Heaven Sent (26 page)

As their eyes held, they each were suddenly aware of the other in a new way. Able to see the hurt, the fear, the unreasonable confusion of suddenly having the focus of youthful existence cease. They could both remember that childhood vision of the future as an empty blackness. They had looked around for a word of comfort, only to find that they must face their grief alone. Each had decided to persevere, to relinquish childhood, in order to fulfill the day-to-day tasks of life, to accept the numbness of the moment, and do what had to be done.

The shared memory of that suffering built a tenuous bond between the two and as Henry Lee reached to take her hand it whisked away the troubles of the past few days. Neither of them had ever shared that feeling of cold empty anger that had ravaged their innocent dreams. Now, with a look in each other's eyes, they saw a mirror image of the devastation each had faced, and the triumph each had achieved. And their joined hands were the first link either had ever allowed for sharing that heartbreak.

Henry Lee saw Hannah as she was, compassionate and resolved. Willing to take on the sorrows of others because she felt herself more able to bear them. Her strength didn't stem from an indomitable will or an inflexible nature, but from the need to be strong, to be constant and unshakable for those around her.

Hannah suddenly understood that Henry Lee's light and frivolous nature was the brightly shining paper and ribbon on a package that contained immutability, intelligence, and a determination to succeed, not despite his heritage, but rather because of it.

The two stood transfixed, stunned by the sudden insight into the soul of the other and the knowledge that the ground they were treading was, for the moment, not a solid firmament.

Henry Lee looked away first, almost embarrassed by the depth of feeling that had come upon him.

"Guess I'd better get started if I intend to finish before dark." He turned away, not quite sure how to take leave. Glancing back he saw her smiling at him. Smiling and something else
…
something more
…
but Henry Lee could not imagine what it was.

Hannah, for her part, didn't know what it was either. She was aware that her spirits had lifted significantly and that there didn't seem to be any logical explanation for it. She chided herself that she should be thinking about the poor Hensley family and their grief. But every time she tried to think of the Hensleys, Young Newt's face would suddenly turn into a young Henry Lee. And he would be looking at her that way, the way he had looked at her outside. As if they could see inside each other's hearts.

* * *

When Henry Lee came in for supper, the heat from the kitchen was overpowering and the smell of fresh baked bread was in the air.

"You're baking bread this late in the day?" he asked Hannah, knowing that the hot task was usually reserved for early morning.

"I've made some yeast rolls for the Hensleys," she answered. "You know how it is at funerals, so many people to feed and the family has neither the means nor the stamina to feed them all."

Henry Lee smiled. She tried to make her actions seem so efficient and practical, he thought, when really she's so very sad for them.

"I don't really know much about funerals. I usually just deliver the coffin and leave," he told her, prudently not mentioning that liquor was another commodity that he frequently delivered to the mourners.

"Well, we certainly don't have to stay if you don't wish," she said. "But I would really like to take the rolls and offer my condolences."

"You're going with me?"

Hannah's answer was wary. "If you prefer that I don't, I…"

"No," Henry Lee assured her. "I just hadn't thought about it, that's all. Of course you'll want to go," he answered, thinking of her tender heart surrounded by such a tough, practical facade. "And we can stay for the funeral if you like."

After supper Henry Lee finished varnishing Old Man Hensley's coffin.

His Dufold was finished enough to take down to the house. And setting it up in the workroom, Henry Lee tried every possible method to become comfortable. But the strange interlude between himself and Hannah on the back step had him as jumpy as a saloon girl at a Sunday School convention. He felt exposed and yet he didn't feel threatened.

He began to question the wisdom of waiting until after her baby was born to make her his wife. He didn't think it would bother him anymore to bed her. He chuckled to himself. No, it wouldn't bother him one bit, he wanted to bed her and he was only fooling himself if he tried to say otherwise.

Maybe it was even the right thing to do. Maybe after sharing her bed for the next six or seven months he wouldn't be able to imagine the child being any other than his own.

In a few days they would be in
Muskogee
. It would make perfect sense for them to share a room, and to share a room meant to share a bed. They would make it like a real honeymoon. A time away from the everyday problems of their lives to devote to each other and the commitment of marriage. Henry Lee was not too familiar with honeymoons, but he knew that being alone with a woman for three days and two nights could bring a good deal of understanding. He smiled to himself, it could also be a good deal of fun.

 
CHAPTER
 
12

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I
t was a terrible day for a funeral. The trees rustled with a gentle whisper, the birds sang, and bees droned lazily in wildflowers by the roadside. The bright blue sky was powdered with high cirrus clouds that sauntered across the top of the heavens, with a cool northerly breeze making the morning seem fresh and springlike. In short, the weather was the antithesis of the mournful reality of death.

The Hensleys lived a good distance from Henry Lee's place, so they started out early to arrive at midmorning before the majority of the mourners. Although Henry Lee's wagon was well-sprung, it was not as comfortable as the buggy. In addition to the jostling, there was no top and Hannah didn't own a parasol, so she was forced to wear her bonnet down close, with the brim shading her eyes from the hot sun. It certainly would not do to show up at the funeral with a bright red nose and too much sun in her cheeks.

The wagon held the coffin. In the bright sunlight it was polished and pretty. Almost too pretty, Hannah thought, to put into the ground. There was also a caldron of butter beans cooked in fatback and a big basket of Hannah's yeast rolls. This made up her contribution to the funeral dinner. How food and funerals had become so closely tied in the communities of the prairie, Hannah did not know, but having a funeral with no dinner was tantamount to not saying words over the grave. It was as if the deceased was not much missed or deserving of the grief of the survivors. It was the responsibility of a preacher's wife to organize the dinner and Hannah, as her father's daughter, had instigated many a funeral meal and she knew that Reverend Brown's wife would be grateful for her help.

Lost in her own thoughts, she was unaware of Henry Lee's preoccupation. He had spent most of the night pacing his room and planning his future with Hannah. Now in the morning sun, he felt somewhat foolish. She was his wife, she'd made this bargain of her own free will. He had never wasted so much time and worry over a woman before. Of course, he'd never really had one that was his very own.

As
he pulled his wagon into the shade in the Hensley's yard, the family began filing out of the house. Henry Lee helped his wife down from the wagon seat and then reaching into the wagon bed he retrieved the basket of rolls and handed them to Hannah. He carried the heavy kettle of butter beans himself, until they reached the porch where Young Newt relieved him of his burden, leaving Henry Lee standing on the porch with the menfolk, Newt Senior, his two brothers, his sister's husband, a couple of male cousins, and Reverend Brown.

"Good of you to come, Watson," the preacher told him, shaking his hand.

"Glad to do it." Henry Lee turned to Newt and his brothers. "I'm real sorry about your father. I didn't really know him much myself, but I've heard it said that he was a fine old gentleman."

His condolence conveyed sincerity and was gratefully accepted by the men. Hands were shaken all around, and when Newt took his he grasped it affectionately.

"I appreciate you making the coffin, Henry Lee," Newt said, "I can put together a bench or a chicken coop, but you got a way with wood that is mighty fine. I want my daddy to have the best."

"I know you do, Newt. And I think you'll be pleased." He gave him a hearty pat on the back. "Why don't you come on down to the wagon and have a look. If it suits you we can take it into the house."

As they headed back out into the yard Young Newt ran out to join them. In the clumsiness of his youth he allowed the screen door to slam loudly, which drew an immediate look of rebuke from his father and uncles. Henry Lee gave the young boy a private little smile of courage. The boy returned it shyly, grateful.

As they gathered around the wagon, Henry Lee drew back the tarp that protected the coffin from the sun and the dust. There was a moment of silence as each man realized how final today's events were.

Newt ran his hand over the beautifully finished wood with genuine tenderness. His reverence disconcerted Henry Lee, because he understood it. He quickly averted his eyes.

"This is very fine," Newt said at last. "It may take a while for me to pay you what I owe for this, Henry Lee, but it is what I want my daddy to have."

"It's only pine," Henry Lee said, wanting to quickly dispel any misconception about the price. "That's what the boy said to use. I just rubbed it up a little and put some roseberry shellac on it. Five dollars ought to cover it, pay me whenever you have a mind to."

Newt clasped his hand again. "I'm grateful."

They all stood together for another couple of minutes, exchanging small talk. It seemed strange to Henry Lee that no move was made to take the coffin into the house. It was as if they were collectively waiting for something to happen.

Finally, after an embarrassed glance toward the preacher one of Newt's brothers asked, "You got a jug on you, Henry Lee?"

Henry Lee glanced quickly at Reverend Brown. To his credit the preacher hurriedly masked his shocked expression and excused himself. Suddenly Henry Lee had an inexplicable wish that he were not in the whiskey business.

"We're not really drinking men," Newt explained, "but when things like this happen, well, it just seems like a little snort would help a lot."

"I'm sorry," he began lamely, "I don't have a drop with me. I … I mean my wife…" Henry Lee didn't really know what he had planned to say, but whatever it was it didn't come out.

Newt raised his hand. "I know what you mean," he said. "My wife wouldn't approve neither, even if it does help. Somebody will show up with some sooner or later and if they don't, well, we'll just get through this the best we can."

Henry Lee nodded, thinking he was a hundred kinds of fool for forgetting. He was in the whiskey business, how in heaven's name could he have missed this opportunity?

"We best get this thing into the house," one of the cousins suggested.

Henry Lee and a couple of the younger men carried the coffin into the front parlor. Two dark-skinned women, who were sitting with the body, scurried away when the men arrived.

The old man was laid out on two boards strung between a couple of ladder-back chairs. The men set up a couple more chairs and placed the coffin between. Henry Lee opened the coffin and placed the lid standing on its side in front of it. This hid the chairs from view and gave the viewer less of the sense of a box.