Heaven Sent (14 page)
T
he morning sun spread only a bit of warmth on the stone ledge at the entrance to the cave. Sitting on the cool stone Henry Lee could see a good distance both up and down the creek and all the way to the main road. But he was not looking in any of those directions this morning. His attention was focused on the opened doors of the shed near his cabin where Hannah was grinding the corn into grits.
The hominy mill was two round grinding stones that lay one on top of the other like stacked pancakes in a bowl. The lower stone sat on a metal fulcrum, its top was lined with furrows. Exactly on top of its mate, the upper stone had no furrows, but a hole about three inches in diameter was cut out in the center. Hannah would pour a bit of corn into the hole and as the stones turned, the corn would be crushed. As the particles became small enough they would fall into the furrows and be pushed out into the bed of the mill as meal and grits.
He watched Hannah as she whirled the stone round and round, her motion almost dancelike in its rhythm. She tried to continue without stopping as much as possible. Once the wheel started to turn, it was not so difficult to keep it going, but she had to stop every few minutes to fill the hole with more corn.
It was tough work, and Henry Lee wondered why she hadn't asked for help, but he knew the answer. She had barely spoken to him since last night. She didn't seem angry at him, but rather embarrassed and uncomfortable around him. He knew that it was his fault. She was trying to make it a normal marriage and she undoubtedly expected that lovemaking would be a part of that.
Well, he'd gone into the house last night to set her straight. And he'd sure done it, but not with the calm, rational explanation he had anticipated. He knew that he should go down there and apologize. Try to explain to her why he had spurned her. That was what he should do, he was very aware of it.
For most of the night he had sat up stirring the drying corn kernels. It had given him a good deal of time to think, but thinking really did no good. Where there were no answers, pondering for hours on end was merely a wasted effort. He sat now, watching her rhythm at the hominy mill. The strength of her arms did not match her determination, but still she kept on without missing a beat. He shook himself from his near trance and, heading into the cave, followed her example and went to work.
* * *
Hannah Bunch Watson stood at the mill, grinding corn as if her life depended on it. Her arms were so tired that each time she had to stop to replenish the stone they trembled. But she continued. There were dark circles under her eyes, betraying her lack of sleep the night before. For most of the problems of her young life she had looked to the Bible for solutions. For her current predicament, she had no idea where to turn. Twisting scripture to suit herself had got her into this marriage, but untwisting it could not make things right again.
Her behavior the night before had her completely puzzled. Such intensity of feeling was a new experience, and she'd had no inkling of her susceptibility to carnal desire. Searching her mind for an appropriate Bible passage, only the declaration in Paul's epistle that it "is better to marry than to burn" came to mind. Once she'd imagined that scripture to be a warning of hellfire, but after last night she thought perhaps he was speaking of a more earthly burning.
As the morning wore on, she began to worry about Henry Lee. She knew he had headed down toward the creek as soon as he had the corn set up in the mill, but that had been hours ago. For a moment she had a wicked thought that perhaps he had fallen into the creek and drowned and she could return to the bosom of her family as a respectable widow. But that thought was immediately followed by genuine worry. Although the past few days had been awash with unpleasant experiences, she had decided Henry Lee was a decent fellow and the unfortunate victim of her mislaid plans.
As noontime approached, the corn was nearly finished, and Hannah began to plan what she would make for Henry Lee's dinner. This morning when she was fixing his breakfast she had discovered the cellar. She would never have known that it was there; built so neatly into the back of the house and entered through a trap door on the wash porch it was almost invisible. She had not had time to explore it yet, but she was sure that Henry Lee must have some meat stored there, because she had glimpsed several oak barrels inside. After last night, she wanted more than ever to prove herself an excellent cook and worthy housewife.
Finishing the corn, she lined a bucket with clean cotton cloth and transferred the rough-ground meal into it. At one end of the mill bed was a chute that could be raised to easily transfer the grits to the bucket. The pouring created a small cloud of corn dust that tickled her nose. Willing herself not to sneeze, she covered the bucket with another cloth and carried it to the porch.
Leaving the corn grits in a safe corner, Hannah went immediately to the trap door to the cellar. She was surprised that the door had no pull. It had been carefully cut out of the natural grain of the wood on the floor and was so perfectly matched and fitted that it was a bit difficult to open. In fact, she thought, if she didn't know that the door was here, she would never have noticed it at all.
Hannah lit a candle on a small shelf just underneath the door. She headed down the sturdy wooden ladder to see what kind of stores were in the oak barrels.
The cellar was about ten feet square and not much higher than Hannah's head. The floor was lined with baskets and buckets and an unusually large number of earthenware jugs. She looked around, somewhat disappointed that there were no shelves on the walls for potatoes and onions. When potatoes were stored for winter in a sack, they went bad in no time. But set out on shelves, most would survive until April or May.
The barrels, however, were as fine as any Hannah had ever seen. Sturdy white oak gracefully bent for a perfect fit and held together by slim metal bands. She knew that Henry Lee could not have purchased them from a local cooper. These were made special by a skilled craftsman.
Eagerly Hannah opened the first of the handsome oak barrels, only to discover that it was empty. Her mild disappointment immediately turned to dismay as the trapped odor in the barrel assailed her nostrils. Something had been allowed to spoil in the barrel, the air was pungent with the smell of fermentation. She shook her head
in
disbelief.
What on earth had Henry Lee put in this barrel and then left to ruin? She quickly placed the cover back on it and checked the second barrel. It too was empty and smelled to high heaven. Hannah disapproved, but secretly she was a little bit glad. Henry Lee kept his house very neat, his little pig farm seemed to run well, and he had made arrangements in the community for foodstuffs. At first glance a wife seemed a bit superfluous. But here at last was evidence that Hannah was needed and that she could make a difference in Henry Lee's life. She vowed that this very afternoon she would start making things better for him by cleaning these barrels.
Her attention finally turned to another barrel on the other side of the cellar. It was not made of fancy white oak and looked a good bit the worse for wear. However, Hannah decided to check it out anyway. Holding her nose in preparation for the worst, she lifted the lid. No putrid stink awaited her, but a sea of white. Reaching down with one finger she touched the contents of the barrel and then lifted it to her lips. Sugar.
With a small cry of delight, Hannah began digging down into the barrel of sugar until she found what she was looking for: ham. Sugar-cured ham was her very favorite and she seldom ate it. Her father preferred his pork cured in salt so that was the way she had always prepared it. It was only visiting at other people's houses or eating at the community socials that Hannah had enjoyed sugar-cured ham. And it looked like Henry Lee was very good at curing. The ham looked and smelled perfect. She thought of the other ruined barrels. Maybe, she thought, after making such a mess, he learned to take his time and do it right.
Carefully securing the lid back on the pork barrel, Hannah headed up the ladder to the cabin carrying her prized ham with her. She was going to fix Henry Lee the most delicious meal he had ever eaten. Everyone knew that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Once Henry Lee fell in love with her cooking, he would begin to get used to the idea of Hannah as his wife.
With that thought in her mind, she began her dinner preparations and for the first time in many days began singing in her unfashionably husky soprano.
"There shall be showers of blessing,
This is the promise
of
love;
There shall be season's refreshing,
Sent from the savior above.
Showers
of
blessing, showers of blessing we need;
Mercy drops round us are falling,
But for the showers we plead."
Henry Lee headed down the side of the bluff and made his way by circuitous route to the creek side trail and then back to the cabin.
He heard her singing as he came up into the yard. Not having spent much of his time in churches, or in the company of churchgoers, he was unfamiliar with the song, but he knew that it was a hymn. He was quite fond of music, and as far as he was concerned, the only difference between hymns and regular music was that you weren't supposed to dance to the hymns.
He stopped beside the shade tree and listened. He liked the sound of her voice. It wasn't high and breathy like he imagined churchgoing women to sing. It was deep and husky and reminded him of a girl he'd heard sing in the Pink Slipper up in
Wichita
when he'd gone to buy his whiskey barrels. He'd wanted to get a chance to lift the girl's skirts after the show, but he hadn't had enough cash. Hannah's voice was as sexy as hers had been.
Maybe he'd missed something by not going to church all this time. He smiled to himself. Who would have thought that Henry Lee Watson could get himself stirred up by hymn singing. Lately, it didn't seem to take much, but this was downright blasphemous. Laughing away his foolish reaction Henry Lee went into the cabin.
Hannah stopped in mid-verse at the sight of him. He was smiling at her. She knew he had always been a man with a ready smile; people had said that about him for years. But now, his dazzling smile was directed at her and it made her heart beat a little bit faster and a flush seep into her cheeks.
"Don't stop singing on my account, ma'am," he said.
Hannah lowered her eyes in embarrassment; he was not smiling at her, he was laughing at her singing.
"I know I haven't much of a voice," she said quietly, "but the Bible says to 'make a joyful noise,' so that's what I do."
"It is joyful and a pleasure, for sure," he told her. "I like the sound of your singing. It's unusual, but the tone is real nice."
Hannah looked at him gratefully, assuming that he was being polite. Her husband might be rough-hewn, she thought, but he was a gentleman.
Today's
meal was a vast improvement over the previous day, Hannah thought, and Henry Lee apparently agreed. He complimented her outrageously, although he was a little surprised to find one of his Christmas hams on his summertime dinner table.
"I'm going to grind the rest of that corn right after lunch," Henry Lee told her conversationally.
"Oh, the corn is all done, I left it in those buckets out on the porch."
His jaw dropped in disbelief. "You finished all that corn this morning?"
Hannah nodded, glad that she had surprised him and shown herself to be a good worker.
Henry Lee was pleased at her obvious industry and decided that he'd put up his sweet mash first and then fix himself a bed for the workroom. He thought about explaining to her now that he didn't plan to sleep with her. But she seemed in such a good mood and the meal was going so smoothly, that he decided not to bring it up. He would just move into the workroom and if she wanted to know why, she could ask him.
After putting away an amazing amount of Hannah's good cooking for his
meal, Henry Lee slipped down into the cellar and brought out one of his prized oak barrels. Hoisting it on his shoulder, he set out to find the perfect spot to make sweet mash. Normally he made it out on the south side of the front porch. It got good sun there, and it was easy to keep an eye on it. But Henry Lee imagined that a fine-looking barrel sitting on the front porch was bound to raise Hannah's curiosity. He thought it best to head for a less obvious location.
He stopped at the outdoor hearth and checked the small fire burning there. Hannah was certainly efficient; she hadn't let the little fire go out all morning. Filling the big, black, iron kettle in the creek, he hung it on the crossbar. As the water heated, Henry Lee inspected and rejected several potential spots to set up the barrel, finally deciding on a spot facing the creek behind the pigsty. It had all the sun that it would have had on the porch and the barrel was close enough to the sty that, if an animal came out of the woods to investigate, the pigs would let him know.
He placed it securely in the spot that he thought best, adjusting it slightly a couple of times to get it just right. He placed the corn grits that Hannah had so dutifully made for him in a layer at the bottom and poured a half barrel of hot water over them. He replaced the tight-fitting cover over the mix and hoped for the best. It would take three or four days for the grits to ferment. Until then, the corn was on its own.
