If Wishes Were Kisses: Six Beloved Americana Romances, a Collection (Small Town Swains)

by Pamela Morsi

  "My daughter is nearly grown now," Harjo told her. "She will soon marry and leave for her own home."

  "Are your sons still at home?" she asked.

  "They are all married, except the youngest," he answered. "That one is at Bacone School."

  Hannah had heard of the Bacone School, a college of higher learning in Muskogee.

  "So you are a Methodist?" Hannah asked.

  Harjo was somewhat taken aback. He hadn't really ever thought of himself as anything but Creek.

  "I guess that I am," he replied feeling a bit sheepish. "At least my wife and family are, I guess that makes me a Methodist, too."

  Hannah smiled tolerantly. "I think that Henry Lee thinks the same thing about being a Baptist. I guess your wife and I have something in common. We're both going to have to work harder to bring our husbands into the fold."

  The two men looked at each other, slightly embarrassed.

  "It looks to be a lifetime of work, ma'am," Harjo told her.

  Hannah laughed. It was a deep, throaty sound that Henry Lee found immediately disturbing. It set his pulse to racing and he was surprised to feel it spread a familiar warmth in the region of his lap. He quickly looked over at the other men. Had her sexy laugh had the same effect on them? They seemed not to have noticed.

  Harjo noticed the whiskey man was obviously very taken with her and a bit jealous to boot. He smiled to himself remembering the early days of his own marriage, when something as simple as his wife's laugh made him feel frisky. Right now, however, all he felt was the numbing pain of his bad leg going to sleep.

  He got up from the table and grabbed up a washtub that was leaning against the house. Bringing it back to the table, he resettled himself propping his bad leg on the tub to elevate it.

  Hannah watched his actions sympathetically, chiding herself for not thinking of his comfort earlier.

  "How did you injure your leg, Mr. Harjo?" she asked.

  The table was suddenly completely still. Even Harjo's companions, who ostensibly did not speak English, were frozen in place waiting to see their leader's reaction.

  Hannah immediately realized that she had made a mistake. Despairing at her clumsy attempt at being Henry Lee's hostess, she tried to apologize. “Forgive me for prying," she said. “It is truly none of my business."

  Harjo, who had in his youth decided that the best way to handle his disability was to knock the teeth out of anyone who mentioned it, decided to make an exception in this case. He found he liked the wife of the whiskey man and her question seemed more concern than curiosity.

  "It was not injured, ma'am," he told her. "I was born with a leg shorter and crooked. The birthing woman told my father that I would never walk."

  "Well, you have certainly proven her to be wrong, haven't you." Hannah's smile was contagious, and Harjo felt himself beginning to trust this woman.

  "When I was a boy," he said, surprising himself at his candidness, "the other children called me 'Gimpy- Harjo.' I got in the habit of shutting their mouths with my fist and now no one ever asks me about my limp."

  Hannah laughed again at his self-deprecating humor, and Harjo glanced at his friend the whiskey man. It was a pleasure to give Watson another jolt of his wife's laughter.

  For dessert, Hannah brought out a green tomato pie that she had thrown together while cooking the rest of the meal. She wished she had blackberries, or something else just as sweet. Her next project, after the canning, would be to scout out the area to see what kinds of fruits and herbs were growing nearby.

  The green tomato pie was still very hot from the oven and came oozing out of the neat little triangles that she had cut. She was disappointed at this unattractive complication, but the men attacked the tart treat as if it were ambrosia.

  The three men, formerly so anxious to get their liquor and head out, sat contented now, leaning back in their chairs, hands across their bellies. Harjo thought he might simply stay the afternoon and help Henry Lee with his chores, maybe take a nap in the shade of the red oak.

  Then he remembered how short a time the couple had been married and the reaction that Henry Lee had suffered just hearing his wife giggle. Nodding his head wisely, he knew that Henry Lee undoubtedly would find a delightfully cool, shady spot by the creek and spend the afternoon loving on his pretty wife in thanks for the wonderful meal. Yes, he thought, that was probably what his friend had planned. So he and his companions would get their moonshine and go see what kind of fun they could stir up.

  Harjo thanked Hannah profusely for the meal and surprisingly agreed to return at a later date with his wife. He wondered what kind of tongue-lashing he would get from his woman for bringing her to a moonshiner's house. But, he thought to himself, if the whiskey man can keep his moonshining business from his own wife, Harjo ought to be able to keep it a secret from his.

  As they were re-cinching the horses Harjo warned Henry Lee again. "Remember what I said about the marshals. It will be very hard to keep your livelihood a secret from your wife when she is dragged into court beside you."

  “I’m careful," Henry Lee replied, a bit defensively. "I always know who I'm selling to and my still is well hidden."

  "Just don't trust everyone that you know," Harjo cautioned. "There is money to be made from helping the marshals, and people who would sell their grandmothers if the price is right."

  Henry Lee nodded in agreement. "I will watch it closely for a while."

  "If I hear anything about you, I will get word to you as best I can."

  "I appreciate that," Henry Lee said, shaking his hand.

  As the three rode off, Harjo waved to the house, Henry Lee turned and saw Hannah standing by the back door. She had cleared the dishes off the table and was taking out the tablecloth as she watched the men ride away.

  Henry Lee felt a surge of pride. She was the kind of woman any respectable man would want. And he decided that even being unrespectable, he wanted her, too. In fact, he wanted her right now.

  He started walking toward her. She's my wife, he told himself. I'll just walk up there, pull her into my arms and kiss her. Then I'll unbutton her dress and find those luscious white breasts and I'll suck and tickle them with my tongue till she begs me to get between her legs. Then I'll show her more pleasure than any man before who's ever touched her.

  As he reached the table, the crux of the problem was back again. Other men had touched her. She carried evidence of that touch in her belly right now. She looked so clean and sweet and so loving. But she had looked that way for other men, and other men had suckled her breasts and delved between her thighs. His hurt flashed as hot as his lust.

  "I'll move this table back in the kitchen," he told her gruffly.

  Hannah heard the anger in his voice. What had she done wrong? She had tried so hard to please him. She thought the meal she'd served was well received and appreciated. She had tried to make the small talk interesting. Even when she had inadvertently upset his guest by asking about his leg, she had managed to smooth it over. What could she have possibly done to upset Henry Lee?

  "Thank you," she replied, wishing that she could lay down somewhere and just cry.

  Chapter Ten

  By Saturday, Hannah had simply decided that understanding Henry Lee Watson, and his strange flashes of temper, was something that would come in time. Just like love, she thought to herself, it will come in time.

  She was scrubbing carrots in a dishpan when this thought occurred to her. It stopped her in her tracks. She realized that it was not enough for her, anymore, to just make a good home and have a working marriage. She wanted her husband to have some real feeling for her. It was even worse than that, she realized. It wasn't an abstract thing like “her husband," she wanted Henry Lee Watson to have some real feeling for her. If only she'd known where she was heading before she'd conceived this ill-fated scheme. She had always believed herself to be totally practical and free of silly romantic notions. She hadn't really known herself at all.

  Hannah fou
nd her eyes gathering up with tears at the hopelessness of the situation. No matter how well she cooked or how clean she kept his house, Henry Lee would not be falling in love with her. Men might feel grateful to cooks and housekeepers, but they fell in love with women that were beautiful.

  Hannah looked down at herself in despair. She always told herself that she was above personal vanity, and she'd never really tried to be anything but clean and neat. Now she began to wonder if it were possible to make herself prettier. She could never be beautiful, of course, but maybe she could be pretty enough for a man to love.

  Her mind whirling at the possibilities, she began planning what she would do to change her looks and wanted to hurry into the bedroom immediately and have a look through her belongings. She did, however, maintain the good sense to finish the carrots and put them on to cook, before she allowed herself the luxury of personal adornment.

  Henry Lee carefully loaded the back of his wagon with whiskey. He'd checked on the wedding batch, still in the barrel, and knew that it was almost ready for cooking. Once that started, he would have to stay right with it until it was done. He would make one more round tonight, selling his whiskey before he was stuck at home with his still for a week.

  He expected to begin the distilling tomorrow, as soon as he got Hannah home from church. He rolled his eyes heavenward, imagining what the good Lord must be thinking about a moonshiner who plans to start up his still only after he'd attended church services.

  He pulled an old brown tarp out of the shed and carefully covered the jugs. That would not keep lawmen or thieves from finding out what was in the wagon, but he might be able to keep Hannah from knowing.

  He knew that he was going to have to tell her soon. He just couldn't figure out a way to do it. Maybe he'd tell her tomorrow on the way home from church. She'd be all happy from visiting her family, and maybe he could make her understand that it was just like she had said all work, done to the best of one's ability, is valued in the eyes of the Lord.

  Hannah sat in the bedroom taking stock of her attributes in the small hand mirror she propped up against the wall. She had stripped down to her chemise and removed her breast binder. She was considerably more comfortable this way, she told herself, not allowing her mind to dwell on Henry Lee's obvious appreciation of her bosom on the two occasions that he had touched her. She wondered if the binder was really necessary. She knew that a good many young women did not wear them. She also knew that a lot of young women put starched ruffles on the bodice of their chemises to make themselves look bigger. It was just the way of nature that those less endowed would try to look more so, and those more endowed would try to look less.

  Hannah thought that perhaps she needn't try to look less anymore. Standing at an angle she tried to view the profile of her natural bosom in the glass. It did stick out a good deal, but it wasn't vulgar, she assured herself. Of course, her practical side remembered, going without the binder would mean that all of her dresses would have to be let out in the bust. She didn't have so many clothes that it would be an impossible task. She could do one dress every evening. That wouldn't take away from any of her other work.

  Having made the decision and giving herself one last proud glance at her newly-discovered physical attraction, she sat back down in front of the mirror and examined her face. Her gray eyes, plainly fringed with light brown lashes, did not seem to hold much promise. Her nose was neither too long nor too short, she looked at it straight ahead and from the side. It was a perfectly all right nose, she thought, but it was only a nose. Her mouth was a little too wide and when she smiled, a slight gap showed between her two front teeth. She shrugged, at least they were all there, all white and all straight, she consoled herself. Her complexion was a little too freckled, she thought, the flawless white skin of the legendary beauties of the day was impossible to maintain on the prairie. Fortunately for Hannah, she had never seen a legendary beauty and thought her face to be reasonably attractive.

  After staring for a few moments at the arch of her eyebrows and the curve of her jaw, she had an idea, undoing the tightly coiled braid at the nape of her neck, she took the braid out and allowed her natural curls to frame her face. The difference was amazing. The curls seemed to give her face a youth and vitality that was lost in the harsh lines of her normally severe hairstyle.

  She loved the way it looked, and examined it from all directions. This was her best feature, she was sure. But a woman could not go around with her hair unbound. It just wasn't done. She might get away with going about with her natural bosom, but to leave her hair loose was just not going to be possible.

  She leaned way back, trying to get a better view of how she might look at a distance. Perhaps, she could leave it loose just around the cabin so that Henry Lee could see it. He would wonder at that, of course. She thought that maybe she could have it loose, seemingly by accident, and then he would see it. Maybe when he came in to eat, she would act as if he had surprised her and flutter around with it hanging loose while getting him some food.

  She let her mind drift over the plan. Suddenly the expression on her face hardened and she grabbed her riotous curls and began roughly to rebraid them in her usual severe style.

  "No more tricks!" she exclaimed out loud. She was not going to be dishonest with Henry Lee again. If the fiasco at the wellhouse had taught her anything, it was that tricks can have a way of backfiring.

  She scolded herself for being foolish, sitting around trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, while there was work to be done. She grabbed her dress off the bed and started to put it on, when she caught sight of her breast binder. She picked up the binder, holding it for moment, then she carefully folded it and placed it in the bottom of her trunk. Pulling her sewing basket from under the bed, she began taking out the darts in the bodice of her dress.

  When Henry Lee came in for his noon meal, he felt slightly ill at ease. He didn't know exactly how he would tell Hannah that he was headed to Ingalls. He wished that he had a surefire excuse for going there other than the truth. He didn't want to explain too much. The more lies he told the worse things would be ultimately. He would tell her tomorrow, he decided. This whole thing was just getting too complicated to handle.

  Hannah was just as uncomfortable with Henry Lee. In her newly-altered dress and her natural bustline, she felt like a spectacle. She tried to keep her back to him as much as possible while she was finishing up the meal. Henry Lee, who had his own problems on his mind, hardly noticed. Finally, Hannah knew that she couldn't delay any longer. She had to face him. Gathering her courage she picked up a bowl of green beans and new potatoes and turned to the table. Unfortunately, Henry Lee was just taking a sip of his coffee. When Hannah turned to face him his eyes were immediately drawn to the undeniable sudden change in his wife's anatomy and his response was to abruptly inhale the coffee. Gasping and choking for breath, Henry Lee recovered himself as Hannah hurried over to him patting him on the back. Her face flamed red with embarrassment and she fervently wished that the floor would suddenly open up and allow her to fall in. It did not, however, and she was forced to sit down and eat with Henry Lee, while pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  Henry Lee, for his part, tried very hard to keep his eyes solely on his wife's face. It was such a shock. He realized that she must have been wearing a binder. A lot of women did. He had never cared for the practice himself. He should have realized before that she was bigger than she normally appeared. His memory of her bared breasts as they had lain together on the kitchen floor was disturbing and forced Henry Lee's glance back to Hannah's shapely contour.

  He wondered why she had decided to go without the binder. Obviously, it wasn't an accident. She was as aware of the change as he was. Maybe it was the heat, the heat today was tremendous. But, he recalled, she had worn it all during the canning when the kitchen must have been twice as bad as it was now.

  The baby, of course, he suddenly realized. Her body was undoubtedly changing. He
knew enough about pregnant women to know that their stomachs weren't the only part of their bodies affected. He remembered his mother complaining of soreness in her breasts as one of the first signs of carrying a child.

  Apparently, Hannah's breasts had bothered her enough to make her leave off the binder. He felt a strange need to comfort her. He hated the idea that she might hurt or be in pain. Now she was embarrassed because he'd acted like such a fool when he'd seen her. He wanted to take the embarrassment away. He wanted to get her mind on something else.

  "I'm going to Ingalls this afternoon," he said bluntly. "I won't be back until real late, like last time I went out."

  Hannah's face must have revealed her distress at the memory of the last time Henry Lee came home late, because he quickly hurried on, "I won't be drinking tonight, Hannah. You needn't be worrying about that."

  "Oh, I wasn't," she said, truthfully. She was not worrying, she was almost hoping.

  "I'm not really a drinking man," he said, wanting to explain, wanting her to understand. "My father was a drunk, I know all about trying to live with them. I won't put you through that, Hannah, I hope you know that."

  "I know," she answered quietly.

  The lull in the conversation lengthened as both carefully avoided the eyes of the other and studiously involved themselves with the food on their plates.

  Henry Lee was trying not to think about Hannah's bosom, when he suddenly thought of a good reason to go to Ingalls.

  "I'll be checking on the trains for our trip to Sallisaw," he told her, quite elated at his own inventiveness

  Hannah looked up at him, surprised and pleased.

  "You truly don't have to take me with you, Henry Lee. I know that Myrtie sort of pushed you into that. It's such an expense and I'll be happy to stay here."

  For an instant, Henry Lee was tempted. Not for the expense, money was not really a problem, but for the freedom. He would be gone two nights, he could stay in Muskogee and have himself one heck of a good time.