by Janie DeVos
“They are.” I returned the smile, then changed the subject: “I hadn’t had a chance to tell Harriet how nice this place is lookin’. You’ve all worked hard. It shows.”
“Things are some better.” He nodded, looking around as if surveying the store, and I saw a subtle yet noticeable look of pride on his face. “The railroad’s makin’ a big difference. Our biggest problem is not having enough of a harvest for what customers are callin’ for. I’m hoping that’ll change before long, though. Frank, Peter, and some of them foreigner fellas have been the savin’ grace of this place.” He pronounced foreigner as FURiner. “Without their help,” he continued, “we’d be peddlin’ someone else’s melons back in Georgia.” He laughed, although I knew there was more than a grain of truth to his words. And it still might be the case, too, if the weather doesn’t cooperate, I thought. Or the workers are moved out by either of their two biggest employers: the government or the railroad. Or if the fearful locals decide to move them out first.
“What all you got growin’ now, Jack?” I asked, curious.
“C’mon. I’ll show you.” He turned back toward the door.
As I started to follow him, Harriet said, “Rachel, we’re having a little autumn dance on Halloween. We’re charging a nickel admission, but you can come in for free, can’t she, Jack?” She turned and looked at him. Smiling, he nodded, and she continued, “It’s a covered dish thing, but we’ll have soft cider, pies, some fellas playing music and a few contests, like bobbin’ for apples, and such. We’re puttin’ pennies and a few nickels in some of ’em, too, so a person can win back what he spends to get in! Try to come,” she urged.
It didn’t escape me that she made a point of saying that the cider they were serving was the soft sort. I understood. “I’ll bring a casserole of some kind.” Then, after thanking her for inviting me, I turned to Jack, who waited patiently by the backdoor, and we walked out into the orchard.
“It’s a nice day,” I said, breathing in the distinctive autumn air and looking around at the bright splashes of color scattered across the Blue Ridge Mountains. Intermittently, spires of smoke billowed upward as folks burned mounds of gathered leaves, piles of trash, or remnants from their worn-out gardens that wouldn’t benefit their compost piles. Fires in hearths and wood-burning stoves added to the number of curling, smoky columns.
“It sure is,” Jack agreed. There was an awkward moment of silence between us as we moved into the front line of apple trees. It really wasn’t the quiet that made us both uncomfortable, but everything that needed to be said and figuring out just exactly how to get started.
“What kind of apples are these?” I asked, stopping to look around at the various trees.
“We got a pretty good crop of Goldens; the ladies like those for cookin’—though you probably know that.” He smiled. I smiled back, wondering if he included me in that group because he saw me as a woman now, or merely because he assumed I knew how to cook. “We also got Black Bens; they’re the pretty ones, though they ain’t—they’re not,” he corrected himself, “the best eatin’ one. ’Course we got Reds, and Staymans, for sauce, and I’m trying to get that York apple to grow good again. That’s the one I got high hopes for, but we’ll see,” he finished.
“You’ve got a lot of good apples growing, Jack!”
“Naw, Rachel, I got a few good trees of a lot of different types. So many got damaged or kilt in the freeze, or by apple scab, and the rest was neglected almost to the point of no return. But we’ve worked our asses—pardon me, Rachel—we’ve worked our fingers to the bone and our backs to the point of breakin’ and I’m startin’ to see this place turn around. Between you ’n me, I’ve got high hopes for it. Real high hopes.”
“I have faith that you’ll do it, Jack,” I said, touching his arm and stopping to look at him. “I think you’ve got enough determination to make up for the lack of experience. What you need to learn, you will. You’ve never been afraid to ask a question. I remember that from class.” We both smiled, remembering a less complicated time.
“I need for people to have faith in me. Even when I’m not sure I have it myself,” he admitted softly.
We walked on in silence for a minute, then, “I’m sorry about your mama, Rachel.” The words seemed to come out as if he were exhaling. It was as though he’d been holding them back, but had wanted to say them for quite some time. “I don’t know what else to say other than that. I’ve thought about comin’ over to see you to tell you how bad I felt about it all, but . . . I just wasn’t sure if you wanted me to. It’s a terrible shame. I just don’t know—” He shook his head. “How’s your grandma doin’ with all of this, if you don’t mind my askin’?”
“She’s all right, considering.”
“She’s not feelin’ guilty, like she could have stopped it, or changed it, is she?”
“No, Grandma knows there’s nothin’ she could have done to stop her. Mama was just . . . I don’t know . . . disturbed. She hadn’t been right for a very long time.”
“And with Calvin, too? Willa knows there wasn’t anything she could have done any different to stop that either, right? My mama said your grandma tried talkin’ to him again just the night before the raid, but he wouldn’t—”
“Wait! What do you mean, Jack?” I stopped and grabbed him firmly by the arm. “She talked to him about what?”
“About the moonshinin’, Rachel! Surely you know that she knew!” Then seeing the expression on my face, he amended, “Oh, Lord. No you didn’t. Oh, God.”
“Tell me everything, Jack,” I said in a low but level voice. Somehow, the cat he’d just let out of the bag was one I’d seen poking its head up for some time. Flashbacks of Lydia coming over to have private talks with Grandma, some of which left her in a disturbed mood, played through my mind.
“My mother knew they were doing it—making the stuff. She tried to stop my pa, but he wouldn’t. Said we’d starve to death if he did. Apparently, your daddy felt the same way. They had me out there helpin’ ’em a time or two, though I never did like it. Your daddy said he was makin’ more ’n a month than he’d made in a year at the mill. Said he needed to keep the money comin’ in to help keep y’all afloat, and to keep your mama happy—said she liked the pretty things in life, that she’d seen enough of the ugly.”
“Haven’t we all?” I spat.
“Yeah, we have, Rachel. But some let the bad things in life wear ’em down until they’re so low they can’t get up again. And others let the few good things in life lift ’em up enough to keep them going. I feel that way about the orchard. I see the poor little leaves that are struggling to grow on a lot of these damaged trees, and even though I can look around and see lots of dead trees, too, I think there’s enough of them in here that are bound and determined to survive, and I think they’re trying to tell me to do the same. It’s like saying if they can do it, so can my family.” He turned away from me and started walking again. “We can either live to see the good things in life, or die from the conviction that there aren’t enough of them to keep us goin’.”
I didn’t say anything for a while. I just wasn’t sure how I felt about all he’d said, much less how to respond to it, so I veered onto another subject. “How’s your daddy farin’? Is he okay?”
“We’ve gotten a few letters from him. The most recent one said he’d been workin’ on a chain gang putting some roads in. Said the prison has its own fields of corn, potatoes, and such, and that he liked that work the best. Other than havin’ fresh vegetables for part of the year, though, the food is really bad. Said there’re worms in the meat, and the worms are the only part of the meat he could recognize.” He tried to smile but it didn’t mask the pain in his eyes.
We walked on in silence. I was so angry about Papa’s carryings-on, and Grandma’s knowledge of it, that I was afraid to bring it up again. And, in truth, I was furious that Jack’s daddy had pulled mine into something he’d never had a hand in before. And then the thought struck me; how did
I know Papa hadn’t? Who taught who to moonshine? I had to know.
“Jack, who knew how to get the stills up an’ runnin’? Who knew how to make the stuff?”
“Your daddy, Rachel. He told my daddy that he’d learned from his granddaddy.”
“Like a cherished family tradition,” I said sarcastically under my breath. Then, “I’ve got to go, Jack. It’s gettin’ late.” I turned around to head back toward the gift shop.
“Let me walk you back,” he said, turning around, too.
“No, Jack. There’s no need. I’m . . . fine. I really am,” I said, but unconvincingly so. But before he could say another word, I walked away from him and out of the orchard as fast as I was able. Jack stayed where he was, but I could feel him watching me and it made me so self-conscious that I was sure my limping became more pronounced.
I said a hurried good-bye to Harriet, who was sorting some inventory behind the counter in the shop. “Don’t forget your peppermints, Rachel,” she said, holding the bag out to me. “And don’t forget about the fall festival!”
“I’ll do my best to come, Harriet. Bye.” I couldn’t get home quick enough. I had questions, lots of them. And I knew who needed to answer the majority of them.
CHAPTER 37
Onions and Lightnin’
By the time I returned home, Grandma was in the midst of getting the boarders’ supper ready. I put my bag of peppermints inside of my dresser drawer, and got busy helping her.
“Where you been, child? I coulda used you to kill a couple o’ those chickens a little bit ago. Macy Taft come by and told me that Sam’s neighbor called. Said he’s under the weather. His breathin’ ain’t good.” (I noticed Grandma was reverting back to folksy words like ain’t. She only did that when she was hurrying or upset or, as in this case, both.) ‘Stead of goin’ over in a couple o’ weeks for his birthday,” she continued, “I’m goin’ over tomorrow after I get finished with breakfast to tend to him. Lydia’s comin’ to help you and Merry with supper.
“Speakin’ of birthdays,” she said, smiling and turning to look at me more closely. “I finally got your present finished. Go look on my bed. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to wrap it, honey.”
I told her it was fine that she hadn’t wrapped my gift, and apologized about being late to help with dinner. Then I questioned her more about Sam’s condition. Not knowing any more than she’d already told me, she said to take another minute to see if I liked my present before I got involved in the messy business of frying chicken.
I walked into her bedroom and there, lying on her bed, was a powder blue chiffon dress, with a creamy lace bodice and lace sleeves. The neckline was cut in a sweetheart style, and the long, tight-fitting sleeves had a lovely pearl button at each wrist. Around the waist was a deep blue ribbon that created a dramatic separation between the lace bodice and the drop of the three-quarter-length skirt. Another dark blue ribbon trimmed the hem. It was far from being a little girl’s dress; it was exquisitely made from fine and expensive material, and was meant to be worn by a young woman. I held it up in front of me and stared at myself in the long oval mirror. And for the first time I truly liked what I saw: My long curly brown hair had grown a little darker over the years, so it looked like coffee with a little cream in it, and the richness made my intense blue eyes stand out even more. Small in stature, I had filled out enough in the right places. Although I would never be as exotic looking as Merry Beth, with her dark eyes, thick blue-black hair, and voluptuousness, I was content to look as I did. And that was in great part due to my grandmother, whom I favored in so many ways—both inside and out.
Suddenly, I felt ashamed of the anger I’d felt for this generous, strong, and loving woman. I stopped to think about one of the questions Jack had asked me, “How’s your grandmother doin’?” I’d dismissed the question with a vague, “She’s doing alright, considering.” But was she really? Or was she just holding herself together in order to hold the rest of our family together? I hadn’t given that thought any consideration before, and my lack of sensitivity toward my grandmother made me feel deeply ashamed of myself. We needed to talk—about a lot of things, and not just about those things that were in my heart, but in hers, as well.
I carried the dress into my bedroom and hung it up. Then I went into the kitchen, walked up behind Grandma as she stood at the sink draining a steaming pot of boiled beets, wrapped my arms around her waist and rested by cheek against her back. “Thank you, Grandma,” I whispered. “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. When did you ever have the time to sew it?” My voice returned to normal as she pulled my hands from her middle, and turned around to look at me with the most pleased smile upon her tired, aging face.
“A minute here and a minute there,” she replied. “I’m glad you like it, honey. You’re well old enough to wear a dress like that. High time you had one.” I knew she was thinking back to my last couple of birthdays. With so many changes, uncertainties, and sadness in our home, none of us had felt like doing much celebrating. But now, although times were still very lean, we managed to find some joy in life again. “I ordered the material from Mrs. Taft a few months ago. Our chickens been generous with their egg layin’ this year. They’re the ones that paid for most of it. I had the lace in my trunk. It was a piece your mama had, but never got around to doing anything with. I think she’d like that we used it, don’t you?” she asked, and I noticed a wave of deep sadness cross her face.
“I know she would. Yes. She would,” I nodded firmly. “Grandma, I’d like to go with you tomorrow to see Sam.” Even with the wonderful gift dousing my anger, I still needed to sort things out with her, and this was a rare chance to do it without any interruptions.
“Well, since tomorrow’s Saturday, an’ some of the men will probably head to parts unknown ’til Sunday evening, cookin’ will be easier. I s’pose it’d be alright. Merry and Lydia should be able to hold down the fort. Yes. Alright,” she said again, as if she’d just finished running through the usual Saturday routine in her mind, and confirming that all would go well without both of us. “We’ll leave at eight o’clock. The men’ll have to eat early and fast, or they’ll have to cook their own biscuits and clean up their mess. Bet knowin’ that, they’ll be done and out of the house by seven forty-five.” We both laughed and then I helped her carry platters of chicken, beets, pole beans, rice, and gravy and biscuits to the men congregating at our dining room table.
Just as Grandma had promised, we left at eight sharp, and we took Mama’s beloved buggy instead of the wagon. Though Grandma much preferred the latter, it looked like rain, and the carriage afforded us more protection from the weather with the small roof over the driver’s seat. Besides, Grandma packed some food as well as medicinal herbal concoctions to take with us, and she didn’t want to take a chance that they’d be ruined in a downpour.
We crossed the Titan Mountains, and as we did the wind picked up. Grandma gave up the battle trying to keep her sunbonnet in place, and allowed the wind to whip loose strands of her black and white hair from the bun at the nape of her neck. When the sun did manage to escape the cover of the clouds, Grandma turned her face toward its small warmth in a young, carefree kind of way. Even with all of the worry and despair in this woman’s life, she allowed herself momentary reprieves by enjoying the simple things in life. As much as I disliked having to interrupt one of those rare moments, I knew this was the time to talk to her about Papa’s bootlegging.
“Grandma, how long did you know about Papa’s moonshinin’?” I asked, my tone hushed.
“Long enough, Rachel. Too long, really,” she answered honestly and immediately. So quickly, as a matter of fact, that it seemed as though she’d been waiting for the question to be asked, and did not seem the least bit surprised that I’d somehow learned of her knowledge.
“Was there nothing you could have done to stop it—stop him?” I heard my voice click up an octave, and I made myself take a deep breath for I didn’t want emotion to interfere
with our straightforward conversation.
“Child! Try tellin’ a man to stop doing what he has to do in order to put food on the table for his family! Lord, Rachel, do you really think he liked the lying or the sneaking around? It tore the man up. I tried talking to him when Lydia first told me how he and Gilbert had gone an’ gotten themselves involved with it, but I was just wasting my words. For one thing, the money it brought in helped to keep the mill running. It takes money to make money, you know. Had your Pap not done what he did, well . . . only the good Lord knows where we’d all be right now,” she finished. “Like it or not, the makin’ and sellin’ of alcohol has been going on in these parts for a long time now. And if it hadn’t, there’d be fewer mouths to feed, less to feed them with, and a lot more graves to be tending. During those years when weather either burned up or froze out everybody’s crops, mountain men and their moonshining saw us all through. It’s not what most of them would have chosen to do, but it was what most of them had to do. And their families survived because of it.”
“Well, if Papa needed the moonshinin’ money to keep the mill going, how’re Prescott and Nathan managing?” I responded.
“They hardly ain’t, Rachel!” She sounded surprised I hadn’t realized it. Then, “And I haven’t figured it out yet as to how we’re gonna keep on goin’. Maybe it’d be for the best if we just shut it down.” I could see the resignation in her eyes when she glanced over at me. And it scared me to the core. It wasn’t just the fact that we were so close to losing the mill that struck terror in me, it was the fact that this unbreakable, determined woman, who had never given up on anything or anybody for as long as I’d known her, was nearly ready to admit defeat.
“I’ll start goin’ to the mill, Grandma, to see if there’s anything I can do. At least I’ll look at the books and see if we can’t cut some expenses somewhere to keep us going for a bit longer.” She nodded her approval, although I wondered if it was just to placate me. Neither of us said anything more as Grandma focused her full attention on navigating the steep trail as we continued to make our way down the muddy, slippery slope before us.