by Pamela Morsi
The old man's approval lightened Henry Lee's step and working with the Oscars' marvelous collection of tools was sheer pleasure.
Henry Lee was seated next to Hannah at the long table and anxiously tried to tell her all the things he'd learned. Hannah's eyes rarely strayed from her husband as she listened to his animated description of the Oscars' woodshop.
"Hannah told us you're on your honeymoon," Dulce stated, sitting across from Henry Lee and thoroughly enjoying the bright handsome smile he'd been bestowing on Hannah.
Henry Lee grinned, only slightly embarrassed by the personal nature of the question.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered.
At the surprised looks from the men at the table, it was obvious that Henry Lee had said nothing about his newly married state.
"In fact," he went on, "Hannah's daddy is the preacher of the church that needs the pews. I'm kind of making them as a present to my father-in-law for letting me get away with his girl." His joke brought laughter around the table and he smiled warmly at his bride.
In the afternoon Hannah helped Maude carry the dozens of quarts of peach preserves down to the cellar, making room for them among the stacks of canned goods necessary to feed the Oscar clan for the winter. Hannah talked about her own home and all of the things she hoped to accomplish over the winter. It was a surprisingly pleasant experience to be with people who thought of her only as herself and Henry Lee's wife, not as the preacher's daughter.
Henry Lee was also enjoying the unusual circumstance of being neither the son of his ne'er-do-well father nor the whiskey man. He was accepted by the Oscars as an equal and relished his newfound normalcy.
Hiram showed Henry Lee the use of the coping saw and taught him to make fancy scrollwork for decoration.
"You do the scalloping in soft white pine," he told Henry Lee, "then when you put the finish on them, you make them match up to your other wood, like they was a part of it."
The edging and trims were new to Henry Lee and he eagerly absorbed all the information that the old man imparted.
"Back East they are counting on veneers to do everything for them," the older man complained, shaking his head. "But a piece is only as good as the wood and the workmanship, and covering up shoddy work with a fancy top piece is the same as cinching a Spanish saddle on a mule. All that silver looks mighty pretty, but it still ain't much to ride."
By late afternoon Henry Lee had decided on the lumber he wanted for the church benches. Hiram and Willard approved his choice of a fine-grained walnut. He'd use spruce or pine for the underneath parts, as they were softer and easier to work with, but the beauty of the walnut could not be duplicated elsewhere.
"You should be staying the night with us," Hiram told him. "We always got plenty of room, there was no need for you to get a hotel room in Muskogee."
Willard joked, "Now Hiram, you don't expect a man to spend his honeymoon with us. I'm thinking he'll be right grateful to get back to that hotel room this evening." The man winked conspiratorially. "That is, if you haven't plumb worn him out today."
Hiram waved the suggestion away. "He's young!" he announced and proceeded to tell a ribald story about a young man on his wedding night.
Henry Lee laughed good-naturedly, but he was eager to be alone with his wife. He felt good, optimistic about their future. It seemed that after a day with the praise and encouragement of the Oscar brothers, he felt that maybe he did deserve a portion of happiness for his own.
They left on the last train of the day; with well-wishes and hugs all around, Hannah promised that when Henry Lee came again to buy lumber, she would be sure to come with him.
Hiram took Henry Lee aside and told him solemnly, "If you ever are in need of a job, or if I can help you in any way, let me know. You seem like a man who makes his own way, but everyone needs a bit of help now and again."
The couple sat smiling comfortably together for the short ride back to Muskogee. In sharp contrast to the guilt and remorse of the morning, both were in high spirits and talking. The Oscars were definitely memorable and together they giggled over whether the parents themselves could even tell whose children were whose.
Hannah relaxed against Henry Lee's shoulder and he placed a delicate kiss in her hair. She felt it, relished it, but didn't acknowledge it. Henry Lee was eager, but felt no compunction to hurry. They would be back at the Williams Hotel in an hour or so, but more than that, they had their whole lives together before them. It was such a comforting thought that he relaxed completely, closed his eyes and fell into the kind of sleep usually reserved for the innocent.
Hannah felt his body sag against her. She felt a little bit smug, the man lying relaxed at her side belonged to her. She turned slightly to get a look at his face. Even in sleep, there was nothing boyish about him. His strong jaw, high cheekbones, and dark brows were still tough and manly. Inexplicably, she felt a surge of tenderness for him. Like her, he had never been a child, never known the carefree times of youth. But, unlike her, he hadn't buried his childhood in the rigid codes of adult life, he had simply brought to adult life the laughter and humor of childhood. At that moment, Hannah could not imagine a finer man anywhere. She laid her head against his chest and slept also.
Neemie Pathkiller had waited all day either in or around the Williams Hotel. By now he was angry and frustrated. His greatest fear was that they had realized the danger and simply left their belongings behind as a decoy.
He knew that they must have had contacts in town to do business, but he couldn't track them down. He did know that there was some connection with Charles Harjo, but exactly what the relationship was, he couldn't be sure. He was having Harjo watched in hopes that he would lead them to Watson, but the wily Indian was as cool as Christmas, and thus far had done nothing out of the ordinary.
He had just leaned against the side of the building, preparing to roll himself a cigarette, when he heard running feet coming down the alley.
A young Cherokee boy stopped in front of the hotel, looked the area over closely, and then hurried up to Neemie.
"A man told me to find you and say that they just got off the northbound Iron Mountain, and are coming this way."
Neemie stared at the boy for a minute with venom in his eyes, making sure that he kept what he knew to himself, then he tossed him a penny.
"Go to Marshal Quick's office at the courthouse. Tell him that the man at the Williams Hotel says 'soon.' "
He silently continued to roll his cigarette, but when he'd finished, his lips curved slightly. So, they had risked coming back. Now he had them.
Chapter Seventeen
Hannah, her arm entwined with her husband's, made her way through the streets of Muskogee toward their personal haven, the Williams Hotel. Their short train nap had seemed to revitalize them both and they were bubbling with smiles and enthusiasm.
They had made a quick stop by the jeweler's, and the third finger of Hannah's left hand now sported the gleaming evidence of her marriage.
Henry Lee was on his most charming behavior, telling her an amusing story of a haberdasher who tried to sell his ribbons and ladies' hats by modeling them himself.
Hannah found herself paying more attention to the teller than the tale, as she gazed warmly at Henry Lee's sparkling eyes and flashing smile. Both were consciously trying not to think about the evening ahead. They were trying to be satisfied with the happiness they felt together at the moment, not wishing themselves into the future.
Hannah saw the men step out from the doorway of the hotel, but until they laid hands on Henry Lee, she hadn't known to be afraid.
Tom Quick's authoritative voice rang out: "Henry Lee Watson, by order of the U.S. Government and the Department of Justice for the Indian Territory, you're under arrest for trafficking in intoxicating beverages!"
Quick allowed the two younger deputies to grab Henry Lee and cuff him. He wanted to watch the young whiskey peddler's face as his future took a drastic turn for the worse.
"What are you
doing?" Hannah cried out as Henry Lee was pushed up against a wall spread-eagle, and frisked for weapons. Finding nothing the deputies jerked his hands behind him and placed him in handcuffs.
"You are making a terrible mistake!" Hannah told the marshal. "My husband and I are from out of town, we are here on our honeymoon. He's not involved in anything illegal."
Tom Quick glared at the young woman, sneering. Hannah could see that he didn't believe her and turned to her husband to substantiate her assertion.
"Tell him, Henry Lee! This is some terrible mistake."
Henry Lee was facing away from her and did not look her way or say a word. He was numb with emotional pain. Don't look at me! his brain was screaming, but he held his peace. He had not protected her after all; she was going to see him arrested, maybe even be arrested herself. A woman like his Hannah should never know anything about jails or the people in them. He turned to look at the marshal. He knew the old man was Tom Quick. They had both been in the territory for a long time. Quick knew all about him, all about his business, and if he had decided to arrest him tonight, he obviously had enough evidence to send him to jail. He felt an ominous sense of doom.
"Let the woman go, Quick!" He tried to make it sound like an order, but he couldn't hide the plea in his voice. "She knows nothing about it."
Hannah heard his words and felt as if the ground she stood upon had been jerked away, but she fought it. Henry Lee needed her and she would not—could not— allow herself to succumb to fear or panic, and she certainly would not be jumping to conclusions.
"Henry Lee could not be involved in anything unsavory, Marshal," she insisted. "He's a fine, upstanding man. You must have him mistaken for somebody else."
Tom Quick was amused. The girl was still fool enough to insist that she knew nothing and Watson was practically begging to confess if he could buy the girl's freedom with it.
"Get 'em both in the wagon," Quick ordered, and the two deputies escorted their prisoners to a police wagon that was parked in the alley.
The wagon was totally enclosed with built-in benches on each side. Henry Lee, with his hands still constrained behind him, was helped in and seated on the left. Hannah scampered in unassisted, deliberately avoiding the hand offered by the other deputy.
The door closed behind them and was barred from the outside. The husband and wife found themselves alone at last, but not where they had both hoped to be.
The only light in the wagon came from several tiny square windows cut in the sides of the walls near the ceiling. They were barely big enough to allow a man's hand through and the light they let in arrived in stripes of blue-gray, painting them both with unreality.
"Henry Lee? Are you all right?" she asked. Her husband still hadn't looked at her.
"That's the question I should be asking you," he mumbled almost unintelligibly.
"I'm okay," she answered, running her hands up and down her arms as if to warm herself in the stifling heat of the wagon. "A little scared, I guess. What is this about? Surely that jar of liquor you bought me last night couldn't get us in this much trouble."
In some strange way, Hannah hoped that it was her fault. She wanted to help, she wanted Henry Lee to look at her again and to smile.
"No." Henry Lee shook his head with a rueful laugh. "It has nothing to do with that. Or maybe it does. That was my whiskey we bought last night." He looked at her then. His eyes were hard and cold, not daring to hope for compassion or understanding, afraid to expect too much from the woman he loved.
"I'm a moonshiner, Hannah. That's how I make my living. I always have. I've never been caught before, but now I am."
"Moonshiner." Hannah said the word as if she had never heard of such a thing before. Then she repeated it as if getting used to the sound on her tongue. She knew a good deal about moonshiners, selling whiskey to the Indians, leading them into drink and sloth and crime with their wicked, evil brew. There were dozens of them in the border country and she had heard more than one person in the church complain about the danger they posed to everyone. She'd heard much about moonshiners, but none of what she knew related to the man who sat across from her. The man that she loved.
“I realize that you didn't know about this before you married me. I would have told you, had you asked. But you really made your choice without me in on it. I'm sorry, Hannah, but sometimes when you set out to trap a man, you get more than you've bargained for."
Hannah was still struggling with reality. "Does my father know?"
"Yep." He replied shortly, looking straight at her now. She may have seen him bowed, but he wasn't broken and he wasn't about to wallow in shame. "He's always known. Why he didn't tell you, I couldn't say." Henry Lee gave a half-amused shake of his head. "I guess you'll have to ask him. I suspect most everyone at Plainview Church knows," he added cruelly. "I figure that's why it was such a scandal when we up and married. They thought you were much too good to be taking up with the likes of me."
Henry Lee looked away, studying the ceiling of the wagon. Hannah sat stunned, trying to make order out of her mind in chaos. Everything in their marriage was a lie. She had believed in him, trusted him, and he was an imposter. He had shown her a fine, hardworking man and made her fall in love with him. Now she discovered that the man she had loved was not that man at all.
Her rage and hurt began to pile up on her, stinging and burning in her eyes. She had been fooled and made a fool in front of her family and friends. It was almost too much to be borne.
"You lied to me! Everything you said was a lie!"
"Not everything, Hannah." He understood her anger. He was angry himself. How stupid he had been to bring whiskey right down to the doorstep of the Federal marshalls. When a man got that greedy, he deserved to be caught. But, he added to himself remorsefully, his wife certainly didn't.
"When we were running last night, it was because they were after you. They were trying to arrest you last night."
He didn't answer; he didn't need to. She already knew the truth.
"All those trips you make in the evenings to trade, you were out selling whiskey! Harjo and the people of Sandy Creek, they're not your friends, they're your customers."
"They are my friends, too, Hannah. It's possible to be both."
"Is it?" Her face was red with anger. "I suppose it's also possible to care about a woman and lie to her at every turn!"
The wagon stopped abruptly and a minute later the door was opened. She didn't refuse help in getting down. She needed someone to steady her now. She was completely off balance.
Henry Lee watched her, concerned. Surely, even old Tom Quick could see she was not the kind of woman that you throw in jail. He would have to do something to get her out even if it meant confessing to everything and more.
They were ushered into a back door of the courthouse, near the area that served as a jail. Henry Lee was led down a long hallway in front of her and Hannah started to follow.
"This way, ma'am." The deputy beside her took her arm and started up a flight of stairs.
"My husband?"
"He's off to the lock-up. Marshal Quick wants to talk to you first, ma'am."
"I need to see my husband!" she said, realizing that it was true, but not knowing exactly why.
The young marshal recognized a woman of quality when he saw one. Ill at ease and embarrassed, he wanted to be rid of her as soon as possible.
"You can take that up with the marshal, ma'am."
Rounding the comer at the top of the stairs, she was directed to Marshal Quick's office. It smelled of stale tobacco and old boots, and even the open door leading to the upstairs porch didn't relieve the musty, closed atmosphere of the place.
The marshal came in and gave Hannah a slow, deliberate appraisal, and smiled, revealing his personal approval. He admired Watson's taste. This big, buxom gal, all covered up like a schoolmarm, surely was enough to make a man worry himself about getting those clothes off her.
"Ah, Mrs. Watson," Quick said, putting o
n his best behavior, "set yourself down. You are Mrs. Watson, not just calling yourself that?" He smiled smugly at her. "We can find out for sure, of course."
Hannah felt her anger swiftly being redirected at this man. He sat there ogling her, smelling badly, and judging her and Henry Lee, like he was God's archangel.
"I am Hannah May Bunch Watson. I was duly married to Henry Lee Watson in Plainview Church, Oklahoma Territory, on the twelfth day of last month."
She bristled with indignation, seating herself as if she were now the one ready to pass judgment. "Please feel free to check up on that. The minister will remember us. He is my father, the Reverend Farnam Bunch!"
Tom Quick did not allow one tiny portion of the surprise he felt show in his face. Hattie had told him that she was a preacher's daughter, but he hadn't truly believed that. There were plenty of so-called preachers in the territory, drunks or con men most of them, and he had assumed that she was one of their gets. However, if she was a real preacher's daughter, a good Christian woman mixed up with a criminal, then he should be trying another tack entirely.
Quick rose from his desk. "Let me see if I can get you some coffee, Mrs. Watson. You've been through a terrible ordeal this evening. It seems like I'm making it worse. Just rest here a spell and I'll see what I can find."
Hannah was puzzled by his sudden shift, but assumed that he had finally realized she was telling the truth.
Left alone, she tried to gather her thoughts. Henry Lee had denied nothing. She was the wife of a moonshiner and whiskey peddler. It was unexpected and unfortunate, but as he had pointed out, he hadn't begged her to marry him. She had forced him into it and she had decided at the time that she deserved her fate. She hadn't known what her fate was to be. But now she did.
There was no way that she could become unmarried. Divorce was as distasteful as crime. They had made this marriage in good faith and they would have to make the best of it, no matter the circumstances.
