These discoveries didn't surprise Peggy, but she wasn't expecting what greeted her when she rolled out and managed to slide between the legs of the man standing next to the car. She wasn't shy by any means, but she usually didn't meet a man by first staring straight into his crotch.
"Whoa!" the man said. "Didn't expect a…woman?"
Her eyes moved past the nether regions and looked straight up into the face of the what must have been the patriarch of the McDonough clan. He had the same looks as his son Bo—dark hair slicked back, a broad face and deep eyes. His eyes weren't nearly as smoky as his oldest son's, but he had gone to gray at the temples, giving him the regal bearing that many middle-aged men get when they're used to giving orders. He was also trim and fit with no sign of the beer belly men his age seemed to develop so easily.
"Excuse me," Peggy said, gazing up at him and thinking that this wasn't the kind of encounter she'd been fantasizing about. "You seem to be on top of me."
McDonough cleared his throat and hopped aside. "Pardon me, miss. I don't mean to be so rude. I mistakenly assumed that you were one of the neighborhood boys, and I had no idea that a girl was—yes, well." He waited for Peggy to get to her feet. "My name is Viceroy McDonough, and you clearly are not one of the neighborhood boys. Are you new in town?"
"As of a few hours ago." Peggy wiped her greasy hands. "Pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Margaret Fitzgerald. Everyone calls me Peggy."
"The pleasure is mine, Miss Fitzgerald." He bowed slightly and shook hands, apparently not bothered by the grime. "I have to admit, it's a shock to see someone of the female persuasion dressed up in coveralls and covered with axle grease, especially one who is so attractive. Remind me to get after my sons for not repairing your vehicle themselves."
"No, sir," she said. "I'm a take charge kind of gal. I rented the space from your son, Lester, and I like to do things my way. My father always said that if you wanted something done right, do it yourself."
"My philosophy exactly," he said.
Viceroy smiled. His teeth were not pearly white, but they were straight and not stained with tobacco, and there was a spark to his eye that Peggy had not expected. He was wearing a gray tailored suit and holding a fedora in his hand. From the lack of mud on his shoes, she assumed that he had not walked the dirt road from the house to the barn.
"It's one that I’ve passed down to my sons, I hope," he said. "Although I worry about my youngest. He seems to be willing to do as little as possible to get by."
"Lester's been a great help." Peggy picked up her busted water pump. "But I need to go into town to buy another pump from Western Auto."
"How are you planning to do that?"
"Why I was—" she almost said, I was going to drive, then she looked at her disabled car and realized that she had made a logistical error. She was so used to jumping into whatever Jeep was available that she forgot her Ford was the only ride she had access to. "Well, I suppose that I'll be walking to the Western Auto."
"In this heat?" he said. "Why, my late wife would skin me alive if I allowed a young lady to walk into town, especially during the dog days of August. Clean yourself up, and please join me out front. I was about to take my Bearcat for a spin anyhow, and escorting you to the store would be the perfect excuse."
"You have Stutz Bearcat?"
"A 1932 DV-32 Super Bearcat with a three hundred and twenty-two inch, eight-cylinder engine, and four-wheel vacuum-assisted hydraulic drum brakes. She's a peach."
A chance to ride in a car like that? There was no way Peggy was going to decline his offer. "I really couldn't, sir."
"You can, and you will. It will give us a chance to get acquainted, something it appears my sons never bothered to do." He took a long, disapproving look at the three McDonough brothers, who were still mysteriously gathered around the Chevy. "I'll have a word about that with them after supper."
"You really don't need to do that. They look busy with their car."
"Looking busy and being busy are two different things," he said. "So, moving on to more useful subjects, have you chosen a boarding house in town?"
"My car broke down before I had the chance." Peggy scrubbed her hands with Borax in the small sink trough alongside the wall of the barn. "I saw a few places on the way in, and I was headed that direction before I became distracted by the mechanical problems." Peggy unzipped the coveralls and stepped out of them, transforming from grease monkey to young woman in seconds. "My mother would be disappointed in me. I'm usually very good at taking care of the details."
"Yet another matter of business that I can help you attend to, since I know all the proprietors. Some of them too well." Viceroy winked and offered his arm. "Would you mind joining me?"
"Not at all," she said and hooked her arm through his.
They walked through the barn like it was Versailles and they were royalty. As they passed the Chevy, Viceroy put his fedora on his head and tipped it.
With a sharp nod, he said, "Lester, supper will be served at 6 o'clock sharp tonight. If I have to send somebody looking for you again, there'll be nothing for you to eat. Is that understood?"
Lester's head jerked up like a private being given orders by drill sergeant. "Yes, sir. Six o'clock sharp. I best not be playing in the cornstalks again."
"The same goes for the rest of you boys," Viceroy said. "When Miss Fitzgerald and I return, I expect all the work in this garage to be finished."
"Aw, Daddy," Red complained. "All of it?"
"Every single bit."
With that, they continued their stroll outside. For the first time in a very long time, Peggy felt special. There was an air to McDonough that made her feel like a duchess. She supposed it was the genteel Southern manners and the aura of money and success the old man had. When he held open the door of the Bearcat and she slid onto the supple leather seat, which caressed her backside with warmth and comfort, Peggy took the chance for a long, appraising look at Viceroy's face.
Yes, he was a good generation older than she was, but he still was a handsome man, and his eyes were alight with fire. If this was what his sons were going to look like in twenty years, whoever married them had a lot to look forward to. Then there was his scent, a mix of sandalwood shaving tonic, rich tobacco, and well, man. It was enough to drive any girl to distraction.
"I would tell you to hold on to your hat," McDonough started the engine, and it came to life like a tiger that had been awakened and loosed from its cage, "but I see you're the type of young lady who doesn't wear a hat."
"I've never been one for covering myself up," Peggy said.
"In that case." Viceroy winked and said, "Hold on to your hair, because this old girl gives new meaning to the word hot rod."
Seven
"There will be no smoking. No liquor. No dancing. No music after eight at night, and absolutely no gentlemen callers." The proprietor of the Sunny Day Ladies Boarding House opened the guest register and tapped on the line for Peggy to sign. "Room and board is five dollars a week, payable in advance. No exceptions. If those terms are agreeable to you, sign right here."
The boarding house proprietor's name was Clementine. She looked meaner than a mangy dog and had the sharp eyes of a bald eagle, despite the spectacles she wore on the end of her thin, long nose. She was a petite woman, almost six inches shorter than Peggy, and wore a simple dark dress that looked like she was ready at any moment to dash out to a funeral. Despite that, there were few lines on her face, and the skin on her hands was still supple. She couldn't have been much older than Viceroy McDonough, and Peggy had the feeling that there was a much younger woman hiding behind that puckered-up face.
"Those terms are acceptable, I suppose," Peggy said. "They probably roll the sidewalks up at eight o'clock, don't they?" She waited for a laugh or snicker in reply, but none was forthcoming. "Anyway, I don't smoke, and although I’ve been known to enjoy the occasional cordial, I suppose I can partake of that elsewhere."
"You most certainly shall if you
expect to stay under my roof."
"Aw, Clementine," Viceroy said. "Don't get so puckered up. When was the last time you had fun?"
"Fun is no longer part of my vocabulary," Clementine said. "No music. No men. No exceptions. Not even for me."
Music was also one of Peggy's favorite pastimes. So were gentlemen callers. Peggy saw no reason why she should not enjoy the company of anyone she chose, male or female. Her time in Europe had taught her that American attitudes about sex were positively barbaric. However, since the first two boarding houses where she and Mr. McDonough had stopped were full up for the next month, she found herself in a position of compromise. Clementine's Sunny Day Ladies Boarding House was the only one that had any rooms available.
"What is that phrase? Beggars can't be choosers?" Peggy said. "I guess I'm in the position of being a beggar. So I agree to the terms."
Clementine sneered. "My ladies are happy to have a roof over their heads these days, but you sound as if you've been sentenced to the gallows."
The proprietor kept talking about how lucky Peggy should feel at being given a room on the third floor, which was the floor with the shared bathroom and shower, and Peggy's mind drifted. When she got tired, she had trouble concentrating. She found her eyes wandering to the photographs displayed on the wall behind the counter.
The most recent showed a sour-faced Clementine dressed in black with a veil over her face. She stood next to a coffin, looking calm and collected yet uncomfortable at the same time. Peggy couldn't figure out if it was because she was beside a coffin or if she was put out with her picture being taken.
The other photographs were older. They showed Clementine in various activities. In two of them, she stood next to a tall, athletic man with short hair and bright eyes. He had a warm, welcoming smile, even though his ears stuck out too much. Unlike his wife, who always looked uncomfortable, he seemed to enjoy the attention of the photographer.
Peggy spotted something written in the corner of one of the photos. She slid down the counter and looked closer at the picture to make it out. It was inscribed: Frank and Clementine Hogan, New Year's Eve, 1926.
Frank and Clementine Hogan.
Frank Hogan.
The same Frank Hogan she had come to Dawson to find.
No, she thought, it can't be. He couldn't have married her. This Frank Hogan couldn’t be the man who seduced her mother. Peggy couldn't be remotely related to this old harpy.
"Is that?" Peggy said, swallowing hard and dreading the answer. "The man in the picture, is that your husband?"
"Excuse me?" Clementine said, obviously upset at being interrupted. "What are you saying?"
"This gentleman in the photograph, Frank Hogan. Is that your husband?"
"He was my husband," Clementine said. "Until he passed away, God rest his soul."
"You're Mrs. Hogan and he—he's dead?"
"That is generally what one means when one says passed away."
"It can't be," she whispered. Then her eyes started back to the newest photograph, the one of Clementine standing next to a coffin with a black veil on her face. The widow Mrs. Hogan. The wife of the late Frank Hogan. "I—I wanted to meet him."
"Well, that obviously is not going to happen," Mrs. Hogan said. "I assure you that I’m more than capable of taking care of you. When my husband passed away, I took over the management of the boarding house, and I’ve handled affairs extremely well."
"You certainly have," Mr. McDonough said.
She sneered at him. "No one cares for your opinion, Viceroy."
"You did, once upon a time."
"We know how that story ended, don't we?" Mrs. Hogan said. "What will it be, Miss Fitzgerald? Are you taking the room or not?"
"Like I said, beggars can't be choosers," Peggy said quietly and signed her name with a great flourish, taking out two lines in the book.
"My, my," Mrs. Hogan said, "don't we think a lot of our name."
"It's just the way I sign it," Peggy said. "Could you show me my room now? I’ve got a few things I'd like to drop off before the Western Auto closes. Mr. McDonough has been kind enough to escort me, but I think that I’m testing the limits of his patience and hospitality."
Mrs. Hogan slapped the key on the counter. "The room is clean and ready. Keep a hand on that key, because it's a two-dollar fee to replace it, and you'll be waiting for my handy man, Rupert, to change the lock, and owing to the fact that Rupert is a no-account, you might be waiting until Armageddon."
Peggy put the key in her purse. "I'll make sure I hang onto it." She turned to McDonough, who was standing aside, leaning on the mantle waving his face with his hat. It was a warm day, and Peggy couldn't imagine the torture of having to wear a three-piece, wool suit. "Mr. McDonough, do you mind if I take a moment to inspect my new lodgings?"
"Not at all," he said. "Mrs. Hogan and I haven't had the chance to visit in a while now. I'm sure there's quite a bit that we can catch up on."
"Don't be so sure," Mrs. Hogan said. "I’ve very little to offer you in terms of conversation, sir, and you in no way interest me."
Peggy expected Viceroy to be insulted, but he only grinned and fitted his hat on before stepping outside.
"That lady is a piece of work," Peggy said as she and Viceroy walked down the front stairs of the Victorian house where Mrs. Hogan had taken up her residence. "That didn't go as I expected. The lady of the house seems to have her own ideas of propriety."
"Don't let her get under your skin." Viceroy opened the car door for her. "Clementine fashions herself as the moral center of the city. During Prohibition, she made a habit of turning in all the moonshiners to the law."
"She seems to be a formidable force."
"That would be an understatement." He started the car. "She and I’ve always had a mixed relationship. For me, I'll always hold this boarding house close to my heart, because it was the first time that I met my dear departed wife. On the other hand, Mrs. Hogan will always hate me."
"Why is that?"
"It's a small town, Miss Fitzgerald. Folks grow up together and then grow apart."
"But why would that make her hate you?"
"Because of what I just said." He turned down Main Street, headed toward the Western Auto store. "Mrs. Hogan hates moonshiners. That happens to be how my boys and I make our living."
Eight
"Surely you said that in jest," Peggy said as she followed Viceroy into the auto parts counter in the back of the Western Auto store. "Moonshiners?"
It was a small auto parts center, with only a small sampling of types of tires, most of them white walls and completely unsuitable for anything but the most precious city driving, and a few cans of oil and tins of axle grease. The rest of the area was chock-full of bicycles, swing sets, and plumbing. There was so much plumbing that Peggy began to think that the entire town must be overly concerned with its pipes.
"No, ma'am," McDonough said. "My sons and I do what my daddy did before us—run moonshine three times a week, except when we get close to the holidays, then it's just about every day."
"I thought," she said, "that bootlegging had died out with the repeal of Prohibition."
McDonough hit the bell on the counter. "Maybe they repealed Prohibition where you're from, Miss Fitzgerald, but as far as Dawson, Georgia is concerned, we are as dry as a bone. Junior! Junior Jackson! Did you not hear the bell out here? There's a lady waiting for you."
With a grumble, a teen boy in overalls and a T-shirt came from the back of the shop. His hair was poking up at all angles, and there were creases on the side of his face. Peggy could see the distinct outline of newspaper ink on his cheek.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Were we disturbing your nap?"
"Wasn't taking no dadgum nap," he said, barely suppressing a yawn. "And I don't need no lip from some fancy city woman, neither. What can I do for you, Mr. McDonough?"
"You can keep a civil tongue in your head," Viceroy said. "This young lady is here for a water pump."
; "A water pump?" Junior gave Peggy the stink eye as if she had asked him to sell the Statue of Liberty. "What you want a car part for?"
"I'm going to hook it up to my sink at home," Peggy said conspiratorially. "I've been having trouble with my water pressure, and I heard that a water pump could help out with that." She beamed a huge smile. "What do you think, Junior?"
"I think you ought to get out of the auto parts section and go over to the ladies’ lingerie where you belong." Junior guffawed at McDonough. "Am I right or am I right?"
"Son." Viceroy shook his head. "You've opened a whole can of troubles."
Junior started to speak, but Peggy cleared her voice loudly, put both hands on the counter, and leaned provocatively over toward Junior. "Junior, how old are you? If you don't mind me asking?"
"Turned eighteen just a month ago."
"Then you're too young to fight in the war, right?"
"I would've, but my daddy wouldn't sign off for early entry."
"But you never did serve?"
He narrowed his eyes. "What're you trying to get at, lady?"
"I served in the Women's Army Corps," Peggy said with deceptively sweet ring to her voice. "I've watched men die in the battlefield, fighting the enemy, who wanted to take rights away from people who deserve them just because they felt like it. We won that war so that our soldiers could come back here and live life the way they want to, no matter what anybody thinks."
"Yeah, so?" he said, looking more and more uncomfortable.
"Do you support our veterans?" she replied. "Are you a patriot?"
Junior glanced at Viceroy for a sign of sympathy, but all he got was a smirk. "Yes, ma'am, I am."
"Then you'll understand why I find it hard to believe that a little boy still wet behind his ears is going to tell a veteran that she ought to go play in the ladies’ lingerie instead of handing over the part she requested."
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