very back of the cave that fed into Pearson's Creek. Having water up so high made the site perfect. When he'd first stumbled upon it, it had seemed too good to be true. But, after looking around and checking out the site from all angles, he decided that his luck had really made a turn for the better.

  The two things most necessary for running a still were abundant water and ventilation of the smoke from the fire. Originally, Henry Lee had followed the advice of Ozark moonshiners, and for years had moved the still every two or three months. When he'd found this site the winter before last, however, it had just seemed foolish to move to some place less-suited.

  He'd decided that practicing caution would make the still as safe as moving it around. He was not, after all, being pursued by revenuers. Revenuers, or tax men, were experts on discovering whiskey, but Federal taxes were not being collected on distilled spirits in the Indian Territory. His main concern was from his customers, many of whom would love to do a little private raid on his business, and from the federal marshals, whose job it was to keep liquor out of the hands of the Indians.

  Slipping into the overhang, Henry Lee had to stoop down through the entrance until the area was tall enough for him to stand. His new cookpot, which had come all the way from Kansas City, sat shiny and clean on the raised grate that he had constructed. He kept his equipment clean as a church. No one had taught him that, he'd decided on his own that clean whiskey just plain tasted better. He even boiled the copper coil, or worm as it was called, to make sure that nothing came out of it but moonshine.

  Stacked on the far side of the overhang was at least a cord and a half of cut wood. Distilling took a hot and steady fire. A moonshiner couldn't just walk off and go foraging for timber, he had to have enough on hand to keep the fire going until the mash was cooked.

  Opposite the woodpile was the area that passed as home during whiskey making. A cabinet with a few foodstuffs, a chair and table, a deck of cards and a bed were all that was necessary to live here for sometimes as long as three days. Near the front of the cave stood a couple of oak barrels. Both were empty now. Henry Lee knew that he'd have to get busy and make some corn grits this evening if he wanted to start making sweet mash in the barrel tomorrow. He was thinking about how hard it would be to get the corn grits done by tomorrow, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was no longer alone in this world. For better or worse he had a wife of his very own and tonight she could help him make whiskey.

  Hannah had discovered that cooking as a married woman was proving to be a good deal different than it had been in her father's home. Her inspection of the pantry had yielded a surprising result. Rows and rows of store-bought tin cans full of vegetables and fruits crowded the shelves. The cans were expensive and highly prized, not for the food in them, which was considered poor quality at best, but for the tin. Once you cut the ends off the cans, the tin was flattened and used for roofing shingles. Hannah suspected there was enough right here in the pantry to finish a good-size shed.

  She congratulated herself that she had already found one way she could show her worth to Henry Lee. From now on she'd put up her own fruits and vegetables and Henry Lee wouldn't have to pay a penny for them.

  Hannah found a slab of bacon sitting in a salt tub and started frying it up. She also found a sack of greens that weren't too wilted, and she put them on to cook, seasoning them with a bit of the salt pork and vinegar. Figuring that if she stirred up a batch of cornbread to cook on the top of the stove, that would serve as a meal. Not an auspicious beginning to her new life as wife and housekeeper, but it couldn't be helped.

  She was beginning to wonder what had happened to Henry Lee, and how she would go about calling him for his evening meal, when he showed up at the back door carrying a washtub.

  "Are you bringing in laundry?" she asked when she saw what appeared to be wet towels on the top of the tub.

  “No it's corn,” he said shortly. "We need to dry it out. Go start a fire in the fireplace."

  Hannah looked at him as if he were losing his mind. Wood was a precious commodity to her, being raised on the plains, and even though it seemed in abundance here on Henry Lee's place, she wouldn't dream of wasting it by starting a fire in the fireplace in the middle of summer. Hannah's first instinct was to question his judgment, but she thought the better of it. Keeping her opinion to herself, she found wood in the wood box and did as he asked.

  She watched Henry Lee get out a contraption that looked very much like her mother's quilting frame. He set it up in the main room and stretched a bedsheet tightly across it. Digging soggy, sprouted corn kernels ou
t of the washtub, he spread them along the sheet.

  Hannah was so curious about what he was doing, that she kept looking back to see what was happening next. This did not help her attempts to start up a fire. He seemed so calm and determined, nothing like the rather ne'er-do-well farmer who was more interested in fun and games than in farming that she'd imagined. His face in profile revealed a stronger jaw than Hannah had previously noticed, and his high cheekbones seemed to accentuate the straight, sparse brows above his eyes. With his sleeves rolled up to keep them out of the wet corn, his powerful brown arms and big hands were in sharp contrast to the whiteness of the bedsheet he was working with. Hannah remembered the strength of those arms as he had pulled her close that morning, and the remembrance of those hands moving slowly down her body, stroking and caressing, brought a flush to her cheeks and strange fluttering in her abdomen. Henry Lee finally looked up and caught her staring at him. She didn't have the fire going yet, so he thought to give her a hand.

  "Here, you spread these out nice and even all along the sheet," he instructed, "and I'll get that fire started."

  She leaned closer, watching him as she imitated his movements. "What is this for?"

  "I'm drying them out so that I can make corn grits."

  "My heavens," Hannah exclaimed. "What army are you planning to feed, there must be a bushel of corn here!"