by Pamela Morsi
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 Choctaw 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 marshal 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 marshal'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 Marshal 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 marshal's anger, and he too intended to be extremely careful that everything went smoothly.
"Are you sure the Indians can be trusted?" Quick asked 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 Twenty
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 thoughts wandered back, as they 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.
"What is it?" Hannah asked her, but when she only answered her sister with a pleading look of dismay, Violet took up the questioning.
"Wasn't that Will I heard ride up?" Violet questioned. "What are you doing still in the house?"
Myrtie darted glances back and forth between the women and then with a somewhat indecisive whine, said, "No, it wasn't Will."
The older women waited in silence for a moment, expecting Myrtie to continue. When she didn't, Violet and Hannah exchanged confused looks.
"Well, who was it?" Hannah asked.
Myrtie took a deep breath and then looked sympathetically at Hannah.
"You'd best set another place," she said finally, lines of concern marring her pretty face. "Papa has invited Henry Lee for dinner."
Hannah set down the plate she was holding as if it were a hot skillet. Glancing through the door behind Myrtie, she saw nothing but wasn't reassured.
"He's out there?" she asked nervously, her voice barely above a whisper.
Myrtie nodded furiously, her face contorted with misery. "I'll help you, Hannah," she offered. "If we hurry, we can still have you fixed up nice before you see him."
"See him?" Hannah asked stupidly, and then as if suddenly getting a grip on her senses she quickly reached behind her and pulled the ties on the apron and handed it to Violet.
; "I have no intention of seeing him," she told them. "I'm going to my room. You'll just have to tell him that I am indisposed. I can't see him."
"Hannah!" Violet sounded dismayed and almost angry. "He's made the first move, you can't just ignore it."
"I have to. I can't see him. I just can't."
As Hannah turned to go to her room, Violet grabbed her arm. Her worry and concern for her stepdaughter altered her normally placid visage into a reflection of anguish. "This is your future you're throwing away. Please don't do this."
Hannah pulled away without answering and hurried to the sanctuary of the bedroom. She couldn't face her husband. Her feelings were so raw, and so near the surface, she feared she would shame herself.
The supper table that night was a curious affair with everybody talking cheerfully and all feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Even Will and Myrtie, normally so wrapped in their own world, seemed to be caught up in the problems of Henry Lee and Hannah.
Henry Lee had nearly turned the buggy around four times before he finally made it to the reverend's place. And then, to find that his wife wasn't even willing to sit at the same table with him was humiliating. He had been ready to leave right then. He had tried to make his excuses, but Violet would hear none of it. He had come to supper and he would stay and eat, Violet insisted. Despite her usual cheery temperament, she brooked no argument.
So he did eat what he could. It had been so long since he'd had good food that he should have been diving into his plate. But he was having a difficult time forcing anything down at all. Being told that almost everything on the table was cooked by the woman he had come to see didn't help a bit. He wanted to cherish this meal, probably the last she would ever cook for him. But every time he looked around the table and was reminded that she wasn't there, his throat tightened with grief.
As Henry Lee sat in the kitchen, Hannah paced in her room. She told herself that she would take a much-needed nap and that when she awoke, the man in the kitchen would be gone forever. Although she'd stripped down to her chemise and drawers, the idea of sleep was totally ridiculous. The blood seemed to be pounding through her veins and she couldn't, for the life of her, even sit still. Lying down would have been impossible.
Her mind played over and over the memories of Henry Lee. It was as if there were no other memories in her life, no life at all before he became part of hers. This room that she'd shared with her sister for five years now only represented the one night the two of them had been here together. That one night when she was so embarrassed and frightened, and he was so kind. And that wonderful morning when she had first discovered what it felt like to be held close by a man.
Before the dreamy smile could take over her face, she pushed the memory away. All the kisses they had shared, all the incredible heat that she had learned from his body, couldn't change the facts. Her husband was a moonshiner and he intended to live his life on the wrong side of the law. She could not approve of that, not ever.
He was a gentle man, and he was good to her, she couldn't deny that. He was not frivolous and shallow as she had thought at first. Nor was he shiftless and lazy. She remembered her surprised pride when she heard about him bringing in his hay alone.
She also remembered the depths of pain in his eyes when they had shared their childhood grief at the loss of their mothers.
He was strong and worthy and admirable. He could make her heart soar and her pulse race with desire. But he was a moonshiner. A purveyor of that evil elixir that could turn a man into an animal. Despite that, she knew she loved him.
She saw him again, in her memory, on that day under the catalpa tree. Armed with a singletree, he had come running to protect her. He had shown tenderness and offered comfort. Teasingly, he'd agreed to slay all her dragons, to keep her safe from lizards and spiders. And he had made her body sing with passion. It was a husband's bargain he had offered. And she had accepted it so casually, never dreaming of the leap of faith he was taking.
She, the pious preacher's daughter, had been willing to accept him as a husband, graciously forgiving him for his good humor and frivolity, when he had proved himself to be a hardworking farmer.
But he had accepted her, believing her to be a sinful and wicked Jezebel willing to draw an innocent man into scandal to guard herself. Even being saddled with another man's child had not deterred him from trying to be a good husband to the woman who had deliberately tricked him into marriage.
Henry Lee was just that way. He accepted the cruel and difficult life that heaven had handed him, and he made the best of it.
Looking beyond her obvious misdeed, he sought the strengths in Hannah, to see what was really true about her, what was really inside. It was not a condescending forgiveness that he offered, it was acceptance of the human frailties of all and an opportunity to move on without penance or remorse.
“It's too bad, Miss Hannah May Bunch," she reviled herself, “that you aren't a good enough person to be able to do that. You know already that, inside, he is a man of tenderness and depth, inestimable value and honor. But you are willing to discard all of that because, outside, he doesn't live up to your measure."
Hannah stopped her pacing. Leaning her head against the wall, she covered her eyes with her hands. Violet was right. She was throwing away her future, her only chance for happiness and, for the life of her, she didn't know why.
The long, uncomfortable meal in the kitchen was drawing to a welcomed conclusion. Violet was just getting ready to ask if everyone was ready for dessert when she heard the door to Hannah's bedroom opening. As if frozen in place, everybody waited as footsteps came determinedly down the hall.
As Hannah stepped into the doorway, Henry Lee immediately rose to his feet. His good manners prompted Will and the preacher to quickly do the same.
The couple stood at opposite ends of the table, drinking in the sight of each other. It felt so good just to see, just to know, just to remember.
Hannah was wearing the silver-leafed blue calico that Henry Lee had given her, the one she had worn on her glorious Cinderella night in Muskogee. Her hair was loosed from its stiff confining braid and worked into a gentle topknot that softened her features. Her cheeks flushed with excitement and her eyes softened with love, she had never looked more beautiful.
"What a delicious dress!" Myrtie exclaimed. "I've never seen you wear that before."
"It's my favorite," Hannah answered her sister, as her eyes remained on her husband. "I saved it for a special occasion."
The silence lengthened, until Violet broke it abruptly. "Sit, Hannah, I'll get you a plate. Henry Lee, you want more of those potatoes?"
The food was passed around another time and everybody at the table took another portion as if the meal that had gone on before had never existed.
She had changed her mind! The reality screamed through Henry Lee's brain as he ate now with a vengeance, not tasting a thing and not taking his eyes off her for a moment. He was almost as ill at ease now as he had been when she was in her room. What did this mean? Was he to be accepted, forgiven, or simply offered another chance? The anxiety almost overwhelmed him. But it felt so good just to look at her. He had forgotten how desirable she really was.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, giving her a polite alibi.
"I have never felt better in my life," she answered, wanting him to have no doubt that she had stayed away because of him, and now she was here because of him.
"You do look very well," Henry Lee said, thinking that she was even prettier in reality than his memory had been able to render.
"Thank you. You look well yourself," she responded both truthfully and with concern. He was as handsome and vital as ever, but she found herself thinking that he looked tired. He'd lost weight and there were new lines of worry in his face.
Farnam Bunch was nearly choking on the couple's strained politeness and the undercurrents that seemed to be shifting across the room.
"Henry Lee brought me the blackberries that you put up," he
r father said, hoping to shore up a sinking conversation. "He said that he'd never cared for them, but he was sure if you made them, they were bound to be good and he wanted someone to be able to enjoy them."
"That's nice," Hannah said, but never allowed her glance to stray from her husband.
"I remembered that you said they were your father's favorite," Henry Lee told her.
"I'm surprised that you remembered that."
Henry Lee's eyes were dark and fathomless, and his voice was breathy with emotion. "I remember everything."
Hannah felt the words shiver through her in pleasure. She also remembered and although she didn't speak a word, her hot look conveyed that fact to Henry Lee.
When Violet decided that surely they had lingered at the table long enough, she rose. "You don't need to bother with the dishes, Hannah. I'll take care of them."
In truth, Violet would have been hard pressed to get Hannah to help. For once in her life, she seemed unconcerned about the necessary household chores. She was totally wrapped up in Henry Lee.
As her father seated himself in a rocking chair on the front porch, it was only natural that the young people "walk out," the traditional way for courting couples to be alone while still under the watchful eye of a chaperone.
Hannah walked calmly next to Henry Lee. They were not touching in any way, but they were close enough to touch and Hannah didn't seem either shy or ill at ease about that. It surprised him a little, but pleased him a great deal. They followed Will and Myrtie as they sauntered around the yard whispering and laughing in front of them.
Henry Lee found that the amusing small talk that always came so easily to him in his business failed him as he walked with the woman he loved. Not one diverting tale came to his mind, and had it not been for Hannah, filling him in on the doings at the church, there would have been no conversation at all.