I grabbed the bag with the rest of the food, opened the refrigerator door, and was putting it back when Daddy came in. I slammed the door shut as he flipped on the light. He shoved his cap back off his head, revealing pale skin that didn’t match the lower part of his face.
He said, “Why’s this light off?”
“I was about to turn it on. I was putting the tea up. I saw the glasses needed washing. I was going to wash them, and—”
He cut in and said, “Explain something to me.”
His voice didn’t sound right. I walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, got the water good and hot. I didn’t like the way he spoke, low, almost ominous, like he was going to tell me something bad happened. I swished the water around and waited with my back turned.
“Tell me why this axe was under the front seat.”
Shit, the axe. I’d forgot about the axe.
I faced him. He held it out, like he was wanting me to take it. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Dumb. So dumb. I should have brought it with me when I walked home. I could’ve thrown it down a hillside on Lore Mountain Road. It would have been one of them things, mysteriously gone. Left somewhere, never to be found again.
“Don’t hand me no bullshit about how you didn’t know about it. I ain’t put it there.”
There wasn’t nothing else to do but tell him the truth.
“I took it with me. But I didn’t do that to the still.”
“You mean to tell me it’s busted all to hell, and you were out there with this, and you didn’t do it?”
“I didn’t.”
He said, “That story don’t seem possible. Not when all I ever hear out of that mouth of yourn is how much you hate it. You don’t never want to do a damn thing except be a pain in the ass. Swear to God, this here’s lower than anything them damn Murrys would do. Worse. They ain’t family.”
I pressed my hands together. The hamburgers tried to climb back up my throat and I swallowed repeatedly.
Daddy said, “What a goddamn mess. My own daughter.”
Trembling, I said, “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.”
His voice was low when he said, “You know what I say to that? Bull. Shit.”
Resentment took over, and I yelled, “Okay, fine! I was going to do it. I was going to hack it to pieces, beat the hell out of it, but I didn’t have to. I’m telling you, it was like that when I got there.”
The silence grew and the taste in my mouth turned oily and repulsive. I went to the sink and started scrubbing the glasses so hard it was a wonder they didn’t break. Pissed, I splashed water everywhere as my indignation grew. Daddy went back outside and I was glad. Merritt came from his room back into the kitchen and that made me madder than I already was. I didn’t want to hear him take sides. I let the water out of the sink and heard a funny scraping noise. I saw he hadn’t quite made it to the chair yet and wobbled back and forth, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to sit or stand. He pitched about and I was sure he’d fall. He acted like he was drunk, and I began to think he’d lied. I bet he had ajar of it hidden somewhere, and my earlier concern he might be sick was replaced by an even hotter anger.
Feeling stupid over the axe, I snipped at him, “What’s the matter with you? You’re drunk, that’s what’s the matter. Between the two of you, it’s a wonder I ain’t into it myself.”
He ignored me and sat on a kitchen chair. Impatient, I began wiping the counter off in a frenzied fit of cleaning. I went over to the table, scrubbing at the top, working to dispel my anger. I was only about a foot away from where he sat and heat came off him like I’d opened the oven door. I stopped wiping the table and studied him, trying to determine if something was actually wrong. He had his head down on his good arm and was making this little rocking motion with his body. His face was turned toward the wall, and he didn’t look up, but I made out what he said.
“Something’s wrong with my arm.”
I said, “Is it hurting worse?”
He had trouble focusing on where I was, his face scrunched in pain.
He said, “I can’t hardly stand it.”
I went to the back door. I couldn’t see Daddy anywhere.
I hollered, “Easton!”
Merritt looked like he’d been put under a broiler. I got a clean dish towel and wet it, and brought it to him He leaned back, put it across his forehead, and I caught the odor of something putrid.
I said, “Merritt, what is that smell? God. Ain’t you been bathing?”
He tugged the sleeve of his pajamas up, exposing the length of the cast and a small part of his arm above it. That and his hand, really the entire sight, made me gasp. What wasn’t covered up with plaster was swollen almost twice the normal size, constricted so his wrist and hand bulged, as did his upper arm. He’d been trying to get at something down inside the cast. There were long, scarlet streaks on his skin, like cat scratches. The tips of his fingers were bloated, and were an uncharacteristic whitish color.
I said, “Oh my God, Merritt, how long’s it been like that?”
He placed his head on the tabletop, and said, “I don’t know. It was okay; then it started itching real bad last week. I got to scratching it by sticking a coat hanger down inside, until it got like this.”
His eyes were barely there slits and I was sure his fever was high when he began shivering. I went into the hall closet, grabbed a blanket, and brought it to him. He sat with it around his shoulders, slumped over and trembling. Otherwise, he didn’t move. I sat on the chair beside him and hoped wherever Daddy was, he wouldn’t be long. Merritt needed to go to the hospital again, or at least see a doctor.
There was an occasional miserable groan out of him and I sat with him for what felt like a long time before the screen door opened and Daddy came inside. He didn’t look at us. I was about to speak, to tell him about Merritt, when I noticed he held a mason jar with the clear liquid I despised.
He brought the jar up to the light, and said, “It ain’t half-bad. I can see why some got to have it.” He dropped his arm, and in a curious, musing tone he said, “Wonder why it is you think you got the right to judge, to act like you ain’t a part of this family.”
I ignored what he said and pointed at Merritt.
I said, “Look.”
Merritt lifted his head, and quickly put it back down on the dish towel, as if even that caused a lot of discomfort.
Daddy noticed and he said, “Son?”
The concern in his voice created a tinge of green inside me.
I pushed it away and said, “It’s his arm. It ain’t healed proper.”
Daddy bent down, staring at the part exposed above the cast, and without a word he hurried back outside and returned with a saw.
He said, “I got to get that cast off.”
Merritt said, “It hurts bad, worse than when I broke it.”
Daddy said, “You tell me soon as you feel anything coming through against your skin, okay?”
Merritt nodded. Daddy had him turn it so his hand was palm up. He placed his own hand on top to brace it, and began sawing. Puffs of white powder fell, dusting the table and the floor. Merritt tried not to look. Daddy worked as fast as he could, and within a minute, Merritt held up a finger to indicate he’d felt it. Daddy moved down some, and after a few minutes, Merritt signaled him again. Daddy focused on the area covering the elbow where it was thicker. It took longer, and sweat dripped off his forehead, while Merritt tried not to make any noise. He unexpectedly flinched, and Daddy stopped. Wiggling the fingers of each hand between the cast and Merritt’s arm, he began pulling in opposite directions, like he was splitting a melon open. It took a couple of attempts and the pain from the pressure caused Merritt to lose that high color from the fever. The cast cracked open and his arm was exposed. I smacked my hand over my mouth and nose as I glimpsed his arm. I had to walk away. I went to the sink and stared out the window. It wouldn’t never be the same again.
Daddy said, “Jesus,” while Merritt cried.
; Chapter 10
Merritt came home and it was all I could do to look at him. Eyes dull and lackluster, it was evident he’d lost more than his arm. He would have to get used to the idea of never pitching ball again, because he was going to end up with a prosthesis at some point and would have to spend time learning how to manage that. While Aubrey’s daddy always preached how shine was evil, made fools of men, and caused nothing but trouble, he’d once said the only thing it was good for was as a disinfectant. That proved not to be true in Merritt’s case. He told me he tried to spill a little liquor down inside the cast, feeling certain his arm was getting infected. It burned so bad, he was pretty sure he’d passed out, and then it got worse instead of better.
Good for nothing is what it’s good for.
He moved about the house as if in a fog, his world shrunk to the living room, kitchen, and his bedroom. We watched him try to eat left-handed, drink left-handed, do for himself, and it was hard. I anticipated the moment he would blame Daddy, grow angry at being crippled, tell him he’d all but ruined his life, but he didn’t. Daddy hadn’t said much since he’d gone to get him. Every now and then he’d stare at Merritt’s empty sleeve, folded up and pinned to his shirt. If Daddy made eye contact with me, he’d quickly turn his attention to the TV or to the newspaper. It was the closest thing to contrition I’d ever seen, and I wasn’t sure you could call it that. He’d dropped the subject of what happened at Boomer. He didn’t talk anymore about going to see some agent.
I began to think what happened to Merritt mattered until one morning shortly after he’d come home Daddy got to talking about buying the materials to replace the still. Merritt sat opposite him at the kitchen table, and I waited for him to point to his missing limb, to tell Daddy he wasn’t inclined to listen to that garbage anymore. Instead, they conversed like it was any other day with Merritt asking him how big the new still might be, and what it would turn out. Daddy told a story about Granddaddy Sasser building a new still, how he’d made it bigger. Merritt absorbed every word, and said once he got his new arm he’d get back to shine making again.
I was dumbfounded. Where was his rage?
Merritt’s infection was called osteomyelitis. It had poisoned his arm, traveling through his blood, infecting the tissues. Every time I watched him struggle to do the simplest tasks, it brought back what happened to Mama, reminded me of that brokenness inside my own self. Listening to them talk about a new still, and getting back to making shine was as if the both of them had something like that infection seeping through their veins, filling every crevice and inhabiting their thoughts like a disease.
I was glad I had the excuse of school so I could get out of the house. I waited for the bus, and moments later it climbed around the curve, and stopped with a jolt. The door swung open with a whoosh and I climbed on. I searched for Aubrey, and like it had been lately, our usual seat was taken by Alice Knowles and Denise Bradford. I leaned against the pole up near the front. Even the bus driver ignored me now.
Someone said, “Jessie!”
It was Merritt’s buddy Curt Miller, waving a hand, indicating for me to come to the back and sit with him. Surprised, I moved down the aisle and lowered myself into the seat.
“Thanks, Curt.”
He said, “I only wanted to know how Merritt was doing.”
I understood the seat was a onetime offer. He didn’t have to explain. I told him about Merritt, and by the time the bus got to the school he’d gone to staring out the window, looking glum.
We stood, and when the aisle had cleared enough for me to get off, he said, “Well, let him know I asked, and that I said hey.”
“I will.”
It only stung a little when I overheard him reassuring Abel, “Hell no, she ain’t sitting with me again. I ain’t stupid.”
I hurried so I didn’t have to hear more. The rest of the day was the usual dreary rotation of classes, and still no sign of Aubrey. Lunch came, and I sat outside on the brick wall with no expectations. Minutes later, footsteps approached from behind me, but I didn’t bother to turn and was surprised when it was her.
She came around to face me and said, “Hey. Gosh, that skirt looks nice.”
I went back to studying my oxfords. I wished I hadn’t chosen to wear something she’d given me. I wished I’d thrown all of it out. Before, I’d have thanked her for the compliment, and would have reiterated my appreciation. Before seemed like a long time ago.
She said, “It sure is terrible what all’s happened to Merritt.”
I said, “Is that what you came over here to say, or are you really nosing about because of the still?”
She was about to sit beside me, and my comment stopped her.
She stepped back instead, and said, “What?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
I mumbled a couple words under my breath that would have turned her preacher daddy’s ears inside out.
Louder, I said, “You can’t tell me you didn’t tell Zeb what I was going to do, and for all I know, Willie too. One of our stills been busted all to hell and I got blamed for it.”
Aubrey’s eyebrows went up and she said, “Well, from all I’ve ever heard out of you, I thought that would make you happy. I mean, ain’t it what you wanted? What do you care if it’s gone?”
“I don’t care, but I said not to say nothing and you did anyway.”
“Uh-uh. I didn’t tell nobody what you said. Why would I do that?”
She fidgeted with her watch, not making eye contact. I was right, and my silence told her I thought so.
She threw her hands up and said, “Fine, think what you want.”
“I will.”
She got up to leave, and then said, “Here comes Willie. Why don’t you ask him yourself since you know everything!”
He walked fast across the lawn and I wanted to run toward the school doors. Across the grass other students sat calmly eating, studying with their books set in front of them, the sun warming their backs, enjoying their day.
Aubrey smiled big, and waved, “Hey, Willie!,” and then she leaned in and said, “Go on. Ask him.”
I wasn’t about to talk to Willie Murry. I got up, my arms folded across my middle, fingers gripping my waist. His gaze skimmed past Aubrey, who’d pinned her eyes on him the moment he appeared. She giggled in a way I’d never heard before, a silly little singsong noise like someone practicing scales on a piano. She had it bad, a severe crush. I was sorry for her, and offended at the same time. He stopped by her side, and I moved back by several feet.
He said, “Well, if it ain’t Jessie Sasser of them famous Sassers up on Shine Mountain. So they say.”
I’d never talked to any Murry and I wasn’t about to start now. His hair was slicked back, and he wore rolled-up dungarees, a less than white T-shirt, and Wearmasters, the leather creased and wrinkled as an old man’s face.
He said, “Heard you don’t take kindly to the family doings.”
Aubrey, put out by the fact Willie was ignoring her altogether, wasn’t paying attention to a word he said as she thrust her chest out and postured in other ways she thought might look appealing. Aubrey’s common decency had left, and she had no idea he’d confirmed what I’d suspected. I moved a little to the right so I could leave, but Willie sidestepped and blocked my way.
He rubbed a couple of fingers over a stubbly chin, and said, “Could’ve sworn somebody said something about some unfortunate mishap on Lore Mountain Road a few weeks back.”
I moved again, and so did he while Aubrey continued to posture dramatically.
She finally poked out her lip when it got her nowhere, and said, “Willie, Jessie wants to go.”
“She can go. Anytime she wants.”
I moved, but he blocked me again.
Aubrey’s annoyance showed in the way she said his name. “Wil-lie, come on, quit messing around. We only got five minutes. Let’s go sit in your car.”
; She spun around and marched off without saying another word, black hair swinging back and forth, her back rigid. Willie gave her the briefest of looks. If Aubrey saw what I did in his expression when he looked back at me, she’d run like I wanted to do. He had hateful eyes that showed nothing because there was nothing in him, only pure meanness.
“Well, go on, Jessie Sasser. Permission granted.”
He bent slightly at the waist and waved his arm, ushering me forward. Moving by him was like edging along a narrow, steep path and one wrong move would send you tumbling over a rocky cliff. It didn’t help that he laughed, like he knew I was afraid, and the sound crawled up my back and into my head, making it ache. I rushed toward the school, lurching along like my legs were having spasms. Once I was inside, and out of sight, I dashed down the hall as the bell rang for fifth period to begin. I passed the small nurse’s room as Mrs. Brewer came out.
She saw me and said, “Sasser. Good timing. Git yerself in here.”
I had a couple minutes to get to class, so I obeyed, remembering the look on her face days ago.
Inside her tiny office, where everything was painted white and smelled like alcohol, she said, “You been drinking that tea?”
“Yes’m.”
“You need more?”
“I don’t want you to go to no trouble on account of me.”
“Hmph. Trouble is what you just had for lunch. Tea ain’t trouble.”
I didn’t know she’d seen me and Willie Murry.
“Yes’m.”
“Heard about yer brother. Wished I’d a known. Could a hepped him, maybe.”
She handed me a similar packet as the one before, and said, “You need to be drinking this. It’ll help that stomach problem you got. It is yer stomach is ailing you, ain’t it?”
Pale blue eyes pierced.
“Yes’m.”
She said, “You ettin’?”
I shifted off one foot to the other. “Some.”
“Some. Here you stand and I see yer body crying for it. I may be old, but I see that, and I see what you ain’t able to, least not right now. You best be careful; yer gonna ruin them teeth, too.”
The Moonshiner's Daughter Page 10