by Pamela Morsi
"Honestly, Hannah! Don't you get enough of that with the family? Papa just finished reading us the scriptures."
"It's just something I wanted to look over one more time," Hannah answered distractedly, and returned to her studying.
Myrtie was already fast asleep and the candle burning low when Hannah finished. She closed her Bible, pressed it to her breast, and whispered to herself, "and Ruth sought Boaz on the threshing floor—"
She closed her eyes and placed her hands over her face as if to hide from herself. "Please give me strength to do this,” she prayed. "If this is the only way it can be, then please give me the strength to do it."
When the house was completely still Hannah moved slowly out of her bed. She wished she could dress, but that would defeat her purpose. Donning her wrapper, she headed out the door, and nearly came up short as she heard snores coming from the backporch where some of the men had bunked down. She decided that if anyone should rouse, she would simply be headed for the privy. No one did, and with amazing ease she found herself at the wellhouse.
She looked around to see if she was being observed, but the whole world seemed to be asleep. She eased the door open and peered inside. The light from the moon did not allow her to see too far past the doorway, but she could make out the form of a man sleeping on the floor. She opened the door wider and the moonlight revealed a head of thick black hair. Hannah's breath caught in her throat for an instant, but before her courage could leave her she whispered to herself the verses she had memorized.
"And it shall be, when he lieth down, that thou shalt mark the place where he shall lie, and thou shalt go in, and uncover his feet, and lay thee down ..."
Hannah took a deep breath and stepped gently inside, it certainly would not do to wake Will up. The embarrassment would be impossible to live with and he would surely send her back to the house and everything would be ruined. Ruth had wanted a man to marry her, and her mother-in-law had directed her to go out to the fields and lie beside him. If she were caught in a compromising position with Will, he would have to marry her. It had worked for Ruth.
She slipped off her wrapper and gently laid it out beside him. She gave quick thanks that his face was turned away from her or she might not have been able to go through with it. She eased herself down beside the man she intended to marry. Stiff, frightened, and wary, she lay beside him and waited for dawn.
For the thousandth time she felt a twinge of guilt. But she knew that she would make Will happy. No other woman would try as hard as she would to be a good wife to him. Still, it seemed unfair for him to have no choice in the matter at all.
But then, why had the scripture so captured her imagination if it had not been meant for her? Why even have such a story in the Bible if not to serve as a useful guide for someone in the future? She could not imagine God allowing a story in his book that served no useful purpose. It was undoubtedly there to give guidance to women like herself, who otherwise might have no opportunity of getting married.
The man beside her suddenly made a noise in his sleep and rolled over. His arm came in contact with her body and he immediately clutched her to himself.
Hannah nearly screamed in fright. In the Bible story Boaz had awakened at midnight to find Ruth. "
Please don't let Will wake up!" she begged silently.
Her prayers seemed to be answered, he slept on with her tucked into his chest. How could he sleep like that without noticing her? Surely it was a sign that they were meant to be together. They already slept like old married people.
With that she began to relax. She was right to do this, she was sure now. After the worries of the past hours and with the most important day of her life coming tomorrow, Hannah slept.
Chapter Two
Henry Lee Watson stood in the door of Reverend Bunch's wellhouse with his hands raised high over his head.
Damn! he swore to himself. He knew he had no business hanging out with these churchgoers. Now he'd really bought himself a peck of trouble.
He prided himself on being a man who could control his temper. His father would nearly tear the house down in fits of rage. Vowing never to be like him, except for an occasional unexpected expletive, Henry Lee had learned to maintain a calm control.
It enabled him to keep his peace as a semicircle of angry men surrounded him. Not one face was softened by sympathy. Out in the middle of the fray, the preacher, a man whose good opinion he valued highly, raged at him for his duplicity. He had done nothing wrong, and he wanted the reverend to know that. But perhaps it was the Cherokee in him that urged him to wait and see how the land lay.
He turned his eyes on the girl. Not a girl, he decided quickly. She was obviously a woman. Her hair hanging like a long braided rope down her back, slightly mussed from sleeping, gave her a certain wanton appeal. She had modestly crossed her arms over her chest, which was exposed in the thin summer nightgown. But from Henry Lee's perspective, the morning sun shone through her skimpy covering, distinctly displaying her feminine charms. She was a tall woman, but her limbs were neither lanky nor coltish. Through the shiny veil of cotton he could see the outline of strong, well-turned legs and shapely thighs. He wondered why her family didn't take care to cover her. Shouldn't one of the women have brought a blanket or a shawl?
He stared at her for long moments, his clear blue eyes trying to understand the look of bewilderment in hers. She had set him up. It was obvious. But he didn't know what he could do about it. None of these men would believe it, he was sure. It was difficult for him to believe himself. He could still feel the heat from her body on the front of his shirt. Hatred would be the appropriate reaction to this little tramp; he should be boiling with fury. But as he looked at her lost, incredulous expression, he felt only pity. She seemed to be worsening the situation, with her nonsense about his love for her. The crowd had enough of a spectacle at their expense, it was time for him to take charge.
Henry Lee dropped his hands to his side. With a close eye on his back, he reached into the wellhouse and retrieved Hannah's wrapper from the floor. He walked toward her slowly. He sensed her fear and was careful not to make any threatening moves. If she were to visibly flinch in front of this crowd, they might lynch him as a rapist. He draped the cover around her shoulders with the gentle courtesy of a man who knows to treat even the shadiest lady with special respect. Looking straight into Hannah's eyes, he saw vulnerability that rode ill on the starchy spinster's face. Her lower lip trembled slightly, causing a well of protectiveness to surge through Henry Lee. He turned to her stepmother and spoke with careful politeness.
"Mrs. Bunch, you had better take Miss Hannah up to the house. If the preacher intends to kill me it's not a thing that she should see." He watched as she was led away from the confrontation, too overwhelmed with the calamity that she had produced to protest.
Myrtie and Hannah's sisters-in-law, June, Velma, and Earline, were waiting a few feet away. All of their faces registered stunned disbelief.
"Oh, Hannah, are you all right?" Myrtie asked.
"Fine," she answered absently. "I'm fine," she said more strongly. Hannah turned to look back at the scene she had left, the men seemed to be closing in around Henry Lee, itching for trouble. She saw her youngest brother, Rafe, well-known for being a hothead, step right in front of Henry Lee, their faces not more than two inches apart. She felt a wave of guilt. This was all her doing and she'd left him to answer for her.
"Violet, you can't let them hurt Mr. Watson, it's not his fault," she pleaded with her stepmother.
"Not his fault!" Velma snorted. "Heavens above! Do you expect us to believe that an innocent, Christian woman forced herself upon a man with a questionable reputation?"
The others nodded their heads in agreement.
Hannah couldn't expect them to believe it, even though it was absolutely true.
Violet hugged Hannah sympathetically, and placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Your father can't hurt him much," Violet promised her, patting the st
ock of the double shot firearm she held reassuringly. "I've still got the gun."
They stepped into the house, and as if on signal, the sound of a scuffle began near the wellhouse.
Hannah paced frantically and tried to see what was happening. Her kinswomen seemed to immediately form a conspiracy to keep her from the windows.
"Oh no, we've got to stop this," Hannah exclaimed. "As big as he is, he could hurt Papa!"
"A minute ago you were worried about him, now you're worried about Papa," Myrtie pointed out.
Hannah ignored this reference to her inconsistency and continued to listen to the yelling of the crowd with trepidation.
"He won't hurt your papa, not with all those men around, and not a one of them is on his side, you can be sure of that," Violet told her. "Besides, he knows he's done wrong."
Hannah tried to sort out what had happened. What had Henry Lee been doing in the wellhouse? Will was supposed to be there. Why didn’t she make sure who it was! How could she have made sure? Lighting a lamp would have wakened him, and that would have ruined the plan completely. But the plan was shot to pieces anyway. Better to have had to explain herself last night, than to explain herself this morning. What would she tell Henry Lee? Worse than that, what would she tell her father!
If there was one thing her father always insisted upon, and one thing she had prided herself upon, it was honesty and integrity. How could she explain that she'd attempted to coerce a man into marrying her. And failed!
And poor Will, now he would never find the courage to walk out with her. If he were to court her now, it would make him a laughingstock.
Everybody in the territory would hear about this escapade. And what they would make of it, she knew, was even worse than it appeared: A love-starved spinster seduces a handsome young man, right under her father's nose.
It was going to be a terrible embarrassment for her entire family. The only women likely to stand by her were her relatives, and even they were totally scandalized.
The shouting from outside and the sounds of the fighting ceased. When after a moment there was no cry for help, Hannah sighed heavily. No one was seriously injured, no permanent damage done. Only her shame would linger.
"Thank God, it's over," she said aloud.
"I doubt seriously, Hannah," Violet stated sternly, "if it is over."
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is, that while I do blame that man out there for enticing you, he did not come and steal you out of this house. You went out to him, of your own free will. Even though you think that you love him, that's not cause to break the commandments."
Hannah's mind was in turmoil. Of course the whole territory would assume that she had carnally sinned. But she could outlive that. It would just take time. She'd heard stories about women who had fallen from grace. Some even had illegitimate children as permanent reminders. But it was said that if a woman confessed and lived an exemplary life thereafter, eventually she would be tolerated by the community.
She blushed, thinking of how long it would take for the community to forget the scene they had witnessed this morning. She remembered pleading with her father and claiming she was out there for love. Oh, how embarrassing that was. People would think that she had been swept off her feet by that smooth talker and his charm. She hated for anyone to believe that of her. She'd rather they thought she was wanton than gullible.
But how much worse was the real truth. She was out there to trick a man who couldn't bring himself to propose. She couldn't get a man any way but by her trickery, and even as she had been trying to lie herself into a marriage, she had managed to embroil an innocent party into a scandal.
With all the conviction that any jaded sinner ever had, she suddenly knew that she could not, would not, ever tell the truth about what she was doing in the wellhouse. Far better for everyone concerned to think that she was a foolish, credulous old-maid with flexible morals, than the deceitful conniver she really was.
Straightening her back and raising her chin, Hannah said, "I have nothing to say about what happened last night. I'm a grown woman, responsible only to God for my sins, and I do not have to confess them to you."
Myrtie's eyes were as big as saucers.
"We'll see what your father has to say about that," her stepmother replied.
"He can say whatever he wants, Violet, but I don't intend to discuss it with him, or you, or anyone."
Reverend Bunch walked in through the door and sat down at the table. His step was weary and sweat was running in rivulets down the side of his face. He wiped at it half-heartedly as his wife came quickly to his side.
"Get me some salve, Myrtie," he said tiredly.
"Are you hurt?" Violet's face was lined with worry.
"Just my knuckles," he said. "He didn't even swing at me." He glanced at Hannah. "But I like to broke my hand on his jaw."
"Is he all right?" Hannah asked.
"Well, I suspect he'll be all right. He's got a busy day ahead of him, he'll have to be building a church all day and he's got a wedding to attend this evening."
"Wedding?"
He rolled his eyes in disbelief. "You said you wanted my blessing. Well, you've got it and I think, honey, that you're going to need it." Her father reached up and took Hannah's hand. He gestured for her to take a seat beside him at the kitchen table. He continued to hold her hand as he gazed into her eyes with fatherly love and apprehension.
"Child, he's not the kind of man I would have chosen for you. But you made this choice yourself."
Shaking his head, he looked up to heaven as if for guidance.
"It has always been a mystery to me why good, decent women always seem to fall in love with the wildest living men around. I guess maybe it's the need to reform them. I'm not sure, though, how much reforming you can do on Henry Lee Watson. You two will have to get along the best that you can."
Hannah felt a sense of rising panic as disbelief turned into a waking nightmare.
"Papa, I can't marry this man! I hardly know him and we just are not suited."
Reverend Bunch looked genuinely confused.
"Hannah, what do you mean? Only a few minutes ago you were begging to marry him."
"I know, Papa, but now that I've had a moment to think about it, well, I've reconsidered." Hannah floundered, wondering how to explain without explaining. She was willing to pay for her mistake, but the price being asked was too high. "At the time, well ... it might have seemed like a lasting sort of thing, but I'm sure, now, that it was just, well ... it was a moment of, well . . . it was just the lust of the flesh.' "
Violet and Myrtie both gasped. A strange noise emanated from her father's throat that sounded somewhat like a moan of pain.
"Myrtie! You must have chores to do!" her father said sternly and the younger girl quickly left the kitchen.
Hannah's father was now red-faced and seemed to be taking several deep breaths, as if to calm himself. His speech was especially slow, as if he were making a desperate attempt to make himself understood.
"I understand, Hannah, how you could have second thoughts about your actions. I believe that I am certainly understanding of weakness of the flesh, but I'm afraid it's a little late for undoing the past. In my book, young lady, when you met him in that wellhouse, that was the same as agreeing to marry him. And he knew it too, didn't even try to argue about it. I suggest that you do the same!"
Henry Lee Watson shored up the trim in the new Plainview Church. Normally it was work he enjoyed but today he concentrated on it grimly, hoping to free his mind from the morning's disaster.
The men working around him followed his direction as they had the day before. But yesterday there had been a camaraderie, an easy friendliness. Today that was missing. He understood. They thought he had seduced the preacher's daughter. How funny that was. If they really knew him at all they would never have believed it of him. He had a reputation with the ladies, but pretty prostitutes or willing widows were his style. Respectable young women
meant trouble.
His face was still tender and puffy from the blows he'd taken this morning. The pain only served as a reminder of how easily he'd been caught in such a simple little trap.
And he would never have done anything to anger Farnam Bunch. He considered the preacher a fair and honorable man, a man whom he could respect. There hadn't been many of those in his life. And that was why the circumstances of the morning had resolved themselves in the way they had.
Imagine that girl of the preacher's sneaking outside to sleep with him in the wellhouse! She knew she'd be caught; he was sure of that. She'd known, too, that her father would come out there, she'd known they'd be trapped and it was just what she wanted. He shook his head in disgust. He knew women were partial to him, he'd seen it all over the territory. He was good in the blankets and built to please, but it had never occurred to him that a woman like Miss Hannah would even be interested.
He'd been outrunning calf-eyed young girls and buxom widows for a lot of years now, and not one of them had even come close to catching him. Who could have imagined that some starchy spinster would compromise herself for him. And why? She had never seemed to show much interest in him, not like that saucy little sister of hers. In fact, he had the distinct impression that she didn't like him much.
He remembered hearing her pleading with her father, claiming to love him. Poor, foolish girl. What was he going to do with her? He certainly didn't need a wife. Farmers needed wives. They lived little two-by-two existences. Every farmer had to have a woman to work and raise up more hands. That was their way, but Henry Lee didn't see how it could work in his life.
Had it been anyone else's daughter, he might have taken off and the devil take the hindmost. But for Reverend Farnam he had to do the right thing. Was marrying the foolish woman really the right thing to do?
Agreeing to marry her seemed like the only thing he could offer, and the only thing that these farmers would accept. If he expected to continue to do business among these men, he had to live by their code, accept their way of doing things. And that didn't allow for deflowering well-brought-up young women.
