Heaven Sent (2 page)
P
ractical problems have practical solutions. Hannah May Bunch had always believed that. Perhaps that was why, with only the merest twinge of guilt, she had set herself upon the plan. As a solution, it would have been good for all parties concerned. It had seemed perfectly reasonable, and except for some of its slightly underhanded aspects, it was essentially biblical.
Or it had seemed so yesterday.
She had begun the previous morning at first light, leaving her bed and her still-sleeping younger sister to start the morning fire. It was no longer her job, but years of habit forced her to be the first to rise. In the kitchen she opened the grate on the stove and stirred the ashes.
This is the day,
she thought.
The day that will change my life.
She'd finally decided that her situation was not going to get any better. She needed to take action. Action to get what she wanted, or more specifically
who
she wanted.
Moving to the water pitcher, she lifted it and poured half into the bowl and began washing. Hearing movement behind her, she glanced back, offering her father a pleasant "good morning," which he answered with a yawning "hello" as he headed for the wellhouse. Water drawn the night before was fine for washing, but Papa insisted that his morning coffee be made with freshly drawn water.
A well close to the house was the nearest thing to a luxury that one could find on the prairie. Most farmers either lived next to the small creeks and streams of the territory, or built the difficult and undependable cisterns to collect rainwater. Finding water right next to the homestead was such a stroke of good luck that it could only be considered a gift from heaven. Hannah's father was very proud of his well. So proud in fact, that he built a house for cooling and washing right around it. Wellhouses were common in
Checking first to see that the fire was going to catch, Hannah returned to her bedroom to dress and awaken her younger sister.
"Myrtie, you better get up," she ordered the rounded pile of bed linens. "The sun will be up any minute and there is a world of things to do this morning."
Myrtie snuggled deeper into the covers and made an unintelligible answer.
Hannah pulled her blue gingham from the hook in the wardrobe. It was her most attractive work dress. She reasoned that looking her best today could be important. For her plan to work, the entire community might need to believe that she was capable of attracting the opposite sex.
"Come on, Myrtie, everybody in the country will be here in an hour. You don't want them to catch you with your hair a mess."
Myrtie sighed loudly and moved to rise. Hannah knew that prodding her sister's vanity was the one sure motivator. Myrtie was the prettiest girl in
Plainview
, everybody said so. Even if she was just sixteen, there was not a doubt in anybody's mind that she was something to see. Unlike many sisters who, being older and less attractive, might have struggled with sibling jealousies, Hannah was proud. Maybe it was because she felt more like a parent than a sister.
At fifteen, Hannah had taken over the job of raising two-year-old Myrtie and her three brothers, even before her mother had died. The vicious, painful cancer that had slowly choked the life out of her mother had caused young Hannah to put away her childish things forever.
Hannah had no regrets. Her brothers were all married now. They had their own places and a start in the world. She was an aunt twice over already. And seeing young Myrtie—pretty, sweet, all primed to run a house, the most sought-after girl in the territory—was evidence of a job well done. But the job was over now, and it was time she made a life of her own.
She examined her reflection in the small glass that had belonged to her mother. The gingham dress did nothing to disguise the broad shoulders and sturdy appearance that Hannah had inherited from her father. It was a simple and rather severe style and was not exactly blue anymore. Lack of bluing on the prairie generally, and in the territory particularly, meant that most everything faded to a dull gray that seemed to be almost a part of the landscape. Hannah had often prided herself on being a practical, hardworking woman. This day, however, with the task she had set for herself, she wished she had just a fraction of the dainty, dimpled appearance of young Myrtie.
In fact, Hannah was pleasant enough to look at. She was tall and strong, the way a farm girl should be. Her features were comely, and her figure was definitely female. Her hair, which she considered her best feature, was an in-between color, not quite brown, but not quite blonde. It was a riot of thick natural curls that she kept tightly braided and wrapped at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds over a lake, but with none of the foreboding.
Now they settled on her sister, who had yet to move from her comfortable cocoon. "Come on, Myrtie, all those sweet-looking boys are going to be disappointed if you're not down there to greet them."
Throwing back the covers, Myrtie sat on the edge of the bed with her eyes still closed, trying for that last minute of a long night's rest. As her sister finally began her morning ritual, Hannah hurried out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
Her stepmother, Violet, was seated at the table wiling out biscuits, the water already steaming on the stove.
The two women greeted each other cordially. Hannah went to the coffee tin and measured a pot's worth into the grinder.
"Have you taken care of everything for the meal?" Hannah asked. "These men are going to be very hungry and you can't count on the other women to bring enough."
"Oh, there'll be plenty," Violet answered, with a smiling confidence that Hannah didn't possess. "I've never yet been to a community dinner where there wasn't twice as much food as needed."
Hannah started to suggest that was true because the women always planned ahead, but she managed to hold her tongue. "I suppose," Hannah suggested instead, "if things start to run out I could come in and fry up some of that ham. It won't be as good as the other, but if you're hungry you can eat anything."
Violet smiled at her stepdaughter. "I'm so excited about the new church, I could hardly sleep all night," she told her. "I just kept imagining all the angels in heaven cheering and singing for joy that a new house for the Lord would be going up in the territory."
Hannah could not imagine lying awake in the bed thinking about the doings of angels. It was one of the things that was so difficult for her to understand about her stepmother—her flights of fancy.
"We'd best get those biscuits in the oven," Hannah muttered dryly, "or do you think the angels might send us breakfast from heaven?"
Violet's laugh was tinkling, like a little bell. "They just might!" she replied, her eyes bright with mischief. "Do you think your father would prefer grits this morning or manna?"
The air was still cool as Hannah hurried out to do her chores, but there was no doubt that it was going to be a hot day. That would fit in perfectly with Hannah's plan. By now, she had convinced herself that she was doing the right thing. After all, the idea had come to her from the good book.
One evening during her father's daily scripture reading, when her mind wandered from his droning voice, she'd gotten the idea. At first, it seemed quite daring and sinful, but after examining it more closely, she had decided that it was, in fact, very sensible. Men married women for many reasons and most of those turned out to be terribly shortsighted. This was a very practical solution, not done up with hearts and flowers perhaps, but one that would offer a measure of happiness and security for both of them…
As she gathered the eggs, her father hailed her on his way back from the barn.
"Looks like a perfect day for building a church," he said, glancing toward the road as if he couldn't wait to begin. "Figure those boys will be heading in anytime now, you better hurry up and help Violet, she's not used to feeding a crowd."
"I will, Papa," Hannah assured him. Her father's choice in a second wife continued to be a mystery to Hannah. Violet was sweet and loving and very unlike the type of woman her father needed. Her faith was childlike and her experience at making a home almost nonexistent. Hannah found it hard to understand how her straightforward sensible father could find happiness with a woman who seemed more Myrtie's contemporary than his own.
"I'll take care of things, Papa," she said. "But it's best if it looks like it's Violet's spread." Hannah was well aware that a woman's place in the community was judged by the way she set a table. It was true that most of the congregation seemed to accept Violet's peculiarities, but Hannah didn't think it would do any good for the women to think that it was Hannah who continued to keep her father's house.
Hannah glanced up at the rise on the east side of the house. A foundation of sandstone, quarried from the local hills, was surrounded by fresh timber, just waiting for the hands of carpenters.
"It's going to be a wonderful church, Papa."
"Yes, I think it is," he said, beaming at his oldest daughter.
Reverend Farnam Bunch had waited five long years to have a church of his own. He might have waited even longer if his new wife, Violet, hadn't encouraged him. The grassy prairie that had appealed to farmers because it lacked the stumps and roots that they had had to remove in former homesteads, meant that lumber was hard to come by. It also meant that homes and barns and other necessary buildings had to be raised before using precious lumber for a meetinghouse. Now, finally, he had convinced the congregation that they were ready to build a church. With everybody helping out, two days would be plenty of time to see his dream become a reality. His eyes rested warmly on Hannah.
"I like it that you are so pleased about the church. You didn't seem to much like the idea when Violet came up with it."
"I explained all that, Papa," she sighed. "I just thought that if we built a bigger barn, which we really need, we could make do with the old barn as a church."
His frown admonished her as he spoke deliberately. "The house of the Lord shouldn't be in a barn, Hannah. Violet's right about that."
"Yes, I'm sure she is," she admitted and then lifted her chin in mild defiance. "But, we do need a bigger barn."
He laughed. "Don't forget what the Bible had to say about building bigger barns, you can get yourself in a peck of trouble there, sister."
"You're right, of course, Papa." Hannah shook her head at her father's attempt at humor.
"Anyway," he said wrapping his arm around her, "aren't you about ready for a nice, clean, little, white church, like the ones we left behind in
Hannah smiled. What would her father say if she told him she planned to be married in that nice little church tomorrow. He would be shocked. Hannah had never had a regular beau. It wasn't that she lacked interest in men. But she'd had a house to keep, a farm to work, and the children to raise. Gentlemen callers were a luxury for which she had no time. When she was prime age for men to be giving her a long look, she knew that her father and her brothers and sister needed her too much to leave them.
Because Hannah had never allowed any man to sit with her in church or walk out with her in the evenings, her father believed her to be one of those women fulfilled by spinsterhood. It had never occurred to him that her lack of a husband was due to his overburdening her as a daughter.
Hannah might have been content if her father hadn't remarried. But now it was Violet's house and hearth. And Hannah felt in the way.
Of course, it wasn't only for her father and Violet that Hannah had come up with her plan. She wanted a family and a man of her own. At her age, it wasn't easy to go husband-hunting, although she knew that she would make an excellent wife. She was capable, diligent, used to hard work, and of an even temperament. She needed a man who would accept her for those practical qualities, but that kind of usefulness didn't generally catch the eye of young men.
As Hannah headed back into the house, her father continued to gaze at the top of the rise. He'd named it
Hannah's eyes, however, did not linger on the church that was going to be, but on the house that was, and had been, her home for so long. If her plan worked, and she was sure it would, this would be one of the last mornings of her life here. Would her new home be as loving and peaceful as this one? Surely with a man like Will, it would be.
Will Sample had moved to the area over a year ago, setting up a dry goods store down near Pearson's Creek. For Hannah it had not been love at first sight, or even the nearest thing to it. Will was not the kind of man to set a woman's heart aflutter. Most women would have said he was big, and shy, and homely. But Hannah thought he was much like her. Hardworking and eminently practical, he was a man of few words, and though he had few friends not many would have stated that they disliked the man.
