Heaven Sent (21 page)
The two men stood still as Harjo allowed his gaze to wander across the horizon, as if memorizing the land in case it disappeared.
"Dissolving the nations of the Five Civilized Tribes, dividing the land into pieces for each member, has turned brother against brother and fathers against sons. Those who see down the long road know that breaking it up into allotments that can be bought by white speculators is like a cancer eating away at the body of the nations."
"That's true," Henry Lee admitted. "Think of when they paid the Cherokees for their western holdings, giving little bundles of cash to everyone right in the middle of town at high noon. Fast-talking white men swarmed like wasps after a rainstorm. A whole lot of Cherokees went home that night with no more than they had that morning."
Harjo shook his head sadly. "I don't know what we will become. My children grow up in a world that has nothing of their grandfathers. They cannot learn the old ways, because they must live in the world of the whites. I understand this," he told Henry Lee, "but I cannot like it."
Harjo shook his head, as if shaking off the gloomy thoughts, and cracked a smile at Henry Lee. "So, my friend, I drink to forget," he said mischievously. "And that is good news for my friend the whiskey man."
By the time they reached the cabin, the two men had exhausted the subject of territorial politics. Harjo and his companions were anxious to get on their way, pick up their whiskey and begin what they hoped to be an exciting period of drunkenness. As they approached the split rail fence where their horses were tied, Hannah came out of the house and walked down to them. Her hair was more tidy and she'd put on a clean apron. Her smile was so warm and friendly that the men were slightly taken aback.
"I've got your meal ready to serve," she announced. "But it's so hot in the kitchen. I've spent the whole morning canning," she told them, gesturing to her appearance as if she needed to make some sort of apology. "If you would like, we could move the table out under the tree here and I could serve you outside." She looked at her husband for approval.
Henry Lee was so surprised at the idea that she would serve a meal to his customers, that at first he only stared at her. Quickly recovering himself, he assured her that an outdoor luncheon would be perfect and enlisted the help of Harjo's two companions in moving the table.
The meal Hannah set before the men was a virtual banquet. The Indians, who had been anxious to get on with their planned amusement, had grumbled among themselves about having to eat a meal they didn't want, just to keep the whiskey man's wife from finding out his business. However, when they sat down to a feast of territorial delicacies, they quickly changed their minds.
The men ate eagerly and even accepted second helpings as Hannah, fighting off her tendency toward reserve with strangers, endeavored to be charming and gracious to Henry Lee's friends.
She wondered what they thought of her. How had Henry Lee explained his sudden marriage? She hoped that he had not told them about the trick she had played. Immediately after having that thought she discarded it. Henry Lee was a man with honor. He would never embarrass his wife in such a way. She was certain that no matter what he had told them, it would not have been anything unkind.
Henry Lee was inexplicably pleased with the meal she had prepared. She always fed him well, of course, but this was their first company dinner. He knew it was no small task to kill, clean, dress, and fry three chickens in such a short time. It was important, among farming people, for a man's wife to set a good table. It meant that the man was a good provider and enhanced his reputation. Henry Lee instinctively realized that somehow Hannah was paying him a very high compliment and he wanted to return the favor.
"My wife is a pretty fine cook, wouldn't you say?" he prompted Harjo.
The Indian smiled broadly and wiped his hands perfunctorily on his napkin. "Wish you could teach my wife to cook like this."
Hannah blushed with pleasure at the compliment and Henry Lee beamed with pride in his new wife.
"Mr. Harjo," she asked him politely, "do you and your wife have children?"
"Yes, ma'am, we've four."
"Girls or boys?"
"Three boys and a girl."
"Oh, I know she must be special to you," Hannah continued. In her nervousness, Hannah found it difficult to meet the gaze of Henry Lee's friends. Even as she talked to them, she kept her eyes either on her plate or on Henry Lee. She would look quickly in the direction of the guests, but her glance didn't linger there, afraid of what she might see. She was afraid that they might wonder at Henry Lee's choice of bride.
In fact, her shyness was working in her favor. The Creek men and women normally did not look each other in the eye unless they were married. The straightforward gaze of white women was usually disconcerting. This white woman married to the whiskey man, however, seemed modest and unassuming and she certainly set a good table. While Hannah might have thought Henry Lee's friends were surprised at his choice of wife, Harjo was actually thinking that it was obviously a love match. The two seemed well suited to each other, and the way the eyes of each seemed to be drawn time and time again to the other, no other explanation was necessary.
"My daughter is nearly grown now," Harjo told her. "She will soon marry and leave for her own home."
"Are your sons still at home?" she asked.
"They are all married, except the youngest," he answered. "That one is at
Hannah had heard of the
Muskogee
.
"So you are a Methodist?" Hannah asked.
Harjo was somewhat taken aback. He hadn't really ever thought of himself as anything but Creek.
"I guess that I am," he replied feeling a bit sheepish. "At least my wife and family are, I guess that makes me a Methodist, too."
Hannah smiled tolerantly. "I think that Henry Lee thinks the same thing about being a Baptist. I guess your wife and I have something in common. We're both going to have to work harder to bring our husbands into the fold."
The two men looked at each other, slightly embarrassed.
"It looks to be a lifetime of work, ma'am," Harjo told her.
Hannah laughed. It was a deep, throaty sound that Henry Lee found immediately disturbing. It set his pulse to racing and he was surprised to feel it spread a familiar warmth in the region of his lap. He quickly looked over at the other men. Had her sexy laugh had the same effect on them? They seemed not to have noticed.
Harjo noticed the whiskey man was obviously very taken with her and a bit jealous to boot. He smiled to himself remembering the early days of his own marriage, when something as simple as his wife's laugh could get him as hard as a brick. Right now, however, all he felt was the numbing pain of his bad leg going to sleep.
He got up from the table and grabbed up a washtub that was leaning against the house. Bringing it back to the table, he resettled himself propping his bad leg on the tub to elevate it.
Hannah watched his actions sympathetically, chiding herself for not thinking of his comfort earlier.
"How did you injure your leg, Mr. Harjo?" she asked.
The table was suddenly completely still. Even Harjo's companions, who ostensibly did not speak English, were frozen in place waiting to see their leader's reaction.
Hannah immediately realized that she had made a mistake. Despairing at her clumsy attempt at being Henry Lee's hostess, she tried to apologize. "Forgive me for prying, Mr. Harjo," she said. "It is truly none of my business."
Harjo, who had in his youth decided that the best way to handle his disability was to knock the teeth out of anyone who mentioned it, decided to make an exception in this case. He found he liked the wife of the whiskey man and her question seemed more concern than curiosity.
"It was not injured, ma'am," he told her. "I was born with a leg shorter and crooked. The birthing woman told my father that I would never walk."
"Well, you have certainly proven her to be wrong, haven't you." Hannah's smile was contagious and Harjo felt himself beginning to trust this woman.
"When I was a boy," he said, surprising himself at his candidness, "the other children called me 'Gimpy-Harjo.' I got in the habit of shutting their mouths with my fist and now no one ever asks me about my limp."
Hannah laughed again at his self-deprecating humor, and Harjo glanced at his friend the whiskey man. It was a pleasure to give Watson another jolt of his wife's laughter.
For dessert, Hannah brought out a green tomato pie that she had thrown together while cooking the rest of the meal. She wished she had blackberries, or something else just as sweet. Her next project, after the canning, would be to scout out the area to see what kinds of fruits and herbs were growing nearby.
The green tomato pie was still very hot from the oven and came oozing out of the neat little triangles that she had cut. She was disappointed at this unattractive complication, but the men attacked the tart treat as if it were ambrosia.
The three men, formerly so anxious to get their liquor and head out, sat contented now, leaning back in their chairs, hands across their bellies. Harjo thought he might simply stay the afternoon and help Henry Lee with his chores, maybe take a nap in the shade of the red oak.
Then he remembered how short a time the couple had been married and the reaction that Henry Lee had suffered just hearing his wife giggle. Nodding his head wisely, he knew that Henry Lee undoubtedly would find a delightfully cool, shady spot by the creek and spend the afternoon loving on his pretty wife in thanks for the wonderful meal. Yes, he thought, that was probably what his friend had planned. So he and his companions would get their moonshine and go see what kind of fun they could stir up.
Harjo thanked Hannah profusely for the meal and surprisingly agreed to return at a later date with his wife. He wondered what kind of tongue-lashing he would get from his woman for bringing her to a moonshiner's house. But, he thought to himself, if the whiskey man can keep his moonshining business from his own wife, Harjo ought to be able to keep it a secret from his.
As they were recinching the horses Harjo warned Henry Lee again. "Remember what I said about the
marshalls
. It will be very hard to keep your livelihood a secret from your wife when she is dragged into court beside you."
"I'm careful," Henry Lee replied, a bit defensively. "I always know who I'm selling to and my still is well hidden."
"Just don't trust everyone that you know," Harjo cautioned. "There is money to be made from helping the
marshalls
, and people who would sell their grandmothers if the price is right."
Henry Lee nodded in agreement. "I will watch it closely for a while."
"If I hear anything about you, I will get word to you as best I can."
"I appreciate that," Henry Lee said, shaking his hand.
As the three rode off, Harjo waved to the house. Henry Lee turned and saw Hannah standing by the back door. She had cleared the dishes off the table and was shaking out the tablecloth as she watched the men ride away.
Henry Lee felt a surge of pride. She was the kind of woman any respectable man would want. And he decided that even being unrespectable, he wanted her, too. In fact, he wanted her right now.
He started walking toward her. She's my wife, he told himself. I'll just walk up there, pull her into my arms and kiss her. Then I'll unbutton her dress and find those luscious white breasts and I'll suck and tickle them with my tongue till she begs me to get between her legs. Then I'll show her more pleasure than any man before who's ever touched her.
As he reached the table, the crux of the problem was back again. Other men had touched her. She carried evidence of that touch in her belly right now. She looked so clean and sweet and so loving. But she had looked that way for other men, and other men had suckled her breasts and delved between her thighs. His hurt flashed as hot as his lust.
"I'll move this table back in the kitchen," he told her gruffly.
Hannah heard the anger in his voice. What had she done wrong? She had tried so hard to please him. She thought the meal she'd served was well received and appreciated. She had tried to make the small talk interesting. Even when she had inadvertently upset his guest by asking about his leg, she had managed to smooth it over. What could she have possibly done to upset Henry Lee?
"Thank you," she replied, wishing that she could lay down somewhere and just cry.
CHAPTER
10
