by Pamela Morsi
"You best make your way to the table, Hannah hates to serve up Sunday dinner late, and there's always the chance that she'll just throw it out."
Henry Lee shot his new wife a comical expression, as if he feared her wrath.
Hannah lingered, helping Violet get everything onto the table, until her father insisted that she take her place beside her husband.
"Henry Lee, you just sit right here and Hannah, put that away now and come join your husband."
"That's right," Violet insisted, taking the vinegar bottle from Hannah's grasp. "You are a guest today, so try to act like one," she teased.
As was their custom, the family joined hands to say grace. Placing her hand in Henry Lee's sent a shock wave through Hannah's body, followed by a vivid memory of his caresses and kisses of the night before. Desperately, Hannah tried to refocus her mind upon asking blessing for the food, but unerringly her thoughts flew back to the touch of Henry Lee's hand on her breast and the relentlessness of his mouth on hers. When her father finally pronounced amen, Hannah quickly pulled her hand away, but she had no control over the flaming roses that brightened her cheeks.
Henry Lee, who seemed totally recovered from his illness of the morning, ate heartily and complimented Violet outrageously on the meal. He seemed more the self-assured, jovial man that Hannah thought him to be before their marriage. He seemed to be almost flirting with Myrtie, who was glowing from the attention.
When Hannah's stepmother offered him another yeast roll, he took two and revealed that he was partial to them.
“Next time, I'll make a double batch," Violet proclaimed, "and you can take the rest home with you."
"Oh, no, ma'am," he said, winking at her. "Don't put yourself out like that. I certainly haven't been suffering from lack of good cooking."
Henry Lee gave Hannah a quick smile as he slathered butter on his roll.
"These are surely mighty fine eating, but my Hannah makes the finest light bread I've ever tasted. I consider myself a fortunate man."
Hannah was nearly dumbfounded and extremely pleased with the compliment. Henry Lee had praised her cooking before, but the tone of his voice today seemed to indicate a satisfaction that went further than a good meal. Suddenly, when she was surrounded by her family, he became charming and complimentary. She wondered if he was playing up to her parents, seeking their approval. Did he really care what they thought?
What Hannah's family thought was all to Henry Lee's credit. They had both been very uncertain about the potential outcome of such a mismatch, but what they were seeing appeared to be two people who had strong feelings for each other.
Reverend Farnam was reassured that Henry Lee seemed to have a pretty good head on his shoulders, and was as straightforward and honest as a man could be in his profession.
Violet was thinking that the roses blooming in Hannah's cheeks left no doubt that she was loved and cared for by this man.
Myrtie just thought they were the most handsome couple she had ever seen, and she dreamily anticipated a man just like Henry Lee to come along and marry her also.
"I very much enjoyed your sermon today, Papa," Hannah said, breaking up the silence at the table.
The preacher accepted her compliment with a nod. "Hannah has always been partial to the Old Testament," he explained to his son-in-law, smiling. "What about you, Henry Lee?" he asked. "What did you think of my sermon?"
Henry Lee studied his plate, casually moving around the remains of his potatoes.
"It was the first time I'd heard you preach, Reverend," he replied. "You have a fine speaking voice and that is for sure."
Farnam Bunch immediately noticed his son-in-law's hesitance.
"What about the subject? What did you think of the story of Cain and Abel?"
Henry Lee looked the preacher straight in the eye for a moment, as if deciding what and how much to answer. Then with an affirmative nod he decided to speak his mind.
“Truly, Preacher, I have never liked that story," he said. "I know you preachers always talk about the sin of one brother slaying the other. That's pretty bad, I've got no argument with that. But the part that bothers me is where that jealousy began."
Hannah listened avidly, curious about the workings of her husband's mind.
"Here you have two hardworking men," he went on. "One of them raises sheep and the other is a farmer." Henry Lee rubbed his chin and leaned closer to the preacher as if trying to more clearly express his point. "For some reason God decided to prefer the results of one man's labor over that of the other man." Henry Lee shook his head in disbelief. "I can't for the life of me understand why God could not accept the offering of both men. A man who takes pride in his work ought not to be scorned because of his choice of occupation."
Reverend Bunch smiled tightly. Hannah, however, did not recognize the undercurrents between her father and her husband. She was surprised that Henry Lee had given so much thought to the sermon and she could see the point he was making. It did seem unfair that God would choose the offering of the shepherd and reject that of the farmer. However, she had learned through her own mistake in thinking what was good for Ruth and Boaz was good for herself and Will Sample. The Old Testament contained many passages that were open to misinterpretation. She wanted to explain that to Henry Lee.
"I know that it seems unfair," Hannah said. "But the point of the story really has nothing to do with occupation. Some sacrifices were more acceptable to God than others, but we don't need to offer sacrifices these days, so it is no longer important."
"I wouldn't say that it's not important," her father interrupted, but Hannah ignored him and continued.
"All work done with diligence and care is acceptable to God. People sometimes put more value on some kinds of work than on others. They may think that the preacher or the doctor has more favor in God's eyes, but the truth is that the Bible says that God himself 'established the work of our hands,' so that whatever our talent is, if we do it to the best of our ability, God is pleased."
Hannah's smile was so loving and kind, it was difficult for Henry Lee to look at her. It was no longer a bit funny that she didn't know about his whiskey business. He wished that he had told her the first day.
Henry Lee glanced over at the preacher to see him studying his daughter. He wondered if her father was going to correct her. To tell her that God could never be pleased with a man who made his living with whiskey. The reverend, however, held his peace and changed the subject.
"Well, Henry Lee," Hannah's father asked, "what do you think of the new church you built?"
"I believe it will hold up through the winter," he teased. "But those pine planks could make even the best of sermons seem a mite long."
The reverend laughed at his son-in-law's frankness. "I doubt you're the only one with those sentiments. We'll all be anxious for winter to come so that you can get started making those pews for us."
"I'm thinking about starting them a bit sooner than the winter," he told them. "Sure, I won't be able to work steady on them this time of year, but I may be able to get a few done."
"That would be wonderful," Violet exclaimed. "It will make it seem more like a real church."
"I'm thinking to make a trip over to Sallisaw to visit the lumber mills and talk to some of the furniture makers. I'd like to find out what they have to say. I don't know too much about this. I taught myself to work the wood, but there are a lot of things about it that I still don't know."
"You're going to Sallisaw?" Myrtie's eyes were as big as saucers. "Will you take the train and everything?"
"Of course," he said, smiling at her charming sense of wonder. "What good is it to have trains, if you don't ride on them?"
"Oh that's wonderful," Myrtie said. "I've never ridden on a train, but I think it would be glorious." She flung her arm dramatically, barely missing the gravy bowl, but continued without noticing. "Does Hannah get to go with you?" she asked excitedly.
Hannah blushed with embarrassment. She quickly began a
ssuring Myrtie that she had too much to do and that it would not be possible for her to go, when Henry Lee cut into her explanation.
"Of course Hannah will go," he told them. "It wouldn't be very much fun to go on a trip and leave my bride at home."
Hannah blushed at his words. Henry Lee made it sound like a wedding trip and she was sure it wasn't that, or maybe it was. She wondered if he had decided to forgive her for the trick and make her his wife in fact. A tiny flutter of anxiety and excitement skittered through her mid-section. She hoped that it was true, and that he would finish the wonderful journey that he had started last night.
The talk around the table about the upcoming trip continued, but Hannah didn't have a word to add. She was lost in daydreams. She imagined being beside Henry Lee on a train around strangers. Everyone who saw them would know they were husband and wife, and none would guess how it had happened. They would all think that the handsome man beside her had married her for love. She suddenly realized how badly she wished that it were true. Involuntarily, a sigh escaped her lips. All eyes turned in her direction.
“Well, Henry Lee," her father said, "it seems we are boring your bride with our conversation."
"Oh no," Hannah insisted, "I was just woolgathering a bit." She felt Henry Lee's eyes upon her, questioning and curious.
"What kind of wood are you thinking to use?" Farnam asked him. "You think pine or maybe oak?"
Henry Lee chewed slowly. "I truly haven't decided," he finally answered. "I sure like the look of walnut, but it'll take a lot of wood. I might use walnut for the places that get the wear and a soft wood like pine or spruce for the underpinnings. It really depends on what size you want, I guess."
"What about the size?" the older man asked. "We just want what fits comfortably in the church."
"That's not what I mean," Henry Lee explained. "Do you want five long benches, where you get in and out on the sides. Or more like the big city churches, ten short benches, five on each side, with the aisle running straight down the middle."
"Which do you think?" the preacher asked him.
"Well," he answered thoughtfully, "five long benches would be the quickest, cheapest, and the most practical."
He glanced over at Hannah to see her reaction. "But the aisle up the center would sure be prettier. It would make a person feel welcome the minute he stepped in the door."
"Oh Papa!" Myrtie exclaimed, "you've got to have an aisle down the center for weddings. You can't have the bride just walk down one side of the church!"
The reverend smiled at his youngest daughter indulgently. "We could do all the weddings like your sister's. Just move the benches out altogether, let everybody stand, and the bride can walk wherever she pleases."
"Oh Papa, you're impossible," Myrtie complained.
"I think your daughters are right," Violet said. "It will look more like a church with an aisle up the center. And it will be easier for the sinners to make their way down to the front. I think you should consider it."
The preacher ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully for a moment.
"How much more do you think it will cost?" he asked Henry Lee.
Henry Lee considered for a bit, glancing over at Hannah again as if weighing a decision concerning her.
"How long you been preaching here, Brother Farnam?" he asked.
"About five years," he answered. "What does that have to do with it?"
"Well, Reverend, I'm a little bit behind on my tithe. I'm thinking that the cost of the pews for the new church might begin to catch me up a bit."
Henry Lee glanced over at Hannah for her approval and saw that she was both very surprised and pleased.
"Now, Henry Lee," Hannah's father replied shaking his head. "I couldn't let you do that, it's too much."
Henry Lee felt a lump of cold dread settling in his stomach. To be refused his offer of charity would be unbelievably humiliating.
"Couldn't or wouldn't?" Henry Lee asked him. "I want to do it, Reverend, unless you don't think the fruits of my labor are acceptable in God's house."
It was a direct challenge to his father-in-law. Like Cain, Henry Lee was presenting his offering. Would the preacher think that money earned making and selling whiskey was unfit to be used to adorn the church?
Reverend Bunch only had to think for an instant. It was his belief that God looked past the man that people see and saw straight to the heart. Somehow the reverend knew that Henry Lee's heart was in the right place.
"Henry Lee, speaking for the whole community, we very gratefully accept your generous gift of time and money for our church."
Chapter Nine
The midmorning sun peeped into the cave where Henry Lee had located his still. The barrel of sweet mash he'd made in the sunshine behind the pigsty now sat next to the spring ready to be worked. Henry Lee was so familiar with the whiskey-making process that he didn't have to give it a lot of thought, but today he was unusually distracted.
Since the discussion over Sunday dinner, he had continued to feel like a liar and a hypocrite. He knew now that he should have told her right away about what he did. He suspected that she would be angry at first, but she'd just need time to get over that. What she wouldn't get over was hearing it from somebody else after having made a fool of herself.
He was very grateful that her father hadn't given him away. He'd always thought the preacher to be an honest and fair man, now he decided that he also excelled as a father-in-law.
Thinking how fortunate he was in his choice of relatives, Henry Lee gently set the barrel on the wash bench next to the spring. The sweet water, chilled from its hiding place in the ground, flowed out of the wall down into a sparkling little pool about the size of a small washtub. Then it seeped back into the ground beneath the pool, to reemerge near the base of the bluff where it joined the creek. It seemed tailor-made for the needs of a moonshiner and Henry Lee was more than happy to take advantage of it.
He cautiously loosened the top of the barrel. The content, now fermented to a sugar, was a potent material. As he carefully lifted the lid he moved back away from the fumes. The aromatic substance gave him a headache when he worked with it, and he knew the concentrated effluvium in the barrel could be dangerous.
The sickly sweet smell of the fermented mash permeated the cave. Henry Lee stepped out to the ledge area for some fresh air.
Gazing down at his cabin, he saw Hannah outside gathering wood for the stove. He enjoyed just watching her. Even from this distance he could distinguish her purposeful stride. It seemed she never sauntered or rambled, she was always headed in some direction. Always busy making his house more of a home. He glanced down at his shirtfront and ran his hand along the sleeve. It was strange how she made his old work shirt look and feel better than some of his dress shirts. It was easy to tell that she took pride in the way she kept house, the way she cooked, the way she laundered the clothes, and her skill with a needle.
He smiled thinking of what she had said on Sunday. At the time, he had been mostly concerned about her finding out about his moonshining, but now he was able to remember more of her words. That all work was important work. He was sure that she must believe it, as he watched her head into the cabin with an armload of wood for the stove. She worked practically every minute of every day without a sigh or complaint. Things needed doing, so she did them. She didn't expect a good life to be handed to her on a platter. She meant to build that life herself, brick by brick. He continued watching the house, as if he could see her inside, and he smiled to himself. Many times he'd felt pride in his own work, a sense of accomplishment at what he was able to do on his own. This sense of pride in someone else's work was a new emotion.
While he watched the house, a trickle of sweat headed down the back of his neck and he swatted at it with his handkerchief. As hot as it was outside today, it must be intolerable in the house, cooking.
Hannah was, at that moment, thinking almost the same thing. She piled the load of wood in the crate near the stove and
wiped her brow.
She should have set this all up outside, she realized, but she would have needed help moving the table and equipment and she hadn't wanted to bother Henry Lee. It wasn't that she thought he wouldn't want to help her. She just wanted to do things by herself, to show him how much she could accomplish without troubling him.
The bushels of vegetables that he'd brought from Sandy Creek would have to be cooked and canned, so as not to spoil. Currently sitting on the stove was a huge caldron of black-eyed peas simmering in a little fat back and filling the air with fragrant steam. At the table, she was using a knife to scrape the kernels off the ears of corn. With a little luck, the corn would soon be meeting the same fate as the peas. Off to the side sat the jars and lids. She had started boiling them this morning, and now as they cooled, they awaited the contents bubbling on the stove.
Singing softly as she worked, she thought about last summer when she'd done this with Violet and Myrtie. Canning had been both a trial and an adventure. She hadn't been sure about taking charge. It was obviously the job of her stepmother. But Violet had been as willing to take her orders and to follow her directions as Myrtie. When Violet had started to remove the jars from the scalding water and set them to dry, Hannah had stopped her.
“You'll burn yourself," Hannah had told her, "let me do it, my hands are rougher than yours."
Violet had laughed. "Gracious, Hannah," she'd said. "A woman ten years younger than me could not possibly have rougher hands." Hannah remembered, however, that Violet had smiled. She had been pleased by her step-daughter's accidental compliment.
Hannah glanced down quickly at her own hands now. They were large, with long fingers and tidily kept short nails. There was no wedding band, she thought sadly, thinking of the tiny delicate ring that wouldn't go past her knuckle. She had never thought much about having pretty hands or wearing a ring. It had never seemed important. Somehow, now she thought it was. She recalled glancing up in church to catch Henry Lee looking at her hands. What had he thought? Was he still sorry that she forced him into marriage? Had he wished she were prettier?
