Heaven Sent (25 page)

As Henry Lee plowed through a piece of post oak, he remembered his father's angry words. "I'm saddled for life with some soldier boy's mixed breed brat 'cause Miss Molly couldn't keep her damn drawers on."

Even in retrospect, Henry Lee still burned with the embarrassment and humiliation. A lowlife like Skut Watson felt free to look down on him because his father was just some man that got between his mother's legs.

Slamming the axe down and through the wood he swore to himself Hannah's child would never suffer as he had suffered. That child would never know that Henry Lee was not his father. He would talk to him, teach him what he knew about whiskey and wood. Show him how to plow a straight furrow and judge a good horse. The child would never hear a word of doubt about his heritage, unless Hannah told the child herself.

The idea that she might do that, that she might think that the child would rather know himself fathered by someone other than Henry Lee momentarily rekindled his still glowing anger. No, he decided, Hannah wouldn't do that. And he would be such a good father to the child, Hannah would see that she had made the right choice. She would just have to learn to stay out of things that didn't really concern her. And she'd have to learn to live with a man who made his living with moonshine whiskey. If that didn't suit her, it was just too bad. Angry she was bound to be when she found out, but she'd adjust. Henry Lee just wished that she already knew. But in his present mood, he'd botch the entire confession.

* * *

Sunday dinner in the Watson household was uncustomarily quiet. Henry Lee noticed both the sumptuously prepared meal and the mild-spoken and demure wife with the enticingly curvaceous figure. He realized that Hannah was making every effort to placate him. He wasn't sure if he should thank her or apologize. In the silence between them, Henry Lee concentrated on the making of the whiskey. That was something that he understood. Whiskey making was an art, but it did not demand self-assessment, and it never got its feelings hurt.

Tonight he would begin the distillation process. The mash had to cook over an even, gentle fire for three or four days and would have to be watched almost constantly around the dock. The fire must be kept hot enough to make the vapor without cooking down, but not so hot that it carried too much steam or it might scorch the mash. In the extreme heat of the still, pressure built up fast and the danger of explosion was very real.

Normally, he would take his supplies up to his cave and just live there until the whiskey was done. With Hannah here, she would expect him to come for meals and to sleep in the cabin at night.

He had no idea what kind of excuse he could use for his absence. At least they weren't sharing a bed, that would have made it even more difficult to explain.

Getting up from the meal, he complimented and thanked her politely, and then brought her a bolt of sturdy cotton calico in a dark blue print.

"I got this for you over at Ingalls. I was figuring that you'd be needing a new traveling dress for our trip to Sallisaw."

Hannah accepted the material with almost reverence. It looked to be a fine piece of cloth, peacock-blue with a pattern of pale gray, almost silvery, leaves running diagonally from the bias. Although calico did not come as dear as it once had, she knew that her husband must have paid a good bit for it.

"I've got a lot of work to do around the place, if we are going to be gone for three days," Henry Lee told her. "I'm going to rig you up a dinner bell out here on the back step. When you've got a meal ready, or if you be needing me for something, you just dang that old bell a few times and I'll be right here."

"Of course," Hannah answered, wondering what kind of work he would be doing, and why he wasn't asking her to help out.

"With the heat being like it's been," he went on, turning slightly away so that he wouldn't have to actually look her in the eye, "I've been thinking to set my bed up outside somewhere."

"You're going to sleep outside?" Hannah was incredulous.

"Can't draw a decent breath in the house this time of year," he explained lamely. "But don't you worry for a minute. If you need something, you just bang on that dinner bell and I'll be down here in a flash. No need for you to be afraid around here."

"I'm not afraid of anything," Hannah said. But she had run her husband out of his own house, and that was the thing that frightened her most.

* * *

It was late in the evening before Henry Lee got the still operating. The big copper pot, looking much like a giant teakettle, sat on a grate above the fire. He filled the pot with the sour mash and sealed the lip on with putty.

Attaching the extra long teakettle-like spout to a long spindly copper coil called a worm, Henry Lee ran it from the still and into a half barrel placed so that the cool water from the spring would pour over it. From there the coil wound its way into a large earthen jug.

As the mash cooked, the alcohol vapor would escape by flowing down the worm. As the vapor passed through the cold coil it would condense into liquid and drip into the earthen jug.

The drops arriving from the wedding batch were still singlings, and singlings were not fit for drinking. In some cases they were outright poison. The still would be cleaned and the singlings would be run through another time to make doublings, or drinking whiskey.

Although it was necessary for the distiller to be at the still constantly to ensure that nothing untoward happened, there was not really a great deal of work involved. All he did was watch the fire and listen to the liquor drip into the jug.

To pass the time while cooking the wedding batch Henry Lee had brought to the cave half a stack of cut pine lumber. He was going to attempt to copy a piece of furniture called a Dufold that he had seen in the Sears & Roebuck catalog.

By day the Dufold looked like a settee, totally innocuous. But at night, the back folded down and the seat folded out to form a bed. Henry Lee had decided that this would be ideal for his room at the cabin.

He was still embarrassed that Hannah's father had seen him bringing his cot into the house. He couldn't imagine what the preacher had thought, but no one else was going to suspect a thing. The Dufold would ensure that.

He examined the pictures closely in the light of the fire. It would take some hardware and more upholstering than he was wont to do, but he thought he could build it—and for a lot less money than they were asking in the Sears & Roebuck catalog.

Hannah also spent a very productive evening. She had taken a small corner of the pretty calico and was soaking it in a pailful of water and a teaspoon of sugar of lead, to make sure that it was colorfast. Then she'd searched through her sewing chest for the perfect pattern. The bolt was a good dress length with enough material for two waists and a skirt. Since the bodice of a gown wore out more swiftly than the length, it was commonplace to make a dress last twice as long by having the skirt do double duty.

The style she selected for the skirt looked somewhat plain from a distance, but it was slightly gored and fit a bit snugly at the hips, flaring at the hemline. The waist was gathered, but most of the fullness was concentrated on the sides and in the center of the back, where a small, soft pad could be inserted for a hint of a bustle.

It was an extremely flattering shape, and Hannah, who had never cared much about her clothes other than their cleanliness, was suddenly excited about wearing it.

For the bodice she picked out a mannish new style with pleats over the shoulders and a tailored collar. It would need a silk tie of sorts and Hannah rifled through all her scraps and ribbons trying to find something that would make the right contrast. She'd almost given up when she remembered her straw bonnet.

Quickly shifting through the boxes and wrappings she pulled it out and removed it from its tissue protection. It had come from the Montgomery Ward catalog. Myrtie had seen it and just couldn't live without it. She'd pestered her father until he finally agreed to put it in the next order that he sent. When it came, she had been heartbroken. It hadn't occurred to her that her coiffure would never fit under the tiny little headpiece. After several days of experimentation she'd finally given up and handed it over to Hannah whose severe hairstyle could be accommodated by the stylish lacing of straw.

Hannah had hardly worn it. It was saucy and attractive, but it sat back, framing the face, and didn't shade one ray of
midday
heat. The purpose of a bonnet was to keep the sun off a woman's face, and Hannah had no use for anything that didn't do its job.

Laying the silk trim tie ribbons against the calico now, a pleased smile broke out on Hannah's face. It was absolutely perfect. The pale blue silk turned silvery next to the calico. A modiste couldn't have made a better match.

With a cheerful little laugh, she started to remove the trim from the bonnet, but stopped herself to try it on one more time. Hurrying to the mirror, she admired herself. It wasn't really such a bad little hat. It gave her face some of the same fullness she noticed when she'd had her hair down. Perhaps she shouldn't discard it?

She thought about how smart the silk ties would look with the tailored bodice. When the solution came like a flash of inspiration she giggled out loud. She'd use the silk for the necktie and re-trim the bonnet in the matching calico.

"Those
Muskogee
ladies will think I'm from St. Louie!" she warned her mirror with a laugh.

* * *

After two days of seeing Henry Lee only for a few minutes at mealtimes, Hannah had begun to believe that perhaps Henry Lee actually did despise her, even though he'd bought her the gift of calico. For breakfast, dinner, and supper she would dang the bell by the back step and within a few moments he would arrive to eat. Rarely did he say more than a couple of words; he wolfed down his food and headed back out the door.

She had tried to draw him into conversation, but he would not be drawn. She asked numerous ridiculous questions for which she already knew the answers, in the hopes of involving him in the house and yard. He simply replied that she should do what she thought best, and seemed unconcerned that she was suddenly helpless and without opinion.

Henry Lee's concentration was obviously focused elsewhere. Where she did not know.

When she heard a horse arrive in the middle of the afternoon on the third day of Henry Lee's withdrawal, she was just grateful to have someone to talk with.

The news, however, was not good. The visitor was Young Newt Hensley,
Newton
's second boy and a member of Elijah Brown's Negro church. Old Man Hensley, Newt's grandfather, had passed away that morning while hoeing weeds in the garden. Young Newt was sent to see if Henry Lee would make the old man a coffin.

"Pa says pine is all right," he told Hannah. "He don't want nothing too fancy, but he's just no good with carpentry and he wants Granddaddy to rest in a good strong box."

Hannah watched the boy take a deep swallow, trying to control the grief that trembled in his lower lip and moistened his eyes, but wisely refrained from comforting him. After raising her brothers through those difficult in-between years, she learned that doing and saying nothing was sometimes the best course of action.

"You had best talk about what you want with my husband," she told him. Clanging on the dinner bell several times, the two waited by the back step. Hannah brought the boy a bit of light bread with jelly to eat.

"Would you mind eating up some of this?" she asked
hoping to take his mind off his troubles. "I suppose I just made too much of this bread this week and if somebody doesn't eat it up, it will just go to waste."

The boy took the bread with a nod agreeing to help her get rid of it.

"Those no-account chickens were thinking I'd be giving it to them, but we've fooled them, haven't we." The note of exaggerated conspiracy brought a hint of a smile to the young man's cheeks.

When Henry Lee approached at a hurried lope, she left the two to discuss business between themselves.

Henry Lee had made plenty of coffins in his lifetime. It wasn't a very pleasant job, but he knew from experience it was easier if the coffin was not for your own kin. He didn't really want to take the time out to do it, but just that morning he'd finished the singlings, so he could leave his still cold and start it up again when he returned. The young boy's earnest attempt to act the man of business touched Henry Lee and he promised to make the coffin that evening and bring it over before the funeral
in
the morning.

As Young Newt rode off, Hannah emerged from the house.

"Are you making Mr. Hensley's coffin?"

"Yes," he replied raising his arms to stretch high over his head and yawning. He slept only in bits and starts during the distilling and after two days he was feeling pretty worn out.

"I told him that I would make it this evening and bring it over in the morning before the funeral."

"Good. I felt so sad for him, death is so hard to understand when you're young."

"Yes." Henry Lee nodded and the eyes of the two unexpectedly met. He shared a gentle smile with her.

"I was about his age when my mama died," Henry Lee said and then remembering what Preacher Farnam had told him added, "You lost your mother back then, too."