toward the sky and I shifted from one foot to the other, un-
certain where this unexpected conversation might go.
He said, “Jessie, can I trust you?”
The question took me by surprise and the taste of the ba-
con I’d eaten earlier turned rancid. My mind went haywire,
thoughts scattering like gunshot. He must’ve seen me on
Main Street that day.
He said, “We got us a bit of a problem.”
He was cryptic, and I was too rattled to ask questions. He
tossed his cigarette on the ground, and rubbed a hand over his face like he was unsure of what to say.
Finally, he began to talk, but it wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t about Main Street, or even about the Boomer still and what he thought about that.
He said, “I really need me somebody to rely on.”
He waited for me to respond. I didn’t know what he was
after, because I already did what he expected, even though he knew I hated it.
I said, “What about Uncle Virgil, and Oral?”
“You’ve seen your uncle Virgil, and the way it can get with
him. Him doing right is hit-or-miss, and lately, I ain’t sure I can trust him to do much at all. I got to have someone I can depend on, and it ought to be you.”
This was different in that he was saying he needed me. As
if that was supposed to make a difference.
He said, “Merritt’s arm’s gonna cost a pretty penny, and
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I’m gonna have to do all I can to get them on their way. I got to have someone dependable, to check them stills regular, not be drunk, and screw something up.”
Through the screen door I saw the faint outline of Mer-
ritt sitting at the table. Oral had Merritt’s baseball and he was tossing it up in the air and catching it. Merritt watched, but turned to look outside at us every now and then, curious.
Daddy wanted the best for him, while all he wanted for me
was to obey him whether I liked it or not. I understood, but I didn’t want to. I brought up a subject I hadn’t in a while, giving up on it as something that would never happen. Since he
was asking, maybe now was the time to try again.
“Tell me about Mama.”
He looked away, staring into the distance, and I began to
think he might. When he spoke, his voice was low.
He said, “You know I can’t talk about it.”
He was holding on to her, but she wasn’t only his.
“I have a right to know her too. She ain’t for your memory
alone.”
I didn’t bother pleading, or even arguing. It was like being lost, walking endlessly while hoping to find your way only to recognize you’re right back where you started.
He repeated the question he’d asked me before: “Jessie, can
I trust you?”
I walked toward the house without answering his ques-
tion and he stayed outside for a while. When he finally came in, he didn’t put much food on his plate, and what was there went mostly untouched. Aunt Juanita drifted into the kitchen with Uncle Virgil and they filled their plates, eating and talking like nothing had happened the night before. Meanwhile,
Daddy watched me like he needed to hear me promise, or
at least know I wouldn’t add to his problems. Maybe I could
give him the answers he needed if only he could do the same
in return.
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Chapter 14
By July, it was necessary to find ways to get away from Aunt Juanita and Uncle Virgil’s constant bickering, so I actually did volunteer to go to Big Warrior and Blood Creek on my
own. It was late one afternoon after Daddy said they needed
tending.
He hesitated when I spoke up, then said, “Get your uncle
and Oral to help you. There’s corn to be hauled in to both.”
“No. I’d rather do it on my own.”
He went to the sink and rinsed out his coffee cup and gave
me a look like I’d spoken in a foreign language. It meant
nothing more than I needed to get out of the house, and away from them for a little while.
I was desperate enough I added, “You said you needed
someone trustworthy, dependable.”
Without a word, he reached into his pocket and gave me
the keys. That’s where he kept them lately instead of on the hook by the door. I couldn’t read his expression, yet I had
the feeling I was being tested in some way.
He said, “I took the last run off of both of them yesterday.
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Everything you need is in the back of the truck. Do Blood
Creek first.”
I nodded and said, “Okay.”
A short while later, I parked near the old poplar, got out,
and assessed what was in the truck bed that I had to carry
in. I hefted a bag and began to walk. It was an uneventful
journey, but tough going as I wound my way around the re-
cent growth of catbrier and Virginia creeper, balancing the
weight as best as I could. When I got nearer to the still area, everything was in place. He’d cleaned it out, made it ready. I dumped the corn, and started adding water to the boiler and
got the burner going. I headed back, the only noise my foot-
steps and the running water of the creek. It took several more trips, and by the time I was done, the sun touched the treetops while my heart flickered like a lightbulb about to go out.
Despite that, I was still glad I’d come alone. The peacefulness was worth it. If nothing else, I loved being in the woods and, most of all, being alone.
I took a minute to sit and rest, before I added in the corn-
meal that had been ground at a mill, special, so it wouldn’t create too much heat. I stirred out the lumps, then added
in the rye. I had to let that sit for a bit, and while I waited I perched on a small boulder, combed my fingers through my
hair, discarding the silky strands that came out. I wondered if it was common to lose so much.
Before long, it was time to separate the mix into other
buckets, so I could add malt. All this was blended back to-
gether into the boiler and I sprinkled some remaining malt
on top. I sat down again, waiting for cracks in the foaming
top to appear. By the time that finally happened, I was limp as a dishrag, and dreaded the long winding walk back to the
truck. I finished by adding yeast; then I heaved and pulled
on the large square piece of wood to cover everything. I sat on the boulder again, resting and staring at the still, feeling Ever_9781496717023_2p_all_r1.indd 138
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nothing much about what I’d just accomplished, by myself. In about three hours, what I’d done would be fermenting, and in three days, if all went right, it would be ready to distill.
I began walking to the truck, and had to stop several times
to catch my breath, leaning against various trees for support, seeing pinpoints of light dancing in front of my eyes. When
I got like this, it was a sign I needed to eat, but my ordinary rituals were off because of Uncle Virgil and everyone at the house. Although more food was cooked, they always ate most
of it, leaving very little behind. Last thing I could remember eating was the piece of bacon I
’d snuck on the sly.
The final time I had to stop I leaned against a big oak,
rubbing a hand across my forehead where my hair clung. It
was dirty work in the summer, and my clothes were covered
with brambles, leaves, and splattered mud from the creek wa-
ter. I pushed off the trunk when something moved near a
tree to my right. I saw a man, one eye covered with a black
patch. That same side of his face had an unsightly scar, the skin mottled, and lumpy. His clothes were dirty too and he
wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt, even though it was warm, and a leather hat, showing a line of sweat where a piece of rawhide circled the crown. He had a shotgun pointing straight at me.
He had to be the landowner.
His voice demanded, “Who’re you?”
I stammered, gave him a flimsy answer. “I-I was only tak-
ing a walk out here. It’s such a nice piece of land.”
The one eye narrowed. He spit tobacco juice and wiped his
mouth.
“Walk?” he said. “Pretty dirty for just walkin’.”
I said, “I fell, took a little tumble.”
He said, “Hm. What’s yer name?”
“Jessie.”
“Jessie what?”
“Jessie Sasser.”
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He lowered the gun. “Sasser,” then moved it so the stock
end rested on the toe of his boot.
He repeated my last name, “Sasser,” like he’d heard it be-
fore, then said, “Well, now.”
I wanted to go, but he kept on talking.
He said, “What’s back thataway?”
“Nothing.”
He stepped closer. “You sure about that?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“No illicit activities?”
“No, no, sir.”
“Things is changing; revenuers gonna see to it one way or
the other. Guess you could say I’m helping to oversee it.”
“You work with them?”
“You might say it that a way.”
He looked like he belonged to the Brushies, not the gov-
ernment.
I said, “You know Nash Reardon?”
“I don’t talk about who I know or don’t.”
“Well, I was just out walking, and I’m leaving now.”
He said, “I know this area pretty good, and I know it ain’t
the best place for a casual walk. What you reckon goes on in them woods there?”
I grew more fearful, believing he already knew what was
back there.
He cut a new plug of tobacco and said, “Maybe you can
help.”
He shared what might have been a smile, except the scar-
ring on his face twisted it into that expression of pain.
“Help? How?”
He shoved the new tobacco in his mouth, and brown spittle
lined his lips. “You might have some information to share.”
I said, “I don’t know anything, and if I did, I wouldn’t
share it.”
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With that pained smile, he said, “Fine. If you’re so inclined one of these days, I’m over there directly,” and he pointed
to a completely different area I’d never been. “Over yonder
is a small shack. An undercover hideout, you could say. You
change your mind, well, that’s where I’m staked out. About
two miles northeast.”
I said, “It don’t interest me none.”
After delivering an assessing glance, he then said, “You
can’t run in both directions.”
He went back the way he’d shown me, and anxious to put
distance between me and him, I ran for the truck. Once there I cranked the engine, appreciating how the new battery made
it dependable. I headed down the path and out onto the high-
way just as the sun was giving up its hold on the sky and sinking below the trees. I rolled the window down, eyes on the
road ahead and the darkening sky above, thinking about the
stranger and the last thing he’d said, like he knew Nash Reardon, maybe even knew me, but I couldn’t figure out how.
I’d not given my name when I’d told Mr. Reardon about the
Murrys. Maybe this man with the eye patch saw me that day,
coming out of the building. That was the problem in a small
town; nobody missed nothing.
I rounded a few curves, and caught the glow of lights in my
rearview, a car right on my bumper. It was as if it had materialized from out of nowhere, like a spirit. It had the low, sleek hood of a runner’s car, and my first thought was it belonged to the man in the woods, but I knew it was more likely a Murry
if it was anyone. I pressed on the gas, accelerating from thirty-five to forty-five. It was as if I’d made no change in speed at all, as if the car had attached itself with an invisible link. I was immediately taken back to the night we were pushed off the
road.
I didn’t know how to drive like Daddy, who knew when
to go faster or when to let up. He could do a one-eighty in
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the middle of the road, called a bootleg U-turn. It would get a vehicle pointing in the opposite direction, with a balanced measure of speed and a spin of the steering wheel in seconds flat. I didn’t know how to do that, much less how to take the curves when accelerating. I only knew how to drive normal.
Not like a bootlegger. My hands gripped the steering wheel,
while the rearview showed the car remained close. I could
hear the sound of its engine above the wind whistling through my open windows, a deep, rumbling noise like thunder filling the cab. I pushed down on the gas and my speed climbed to
fifty. I came up on a curve and had to apply the brakes, and as I slowed down, the car moved into the opposite lane, until it was almost alongside me and took the curve with only a slight squeal of the tires.
The bend in the road straightened out, and I slowed down,
my speed barely above twenty, hoping they’d pass me, tired of fooling around. They dropped back instead and I didn’t know
if I should stop and pull over, only if it was a Murry I surely didn’t want to come face-to-face with one of them alone. I
began to think about the coincidence of them being on this
road just as I was leaving. Like I’d been spied on.
My headlights revealed wrinkled tree trunks, steep drop-
offs, and occasionally twin golden orbs belonging to wildlife frozen at the edge of the woods. The driver didn’t let up, and before long I came to our road. It was worrisome I’d been
followed this far. I turned onto it, and my chest went hol-
low, emptied of blood when they did too. I came to the sharp curve, and what I’d been expecting happened. The car sped
forward, swerved in front of me, but instead of slamming on
brakes, they whipped into the drive and roared up the hill to the back of the house. I stared in dismay at the rear lights as they disappeared into the shed.
A slow, growing heat of anger came over me. That was
Daddy driving Sally Sue. Fuming, I pulled the truck in be-
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hind the house, parked, got out, and slammed the door hard
enough
the hinges protested. I stalked back and forth in front of the truck’s hood, all the while glaring into the night, waiting on him to show up so I could give him a piece of my mind.
He came down the hill, footsteps swishing through grass that needed cutting, and materialized from the gloom, lighting a
cigarette. Nobody inside had thought to turn on the outside
porch light and the night covered us like a black blanket. My eyes adjusted enough to make out his white T-shirt.
Angry, I said, “Why’d you do that?”
“To prove a point.”
“What? How you could scare the living daylights out
of me?”
He said, “You think that was scary? What if it had been one
of the Murrys and they started giving you a hard time, and
run you off the road?”
“I’d have stopped the truck before they could do that.
Locked my doors. When they got out to mess with me, I’d
have hit the gas and got away.”
“And you think that would’ve worked?”
“Yes.”
“You pulling a stunt like that wouldn’t do nothing but piss
them off but good. Let me tell you something. If they’d seen you alone, they’d have made sure you would remember it.
They’d have got you, one way or another. What you reckon
they would’ve done then?”
I didn’t want to think about that, but I also didn’t want to admit he was right.
Daddy said, “You got to learn how to drive and be on the
offense, not helpless. You didn’t know what you were doing,
slowing down, speeding up. That would’ve only made them
think you were playing around. They’d have got you, girl,
they’d have got you, and all hell would’ve broke loose.”
He was scaring me, but I didn’t let it show.
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I insisted on my way of thinking. “I could’ve gotten away if I needed to. Besides, I could tell I wasn’t in danger.”
“That was because it was me. Not them. I’ve seen what
they’ll do. I’ve dealt with them sons a bitches a long time. I’d bet money they set fire to your uncle’s house, and it’s not the only thing they’ve got a mind to do.”
“I would’ve come straight here.”
He said, “You wouldn’t have made it. I saw them go by
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