Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah (50 page)

T
wo weeks later, Hank & his Delilah were hiding out, high up in the Tennessee Smoky Mountains. The cabin was all wood, clinging to the side of a mountain, surrounded by lush greenery and the colors of changing fall. A small creek, filled with earthy cool pebbles, trickled below their window. The mist floated high like a ghost, and the smell of burning logs filled the air with a rich scent.

Hanging on the bedroom door was a beautiful white lace wedding gown. The lace overlaid silk and was decorated with delicate roses that had swept the ground when she walked. A black suit and tie, the same one worn many days ago, was crumpled on the floor underneath it—sans bloodstains.

Hank and Delilah had gotten married in a small chapel. Preacher John officiated at the ceremony. The vows were simple, the promises true, and although they could’ve had any type of affair they wanted, all they wanted was each other. Hank had asked her where she wanted to go. What she wanted to do on their honeymoon. Her want was as simple as the wedding: “somewhere peaceful with you.” They settled into their cabin, into newly married life, and once they had, Delilah became very tired.

She slept for a week straight it seemed, hardly getting out of bed. She would get up to eat, walking the floors lightly to the table on her thin legs, despite her burgeoning belly. Hank made sure she did. Doc Houston said it was important for her to eat more than her fair share. She ate without a problem, mostly wanting pickles and ice cream. But she didn’t want to leave the cabin.

Delilah wanted to make a little love, whisper all those pretty love words to Hank. Everything he longed to hear and she wanted so badly to tell. She would admire the simple band of diamonds around her finger, telling him he had given her the stars. But Hank could see how worn his Delilah was.

She was creating two lives and catching up on her own. She had her freedom, but freedom is never free. It always comes at a price. Delilah had fought her entire life for the days she was sleeping through. She had always been ten steps ahead or following five steps behind. She had ten pairs of eyes and eight pairs of ears. She was high above his rafters, digging low with the worst of the worst.

It was go, go, go because if you stopped, he’d know. And even though she was thankful for all that was hers, it wasn’t easy for her.

Hank knew Delilah was a feeler. The ones who hurt the most say the least. She fought because she had no other choice, and throughout her life, she didn’t have time to wish for things to be different. She had to become the difference. And now that everything had stopped, those years of out running had caught up to her.

Those highways had finally come to a dead end. She had been split in two, and she had to learn how to become one again. She was holding on to Pistollette, balancing the act between keeping her strength and allowing Delilah to lead her own life. She was coming to terms. She was never the victim. After that day, she never allowed herself to be. But she was a person. And she had to heal.

Hank was a part of her medicine.

He was beside her, watching as she slept. He spread his fingers wide and laid them on her stomach, feeling everything. He wondered and worried and moved closer to her. He listened to the wind whistling through the willows and the tall pines and all the rest of the trees, swaying in the night. He kissed her and stood from the bed, going for the gift she had given him. An acoustic guitar. He didn’t know how to play, but she imagined him one day playing for her and the babies. He would learn.

He picked on it a while, sitting next to the bed, underneath the shadows of a full moon. He started to get a little something going and he smiled. The melody reminded him of that first day in the car, when he had imagined them as a duo. Hank & Delilah. Not forgetting Freud the gentleman dog.

He strummed a bit more until things started to swirl in his mind—words and settings, people and places, laughter and tears, immense bravery and intense fear. The story was there, all right, he just had to put it together. He put the guitar down and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. He began to write their story.

Every day he would work on it a little more. Every day Delilah was intrigued enough to get out of bed and find out why. They started working on it together, as a trio, plus two.

“Heaven Almighty, darlin’,” Hank said, as they were holding hands on the porch, laughing and reliving all those moments. Delilah was eating ice cream out of a pickle cone while Hank drank coffee. Freud sat at his feet. “You know, I could’ve written this before I met you. You’ve always been with me, darlin’. You were somewhere, back here in the corner of mind, or hiding in the shadows of my heart.

“I know this story. I’ve always known it. You’ve always been so clear, but I had no idea where you were. You were my story before the plot was even dreamed of.” Hank looked down at her stomach and smiled.

“Dear Lord,” she moaned, and the ice cream pickle cone went flying over the cabins railing. Her hormones were raging, and she was just as passionate as she had ever been with Hank. They were never, truly, ever careful with each other.

As she tucked herself closer, yawning and settling into her spot beside him, she whispered, “I’m real tired now, Hank. But it’s not because of the loneliness. All those holes of mine seemed to be filled beyond capacity. I’m tired because these beautiful babies wear me out. And you, when I wake up tomorrow, I know you’ll be right here beside me. You’ll kiss me and tell me how much you love me. You’ll dance with me and tell me such sweet things.

“You’ll point to a star and have me make a wish. You’ll make me laugh and I’ll fall in love with you time and time again. You make me laugh, and even more than that ole crooked smile of yours—that’s all I’ll ever want from you. My dreams now are good. Oh, so very good. I wake up to intakes of breath, not gasping. I wake up thinking about what could be, what will be, all those days with you still to be lived. I think of those sweet babies you’ve given me. I can smell their skin and feel their kisses already.

“You know what I believe, Hank? I believe God blessed me. He blessed me the day you were born. He blessed me the day you found that tree house. He blessed me the day your feet touched that bank’s floor. He blessed us in California. He blessed me so big with you and these babies. I always wondered where He was. I always prayed, but I never felt anything. I thought He had forgotten about me. I don’t think that’s true anymore. I think He always remembered me.

“He knew he was giving you to me one day. He gave you three to me to save my life. I was wrong. Trouble wasn’t finding us; it was blessings that were chasing us. God, how I wish I could’ve seen all those big blessings coming for me…just one more day. That’s all. Just one more day and my sky rained down blessings. And here I am, splashing and playing in those puddles…the same puddles I was too afraid too mess myself up in when I was a girl.”

Hank moaned pressing his lips to her sweet ones.

She smiled on his lips. “Hank.”

“Yes, Delilah.”

“Tomorrow we have some washin’ to do. What do you say? Should we get all that funk out now?”

“Let’s let tomorrow worry about the washin’, but tonight, it’s just Hank & his Delilah Mae.”

They made a little more love on a Saturday night, Freud covering his eyes, just before Hank & Delilah both drifted off to sweet dreams.

The next morning Hank was delighted when Delilah woke early, on her own accord. She curled her hair. She pulled the mess of curls into a loose, low, ponytail that rested on her left shoulder. She ate a hearty breakfast and was eager to get to the Washateria.

Hank drove Hennessey’s truck. They drove down sloping mountain roads, the truck bouncin’ and Delilah laughing at the bumpin’. She was right beside him, one leg outstretched, her bare foot turned inward on the dashboard. Freud gazed out of the window, wind slapping at his floppy hound ears. Hank had one hand on the wheel, one around Delilah’s shoulders.

The left forearm was tattooed with the name Pistollette; the right bore the name Delilah Mae.

Ole country played on the radio, and she sang along to every verse of every song. Every once in a while she would get the spirit in her and holler something out the window. Freud and Hank would bay together.

Golden sunlight filtered through the windows, and Hank’s eyes had never seen a woman so beautiful. She was so delicate with her soft, pretty cotton shirt, her faded, holey jeans, and her shy smile. He could hardly believe that only a month ago she was the leader of a group of sister bank robbers. She could still shoot a fly from the wall like a magic trick—he knew even time couldn’t tame some things.

Hank seemed to have a revelation while he bumped down the mountain roads—he felt like he knew how all those good people felt when they died and went to Heaven. That’s what Delilah was to him, his own little heaven on earth. She turned and looked up at him. She turned his hat backwards ’cause she wanted him to kiss her. Then she played with the roundness of her stomach.

“Hey, Hank, I’ve been thinkin’.” There was a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve been thinkin’ a whole lot about church and such things. I’ve talked to Preacher John. See, the thing is, before…well, before the storm, I had a conversation with God. I’ve been bending his ear real steady. Actually since the day I met you. Him and I, we worked a lot of things out. I asked him to please let us get through the bad times…together. I made a promise, you see. I made a promise to behave. To always try my best to do the right things.

“He seemed to know I wasn’t perfect, and that’s all right. And we’re on real good terms, now, real good. I feel lighter and at peace. And I plan on keepin’ my promise, Hank. From now on, I want to go to church on Sundays. And not just because it’s the right thing to do. I want to go because I’m thankful. I want to go, not to ask for anything, but to be thankful for everything.”

Hank pulled her closer and kissed her. “All right, darlin’, we’ll go. Starting next Sunday.”

Delilah smiled and stared out of the window until they were in the town of Gatlinburg. She gave Hank directions, and finally they pulled up to the Suds & Skids Number Two Washateria. Freud jumped out first, going for a tabby cat tight-walking in the window. Delilah went in ahead of Hank and secured a few washers. Hank unloaded the truck and brought all their clothes to her.

She asked him to change their cash in for quarters. Hank chewed on his gum and fed the machine his green. Three young guys walked in. One of them spotted Delilah, her back turned to them, and he hit his friend. The three of them smiled and watched as she pulled clothes out of the hamper. When she turned around, they seemed a little shocked. It looked like someone had stuck a ball under her shirt.

Hank smiled with pride and walked over to her. He kissed her and she laughed. Freud came bounding over and started his low growl at them.

Hank bent over and petted him. “It’s all right, Freud. Those boys aren’t hurtin’ your Mama. But if they tried, I know you’d rip ’em to shreds. Wouldn’t you? Yeah, I know you would.”

“Freud, your Daddy is always lookin’ for trouble. Always.”

The three guys backed away and took some of the machines on the other side. Not long after, Hank and Delilah finished loading and took a seat. Delilah grabbed a magazine from the counter and started sifting through it. Hank went to check on one of their machines. It was making a funny noise. He heard laughter from behind him.

The young girl from the Suds & Skids in Charlotte grinned at him. Little Ada Lynn hung in her hands, sitting in her seat, sucking on her toes and cooing playfully.

She waved at Hank. “Hey, Mr. with a nice smile.”

“Small world,” Hank said, looking at her and then at Delilah. The paper in Delilah’s hand slowly came down and she eyed the girl with steely curiosity.

“It is. Good thing for small blessings. I enjoyed spending time with you, last time.” The young girl winked at Hank.

“I…we…didn’t really…you couldn’t call it spending…you know…time together.” Hank looked at Delilah. “That’d be my wife, Delilah Mae Rivers. Remember, I told you about her?”

“You never mentioned a wife.” The young girl said, narrowing her eyes at Delilah.

Delilah put the paper down and stood beside Hank. She poked the girl’s shoulder. “You flirtin’ with my husband?”

The young girl handed Ada Lynn to Hank. “So what if I am?”

Hank started to sweat and chew on his gum faster. “Delilah, darlin’, why don’t you go and sit down. She wasn’t flirting. We met at the other place, in Charlotte. That’s all. She helped me insert my money.”

“Oh, I bet she did,” Delilah said slowly.

“Oh, I did,” the young girl said even slower. “Mr. with a nice smile was real gentle.”

“What?” Hank was aghast. “Wait, no…”

The girls poked at each other’s shoulders. Hank was about to die. Then they stopped and started to laugh. They hugged and rocked back and forth. Hank almost dropped Ada Lynn out of his hands. Delilah and the young girl stopped for a moment and looked at Hank and started laughing again.

“Delilah,” Hank said, feeling the cool puddles underneath his arms. “You have to stop. I can’t deal with the funnies anymore. Heaven Almighty!” He had to take a seat.