by Pamela Morsi
Will and Myrtie made an abrupt detour in their route and Henry Lee would have followed, except for Hannah's hand on his arm.
"I'm sure they are headed for the arbor swing," Hannah told him. "That's their private place on Saturday nights."
Henry Lee nodded and, gently placing his hand on the back of her waist, diverged from the direction of the swing. The night was not yet cool, but a breeze made it comfortable and the hefty slice of moon in the sky lighted their path and gave silvery highlights to their faces.
"We didn't have a private, Saturday night place," he commented, matter-of-factly. "This is the first time we have ever walked out."
Hannah nodded. "It does seem strange, doesn't it?" After a moment she added, "It might have helped if we had."
Henry Lee thought about that.
"Yes, I guess it would have. You would have known about my business before we married, and you could have been saved from tying yourself to me."
"Maybe," she answered. "But the point is, we never walked out because you never even knew that I was alive before you woke up in the wellhouse that morning."
Henry Lee found it difficult to argue with that. He had hardly given the plain, hymn-singing daughter of the preacher a second thought. But looking at his wife now, he couldn't imagine that she and that other Hannah Bunch were the same woman.
"I didn't know you, and I thought you were surely too good for me anyway."
Hannah shook her head ruefully and offered an ironic little laugh. "One thing I am not, Henry Lee, is good. You of all people should know that. What I've done to you, forcing myself into your life. That's a terrible sin."
"Don't talk like it was a mistake, Hannah. I guess you'd say I'm not much of a believer, but life is not all happenstance. There is purpose and reason for things. I’m sure of that. What is between us was meant to be, no matter how it turns out."
He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close beside him, and planted a sweet, chaste kiss in her hair.
"Hannah, there are truths about me that you don't know. Failings beyond my whiskey making that maybe you've got a right to hear."
He took a deep breath and glanced up at the moon, gathering strength to share words he had kept to himself for a lifetime.
"Skut Watson was not my father, Hannah," he told her, carefully avoiding her face, unsure of her reaction. "My father was an army major named Walter Henry Lee, who was once the post commander at Fort Gibson. When my mother knew him, he was at least twice her age, married, and with grown children. She knew all that, of course. It didn't matter. She was young and pretty and wild, and he bought her presents and paid her for her services. She was his mistress and when she began blossoming with me in her belly, he sold her to Skut Watson for cash."
They had stopped still in the yard and, taking a cleansing breath, Henry Lee turned to look at her.
"That's who I am, Hannah. Three parents and all of them put together not fit to wipe the boots of my wife."
Hannah wrapped her arms around her husband's waist and looked determinedly up into his eyes.
"That is not who you are, Henry Lee!" she contradicted. "Do you remember what Harjo told us about his birth, how the midwife said he would never walk? He walks, Henry Lee. He even dances. Maybe those three weren't the best start for a child in this world, but you've overcome that handicap. You're walking as straight and tall as any man in these territories and you've even learned to dance."
Henry Lee felt a strange surge of joy. He nodded, too full of feelings to speak words. He turned her again to the path and gently urged her beside him. They walked in silence for several minutes. There was something comforting in just being together. Simply sharing the close proximity of the other created a kind of haven. He realized that no matter the terrors and hatred of the outside world, with Hannah beside him like this, believing in him, sharing his sorrows, he could survive the worst. Having Hannah as his woman could ease a world of hurt.
The solemn stillness of their introspective moments was finally broken by Hannah as she questioned him about the church pews. With enthusiasm he related the work he had done and his pride in his finished product.
They talked of the harvest and weather, the pigs and the pecan trees. Not once did either mention their marriage or the trouble between them.
Taking her hand in his he set a course to the left and a couple of moments later they stood in front of the door to the wellhouse. Neither could hide from the funny, terrible, embarrassing memories associated with the small building.
"I guess we do have a private, Saturday night place, after all," he said, giving her a bantering smile.
He opened the door to the cool interior and they seated themselves in the doorway with their feet on the steps.
The moon, the night, the memories, the quiet between them seemed to stretch too long and both became somewhat ill at ease. Hannah, seeking something to do with her hands, reached down next to the steps to pull the long grass that grew unmolested there. She jerked her hand back with a startled cry.
"What is it?" Henry Lee asked urgently reaching for her injured hand.
"It's just a sandbur," Hannah answered him, somewhat embarrassed at her reaction. "I'm not hurt, just startled, I guess."
"Let me see."
She gave him her hand and he held it gently in his own as if it were a treasure. Tenderly his rough finger sought the place of her injury.
"Does it still hurt?"
"No, it's fine, really."
Henry Lee brought his lips to the upturned palm he held in his hand and gave it a healing kiss. The sweet tenderness of his lips coupled with his hot breath on her skin sent a current of fire up her arm. Henry Lee felt her reaction, which was no less startling than his own, and he reveled in it.
"Kiss me, Hannah," he whispered to her. "Oh, how I have ached in my bed at night dreaming that you would kiss me."
Hannah raised the hand he had so lovingly pleasured to his cheek. She felt that slight roughness, evidence of the lateness of the day, and she slowly moved her face toward his. Tilting her head slightly to meet his mouth, she drew closer and closer to the wonderful lips that she sought. An instant before the kiss was met, Henry Lee raised his hand and, with his index finger, gently urged her lips apart.
"Open for me, Hannah."
She did, both her mouth and her heart.
With the earnest yearning of their fragile love, they kissed softly, delicately, with such reverence for the emotion between them.
They drew back to look at each other, to see if the sorcery that held them was mirrored in the eyes of the other. Finding the truth there, they offered another gentle kiss, and then another. Again their eyes met, seeking, exploring, testing. Tiny little kisses, gentle little bites, were not dangerous. Just a diminutive peck. A whisper on the lips. A brief spark of jeopardy. A chancy taste of the forbidden. Then with a sigh of gracious surrender, Hannah grasped his muscled forearms and kissed him dangerously.
The blood surged through Henry Lee's veins as he recognized Hannah's building passion. He returned her kiss with full measure, trying valiantly to bank the fire that threatened to flash out of control. His arms encircled her, eagerly drawing her close, possession and protection warring in their clasp.
Hannah had learned from him the pleasure that lips could give, and she sought to teach the teacher as she allowed her desire full rein to enjoy him. The pressure of his mouth pulled her to him as if he would consume her, and she wanted nothing less.
He deepened his embrace, seeking to pull her closer, so much closer, as if to make her a part of him at last.
Even through the layers of clothing that separated their bodies, Henry Lee could feel the tense, hardened nipples that crowned her bountiful bosom. Though her lips were sweet, he wanted badly to taste her nipples, to tease them with his tongue and suck them into his mouth. He consoled himself with the tender flesh of her throat and ear.
Hannah did not remain idle. Her hands eagerly explored the powerful muscles of h
is back, caressing and investigating the strength of the man she loved. Touching him was such pleasure, but not nearly enough. Her body ached with desire. She wanted to feel him against her. She remembered the heat of his rigid eagerness pressed against the juncture of her thighs and she wanted to feel him again. She wanted to lie here on the wellhouse floor and have him cover her body with his own, to press against her. Her hand strayed from his smooth, sleek ribs to his thigh, where her quest continued. When her inquisitive fingers discovered his hard, heated manhood, they instinctively curled around it.
"Hannah!" Her name was a gasp on his lips. Henry Lee clenched his teeth and held himself perfectly still as he struggled for control. He knew he should take her hand and move it away from him, but he could not. No skilled harlot or experienced widow had ever given him the pleasure he felt as her hand simply held the object of her desire. In another minute he would go off like a green kid. He had meant only to kiss her, not to lose control. With abject regret, he eased her out of his grasp and took her hand in his own, bringing it to his lips.
"Oh, Hannah, if you knew how much I want to have you right here, right now, you'd be running in terror back to the house."
Hannah's eyes, still glazed with desire, assessed him lovingly and her lips pressed a small tender kiss on the side of his mouth.
"I'm not running, Henry Lee. I'm not running from you ever again."
A surge of joy poured through Henry Lee at her words. She was not running. She was his for the taking. Had he proved to himself that he was worthy of such a gift? Would pulling her skirts up and having her now prove just the opposite?
Assembling all his wit and control, Henry Lee concentrated on steadily breathing in and out. After a moment he felt stronger and he laid his forehead playfully against hers.
Looking down into her eyes he teased, "Your father may have forgiven me for one indiscretion in his wellhouse. I'm not sure he would be so forgiving a second time."
She laughed delightedly. Henry Lee loved that deep throaty laugh. If he could have his heart's desire, he would want to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life.
Putting his arm around her, he drew her close beside him, touching her only lightly. They were not yet willing to part, but they needed to cool the fire that was burning so brightly between them.
Wanting to store the sound of her laughter for the silent days to come, he quietly told her all the amusing anecdotes that came into his mind. Surprisingly, she had a few of her own to offer. They talked together until quite late, but never once mentioned the trouble between them, or the walls that continued to keep them apart.
It was after midnight when Henry Lee finally walked her back to her front porch. Will had ridden out long ago and the household was already in bed.
Standing beside her in the moonlight, Henry Lee didn't know exactly what to say. They had not resolved the problems in their marriage, but he knew now that they could. He hoped she would say something, ask him back tomorrow, anything. But she seemed to be waiting for him to speak. What could he say, his offer was the same it had always been.
Hannah waited. She waited for him to tell her to come home. She waited for him to say he wanted her to be his wife. As the silence dragged on, she became afraid. The perfection of the night could be marred by words misspoken or conclusions drawn too quickly.
Rising on the tips of her toes, she quickly planted a kiss on his warm, firm lips.
"Good night, Henry Lee. I hope you know that I love you."
She hurried into the house, shutting the door behind her. Henry Lee stared after her, replaying in his mind the words she had just spoken. She had said she loved him. Hannah, his Hannah, the woman that gave his life sunshine and purpose, actually loved him. He suddenly felt as if he were a giant, ruler of the universe, master of his own fate. Hannah Bunch Watson was in love with him, and she had said so right to his face.
He knew she stood on the other side of the closed door. With a smile of triumph, he leaned up against the door and spoke just loudly enough to make himself heard.
"Good night, Mrs. Watson. I love you, too."
With his face brimming with smiles, he leaped off the porch like a young colt and headed to his rig. He wanted to laugh and dance and shout his excitement to the world. But he managed to contain his dignity until he had made his way down the road out of earshot of the house. Then he sent a whopping "wahoo" to the heavens.
He laughed at his own foolishness. Then as he calmed, he became more serious. Being given Hannah's love was not just a prize to be accepted with delight, it was a responsibility that he needed to live up to. A gift to be treasured and secured for safekeeping, he could not just accept it and be done. Hannah, his Hannah, deserved a better man than him. But it was him that she loved, and she wasn't a woman to give her love easily.
Throughout the trip home, he brooded and planned. His future with Hannah was the only thing that mattered. Summer would turn to fall and winter, some would be born, some would die. Henry Lee would put food on their table and keep the wind from the chinks in the cabin.
Life, his life, was with Hannah. Without her, it was only existence.
As he stepped up to his back porch he saw a piece of paper hanging against the door. He carefully took it down and carried it inside the cabin with him.
Lighting the lamp in the kitchen, he unfolded the paper and laid it out on the table. He stared at the ink marks on the paper for a few moments; then, as if it were a map, he turned it ninety degrees. When it still failed to make sense, he turned it again. Finally recognizing some of the letters, he knew it was the right direction.
He cursed his lack of schooling. He knew some of the letters on the page, but they meant nothing to him. He would just have to wait until he saw someone to read it to him. He pulled his suspenders down from his shoulders and started to walk away. He was tired and wanted to lie in his bed and think about the future. One last look at the paper honed in on an unusual letter. There at the bottom of the page, the first letter of the word was "z."
A strange feeling of dread washed over him. There was only one word that he could think of that started with "z" and that was Zanola. If she had bothered to come all the way up to his place at night, something must be terribly wrong.
He shrugged tiredly; surely whatever it was could wait for morning, he thought to himself and started to continue with his undressing. Then he went to stand and stare at the paper again, worried and wishing that he could make sense of it. With a sigh of self-disgust, he readjusted his clothes, shoved the rumpled note into his pocket, slammed his hat on his head, and went out to hitch a fresh horse to the buggy.
The night train pulled into the station at Ingalls. Seven men got off. Three were Indians; dressed in beat-up hats and stained clothes, they appeared to be dirty and unkempt, but their movements were sober and sure as they made their way across the platform. With them were three lawmen, heavily armed and wary-eyed. The seventh man followed behind them. His face was totally void of emotion. No anxiety or fear or excitement was going to cause him to make a mistake. He was experienced and experience had taught him to be careful. Train robbers, murderers, hired guns, and bloodthirsty lunatics, he had seen them all. If a lawman wanted to live long enough to die in his own bed, he needed to expect the unexpected. He was prepared for anything, except failure. Tom Quick had arrived at the border to take care of Henry Lee Watson, once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hannah pulled her father's rig to a stop underneath the big red oak outside Henry Lee's cabin. She was surprised that he didn't seem to be around. She couldn't imagine where anyone might be on Sunday morning, unless it was church, and she would have passed him on the road if he had headed that way.
Admittedly, she didn't know a good deal about what non-churchgoers did on Sunday morning. But today she was going to find out for herself. When she told her father that she intended to move back to Henry Lee's house this morning, she had half expected him to tell her to wait until aft
er the service. He hadn't and she was glad, because she didn't think she could have.
She had tossed and turned most of the night, before she finally got up and went out to sit on the porch. Her decision had not been easy, but there was no other choice. She loved Henry Lee, despite what she knew about him, maybe even because of what she knew about him. She loved him. And last night, through the door, he had said he loved her, too. Two people who loved each other and were married to each other should be together. There was just no other way to figure it.
Hannah unloaded her things near the back door and then led the horse to the barn to unhitch her. It felt good to be home, she thought. This place was hers now, as well as Henry Lee's.
Working with the horse, she thought about the family that she had left behind. Her father had been proud of her decision, though he hadn't said a word. She had finally realized that he was right, but at least he'd had the good grace not to say ''I told you so."
Violet's warm hug and encouraging smile gave her comfort. It was amazing what a rock of strength Violet had turned out to be. More evidence, Hannah thought ruefully, that Hannah Bunch Watson did not know as much as she thought she did.
Myrtie had been bubbly and excited for her as she helped her pack. "So you talked it all out, and got your troubles squared away last night?"
"No," Hannah answered her with a light laugh. "Our troubles are still as big as Texas and nothing was solved last night. But I love him, and I can't just stop loving him because I think that I should. He's still a moonshiner and I can't approve of that, but he's my man and I'm going to be right next to him, disapproving, for as long as we both shall live."
Hannah thought of those words as she headed back up toward the house. She'd heard a story once about Bill Dalton. How he'd courted his wife and won her before she realized he was an outlaw. Hannah had always wondered why she hadn't left him when she'd found out. Now she knew.
