When the tiny clearing came into view, I placed my fingertips against my eyelids, and exhaled slowly. I pictured myself doing this and finishing it, all the while knowing revenuers could get you if you were within fifty feet of a still. I opened my eyes, checking once more before I left my hiding spot. I edged forward, constantly looking around, and as I got closer, I discerned something was wrong. The boiler had huge holes gouged into it, while the thumper box and the oil burners were flattened like somebody had run over them. The area looked like a tornado had gone through it. I couldn’t make sense of it. Someone had come and, by the looks of it, gone plumb wild. The condition of the area held me rooted in place for I didn’t know how long. I finally found the courage to walk around the damaged still, my shoes squelching through Daddy’s precious mash. There was a yeasty, beer smell permeating the air. Flies and other insects buzzed about, and dotted the ground, intent on consuming what was left. They flew up as I moved through, getting in my face, and I swatted them away. There was the dread of being caught mixed with initial elation at my discovery. I began to calm down when nobody came rushing out from behind a tree.
I recounted my conversation with Aubrey, could see her telling Zeb and Willie what I’d said. But it might be the landowners, whoever they were. I didn’t think it was liquor agents. No, this was recently done, and they’d have waited to catch someone before turning it into a pile of splintered wood. They’d have waited as long as it took. A lone bucket sat at the edge of the woods, and the oddity of it caught my eye. It was one of the ones we’d brought for catching the liquor, and it had been left behind, unneeded maybe. It sat upright. Beckoning. The axe handle felt slippery in my damp palms, but I was glad to have it, ready to go to swinging it if anyone jumped out at me.
I crept closer. It was something about that bucket. The smell, like that of an outhouse, greeted me when I was only a few feet away, because somebody had used it for just that, relieving themselves in it. I backed away, looking around. It was obvious they wanted to send a message. It would be just the thing a Murry would do. I cussed Aubrey. I should’ve never taken her to these sites; I should’ve never told her. Other than the pieces of wood, and metal parts on the ground, scattered about like the scene of a bad car wreck, there was nothing else to see. It was too quiet, the birds hushed, and only the low hum of the insects continued, like someone was watching and waiting to see what I’d do next. My skin was sticky while I shivered like I was cold. I had the urge to leave and quick. It was possible they could come back, or they could be watching me right this very minute.
A sudden onset of panic made me turn and run. I pushed tree branches out of the way, ducked under limbs, and my leg muscles begged me to stop within seconds. I didn’t care about the noise I made and I didn’t slow down until I was back at the truck. I snatched the door open, climbed onto the seat, and stuck the axe under it. Hands shaking, I turned the key, and heard the sluggish, reluctant turn of the engine. My body reacted; a sharp wave of anxiety flooded in like I’d jumped into a cold mountain stream. I swiped my damp hands down the front of my shirt, and turned the key back, then forward again. The engine chugged once, a last effort, and then the motor clicked. I turned the key to Off and sat there. I smacked my hands on the steering wheel.
Heat filled the cab as I tried one more time. Clicks. I couldn’t believe it. I shoved a hand into my pocket and pulled out a rubber band. I scraped my hair up into a ponytail and took the key out of the ignition and got out. I dropped it in my pocket while I stared at the old cantankerous piece of machinery and then I kicked it. I pummeled the hood with my fists. I wanted to scream and the swell of it rose in my throat, but I took hold of my anger. It would do me no good. With one last whack of my fist on the door, I began walking. I was already hot and sweaty, my temper having gotten the best of me.
I trudged along, my footsteps soft over the layer of fallen leaves from the past winter. I arrived at Boomer Road and there was nothing except me, the stretch of pebble-filled asphalt, and faded, cracked yellow and white lines. The thought of what I’d discovered, how I was going to explain myself, was beyond me at the moment. I started for home, walking along the thin shoulder, feeling vulnerable, exposed, as if I’d been caught in the very act. I kept vigilant for the sound of an approaching car, scouring the embankment in case I needed to hide. What only took about ten minutes in a vehicle was going to take more than an hour, even if I hurried. I prayed the road would remain empty and I’d see no one.
Before too long my feet hurt, and I had the beginnings of a blister forming on my right heel. I stopped and adjusted my socks, and went on worrying about the incriminating evidence of the truck and the condition of the still. Daddy had said no need to go check on any of them for a day or so, and it was going to look suspicious from the start, no matter what.
By the time I was within a quarter mile of the house, the sky was pricked with pinpoints of starlight. Another few minutes and I came to the sharp curve. I was so relieved I’d made it, I stopped in the middle of the road and stared toward the heavens, breathing in the cool night air.
Small squares of yellow lights appeared from the windows of the living room and Merritt’s room. That should have been a welcoming view, but instead, I dreaded going inside. I was really limping now, so I took my shoes off. A spot of blood on the back of one sock explained my hobbling gait. I began the climb up the steep drive and the closer I got, the louder and harder came the bumping from within my chest. My mouth, already dry from thirst, somehow got drier. The shed revealed the chrome of Sally Sue’s bumper and then the back door was yanked open, and Daddy was there.
He said, “Jessie, that you?”
I stepped into the dim light shed by the yellow bulb near the upper corner of the back door.
“It’s me.”
“Where have you been? Where’s the truck?”
I pointed back down the drive and couldn’t find any words for how to begin the charade.
“Did you get in a wreck?”
“No. I was going to go to the store to get something to fix for supper.”
Daddy motioned for me to come in. I unlocked my legs somehow, and slowly climbed the back steps. He held the door open and I slid by him into the house. Merritt sat at the table eating a Smithey Burger from the Goodwill store in Wilkesboro. He chewed and watched us like he did when he watched a good TV show.
Daddy said, “Sit down.”
I sat.
“Where is it?”
I whispered, “Over to Boomer.”
Daddy said, “What in hell were you doing there? I thought you said you were going to the store.”
I pressed my hands together on my lap, twisting my fingers. “I decided I ought to maybe check on it, be more helpful, you know, with Merritt’s arm and all.”
Merritt made a derogatory noise while Daddy gave me a look that matched.
I must have looked petrified, because his features relaxed some, and that helped until he said, “Ain’t none of them stills needed tending at the moment. You knew that.”
“I got something to tell you about what I found out there.”
He frowned, and said, “What?”
“I went like we usually do, being careful and all, but I could tell something was wrong right away. I’d seen some new leveled areas along the path before I got to it, you know, like where somebody might’ve been looking? There were these places that didn’t look right, there in the weeds. I thought maybe bear, or deer. But now I figured that ain’t it because that still? It ain’t no more.”
Daddy leaned toward me and said, “What the hell you mean, it ain’t no more?”
I said, “Everything has got big holes in it. It couldn’t have been too long ago when it happened, because the ground was still wet with what had run out. I hurried back to the truck and it wouldn’t start. Battery’s gone dead.”
Daddy rose from the chair and paced the floor.
He faced me and said, “What else did you see?”
I shook m
y head. “Nothing.”
Daddy rubbed a hand through his hair and down his jaw. He went to the phone and called Uncle Virgil. I expected he’d do that, only doing so was going to be like mashing the gas pedal on Sally Sue and hitting ninety miles an hour around a curve. Uncle Virgil would bring his shotgun and he’d be ready to, as he put it, “take care a them assholes.”
Merritt said, “No wonder you look like you seen a ghost.”
Daddy’s words came fast as he explained what happened to Uncle Virgil. I’d never seen him so mad, his face tight and angry.
“It’s got to be one of them damn Murrys.”
My hope he’d blame a revenuer disintegrated.
He listened some more; then he said, “Maybe. Jessie was the one found it all tore up.”
He paused, eyebrows raised in my direction, and my insides knotted. I mashed on my stomach repeatedly, but the pain only got worse.
He said, “Damned if I know. Something about it ain’t right. Get over here. We got a decision to make.”
I stared at my bloody sock, wishing I’d only gone to the store.
Chapter 9
Daddy couldn’t sit still. He went from the stove to the back door, to the table and to the sink. Round and round. I didn’t talk, and before too long, a truck door slammed announcing Uncle Virgil. He walked into the kitchen bringing with him an odor, pungent and tangy, his day working in the chicken houses still clinging to his clothes. I sat at the table with Merritt, tired, edgy, and feeling like I could eat every single thing we had in the fridge and cabinets. As was typical, Uncle Virgil looked to me for a glass of cold tea. I jumped up to get it, more accommodating than usual, while thanking my lucky stars Daddy hadn’t questioned me harder.
Daddy said, “Might be time to go see one of them agents.”
He’d never done such before, only threatened it, because those who lived here didn’t like to rely on outsiders. They liked to handle their own matters, and didn’t take kindly to anyone else butting in. I brought glasses of tea to the table, and sat down to listen. More than likely he’d go, but he might have Uncle Virgil do it. Daddy sipped on his tea, got his pack of Winstons from his shirt pocket, shook one out, and lit it.
He said what we’d heard before. “Ain’t a one of them Murrys worth a blunt nickel.”
Uncle Virgil agreed. “They act like they the only ones ought to be making and running. They ain’t been in it near as long as us.”
Daddy said, “That’s a fact. Hell, they don’t even drink what they sell. They know it ain’t nothing but rotgut.”
Uncle Virgil said, “Heard Jerry Watkins took real sick after drinking some of it the other day. Somebody over to the chicken houses said they’d tried it. Said it tasted like poison ’cause that’s what it is.”
Daddy said, “Jerry’s lucky he lived.”
Uncle Virgil said, “I found out they been using Elk Creek for a water source just a ways down Tom Dula Road. There’s a twin oak near where they go in; start there, and it ain’t too far. ’Bout ten minutes north. They got several boilers going.”
Daddy blew out a cloud of gray smoke and said, “Jessie, you got to be the one to go tell this agent feller.”
I sat up straight.
“What? Why me?”
“They’ll believe a woman ’fore they’ll believe a man. They think somebody like me showing up, or your uncle Virgil, is only trying to stir up trouble. Plus, it draws attention, seems suspicious, like maybe we’re talking because we got some part in it.”
Uncle Virgil said, “That’s the truth. Mrs. Taylor, she’s been to’em several times when her and Dinky found themselves cut out of their profits by that no-account, good-for-nothing Fred Cullers. They listened to her, and that was the end of Fred Cullers’ still.”
Daddy tapped his ash into the ashtray and agreed with him. “That’s right.”
I crossed my arms. “I ain’t doing it.”
He said, “You will do it unless what happened up there ain’t exactly like you said.”
I shifted in my chair, and said, “I found it the way I said, and that’s the truth.”
Merritt and Uncle Virgil studied the tabletop while Daddy studied me. I reconsidered my quick answer. It would prove I’d told the truth if I agreed to what he asked.
I said, “Fine. What would I have to say to him?”
Daddy stubbed out his cigarette. “Tell’em you got information on the whereabouts of a still. They’ll take it down and you walk out. Anonymous, and all.”
“All right.”
Uncle Virgil said, “Can’t hardly believe ole sourpuss here ain’t putting up more fight than that.”
Daddy said, “You bring them jumper cables with you?”
Uncle Virgil said, “Yeah,” and they got up from the table and went out the back door. I got up too, wanting to take a bath, tend to my foot, and fill the hole in my center growing by the minute.
Merritt, his face flushed an exceptional bright pink, said, “Shoot, wonder how long it takes them agents to find a still, even when they got directions?”
Irritable, I said, “How would I know?”
He grunted, then went to get up from the table and had a hard time keeping his balance. Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped his head off. I reached out to help him and he used his good hand to push me away
He said, “I ain’t that bad off.”
His hand felt hot; his eyes were glassy.
I said, “Shit, Merritt, you been into the hooch?”
He said, “Hell no. Leave me alone.”
I leaned forward and sniffed, and he stuck his hand out again, warning me off.
“Merritt!”
“Well, get away from me.”
I waited for him to turn, and then I put a hand on his back. It also felt abnormally warm. He spun around, lifted the hand again like he would smack me. I took several steps back and raised my hands up to let him know I wasn’t going to touch him again.
I said, “Merritt, I think you got a fever.”
“Probably.”
“You feel bad?”
“It ain’t nothing. I’m going to bed.”
“Get some of them BCs in the bathroom cabinet.”
He said, “I already did.”
He was probably lying, but if he wanted to feel miserable, what could I do about it? He clumped down the hall, holding his bad arm with his good. He’d been using the fingers that poked out the end of the cast some before, and now he relied solely on his left arm and hand. After he shut his bedroom door, I went into the bathroom, and filled the tub with water. I stayed off the scale. I didn’t look in the mirror. I stuck my blistered heel into the hot water first. It hurt like the dickens, but once I got all the way in, it eased off. I stretched out, avoided looking down the length of my body. I didn’t want to start obsessing about my breasts, my belly, my thighs, without clothes. I listened to the internal workings of my gut. The gurgles and protestations. I wanted to eat. It didn’t have to be much. Just enough to feel less wobbly-legged. Just enough so I wouldn’t need to put my finger down my throat.
I dropped lower, used my foot to turn on the handle for more hot water. The wish for food went away when I thought about talking to the revenuer, but what bothered me just as much was Aubrey. I stared at the water gushing from the spout. Maybe she was like Zeb. Maybe her mouth worked like this faucet. After a while I pulled the plug, and it was while I was drying off I heard a muffled noise. I wrapped the towel around me and opened the bathroom door. Steam rolled out and around me, swirling like white smoke. I poked my head out and listened as Merritt mumbled to himself.
I said, “Merritt? You all right?”
The mumbling stopped. No more sounds came from his room.
I shook my head, shut the bathroom door, and finished drying off. When I was done, I put on my housecoat, and carried the wet towel out to the back porch where an old rusty washing machine sat. I dropped the towel in the drum, and when I came back into the kitchen, I eyed the refrigerator, then t
he clock. It was almost nine. Daddy could come back any minute. I leaned against the counter, my belly crying for something. I got the glass from where I’d left it on the table earlier and refilled it with more tea. I drank and all that did was make me hungrier.
I flicked off the overhead light, liking the dark as I went toward the refrigerator, and pulled on the handle. There on the top shelf sat a white paper bag, grease spots staining the outside. I remembered Merritt eating a Smithey Burger when I came in earlier. Daddy brought them home at least once a week and it couldn’t have worked out better, since there was nothing else. I took the bag out, and shut the door, returning the room to darkness. I reached in, got one out, and set it on the table. The paper crinkled loudly as I closed the bag. I went to the kitchen door, checked to see if anyone was coming, then gave a quick peek down the hall at Merritt’s door. Still closed. I was alone. I was deliberate when I put the bag back in the refrigerator. Only one, Jessie. That’s all. I went back to the table and unwrapped the hamburger. It was slick with mustard and ketchup. I brought it up to my nose, and the smell made my mouth water while I gagged at the same time, my midsection and head in conflict. I bit into it, taking only a small bite, chewed once. Twice. I chewed some more, and fought the rising nausea. That happened sometimes, and I didn’t know why. I swallowed and waited to see if it would stay down. Depending on how long it had been, sometimes I found myself running for the bathroom to get sick.
It stayed and I wanted more. This time I took a regular bite, and another, and another, until I was cramming the rest of it in, my fingers pressing against my lips as I acted on impulse, going back to the refrigerator a second time. I grabbed the bag, took it to the sink, and stood over it to eat. I was still chewing while reaching for another when the sound of our truck coming up the drive sent me rushing to the metal trash can by the stove. I spit the clump of hamburger out, knowing I had to bury the empty wrappers. I put my hand over my mouth, fighting the need to release the pressure in my stomach as I grabbed them, and shoved them underneath the newspapers and food scraps.
The Moonshiner's Daughter Page 9