by Pamela Morsi
Quickly lighting a lamp, Hannah went to investigate.
Henry Lee lay sprawled, face down in the middle of the room, moaning. A stab of fear ran through Hannah's heart. He'd injured himself. Hurrying to his side, she set the lamp on the table and dropped to her knees beside him.
"Henry Lee! What happened? Are you all right? Can you move?"
Henry Lee, who was not precisely sure what evil monster had thrown a bunch of buckets and a chair at him, moaned a little, feeling the pain in his shoulder where it had hit the table.
As Hannah stood above him, her eyes were huge with worry and her face reflected a tender concern Henry Lee had never seen before. Her hair lay in a long honey-colored rope beside her sensitive throat, past the darkened nipple clearly visible through the thin cotton gown, to her surprisingly narrow waist. Henry Lee wanted to climb that rope, leaving a trail of kisses along the way. Her anxious breathing drew his attention back to the rise and fall of her breasts. Unbound and pointing impudently upward, he tried to compare them to something familiar. They were definitely bigger than peaches, but not like melons. With a sigh of contentment, he decided no plant or tree could produce a fruit so desirable to taste. The light from the lamp framed her face and gave her a kind of halo. That was who she was, an angel, he thought. But not one of the psalm-singing ones, a flesh and blood one that made fire run in his veins.
"Oh, my Hannah," he said, his voice slurred. "Are you an angel of mercy or a hot-blooded wench come to tempt me into your flame?"
The undeniable odor of drunkenness assailed Hannah's nostrils and made her both angry and afraid. She was angry that he had left on business and had obviously decided to get himself drunk instead. And she was frightened also. She had seen men drunk on the street in Ingalls, but she had never actually been close to one. She wasn't sure what to expect. She'd read tracts from the Temperance Society where women described in detail how their drunken husbands would rage at them and beat them.
She decided it was best to treat him as she would a wild animal. Show no fear and take charge of the situation.
"You are drunk."
Henry Lee's smile deepened. "That I am, Miss Hannah, a drunker man I have never seen. Well, maybe I have, but I can't seem to remember it right now."
Because he didn't seem angry or vicious, Hannah relaxed somewhat and took courage.
"Do you need me to help you up? You seem to have fallen."
"Damn furniture, ought to have enough sense to get out of the way, that's what I think," he replied.
"Let me help you up." She moved her arms under his shoulders to lift him, but to her surprise he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
"I'm not so sure I want to get up. This seems like a pretty good position to me." He pressed her delicious bosom against his chest, feeling the hard tips of her nipples like twin peaks of fire, searing his flesh.
Frightened by his sudden movement, Hannah tried to pull back; instead she found herself held firmly against him. The closeness of his body was having the same embarrassing effect she had suffered the other night, and she knew she must stop this before he became disgusted with her again.
"Let me go, Henry Lee, I want to get up," she demanded.
"In a minute," he replied lazily. "I just want to feel you against me for a minute. Just want to share a little heat." His mouth wandered to the throat he found so tempting. "I just want a little taste of what it would be like to husband you."
When his lips made contact with the sensitive flesh beneath her ear, a sharp cry escaped from her lips. It was happening again, he was touching her and making her feel all liquid and molten inside. His mouth was firm and insistent against her skin, and blazed a path from her neck to her lips.
His kiss was not gentle, but hot and demanding. With a gentle sucking pressure on her mouth he forced it open and then his tongue was inside, exploring the depths of that hot cavern, as if to show her how he would like to explore another.
His tongue so shocked Hannah, that she squirmed in fright. Her squirm only pressed her more closely against him, and in answer he moved slightly pulling her down full length on top of him. With a groan he slid his hand down her back to cup her much admired bottom.
He pressed her against his rock solid erection and the feeling it evoked in Hannah took her breath away. She was quickly losing touch with reality and could no longer think about what she should be doing, getting away. Instead she found herself doing what she wanted to be doing, kissing him back.
Her lips sought his with the same hunger he had felt and experimentally she pushed her own tongue into his mouth. The surge of fire that action brought to her body caused her to squirm toward him again. Not to get away but to get as close as she possibly could.
As he pressed her bottom firmly down, matching her hot aching pit with his correspondingly heated member, Hannah could not stifle the cry of pleasure that blended in their mouths. Her breasts seemed to swell and ache and she sought his hand to comfort them.
When she brought his hand to her breast and pressed it against her, Henry Lee shuddered at his lack of control. Groaning, he quickly rolled her over on her back. Spreading her legs with his, he was only restricted by the tangle of her nightgown. His mouth left hers and in a chain of fiery kisses he headed determinedly to the breast she had so generously offered.
Freed of the glorious wonder of his mouth on hers, Hannah began to hear strange whimpers of pleasure that were barely recognizable as her own. As Henry Lee fastened his wonderful mouth on the aching peak of her breast, she cried out in passion and confusion.
"Oh, Henry Lee, my God! What are you doing to me!" Arching her back to give him more access, she pressed her womanhood more firmly against the long length of his manhood. “Just don't stop!" she begged, "please, don't ever stop."
Her hot pleading fired Henry Lee beyond tenderness as a red haze of lust filled his eyes. He could no longer bear the thin sheath of cotton between his mouth and her breast. Grabbing the modest cotton gown at the neck, he ripped it open, laying Hannah bare to his gaze.
The jerk of the resistant material and the wild sound of it tearing its way to her nakedness was deafeningly loud, drowning out the moans and breathing of a moment before.
Their eyes met as if they were just realizing what was happening. In Henry Lee's, Hannah saw a strength, a drive, that she didn't understand or know. In Hannah's, Henry Lee saw passion mixed with confusion and fear. In that instant the confusion and fear seemed to overtake the passion and to blot it out completely.
His eyes dropped to the view he had ripped her gown open to see. Her beautiful breasts lay bare, heaving with her labored breathing, and damp from the attention he had lavished upon them. She flushed with embarrassment and he realized that in his drunken lust he had treated her roughly, like a common tramp, and she had refused him nothing.
Cold-sober now, Henry Lee pulled the torn remnants of her gown together to cover her.
"Hannah," his voice was a hoarse whisper, "have I hurt you?"
"No," she answered a little shakily, not quite able to look him in the eye, "I don't think so."
He rolled off her and sat up. She too sat, crossing her arms against her torn bodice. As their breathing returned to normal, they both stared straight ahead not daring to look at each other.
"Hannah," he said finally, "as you said yourself, I'm drunk. I don't usually drink, and I swear I won't again. I would never do anything to hurt you. I hope you know that."
"It didn't hurt exactly," Hannah told him, trying to understand just exactly what she was feeling.
He looked at her quickly, but she could not meet his glance.
"I want to have you as my wife, Hannah. I want you to take my body, like you've taken my name. But I want you in my bed and willing, not on the floor where I've dragged you."
Henry Lee ran a distracted hand through his hair as if trying to reason out the unreasonable. He never lost control with women; he always knew what he was doing. Twice now he had lost hi
s head with his new wife and he couldn't understand it. He made a rational decision about their future together. He needed to stick to that arrangement and not allow the crazy heat of passion that she seemed to generate in him to threaten their potential for happiness.
"Hannah, we've got a lot of things going against us. If we are going to have any kind of marriage at all, we're going to have to give ourselves the best chance possible."
He hesitated, trying to think of the right words. She was so vulnerable now, he didn't want to hurt her, but he had to say it outright so that she would understand.
"I think we should wait to share our marriage bed until the reason for our marriage is behind us."
Hannah looked at him surprised. He met her gaze and added as gently as possible, "People make mistakes and I don't hold you in contempt for yours, but I think we should wait until it's no longer an issue."
Chapter Eight
Flat one by six pine planks stretched between kitchen chairs, barrels, and stools, forming makeshift pews in the new Plainview Church. Hannah and Henry Lee had been the last to arrive and found themselves sitting front row center as the service began.
Hannah's whimsical notion of the night before, of having everyone in the church looking at the two of them, was a lot less enjoyable in fact than it had been in fantasy. The whispers had started up the minute they walked in the door. The knowing glances and speculation brought out Hannah's natural shyness and made her long for the days when she was unnoticeable in this congregation.
It didn't help that Henry Lee looked his worst. His face was drawn, lined, and tired, and he seemed to have almost a greenish cast to his complexion. She knew he was ill from the liquor when he refused even coffee for breakfast. Why he had insisted on coming was a mystery.
Hannah had given up on sleep at dawn and had dressed and readied herself for church, planning to attend alone. She looked forward to it. The time alone on the road and the communion with heaven at the church surely would calm her and give her peace. She was very concerned about the events of last night. She was surprised at what she was learning about herself, about the depth of her own passion, and the strange mysteries of her own body. She needed time to sort out what was happening, and she had hoped to have that time this morning.
She encountered her first obstacle when she found that she could not seem to harness the team. Her father had always taken care of the horses, and now she wished she had paid more attention to how it was done. After several unsuccessful attempts, she decided that her only options were to stay at home or to get Henry Lee to help her.
Her first timid knocks on his door produced no results. Ultimately, she was pounding the wood to get his attention. When the door was finally wrenched open, Hannah was momentarily frightened. He looked rumpled, sick, and angry.
"I'm so sorry to wake you, Henry Lee."
He waved her apology away. "You need something, the house on fire, what?"
She steeled herself against his bad temper. "I’m going to hitch up the buggy and I'll be on my way. You can lay back down again."
He ran his hands across his face and through his hair as if trying to rouse himself.
"You should have woke me earlier. Give me a couple of minutes to clean up and dress and I'll hitch up and take you."
"Oh, you don't have to do that! I can drive myself, I really am very good at handling a team," she protested.
He walked over to his wash table and poured the water from the pitcher into the bowl. Hannah watched as he splashed the cold water over his face and head and managed to get a good bit of it spilt on the washstand and floor.
"I said I would take you, and I will take you."
His firmness brooked no argument.
"Would you like me to fix you some breakfast?" she asked innocently.
He shuddered. "Don't you dare!" he answered. At first his voice seemed angry, but then he was almost laughing. "Did you unload the buggy? You can start that while I get dressed. Just carry the lighter things, I'll get the heavy sacks myself."
Hannah had been delighted to discover the fresh vegetables in the buggy. At least he had not lied to her when he said he was going to Sandy Creek on business. He must have gotten himself drunk later. Glancing at him now as the sunlight streamed in through the window of the new church, bathing his face, she wondered why anyone drank if this was the consequence.
As they stood together to sing a hymn, Henry Lee wondered the same thing. He felt terrible, of course, but worse than that he remembered the night before vividly. He didn't try to sing. He didn't know any of the words, yet it was such a pleasure just to stand next to Hannah and listen to her wonderful rich voice that seemed more suited to a beer hall than the House of the Lord. She was such a prize and he had frightened and embarrassed her last night.
When Skut would get raving drunk he never seemed to remember what had happened. For once, Henry Lee wished he was more like him. He hated the memory of his drunkenness. He hated wondering what Hannah must think of it. She had not even wanted him to drive her to church today. Perhaps she was ashamed to be seen with him now. Well, ashamed or not, he was her husband, and nothing was going to change that.
When the hymn ended, they seated themselves on the rough pine planks. Henry Lee found it pretty uncomfortable. He had planned to wait until the long dark days of winter to make the pews for the church. But, after sitting for a few moments he revised his plans to a bit sooner.
Bowing his head as instructed as he listened to the soft drone of Farnam Bunch requesting guidance from God, he became increasingly aware of the proximity of his wife. With his eyes closed he could smell her. It wasn't the kind of smell he usually associated with women. It was neither the cheap overwhelming perfume of the women of ill repute or the typical lavender sachet of more discreet ladies. She smelled of sunshine and plain soap and woman. He realized that he remembered this smell from the night before. Sprawled on the floor, the scent of her had assailed his nostrils and now beside her in church the same scent caused an immediate reaction in his body.
He quickly opened his eyes as if his sense of sight could cancel out his sense of smell. Looking at Hannah's strong, sturdy hands lying calmly in her lap gave him back his control. She had the hands of a working woman. Callused and rough, her hands reflected the work she did. The work she did, now, in his house. He remembered his mother's wedding ring that had not fit on her finger. He had forgotten that he'd given it to her. He was sorry she couldn't wear it and decided that next time he went to the city he would have it made to fit her. It was tangible evidence that she was his. He liked knowing that, and for some reason he now wanted everyone to know it. He wanted all these people to think of her as Mrs. Watson, not Miss Hannah.
Henry Lee felt an unexpected surge of pride in his new wife. She was a fine, decent woman. The kind that any of these farmers would not have been ashamed to call his own. And she belonged to Henry Lee Watson. Sure, she'd made a mistake, Henry Lee was not about to forget that, but hadn't he made plenty in his life? He speculated that most of the good Christians now in the church had probably made a mistake or two themselves.
Feeling somewhat better, he caught Hannah's eye and gave her a hopeful smile. She returned his smile with a shy one of her own and lowered her eyes discreetly before returning her attention to the preaching.
Henry Lee watched her for another minute, before he too gave polite attention to Reverend Bunch.
Hannah was both anxious and encouraged by what had happened last night. Certainly, it was all very frightening, having him hold her and caress her like that. But it was exciting too, and she realized that she was anxious for it to happen again. At least she had learned why Henry Lee wasn't sharing a bed with her. The trick she had played was terrible and Hannah understood that it must be difficult for him to forgive something like that. At least he was willing to try to forget it, and planned to have a real marriage with her. She wondered longingly how much time it would take for him to get over it. If last night was any indic
ation, surely it wouldn't be too long.
After the service, Hannah found that getting out and to their buggy was somewhat like running the gauntlet. Everyone in the community wanted to ask a question or wish them well. Nearly all commented on Henry Lee's first attendance at church. Hannah was embarrassed for him, but he seemed to take it in good humor. "Can't have my wife attending church without me," he told Mason Dillary. "She might see some other fellow and never come home."
Laughter followed in their wake as Henry Lee made joke after joke about his appearance at the Sunday service. When they finally reached the buggy, and Hannah was about to climb inside with great relief, she heard her father's voice behind her.
"Violet's cooking up a big Sunday dinner for you two, and she just won't take no for an answer."
Hannah felt drained and wanted to beg off, but Henry Lee seemed delighted to be staying for dinner and quite willing to stand and talk to the neighbors indefinitely.
"Henry Lee," Hannah called to him, "I'll just go and help Violet, she'll need me." Henry Lee nodded, and Hannah quickly made her exit before anyone else had the opportunity to object. Practically racing down the hill to the house, she arrived in the kitchen just as her stepmother was stoking the fire in the stove and pulling on her apron.
"You didn't have to hurry, honey," Violet told her. "I've been learning to get these meals by myself and I'm doing better all the time. You should have stayed to visit with your friends."
"My friends are a bit nosy for me, these days," Hannah answered bluntly.
"I see," her stepmother said, "I guess I remember that. Being first married and being a bit shy, wanting to keep your happiness to yourself for a little while." She smiled nostalgically. "Yes, I think I remember that."
Respecting each other's privacy, the two worked together companionably and in a short time two chickens were delicately fried. Yeast rolls were beautifully browned and piles of greens, potatoes, and crowder peas vied for room on the kitchen table among the pickled beets, chow-chow, green onions and sliced tomatoes. Myrtie came in from the cellar bearing a crock of fresh cottage cheese and then laughingly called the men to the table.
