by Pamela Morsi
At fifteen, Hannah had taken over the job of raising two-year-old Myrtie and her three brothers, even before her mother had died. The vicious, painful cancer that had slowly choked the life out of her mother had caused young Hannah to put away her childish things forever.
Hannah had no regrets. Her brothers were all married now. They had their own places and a start in the world. She was an aunt twice over already. And seeing young Myrtie—pretty, sweet, all primed to run a house, the most sought-after girl in the territory—was evidence of a job well done. But the job was over now, and it was time she made a life of her own.
She examined her reflection in the small glass that had belonged to her mother. The gingham dress did nothing to disguise the broad shoulders and sturdy appearance that Hannah had inherited from her father. It was a simple and rather severe style and was not exactly blue anymore. Lack of bluing on the prairie generally, and in the territory particularly, meant that most everything faded to a dull gray that seemed to be almost a part of the landscape. Hannah had often prided herself on being a practical, hardworking woman. This day, however, with the task she had set for herself, she wished she had just a fraction of the dainty, dimpled appearance of young Myrtie.
In fact, Hannah was pleasant enough to look at. She was tall and strong, the way a farm girl should be. Her features were comely, and her figure was definitely female. Her hair, which she considered her best feature, was an in-between color, not quite brown, but not quite blonde. It was a riot of thick natural curls that she kept tightly braided and wrapped at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds over a lake, but with none of the foreboding.
Now they settled on her sister, who had yet to move from her comfortable cocoon. "Come on, Myrtie, all those sweet-looking boys are going to be disappointed if you're not down there to greet them."
Throwing back the covers, Myrtie sat on the edge of the bed with her eyes still closed, trying for that last minute of a long night's rest. As her sister finally began her morning ritual, Hannah hurried out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
Her stepmother, Violet, was seated at the table rolling out biscuits, the water already steaming on the stove.
The two women greeted each other cordially. Hannah went to the coffee tin and measured a pot's worth into the grinder.
"Have you taken care of everything for the meal?" Hannah asked. "These men are going to be very hungry and you can't count on the other women to bring enough."
"Oh, there'll be plenty," Violet answered, with a smiling confidence that Hannah didn't possess. "I've never yet been to a community dinner where there wasn't twice as much food as needed."
Hannah started to suggest that was true because the women always planned ahead, but she managed to hold her tongue. "I suppose," Hannah suggested instead, "if things start to run out I could come in and fry up some of that ham. It won't be as good as the other, but if you're hungry you can eat anything."
Violet smiled at her stepdaughter. "I'm so excited about the new church, I could hardly sleep all night," she told her. "I just kept imagining all the angels in heaven cheering and singing for joy that a new house for the Lord would be going up in the territory."
Hannah could not imagine lying awake in the bed thinking about the doings of angels. It was one of the things that was so difficult for her to understand about her stepmother—her flights of fancy.
"We'd best get those biscuits in the oven," Hannah muttered dryly, "or do you think the angels might send us breakfast from heaven?"
Violet's laugh was tinkling, like a little bell. "They just might!" she replied, her eyes bright with mischief. "Do you think your father would prefer grits this morning or manna?"
The air was still cool as Hannah hurried out to do her chores, but there was no doubt that it was going to be a hot day. That would fit in perfectly with Hannah's plan. By now, she had convinced herself that she was doing the right thing. After all, the idea had come to her from the good book.
One evening during her father's daily scripture reading, when her mind wandered from his droning voice, she'd gotten the idea. At first, it seemed quite daring and sinful, but after examining it more closely, she had decided that it was, in fact, very sensible. Men married women for many reasons and most of those turned out to be terribly shortsighted. This was a very practical solution, not done up with hearts and flowers perhaps, but one that would offer a measure of happiness and security for both of them . . .
As she gathered the eggs, her father hailed her on his way back from the barn.
"Looks like a perfect day for building a church," he said, glancing toward the road as if he couldn't wait to begin. "Figure those boys will be heading in anytime now, you better hurry up and help Violet, she's not used to feeding a crowd."
"I will, Papa," Hannah assured him. Her father's choice in a second wife continued to be a mystery to Hannah. Violet was sweet and loving and very unlike the type of woman her father needed. Her faith was childlike and her experience at making a home almost nonexistent. Hannah found it hard to understand how her straightforward sensible father could find happiness with a woman who seemed more Myrtie's contemporary than his own.
"I'll take care of things, Papa," she said. "But it's best if it looks like it's Violet's spread." Hannah was well aware that a woman's place in the community was judged by the way she set a table. It was true that most of the congregation seemed to accept Violet's peculiarities, but Hannah didn't think it would do any good for the women to think that it was Hannah who continued to keep her father's house.
Hannah glanced up at the rise on the east side of the house. A foundation of sandstone, quarried from the local hills, was surrounded by fresh timber, just waiting for the hands of carpenters.
"It's going to be a wonderful church, Papa."
"Yes, I think it will," he said, beaming at his oldest daughter.
Reverend Farnam Bunch had waited five long years to have a church of his own. He might have waited even longer if his new wife, Violet, hadn't encouraged him. The grassy prairie that had appealed to farmers because it lacked the stumps and roots that they had had to remove in former homesteads, meant that lumber was hard to come by. It also meant that homes and barns and other necessary buildings had to be raised before using precious lumber for a meetinghouse. Now, finally, he had convinced the congregation that they were ready to build a church. With everybody helping out, two days would be plenty of time to see his dream become a reality. His eyes rested warmly on Hannah.
"I like it that you are so pleased about the church. You didn't seem to much like the idea when Violet came up with it."
"I explained all that, Papa," she sighed. "I just thought that if we built a bigger barn, which we really need, we could make do with the old barn as a church."
His frown admonished her as he spoke deliberately. "The house of the Lord shouldn't be in a barn, Hannah. Violet's right about that."
"Yes, I'm sure she is," she admitted and then lifted her chin in mild defiance. "But, we do need a bigger barn."
He laughed. "Don't forget what the Bible had to say about building bigger barns, you can get yourself in a peck of trouble there, sister."
"You're right, of course, Papa." Hannah shook her head at her father's attempt at humor.
"Anyway," he said wrapping his arm around her, "aren't you about ready for a nice, clean, little, white church, like the ones we left behind in Kansas? I thought all ladies liked nice, clean, little, white churches."
Hannah smiled. What would her father say if she told him she planned to be married in that nice little church tomorrow. He would be shocked. Hannah had never had a regular beau. It wasn't that she lacked interest in men. But she'd had a house to keep, a farm to work, and the children to raise. Gentlemen callers were a luxury for which she had no time. When she was prime age for men to be giving her a long look, she knew that her father and her brothers and sister needed her too much to leave them.
Because Hannah had never all
owed any man to sit with her in church or walk out with her in the evenings, her father believed her to be one of those women fulfilled by spinsterhood. It had never occurred to him that her lack of a husband was due to his overburdening her as a daughter.
Hannah might have been content if her father hadn't remarried. But now it was Violet's house and hearth. And Hannah felt in the way.
Of course, it wasn't only for her father and Violet that Hannah had come up with her plan. She wanted a family and a man of her own. At her age, it wasn't easy to go husband-hunting, although she knew that she would make an excellent wife. She was capable, diligent, used to hard work, and of an even temperament. She needed a man who would accept her for those practical qualities, but that kind of usefulness didn't generally catch the eye of young men.
As Hannah headed back into the house, her father continued to gaze at the top of the rise. He'd named it Plainview Church because you could see nothing from that rise but just plain view.
Hannah's eyes, however, did not linger on the church that was going to be, but on the house that was, and had been, her home for so long. If her plan worked, and she was sure it would, this would be one of the last mornings of her life here. Would her new home be as loving and peaceful as this one? Surely with a man like Will, it would be.
Will Sample had moved to the area over a year ago, setting up a dry goods store down near Pearson's Creek. For Hannah it had not been love at first sight, or even the nearest thing to it. Will was not the kind of man to set a woman's heart aflutter. Most women would have said he was big, and shy, and homely. But Hannah thought he was much like her. Hardworking and eminently practical, he was a man of few words, and though he had few friends not many would have stated that they disliked the man.
Almost from the day he moved to the area, he had latched on to Hannah's family. He was there most Saturday nights for supper. He never missed a Sunday service. If there was anything extra to be done, if a man's hand was needed, he was available, right along with her brothers.
For a while, Hannah was puzzled by this. People had reasons for the things they did, and at first, she couldn't fathom Will's. Then she realized that he must be coming around to see her, and she was flattered, and mildly amused. After her father married Violet, she became interested.
Hannah was certain that she could make him a good wife. She didn't love him, of course. But that would come in time, she knew. A good marriage should be based on comparable purpose and ambition. Hannah knew that she had good business sense and could be a help to him in making his store prosper. Both of them being matter-of-fact and sensible, they would work well together.
But that had been several months earlier. With each passing week it had become more difficult to wait for Will to work up the courage to begin a courtship. It had become increasingly obvious to Hannah that he was so shy he could only rarely manage even a few words for her. She tried to give him opportunities to see her at her best, to be alone with her for as long as was proper, and to try to make him as comfortable as possible in her presence.
Hannah had maintained her patience as long as possible, and finally she knew something had to be done. Then suddenly the perfect plan was right before her eyes. Now all that was needed was the doing of it . . . .
The morning was a busy one for Hannah. She expected to feed close to a hundred people, counting the children. She knew that every woman would be bringing food, but it was still the responsibility of the preacher's family to see that everyone had plenty to eat.
As she sat on the wash bench under the blackjack tree snapping beans, Myrtie and Violet came over to join her.
Her sister stood before her, smoothing her hair and preening as she admired her ruffled skirts.
“What do you think of this dress, Hannah? I do look all right, don't I?"
“You're a vain child, Myrtie," Hannah answered, but there was a smile on her face. “If you do as well as you look, then you'll be doing all right."
Violet laughed. "Oh Hannah, Myrtie always does what she is supposed to do, and when you are especially pretty you can't help but be a little vain about it."
Hannah didn't know that she truly agreed with that, but she held her tongue. Violet was such a cheerful person she was difficult to scold.
Hannah and Myrtie settled themselves under the tree and began the process of snapping the beans and transferring the snapped portions to another saucepan. Myrtie's help was halfhearted this morning and her talk inevitably turned to boys. Hannah listened as she always had. She wished she could share her own excitement and nervous anxiety about the events coming up in her life. But telling Myrtie would be like advertising in the Gazette. This was something that Hannah would have to keep to herself, at least until tomorrow, when everyone would know anyway.
"Look, Hannah, someone is coming down the road already." Myrtie quickly grabbed the edges of her apron, forming a safe pouch for the beans she held in her lap, and stood on her tiptoes to get a better view.
“Who is it?" Hannah asked.
“I can't tell," her sister answered, shading her eyes against the sun.
Hannah stood up and looked down the road at the wagon coming slowly toward them. Hannah noticed the driver's shiny black hair and her heart began beating quicker. Will Sample, the first to arrive. Hannah struggled to control her breathing and tried to remain unconcerned as her future rode toward her.
"Oh, it's Henry Lee Watson!" Myrtie exclaimed.
Hannah looked again and realized Myrtie was right. She guessed that she was so anxious to see Will that she saw him even when he wasn't there.
"I can't imagine what he's doing here," Myrtie said. "Why, he doesn't even attend church."
Hannah knew Watson lived out near Pearson's Creek just across the line in the Indian Territory. He'd been here long before the Washington policy that had offered any willing farmer one hundred and sixty acres just for tearing up the prairie grass and planting in the remaining dirt. The change had not been without incident, and cattlemen and farmers still weren't on the best of terms. But Henry Lee was neither farmer nor cattleman. He held a rather unique position in the community. Revered by some, despised by others, he refused to take the judgment of the community too seriously.
Hannah knew little of him except that it was said that if more than two people were meeting together, Henry Lee Watson would soon be showing up. To Hannah, this meant that his interest was in trifling pursuits and idleness. Not the type of steady, hardworking man that she could respect.
"He's here because I asked him," Papa said, as he came up behind them, "and don't you be making eyes at that one, little sugarplum. He's a grown man who's lived a full life, I've no doubt, and he's no match for the likes of you. But he is one good cabinetmaker. To my mind he ought to take up cabinetry full-time, but I guess it's his choice. Anyway, I want him for the finish work for the church."
Henry Lee rode up into the yard and waved. Six foot two inches of lean, muscled man, he rarely went unnoticed by females of any community.
"Reverend Farnam," he said, doffing his hat to the ladies with a handsome smile, "the devil must still be sleeping this morning, looks like a perfect day for building a church."
"That it does, Henry Lee, and I hope you're feeling like working."
"I will surely try, Reverend, but with pretty ladies like these around, why it nearly puts me out of the working mood altogether." His words and charming smile were directed at the women sitting on the wash bench.
Myrtie giggled and covered her face with her hands. Violet laughed lightheartedly, as if flirtation with the preacher's wife and daughters was perfectly normal. Hannah just stared at him wondering how a grown man came to be so frivolous. Oh, she could see why Myrtie found him interesting, he was a fine-looking specimen, broad enough in the shoulders to make his height seem everyday. And the black hair that betrayed his distant native heritage was thick and straight and offset by the most amazing blue eyes that seemed perpetually to be dancing with amusement.
Hannah found him fascinating, almost like a rattlesnake. He was just the type of man she'd warned Myrtie to avoid.
"What are you bringing us here, Henry Lee?" Hannah's father asked.
"Venison," he replied unloading the contents of the wagon and hoisting the haunch of meat on his shoulder.
"To tell you the God's truth, Reverend, I had this terrible nightmare last night." His eyes scanned Farnam and then the ladies, keeping everyone's attention.
"I kept hearing something calling 'Help us! Help us! She is going to kill us all!' and do you know who was calling me? Why those fine laying hens of yours. I could just see Mrs. Bunch saying she was going to have to do away with every last one of them to feed this crew." He flashed a dazzling smile at Violet, causing her to blush prettily.
"You could say," he teased her, "that I'm bringing this deer to insure the future of eggs in the territory."
Everyone laughed.
"I trust that this is all you brought, Henry Lee." The preacher's tone was serious.
"It is, Reverend," Henry Lee told him cheerfully. "Even I can forget about business for a couple of days to help build a church."
The preacher seemed to like his answer. "Have you had your breakfast, Henry Lee?" he asked. "Seeing how you're here first, you'll have time to try some of those eggs you're so fond of and maybe some of my wife's biscuits. Light as air, they are. That's why I married her, for her biscuits."
Henry Lee said something quietly under his breath to the preacher, who laughed heartily and clapped him on the back as they headed into the house.
As the morning lengthened, others began arriving and the air of a festive occasion blossomed. The men all headed up to the rise with a wagon load of lumber brought by Mason Dillary. Will's arrival almost passed unnoticed by Hannah, who had finished up the beans and was shucking corn.
Will bypassed the house to go straight to the rise, and had someone not called out to him Hannah would not have known that he was there at all.
