The Stills

by Jess Montgomery

  Lily follows Marvena. The natural shelter gives just enough space for Marvena’s still. A smaller operation than the one Lily busted up nearly two years ago, shortly after meeting Marvena. But better hidden. She’d never have found it on her own.

  Lily surveys the copper kettles, the tubes, the canning jars just like the ones both women use to put up fruits and vegetables for the winter. An axe is buried deep in a piece of wood on top of a woodpile, protecting the blade against dampness and eventual rust.

  Marvena gives a tenuous smile. “Haven’t brewed in a while, given the weather. Sold off most of my stock earlier this fall, and was reckoning to get rid of the rest right afore Thanksgiving. Got enough to at least get us one-way to that children’s hospital in Cincinnati. Mayhap talk to someone. But not enough for what I reckon treatments would cost.”

  “You know what I gotta do, Marvena.”

  “Then do it!”

  I’m sorry rises in Lily’s gorge. But she swallows the words back. She cannot—will not—apologize for adhering to the rule of law. Not even to a friend in dire, understandable need.

  Lily steps forward, yanks the axe from the wood. There’s no point in trying to bust up the kettles. She’ll have to come back later with some deputies and pull these out. She focuses on the carefully rigged tubing, then on the remaining jars. Each crashing strike of the axe echoes into the hollow of the ledge, reverberates up her arms.

  When she finishes, sweating even in this cold, she finally looks for Marvena.

  She stands with her back to Lily, staring into the snowy woods. A soft tendril of smoke rises over Marvena’s head, like a wisp of gray hair. The only spot of bright color in the gray day is Marvena’s red scarf.

  Marvena pulls a small pestle from her pocket, carefully grinds out the remaining tobacco in her pipe. Then she wraps both in a handkerchief and tucks the items in her tote bag.

  Lily turns, lifts the axe once more, to bring it thuddingly down into its resting spot on top of the woodpile.

  When she looks back around, her friend is gone from sight, and she must hurry to catch up with her in the thick woods.

  * * *

  Fifteen or so minutes later, they come to a small clearing, at the back of which is an ironworks furnace, in the shape of a ziggurat, built into a hill. Dotting these hills are several such furnaces, leftovers from the era of small operations employing a hundred or so men to dig out ore and put it through fire hot enough to burn out the sulfur and reduce the ore to iron. A laborious process, followed by the just-as-difficult effort to haul the iron out of the hills and ship it back east. By the early 1900s, the ironworks era was mainly over, replaced by coal as king.

  Marvena points to a split log, either end on rocks—a makeshift shelf. A brown jug sits on the ground in front of the shelf. The tableau of shelf and jug blends into the muted earthy background. On the other hand, the ironworks is a handy place marker, easy enough to find for anyone knowing the rough coordinates.

  Marvena goes over by the log, picks up the jug, gives it a shake. A bit of shine sloshes around. “Zebediah told Ruth a man was hurt?” Marvena asks.

  Lily nods.

  “Well, if’n I was out here, and I needed to crawl for shelter, I know where I’d go.” She flicks a glance to the furnace.

  Lily walks over to the furnace, opens her tote bag, pulls out her flashlight. She kneels to put the tote bag by the base of the tree closest to the ironworks. As she stands back up, she notes an unnatural splintering in the tree trunk, about the height of a small man’s head, a few inches taller than her. She looks more closely. It’s a bullet, lodged in the tree.

  Lily kneels again, retrieving her pocketknife out of her knapsack, digs at the bullet, which hasn’t gone far into the trunk. The cartridge she digs out is too small to be for hunting. It’s from a pistol or revolver.

  Maybe the bullet and the revenuer’s shield badge have nothing to do with each other. But maybe they do. Lily wraps the bullet in a handkerchief, tucks it in her tote. She retrieves her flashlight, turns it on, drops to her knees in the snow in front of the opening to the ironworks. She crawls in.

  The base of the old furnace is huge, certainly big enough for her to stand up. A bit of snow has drifted in, but not much. Lily slowly guides her light around—nothing but dirt and crunchy leaves. A rustling. She focuses her light up, spots brown bats sleeping in a row. She trains her flashlight toward the ground. Could be a chipmunk. Could be a snake—a harmless one. Or it could be a timber rattlesnake, the more common of the three poisonous varieties in the area. She’s only spotted a few rattlers in all her forays into the hills, and though she knows logically they’re as afraid of her as she is of them, just the thought of them churns revulsion.

  The rustling stops. Lily’s flashlight picks up a still brown shape, about the size of a hefty squirrel. Lily walks over—a fedora. She squats by it.

  There’s a tear, just above the brim, at the bottom of the hatband. Lily moves her flashlight closer to the spot. There, in the felt, is a dark stain, something thick and dried, with a few short black fibers. Blood and hair.

  Lily picks up the hat, exits, and holds the fedora out for Marvena to study. After a moment, Marvena looks back up at Lily.

  Lily sees that she’s calculated as she has: A fedora is for fine in-town churches, or weddings, or funerals. For businessmen. Or for revenuers. Not so usual among the miners or farmers or hunters dwelling in these mountains. And the tear with the blood—hard to say for sure, but when combined with that stray bullet in the tree by the ironworks, it wouldn’t be surprising if another bullet had hit—or grazed, anyhow—its mark. But where’s the man to whom the hat belongs?

  Lily looks around, spots her bloodhound, nose snuffling eagerly along the ground by the makeshift bench, the scent of some squirrel or chipmunk likely stirring hunger.

  “Sadie!” Lily calls. The hound obediently trots over. “Good girl,” Lily says, scratching between her ears. Then she holds the hat out to Sadie.

  At first, Sadie gives a reluctant sniff. Next a more eager one, and finally her nose begins twitching rapidly. She takes off, through the woods, and Lily and Marvena run as fast as they can after her, hoisting their skirts to avoid being snagged back by brush and limbs.

  Soon the hound is out of sight. But they hear her, howling in the distance. Breathless, they finally catch up to her.

  There, from a snow-caked limb, dangles a strip of wool cloth. Brown, jaggedly cut on one edge, and neatly hemmed on the other. And there, a stain darkening the strip. Blood.

  Sadie had just connected the hat to this strip of cloth.

  Lily considers: Plenty of boys wore pants made from dull, practical, and rough cloth like this. But the likelihood of that same cloth here, so close to where Zebediah had been hiding out to keep an eye on Marvena’s stock, in the same proximity as the bullet, that can’t be coincidence.

  Lily looks over her shoulder at Marvena.

  “Zebediah didn’t carry a gun, did he?”

  “Could have come out with a hunting rifle, though I sure didn’t advise such. Told him if any funny business started up, he was to take cover till it was over or to run—whichever was more likely to save his hide.” Marvena sighs. “Poor kid.”

  “Lucky kid,” Lily says. “Having a sister willing to defy his parents, trek to the doctor.”

  Lily stares up through the tree branches, so tall it is easy to fancy they tickled the underbellies of the gray clouds to set loose new snow. By the time she gathers men, explains the situation, it will be after noontime, and a search could take hours.

  The wind stirs the trees, but softly now. The snow has lessened since last night. They have a better chance of getting to Chillicothe and back before nightfall.

  She looks back at Marvena, says casually, “Well now, I reckon you won’t mind going with me to call on Zebediah Harkins in the hospital.”

  Marvena looks taken aback. “What? Now? Why’n the world—”

  Lily chuckles, which swirls
more confusion in Marvena’s expression. “I reckon the boy’s a bit afraid of you.”

  Marvena shrugs. “Sure. I guess.”

  “Well, he should have come around by now,” Lily says. “Boy’ll be wishing to see his mama, or sister, or even his pa. But between seeing me and you, he’ll tell us what he might have seen. What the badge, the blood, and the hat might add up to.”

  Marvena’s eyes narrow, harden. “Lily Ross, you can have a right cold heart.”

  Lily plucks the bloody brown strip of pant cloth from the bush, folds it carefully, and tucks it in her tote bag.

  * * *

  Zebediah takes a sip of water from the cup Lily holds to his lips. A moment later, a retching spasm makes him shudder. Lily withdraws the cup. Poor kid. His stomach is so empty, it will take time before he can hold light liquids, what’s more solid food.

  Lily looks away, giving the boy a moment to regain his composure, and chances a glance at the starched, crisp nurse standing by another child’s bed, side-eyeing both Lily and Marvena. The nurse had tried to turn the pair away. Even Lily pointedly telling her she was at the Chillicothe hospital on official business had only gained a sharply dismissive glance at her badge. To Lily’s relief, the doctor who had been on duty when Lily and Dr. Goshen first brought Zebediah in happened by.

  Still, Lily can’t blame the tense nurse, tending to the children by herself, in the large room of ten beds on each side, only curtains for privacy between each bed. The younger woman reminds Lily a bit of herself in her nursing days, alongside Elias during the 1918 influenza outbreak while her husband was away at war. Once, she’d taken pride in the memory of those days. Now the recollection brings more sorrow than satisfaction. Lily shifts uncomfortably in her chair, as if she can scoot away from her swirling thoughts.

  A modern ceiling gaslight creates a halo in the middle of the room, but the light barely reaches Zebediah’s bed. A window at the far end allows a thin smear of opaque light to cover the room. Lily calculates: it’s just past 1:30 p.m. now. It had taken them more than two hours to get back to Lily’s house on Daisy, retrieve the automobile with no explanation for bewildered Mama—who’d insisted on packing up turkey and biscuit and apple jelly sandwiches, which they’d not yet eaten—and then make it here, Lily speeding as fast as she dared, Marvena yelping at every bump and swerve.

  Maybe they should have formed a search team after all, looked for a possibly shot and missing revenuer. Ever since Ruth had shown up on her doorstep on Thanksgiving, it seemed that Lily had been faced with paths that only led to junctures with more paths, and no clear sign as to which to take, each looking as dismally thorny as the others.

  “It’s all right, child.” Marvena’s surprisingly soothing voice, concern blunting the usually coarse edge, calls Lily back to the moment. “You don’t have to drink more’n you want.”

  Marvena dabs the boy’s chin with a handkerchief. She’s had practice soothing Frankie, and indeed the boy gazes up at Marvena, fearless, trusting. But when his eyes shift to Lily, they widen with fear after all. “I’m in trouble, ain’t I.”

  Lily shakes her head. “No, no. But—”

  He struggles to sit up. “Oh! Mama, is she—”

  “She’s still with us,” Lily says quickly. Well, at least she was as of the night before. “And she wanted you to come here. Ruth was right to come get Dr. Goshen. Later, she was also right to pass this on to me.” Lily pulls out the revenuer’s badge and shows it to Zebediah.

  As pallid as he is, his face blanches even more.

  Marvena puts her hand carefully but firmly on his arm. “Zebediah, you gotta tell Sheriff Lily the truth of whatever you seen out there.” She takes a deep breath. “I was wrong to hire you. I put you in danger, and I’m sorry. But you’re not in trouble, no matter what you saw. We also found something else—a fancy men’s hat. Looks like whoever was wearing it was shot, grazed at least. And Sheriff Lily’s tracking hound traced the hat to a strip of cloth nearby.”

  “The cloth looks like it could have been cut from your pant legs, Zebediah,” Lily says. Though he’s now in hospital pajamas and covered up by a blanket, she gives his lower legs a pointed look, as if he’s still wearing those brown pants.

  Zebediah leans back into his pillow. “I saw two men I didn’t know, talking and coming up the rise. Something didn’t seem right.” He looks searchingly at Marvena. “The older man said something about another man—a name with a v in it, I think. And he shot the younger man. Left him for dead. I thought he was, too.”

  “That is a serious charge,” Lily says.

  “I swear it! But I did what Mrs. Sacovech told me to do if there was ever any trouble—I stayed hid. And then when the older man left, I heard a moan. I went to the younger man, and saw he was hurt, bad, but not dead yet. I bound up his wound—it was bleeding awful fierce—using the pieces from my pant leg. I wanted to get him to town, to a doctor, or”—he looks at Lily—“to you, but he said no. He needed to lay low for a few days, sort out what to do next. So I took him to the church.” He looks back at Marvena.

  “Sanctuary.” Marvena sighs the word. “Who took him in?”

  “I don’t know. Honest to God, I know I meant to get him there, but I don’t rightly remember if’n I did! I started feeling funny, light-headed, by the time we even got to the bottom of the hill,” he says. “And next I knew, I was comin’ around here.”

  “Did you at least get the man’s name?” The boy’s eyes flash hurt. But Lily keeps her gaze hard on him, even as she feels Marvena’s drilling into her.

  The nurse comes over. “I think it’s time for you to go.…” She trails off as Lily puts up her hand: Stop!

  Zebediah studies her, considering. It’s not, Lily realizes, that he doesn’t know the name. He just feels protective of the man. Uncertain where to put his faith, who to trust.

  Well, that she can sure empathize with, especially with Luther and Elias back in the area, reminding her of how her world and her certain trust in what she knew and the people around her had been upended two years before.

  Lily puts her hand gently on the boy’s. “You did the right thing, helping him. And giving the badge to Ruth. Did you read it?”

  Zebediah shrinks back into the thin pillow as far as he can, gives his head a little shake.

  “Well, it’s from the Bureau of Prohibition. The man that you saw shot is a federal agent. A revenuer. Sooner or later, the bureau is going to notice one of their own missing, come looking around.” She’ll have to notify Barnaby Sloan—and she doesn’t like the idea because of how enthralled he seems to be with Luther Ross. Is it possible Luther is the older man Zebediah had seen? She’s not sure that makes sense—unless Colter DeHaven had come early for some reason. And Luther wanted a dead Prohibition agent found near Marvena’s still.

  Revenge on Marvena, who’d helped her root Luther and Elias out of Bronwyn County the first time. Revenge on Lily, if he could get her to rush into coming after Vogel.

  Lily goes on. “If the older man who did the shooting gets wind that the man he thought he killed is alive—and was helped by you—then…” Lily lets her voice trail off, shakes her head. Even as her gut flips at the kid’s terrified expression, Lily sharpens her gaze. “If you give me the man’s name, I can make sure your family is protected.”

  Zebediah says the name, soft but distinct. “Colter DeHaven.”

  * * *

  “Dammit, Lily, slow down!” Marvena yelps.

  Lily scowls. It’s early afternoon, but there’s more to do than there is daylight left. They’re close to Kinship—just a few more turns and the church spires and county courthouse dome of Bronwyn County will be in sight. Since leaving Chillicothe, Lily’s turned her options over and over: First, go to the church and see if Zebediah had made it there with Colter? Maybe, if she’s lucky, find Colter still alive, on the mend.

  But she also needs to call on the Harkinses. Tell them their boy has regained consciousness. She hopes Mrs. Harkins is still alive
to receive at least this good news.

  “Lily!” Marvena snaps as the automobile jolts into and out of a crack in the road. “Dammit, I mayn’t know how to drive, but I know it’s not good to blow a tire!”

  “Have one of Mama’s sandwiches, if you’re feeling puny!” Lily snaps.

  “Lily, I know you’re angry at me for shining, but—”

  “That’s not the issue, not really.”

  “What then?” Marvena rustles in her tote for the sandwiches Mama had packed.

  How to tell her about Luther and Abe’s visit to her house last night? Luther and Agent Sloan’s visit to her office this morning? She’d started several times to fill her friend in on the drive over to the hospital this morning but couldn’t find the courage. Now, with Zebediah’s news about Agent Colter DeHaven—and Lily’s suspicion that the older man whom Zebediah had seen shoot the agent was actually Luther and that he’d hoped to set up Marvena—she can’t put off telling her any longer.

  Marvena holds one of Mama’s sandwiches over to Lily, who starts to decline it. But that apple jelly and turkey smell good, and her mouth waters. She slows enough that she can control her automobile with one hand on the steering wheel, takes the sandwich, bites into it. As she eats, she focuses on the snowy ribbon of road before her, the sweep of the struggling windshield wipers. But Lily can’t sweep away her troubles—or the need to tell her friend the truth.

  “Marvena, I have to fill you in on some hard news—” Lily starts, at the same time that Marvena says, “Lily, you oughta know—”

  Words are snatched from both of them as the automobile skids on a patch of ice, careens off the side of the road, and plunges into a deep ravine.

  CHAPTER 14

  FIONA

  Friday, November 25, 1927

  Noon