by Pamela Morsi
Hannah assured herself that her stepmother was seeing things that definitely were not there. But, rather than argue, with so much work to be done, Hannah pushed the disturbing thoughts into the background and began unloading the wagon.
Planks set between two sawhorses became a table beneath the shade covering. As Violet covered it with a cloth Hannah began toting the food.
Hay mowing was hot, hard work and a man could build up an appetite in a hurry. With that in mind, the table was laid with six frying chickens, perfectly golden brown, a huge kettle of butter beans, potatoes, sweet carrots and greens. A mound of cornbread sat at each plate and a whole crock of buttermilk was cooling in the shade.
When Violet finally rang the dinner bell, the crew quickly hurried to the small oasis in the hot hay field. Water came first, each man serving himself a dipperful to drink out of the bucket, and a bit to scrub up with out of the washtub. Will and Myrtie were the last to arrive. Hannah watched in wonder as the storekeeper carefully explained to her younger sister how the market prices for commodities were calculated in Kansas City. Myrtie listened with the rapt attention she had formerly reserved only for gossip and gee-gaw peddlers.
The crew, made up mostly of young men about Myrtie's age, were sons of the farmers in the congregation. They wolfed down the food as if they had never eaten before. Although hot and tired, even a moment's respite encouraged their youthfulness, and they began laughing and teasing each other. Will and Myrtie came in for a lot of ribbing, but they didn't seem to mind very much.
The young men joked about how hot and tired they were. It was a rough job, a man's job, and they were proud to be doing it.
A freckled-face youth, one of Dillary's brood, spoke up. "Can you imagine that Watson, doing his hay meadow by himself without asking a hand from nobody?"
There was a sudden silence at the table, and then as the freckled-face remembered where he was, he blushed fiery red. To his credit he looked straight up at Hannah and murmured a sincere and stricken apology.
Hannah gave him as genuine a smile as she could manage. "It is perfectly all right to mention my husband," she told him with more confidence than she actually felt. Her heart had stopped suddenly when his name had been mentioned, and then to catch up had begun beating like a tom-tom. Her stomach had developed a mass of fluttering wings, which seemed to twist in anguish and pain.
"Mr. Watson and I both intend to live in this community for a good long time," she said bravely. "It's not possible that we would not see or hear about each other. Please don't distress yourself on my behalf."
The boys went back to eating and joking, but it was an echo of the lighthearted mood that had prevailed earlier.
Hannah began talking a blue streak to Will and Myrtie. She was determined that no one would think she was pining over her husband. In a desperate search for a subject to discuss, she found herself regaling them with an amusing story that Henry Lee had told her. She was trying to tell it as he had, with all his gestures and facial expressions. She was doing such a good job that she had captured the attention of the whole table.
"And then the old man said," Hannah mimicked a deep masculine voice, " That goat didn't die by itself!' "
Hannah expected a giggle from Myrtie and maybe a chuckle from Will, but when the whole table erupted in gales of laughter, she jumped with surprise. She hadn't realized that they were all listening.
"You sure tell a good story," one of the crew complimented.
Will smiled almost in disbelief. "I never realized you were such a cut-up, Miss Hannah."
Hannah glanced down at the end of the table to see her father studying her. He had known her all her life, and one thing she certainly was not, was a cut-up. His gaze was so searching, so full of concern that Hannah had to look away. Unfortunately, she turned her gaze to Violet, who was smiling with an "I told you so" expression.
Hannah began clearing the table as the men dispersed to head back to their labors. She watched Myrtie and Will say their chaste good-bye, and her father planted a quick kiss on Violet's lips. She missed Henry Lee.
Three days later, Farnam Bunch, all his hay in, saddled up his old roan mare and went off to make a few calls. Violet sent a ham to Emmitt Travis, whose wife was ailing and who had three young children to tend as well. When Farnam arrived, Mrs. Travis was up and around, insisting that she was perfectly fine, even with a flush still in her cheeks. They were grateful for the ham and Reverend Bunch only lingered long enough to insist that Emmitt send for him if they needed anything.
He made his way to Tulley's place to see how they were recovering from their young son's funeral. They asked him to stay to dinner, but he insisted that he had to get on to other calls. He had a cold dinner packed in his saddlebags and he ate it as he made his way to the edge of the Territory.
With no real plan of what he wanted to say or do, Reverend Bunch rode up to Henry Lee's place. The yard was clean and well-kept as usual. Henry Lee had obviously been doing a bit of laundry. Several rough grey shirts hung on the clothesline, flapping in the slight breeze.
Henry Lee came up from the direction of the creek. His expression was cautious.
"Morning, Reverend."
"Morning, Henry Lee."
The two men stood facing each other. Each waiting for the other to speak first.
Farnam wondered if any good could come of this meeting. Prying into his daughter's business was not the way a father ought to behave. But these two were more than his daughter and son-in-law, he was their pastor. If it had been any other young couple in his flock that was having marital trouble, he would have immediately gone to counsel them. His own needn't be any different, he assured himself. But he knew it wasn't true. He wanted happiness for his daughter, and he couldn't remain impartial between them, but he was willing to try.
Henry Lee wondered if the preacher had come to give him his comeuppance. He was certainly ready. Nothing anybody could say to him now could make him feel any worse than he already did. He hadn't even the heart to make whiskey these days. He just worked in the fields as long and as hard as he could, then he came back to the house and spent the late afternoon and evening working on the church pews. They were his last contact with Hannah. They would be in that church for the rest of Hannah's life and every time she saw them or touched the wood, she would know that he had made them.
As the minutes dragged on, Henry Lee couldn't wait any longer. He broke his tough waiting stance and asked the question he wanted to know.
"How is Hannah?"
The reverend heard the loving concern disguised in the casual curiosity of the young man's tone.
"She's well."
Henry Lee nodded. The silence dragged on for another few minutes. Surely, if the man had something to say, he would say it. When he didn't Henry Lee finally took over. A businessman never finds long periods of silence comfortable.
"Looks like it might rain this evening," he commented. "Hope you've got your hay in."
"Yep," the preacher replied. "Just got the last of it in yesterday." Henry Lee nodded his approval.
The preacher gestured toward the wash bench that was sitting in the shade of the big red oak. "You think I could have a seat there? I'm getting kind of old for these long standing-up conversations."
Without any sign from Henry Lee, Reverend Bunch made his way to the bench and sat down. Henry Lee followed, but didn't sit. Leaning back against the tree with one knee raised and bracing himself with his foot behind him, Henry Lee stood with his arms crossed, solemnly waiting to hear what the preacher had to say.
Farnam didn't much like having to look up to his son-in-law, but decided not to insist that he sit. He had things he wanted Henry Lee to hear and if he pushed too hard, it was certain that he wouldn't listen.
"One of the men on my haying crew told me that you brought in your hay all by yourself."
Henry Lee shrugged.
"Did you think that no one would help you?" the preacher asked.
Henry Lee d
idn't answer at first. It had occurred to him that the church folks might not be feeling real friendly toward him, but he didn't really think that neighbors would refuse to help get in a crop. That wouldn't be smart, a man never knew when and where he might need help next time.
"I had plenty of time," Henry Lee finally said. "I knew I could do it myself. If I'd needed help, I would have asked for it."
"Good," the preacher replied. "I want you to know that your troubles with Hannah, well, that's really between the two of you. I'm sure every soul in both Territories knows exactly what you two should do, and most will be quite willing to tell you. But whether you and Hannah work out your problems or not, I still consider you a member of this community and my son-in-law."
This unexpected inclusion among the people of Plainview embarrassed Henry Lee. He had expected to be raked over the coals and cast out like refuse; instead, he was being offered kinship. The surprise compelled him to move away from the tree and walk a few paces in front of the preacher, staring out over his fields.
He wanted the respect of the preacher. The respect of other men had always been a hunger that he had sought to satisfy. Unfortunately, with his background, and in his kind of business, respect was hard to come by and even harder to maintain.
"You're being a bit too fair, aren't you, Bunch? You are a preacher and I'm a moonshiner. Shouldn't be too much common ground between the two of us."
Farnam had to stop himself from smiling. It was as if the young man wanted to push him away. He was leery of any offer of friendship, and certainly his.
"I'd say there is some common ground between us," he replied, twisting a blade of grass into a fine sprig and slipping it into his mouth like a toothpick. "After all, we both love Hannah."
Henry Lee turned to stare at the preacher. His first thought was to deny it, but he knew that he wouldn't be believed. He loved Hannah, he had never said it out loud, but he knew that it was so. Slowly he nodded his head.
"Yes, well, there is that," he agreed. Henry Lee turned back to gaze out over the landscape in front of him; he wasn't seeing anything, but it kept the feelings he couldn't strip from his face from being on display. When he'd gained a modicum of control he turned back, crossing his arms again, looking impassive.
"She's glad to be home, I suspect," he said finally.
Farnam smiled and offered a bit of a chuckle. "I wouldn't exactly say that. She spends most of her free time alone, these days. She stares into space, kinda dreamy like. She was never that way before. I think she misses you."
Henry Lee shook his head with a gesture of disbelief. "I'm sure she's just pining away!" he said sarcastically.
"No, Hannah's not like that," the preacher admitted. "She's doing her work, trying to stay busy and be pleasant to everyone."
Reverend Bunch straightened his legs and scratched his head in contemplation as he gave Henry Lee a long thoughtful look. "I still think she misses you."
The preacher let that soak in for a few minutes.
"She did the funniest thing the other day," he began, then waited. When the younger man gave a nod to indicate his interest, he continued. "She told a joke."
"Hannah told a joke," Henry Lee replied, not quite understanding what his father-in-law was getting at. "I don't remember her telling jokes too much."
"That's what was so strange," the preacher insisted. "I have known that girl all her life, and she has a fine sense of humor and is as willing to enjoy a funny story as anyone. But I have never heard her tell one, ever. And she did it so well. She had all the haying crew hanging on her every word."
The two stared at each other momentarily, until Henry Lee shrugged.
"It was the one about the goat getting on top of the house."
Henry Lee smiled. "That is a pretty good joke," he admitted.
Farnam smiled back. "I knew it was your joke. I could see you in the telling of it."
Henry Lee was confused. The old man seemed to be giving him his genuine approval, and there was definitely no reason for that. The reverend should be furious that he'd dragged Hannah's name through the mud, not talking to him as if he were a friend.
"I know you think that you can just walk out of her life and everything will just go on like it has always been," the preacher told him. "But it's not so. She's changed. You've changed."
"I didn't walk away from her. She left me," he pointed out. "And she's better off, we both know that."
"I don't know that."
Henry Lee ignored the dispute. Whether she was better or worse was not a consideration. She'd made her choice and they would both have to live with that.
"I think she'd come back if you asked her, Henry Lee."
"Why do you think that?" Henry Lee's voice was hoarse with controlled anger. "I'm still the whiskey man," he replied bitterly. "I don't intend to give up my business, just 'cause some starchy, stiff preacher's daughter doesn't approve."
"Starchy stiff, is she?" The preacher laughed. "It's funny, when I've seen her look at you, it reminded me more of melting butter."
Henry Lee's mind was immediately drawn to the image of Hannah melting in his arms, hot and eager against him. He quickly put a hold on those thoughts. "You said yourself that what's between me and Hannah is our business. I think you would do best to remember your own advice."
"That's true, Henry Lee. I did say that, didn't I?" Farnam leaned down to scrape a bit of mud off the side of his boot. He was buying time, but time was important when discussing matters of the heart.
"So what else is new with you?" he asked. "I take it you're not to do any jail time over the Muskogee escapade?"
"Nope, they didn't have enough evidence to hold me.”
"I've heard Tom Quick is a bad man to cross. You'd best be watching out for yourself."
Henry Lee shook his head in disbelief. "Hasn't anyone told you, Preacher? You're supposed to be praying that the moonshiner gets caught, not worrying that he might be."
"I'm not worrying about the moonshiner. I'm worrying about Henry Lee."
"I'm always careful," he answered. "At least I usually am, and I will try to take even more heed in the future."
Farnam Bunch nodded his acceptance. There was no way to change a man, unless he was willing to change. Hannah was right about that at least. Badgering or threatening, giving ultimatums, only made a person angry, more rigid. Henry Lee would have to decide on his own what he wanted to do with his life, and the rest of them would just have to wait until he decided.
The reverend decided it might be prudent to change the subject and asked Henry Lee about the lumber for the church pews. Henry Lee proudly led him to his workshop where, except for a second coat of varnish, he had one pew finished.
"It's beautiful." The preacher couldn't keep the reverence out of his voice as he lovingly ran his hand along the satin finish of the walnut top.
The five-foot bench had a straight seat and a curved back. The end pieces reflected the gentle curve in design and were attached by perfectly hand-cut, dovetail joints. The varnish Henry Lee used shined the wood while enhancing the natural beauty of the grain.
"Try it out," Henry Lee said.
"Henry Lee, I never imagined that they would look this good!" He seated himself, running his hand along the expertly finished surface. "This is as nice as any big city church pew I've ever seen."
Henry Lee was very pleased at the compliment, but eased it away with a joke. "With the way you get wound up and preach on for hours, a man's got to do something to protect his behind!"
Farnam smiled, but would not be dissuaded from his point. "This is fine quality workmanship, Henry Lee. I don't claim to know a thing about woodworking, but it's clear that you have a talent here, a talent you're not using like you should."
He waved that away with an impatient gesture. "I like working with the wood and I do a good job, but I haven't got that much time for it, or the proper tools to really do it right. You should have seen the Oscar brothers' factory in Sallisaw. It was really
something. With good wood and the right kind of tools, why, a man could make things so pretty it'd hurt your eyes to look at them."
"Maybe you should take the time, and get yourself the proper tools. It's a long way to Sallisaw. Folks around here could use some furniture, too."
Henry Lee considered for a moment and then sat himself down on a sawhorse, facing the reverend.
"I know what you are trying to do, Preacher, and it won't work."
"What am I trying to do?"
"You're trying to get me to give up my business and try making a living building furniture."
"You could, you know," the preacher replied.
"Maybe," Henry Lee said. "I'm pretty sure I could make some nice things, things people might want to buy. But that isn't all there is to a business. The farmers around here, they might buy a table or a few chairs once in a while, but you can't live on that, Preacher. To be successful you've got to get yourself established on a big scale. Folks buy a table, it's supposed to last a lifetime. Even if they like your work, you can't expect them to buy another table next week."
His father-in-law nodded his understanding. "Not like the whiskey business, where you know they will always be coming back for more."
"That's right, Preacher." Henry Lee leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know that you mean well. That you think my life would be better if I gave up moonshining, but I'm not going to do that. I've built a good business. I have everything I need and money in the bank. I know the whiskey trade, I make good liquor and I know how to sell it. There is no reason in the world why I should throw all that away to try to do something else, something I really don't know anything about."
"I think you're a little inaccurate about what it is that you know," the preacher answered. "You started up a business and made a success of it. I see that, Henry Lee, and I'm proud of you for it. But, you didn't make a success of it because you are inherently good at making whiskey. You had to learn to make whiskey. You worked hard at it, I'm sure, and you were determined to make the best; from what I hear, I understand that you do. You sell that whiskey all over the territory and people go out of their way to buy from you because they know you sell a good product and that you are fair and honest in your dealings."
