by Pamela Morsi
Henry Lee reached the bank and knelt, ostensibly to fill the water buckets, but in fact the memory of his mother's death still had the power to frighten and grieve him. She was nothing but used goods. Skut had said that a million times. But she had been gentle too, and had cared for him. Somehow that seemed to make up for what she was. And watching her die in such pain, surely she hadn't deserved that, no matter what she had done.
She had been so young when Henry Lee was conceived. A pretty, light-skinned half-breed living near Fort Gibson, she had soon captured the eye of the fort's commander. She told Henry Lee about dances and parties, pretty dresses and a little house of her very own. Whether she had loved his father, Henry Lee never knew, but she had lived well as his mistress, and given him the son he'd never wanted.
Being little more than a child herself, the childhood that she offered Henry Lee was full of games and fun. She had no rules and made none for him. They ate when they were hungry and washed when they felt dirty. They worked too, when it was necessary. And Molly taught her son the only thing that she really knew, whittling.
His mother could pick up a fallen branch and make three toy soldiers, or a bird, or an axe handle. She knew the best wood for each task and she always sought out whatever was inside.
"You can't make a bowl from a stump, if there isn't a bowl in there already," she told him and showed him how to read the lines of the wood to see what was inside.
Henry Lee was never the carver that his mother had been, but he learned a lot about wood and used his knowledge for practical things. Where Molly had made figures and whirlygigs, Henry Lee made chairs and tables.
When Henry Lee was seven, his mother had become pregnant again. He remembered Skut being very pleased about it, his mother was not. She felt poorly almost from the first and her death climaxed weeks of increasing agony.
His thought shifted from his mother to Hannah. Would she die crying and moaning as his mother had? No, he quickly discarded the thought. His mother had been tiny and delicate, breeding too early, she was never in the best of health. Hannah was built for birthing. She'd be one of those farm women who drop their babes in the field, and then go on to finish the row. No need to worry for her on that account. She'd put this one out early next spring he supposed, and after that, by God, he'd keep them coming spring and fall until he had enough young 'uns to populate his own territory! And every damn one of them had better look just like him. Except, of course, the first.
He had decided to forgive her. He had decided to make a life with her. He would accept this other man's baby. It wasn't the young'un's fault at all. A child was a child. And it wasn't that he was jealous, he told himself, he had no feelings for Hannah. He just hated the idea that he had to take another man's leavings. Skut had done the same and he was determined that he would be a better father than Skut had been to him.
He just wished the baby was here and over with, so that she would be his and they could get on with their lives. That was the rub. As long as she carried another man's child, another man's mark was on her. She could not be Henry Lee's.
He knew with certainty that he would not, could not, spend his seed where another man's had taken root. He would not share a bed with Hannah until she was delivered.
Having come to this decision, Henry Lee headed back up to the house, to explain to his bride just exactly how things were going to be.
Full darkness had fallen as Hannah lit the lamp in the main room and surveyed the drying com kernels. It was so hot in the house now, that she doubted the possibility of sleep. If he really wanted these dried out by morning, someone would have to mind the fire.
She felt the sweat running down the back of her neck and decided she was wearing far too many clothes. In the bedroom she slipped out of her petticoats and removed the binder that she routinely wore on her bosom. The binder, which Hannah thought gave her a more youthful appearance by restricting her more womanly contour, was extremely bothersome in the heat and she gladly discarded it.
She stared at the cornstalk bed and imagined being in it with him tonight. The memory of the morning was still sweet to her, but because he had been grouchy on and off all day, it was tempered with a bit of embarrassment. She wondered if that tenderness in bed had not effected him as it did her. Perhaps he engaged in such things on a frequent basis and found them pretty usual, since he regularly attended all the parties and shindigs or miles around, maybe he regularly took women to bed. Maybe those other women were more attractive and exciting than herself. The thought was not very comforting.
She decided she would just have to be the same type of wife that she had been as a daughter. It had always been Myrtie who was pretty and sweet and lovable. It was Hannah who had been responsible and hardworking.
Freed from her hot, constricting underclothes an feeling a good deal cooler, Hannah returned to the quilting frame and carefully stirred the kernels as Henry Le had. Maybe he would never see her in the same way a he might one of those other women, but she would prove her worth to him. Make him glad that he had taken her on. Prove that she could be a very good bargain.
When Henry Lee walked in the back door of the cabin, his mind was quite made up. He would move his workroom out to the shed and bed down next door to her until after the baby was born. Then they could use the workroom as a nursery and he'd move into his rightful place as husband, beside her in his own bed. He was ready to sit down and discuss it with her calmly and rationally. However, the sight that greeted him as he stepped into the cabin took away all rational thought.
Standing in profile next to the quilting frame with the fire to her back, Hannah was more exposed to Henry Lee's eyes than if she were stark naked. The light through her thin cotton dress revealed in detail the luscious curve of buttocks that he had already admired, as well as strong, well-muscled thighs that tapered into long well-turned calves. Her bosom, released from its confines strained against the bodice of her gown like a ripe fit begging for a hand to pluck it. She turned her face toward him and smiled eagerly, as if to say, "I want to please you."
His resolution disappeared like ice in hell. Henry Lee bridged the distance between them and grasped Hannah from behind. He captured those breasts in both hands and pressed his aching desire against her firm yielding bottom.
She was wanton, desirable, and out to tempt him, he thought. But he would show her who was in charge. He was not a man to be led around by petticoats. His lips found her tender throat beneath her hair, and blazed a trail of sparks and flame up to her ear where he hoarsely whispered, "I want you."
Hannah was startled at his touch and frightened by the roughness of his embrace. Her breathing and her senses vividly alive, she could not seem to react to the onslaught of emotions and feelings that were bombarding her. The intense heat surrounding their mingled bodies blazed hotter than the fire behind them and Hannah had no coherent thought for responding to it. Her young, healthy body, however, knew exactly how to answer the flame he was stirring.
Henry Lee's need prodded him to harsh handling of her tender bosom. Through the thin summer blouse, he felt the hard nipples straining against his hand. His attention to them was both tender and crude as he alternately teased and treasured. His own desire was throbbing and plethoric as he brushed it hungrily against her backside.
Instinctively, her bottom squirmed and wiggled, pressing eagerly against him. Henry Lee's reaction came gasping from his throat, part moan, part cry, as he answered her squirming pressure with his own heated thrusting.
His right hand released the pouty nipple it had been worshiping and headed down the front of her dress, hoping to find her hot, feminine core wet and ready for him. As his hand splayed across the smooth curve of her abdomen, he suddenly thought of what lay beneath his touch. Another man's get. The result of her passion with some unknown male before him sparked his humiliation and anger.
Henry Lee released her abruptly and stepped away turning his back to her, so that she wouldn't see his body's obvious eagerness, so
accurately displayed in the front of his trousers.
“Get some clothes on, Hannah!" He slammed his fist angrily against the wall. “Damn it, woman! Would you have me mount you on the table? Have you no shame at all?"
Hannah stood bereft, as if something vital was now lost. Her womanly parts were throbbing. The blood in her reins was pounding and every nerve in her body was awake and alert. His hurtful words sank through the red haze in her brain and suddenly she was ashamed. What had she done? What had happened to her?
The image of her mindless lust was as clear to her as if she had watched herself. Her wanton loss of control and her animalistic display of carnal appetite was completely unforeseen in her life thus far. She had shocked herself and was sure that she had disgusted Henry Lee.
Her mind filled with confusion and her eyes fillet with tears of humiliation she fled to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and slithering to the floor a she leaned against it. She folded her arms across he knees and as tears of mortification coursed down he cheeks, she willed herself to cry silently.
Henry Lee was also ashamed. He knew that his words had hurt her and knew that he had lashed out a her in anger at himself. She was no better than she should be. A woman of doubtful morals would be expected to try to entice a man when no one else was around. And it wasn't as if she were being dishonest about it. She must have been wanting a man pretty bad, the way she flashed to fire so quick. It must have been a while since she' been with her lover. Henry Lee wondered why. Had the man voluntarily given her up when he found out she was in the family way? It was possible, but it seemed more likely that he would have continued to take his pleasure while scheming to find a way out.
Maybe he wasn't from around here. Henry Lee remembered an old tinker once sitting up drunk all night telling him stories of all the skirts of farmers' daughters that he'd raised in his travels. He made it sound like traveling man could have most any woman he set his sights on.
That would actually make more sense, Henry Lee decided. She wasn't really such a trollop. She was just very foolish old maid that fell for a peddler's fast talk and then had to find someone to make an honest woman of her.
He thought on it as he began stirring the corn kernels again. He could live with that a bit better, he decided. And he wondered if he was right to wait until she was delivered to share the bed with her. If the sparks between them could fly so easily, it would be a long winter.
Anyway he needn't worry about sharing it with her tonight, he thought bitterly as he heard the faint evidence of her weeping through the bedroom door. He had corn grits to make tonight.
Chapter Six
The morning sun spread only a bit of warmth on the stone ledge at the entrance to the cave. Sitting on the cool stone Henry Lee could see a good distance both up and down the creek and all the way to the main road
But he was not looking in any of those directions this morning. His attention was focused on the opened door of the shed near his cabin where Hannah was grinding the corn into grits.
The hominy mill was two round grinding stones that lay one on top of the other like stacked pancakes in a bowl. The lower stone sat on a metal fulcrum, its top was lined with furrows. Exactly on top of its mate, the upper stone had no furrows, but a hole about three inches in diameter was cut out in the center. Hannah would pour a bit of corn into the hole and as the stones turned, the corn would be crushed. As the particles became small enough they would fall into the furrows and be pushed out into the bed of the mill as meal and grits.
He watched Hannah as she whirled the stone round and round, her motion almost dancelike in its rhythm. She tried to continue without stopping as much as possible. Once the wheel started to turn, it was not so difficult to keep it going, but she had to stop every few minute to fill the hole with more corn.
It was tough work, and Henry Lee wondered why she hadn't asked for help, but he knew the answer. She had barely spoken to him since last night. She didn't seem angry at him, but rather embarrassed and uncomfortable around him. He knew that it was his fault. She was trying to make it a normal marriage and she undoubtedly expected that lovemaking would be a part of that.
Well, he'd gone into the house last night to set her straight. And he'd sure done it, but not with the calm, rational explanation he had anticipated. He knew that he should go down there and apologize. Try to explain to her why he had spurned her. That was what he should do, he was very aware of it.
For most of the night he had sat up stirring the drying corn kernels. It had given him a good deal of time to think, but thinking really did no good. Where there were no answers, pondering for hours on end was merely a wasted effort. He sat now, watching her rhythm at the hominy mill. The strength of her arms did not match her determination, but still she kept on without missing a beat. He shook himself from his near trance and, heading into the cave, followed her example and went to work.
Hannah Bunch Watson stood at the mill, grinding corn as if her life depended on it. Her arms were so tired that each time she had to stop to replenish the stone they trembled. But she continued. There were dark circles under her eyes, betraying her lack of sleep the night before. For most of the problems of her young life she had looked to the Bible for solutions. For her current predicament, she had no idea where to turn. Twisting scripture to suit herself had got her into this marriage, but untwisting it could not make things right again.
Her behavior the night before had her completely puzzled. Such intensity of feeling was a new experience, and she'd had no inkling of her susceptibility to carnal desire. Searching her mind for an appropriate Bible passage, only the declaration in Paul's epistle that it “is better to marry than to burn" came to mind. Once she'd imagined that scripture to be a warning of hellfire, but after last night she thought perhaps he was speaking of a more earthly burning.
As the morning wore on, she began to worry about Henry Lee. She knew he had headed down toward the creek as soon as he had the corn set up in the mill, but that had been hours ago. For a moment she had a wicked thought that perhaps he had fallen into the creek and drowned and she could return to the bosom of her family as a respectable widow. But that thought was immediately followed by genuine worry. Although the past few days had been awash with unpleasant experiences, she had decided Henry Lee was a decent fellow and the unfortunate victim of her mislaid plans.
As noontime approached, the corn was nearly finished, and Hannah began to plan what she would make for Henry Lee's dinner. This morning when she was fixing his breakfast she had discovered the cellar. She would never have known that it was there; built so neatly into the back of the house and entered through a trap door on the wash porch it was almost invisible. She had no had time to explore it yet, but she was sure that Henry Lee must have some meat stored there, because she had glimpsed several oak barrels inside. After last night, she wanted more than ever to prove herself an excellent cook and worthy housewife.
Finishing the corn, she lined a bucket with clean cotton cloth and transferred the rough-ground meal into it At one end of the mill bed was a chute that could be raised to easily transfer the grits to the bucket. The pouring created a small cloud of corn dust that tickled her nose. Willing herself not to sneeze, she covered the bucket with another cloth and carried it to the porch.
Leaving the corn grits in a safe comer, Hannah went immediately to the trap door to the cellar. She was surprised that the door had no pull. It had been carefully cut out of the natural grain of the wood on the floor and was so perfectly matched and fitted that it was a bit difficult to open. In fact, she thought, if she didn't know that the door was here, she would never have noticed it at all.
Hannah lit a candle on a small shelf just underneath the door. She headed down the sturdy wooden ladder to see what kind of stores were in the oak barrels.
The cellar was about ten feet square and not much higher than Hannah's head. The floor was lined with baskets and buckets and an unusually large number of earthenware jugs. She looked
around, somewhat disappointed that there were no shelves on the walls for potatoes and onions. When potatoes were stored for winter in a sack, they went bad in no time. But set out on shelves, most would survive until April or May.
The barrels, however, were as fine as any Hannah had ever seen. Sturdy white oak gracefully bent for a perfect fit and held together by slim metal bands. She knew that Henry Lee could not have purchased them from a local cooper. These were made special by a skilled craftsman.
Eagerly Hannah opened the first of the handsome oak barrels, only to discover that it was empty. Her mild disappointment immediately turned to dismay as the trapped odor in the barrel assailed her nostrils. Something had been allowed to spoil in the barrel, the air was pungent with the stink of fermentation. She shook her head in disbelief.
What on earth had Henry Lee put in this barrel and then left to ruin? She quickly placed the cover back on it and checked the second barrel. It too was empty and smelled to high heaven. Hannah disapproved, but secretly she was a little bit glad. Henry Lee kept his house very neat, his little pig farm seemed to run well, and he had made arrangements in the community for foodstuffs. At first glance a wife seemed a bit superfluous. But here at last was evidence that Hannah was needed and that she could make a difference in Henry Lee's life. She vowed that this very afternoon she would start making things better for him by cleaning these barrels.
Her attention finally turned to another barrel on the other side of the cellar. It was not made of fancy white oak and looked a good bit the worse for wear. However, Hannah decided to check it out anyway. Holding her nose in preparation for the worst, she lifted the lid. No putrid stink awaited her, but a sea of white. Reaching down with me finger she touched the contents of the barrel and then lifted it to her lips. Sugar.
With a small cry of delight, Hannah began digging down into the barrel of sugar until she found what she was looking for: ham. Sugar-cured ham was her very favorite and she seldom ate it. Her father preferred his pork cured in salt so that was the way she had always prepared it. It was only visiting at other people's houses or eating at the community socials that Hannah had enjoyed sugar-cured ham. And it looked like Henry Lee was very good at curing. The ham looked and smelled perfect. She thought of the other ruined barrels. Maybe, she thought, after making such a mess, he learned to take his time and do it right.
