The Moonshiner's Daughter

by Donna Everhart

  “It ain’t what you say,” and I pinched the flesh around my middle, jiggled it to prove I had meat on my bones, more than enough.

  She shook her head and said, “Any old body can do that.”

  I let the skin go, unwilling to accept what she said. “You’re being nice is all.”

  She said, “I ain’t nice. I’m only wanting you to see straight.”

  She scraped the freshly chopped tea into a small container.

  She said, “Take it. It’s enough to last a while. Be sure and drink it every day.”

  She acted as if it would change me somehow from the inside out. I didn’t see the need.

  I said, “What does it do?”

  “Don’t worry none ’bout that. Trust me when I say it’s good fer you.”

  Trust. That little thing everyone wanted or needed. I straightened up, wanting to seem capable, and strong. At sixteen, I could look after myself. I didn’t need anyone helping me, and I sure didn’t need anyone else telling me what I ought to do. She shook it at me, meaning I should take it. I only did to avoid argument. It was exhausting having to conduct myself a certain way for everyone else’s benefit and getting even more difficult to manage my compulsive needs.

  “I’ll come check on you in a few days. You up on Shine?”

  I didn’t respond, only thanked her for the tea, and left. I backed out of the driveway and didn’t look to see if she’d followed me or stayed in the house. On the way home I brooded over what she said, what she claimed, and what I knew. She denied being nice, but that’s all it was, although why she felt the need to help me was a mystery. Back on Shine Mountain, I parked the truck, and picked up the container with the tea, lifted the lid off, and sniffed it. She said it would help, but I couldn’t see how.

  I heaved a sigh and got out. As I started for the back steps, there was a chopping sound on the hill near the shed. I set everything down, walked close enough to see Oral making good on his word, shovel in hand, digging furiously. Near him were two holes, overturned patches of soil like a dog had been digging at random. He paused only for a second as I approached, then went back to work.

  I said, “Oral, what in tarnation you think you’re doing?”

  He stopped again, his dark hair stuck up like a porcupine’s from a recent haircut.

  He said, “What’s it look like? I’m doing what I said I was gonna do.”

  “Stop it, right now.”

  He grunted, and tossed clods of dirt off to the side. “I ain’t stopping.”

  He jumped on the edge of the shovel, and it went into the ground easy.

  “You ain’t gonna find nothing.”

  “I might.”

  “You think you can dig up his money and he’s not going to know?”

  “Oh, he ain’t gonna know. See, I’m gonna put this all back ’cause I got that nice chunk of grass there I cut out when I got started. I’ll just set it on these holes, and nobody will be the wiser. Long as you don’t blab, ain’t nobody gonna know. I ain’t got to learn you again about what all I heard, do I?”

  I pictured myself grabbing the shovel and walloping him with it. I left him stabbing the earth and mumbling as I trudged my way down to the house. I picked up the items I’d left on the steps, entered the kitchen, and confronted a completely different and unexpected situation: Aunt Juanita bent over the sink, gripping the faucets, and Uncle Virgil directly behind her, pants around his ankles, red-faced and puffing.

  He yelled, “Get the hell out!” while the traumatic look on Aunt Juanita’s face had to have matched mine. I dropped everything and smacked my hands over my eyes. Mortified, I rushed back outside, but didn’t know where to go, what to do. I jerked the truck door open, slid inside, feeling dumbfounded. I turned the key. The gauge for the gas tank said it was almost empty, so I couldn’t go anywhere. I was stuck. I rolled the window down to let some air in, and shut my eyes tight, trying to get that image out of my head. I sat that way for several minutes.

  “Hot damn!” came from somewhere up the hill.

  Off to my left Oral came running out from around the back of the shed. He had something in his hands, and as he passed the truck he didn’t see me watching him. He clung to ajar, holding it like a treasured object.

  He went into the house, the back door slamming, yelling, “Looky here!”

  If Uncle Virgil and Aunt Juanita weren’t done with their hanky-panky, I was prepared to see him come flying out of the door like I had, but he didn’t. I got out of the truck, listening. With them, it was always fighting, loud talking, doors slamming. It was too peaceful. I entered the kitchen and no one was in there. Down the hall my door was shut, while Merritt’s and Daddy’s were open. I crept forward, and when I got to my bedroom I heard muttering.

  Uncle Virgil said, “Holy shit, Son.”

  It was the first time in my life I’d ever heard him call Oral something other than “boy” or “stupid.”

  Aunt Juanita said, “How much is it?”

  Uncle Virgil said, “Well, let’s see.”

  There was the sound of a lid being unscrewed, a rustling noise, and I could picture him rearranging a pile of money like cards, laying them down on the bed one by one, counting it out.

  Uncle Virgil finally said, “About two grand.”

  Aunt Juanita said, “Oh my God. What’re we gonna do?”

  Uncle Virgil said, “We’re gonna let this little mole keep working; that’s what we’re gonna do. There’s more where this come from, and we’re gonna get what’s due us.”

  Oral said, “It ain’t no telling how much. I been watching him on the sly. It ain’t gonna be hard to find more.”

  Aunt Juanita said, “What about Jessie? Where’d she go?”

  Uncle Virgil said, “Good question.”

  I scurried back down the hall, through the kitchen, and outside. I went straight to Uncle Virgil’s truck, opened the door, and made like I was just climbing out. The three of them stared at me through the screen. Did I look innocent enough? Uncle Virgil came out, followed by Aunt Juanita and Oral.

  He said, “Girl, you white as a sheet, like you done seen something you shouldn’t. You seen something?”

  I thought he meant Oral’s find until he reached down to grab Aunt Juanita’s backside. She lightly pushed on his shoulder, almost playful, smiling. They all wore silly little grins, an irregular occurrence but it appeared the money had tweaked their outlook. Oral’s threats kept me silent, only this moment was too much, even for him. For once in his life, his daddy liked something he’d done, and it made him bold.

  He said, “She ain’t seen nothing, right, Jessie?”

  Uncle Virgil gave him an odd look, and said, “Huh?”

  Oral believed his daddy was talking about the money.

  Oral said, “Nope. Not a thing.”

  Uncle Virgil’s gaze shifted from me to Oral and back again. Oral was like a rooster with the itch to crow first thing in the morning. He was going to have his moment, determined to hold on to it for as long as he could.

  He laughed and said, “She’s gonna act like she’s blind.”

  Uncle Virgil said, “What in the hell you talking about?”

  Oral hesitated. He reminded me of Uncle Virgil, angling for his best opportunity, a way to utilize the moment afforded him to get what he felt was his due.

  Oral finally said, “She ain’t one of us. She’s a traitor is what she is.”

  Uncle Virgil was getting impatient.

  He took a step closer to Oral and pushed him. “What do you mean, boy?”

  Oral said, “She won’t talk ’cause she’s already been talking.”

  Aunt Juanita said, “To who?” and Uncle Virgil said, “Yeah, to who?”

  Oral said, “Some revnooer.”

  Uncle Virgil half-laughed, half-snorted, and I took advantage of his doubt. This was Oral, after all.

  I said, “He only thinks he knows something.”

  Oral said, “I know one thing. She’s the reason our house got
burned down.”

  Uncle Virgil gaped in disbelief at me while Aunt Juanita drew herself up, and said, “By God, I sure hope not!”

  Oral said, “That’s right, and it ain’t all neither. She was gonna ruin Uncle Easton’s stills. That friend of hers said so. They got in an argument about it.”

  Uncle Virgil went stone-faced, like when Daddy reminded him he needed to get a job.

  He said, “That a fact? Well, shoot fire, maybe your daddy was right about you all along. He didn’t believe you that night the truck broke down.”

  I said, “I was telling the truth.”

  Uncle Virgil said, “Sure. Sure. How about the rest of it? What about our house, you cause that? Did you go to some revenuer?”

  Aunt Juanita said, “I bet she did. She’s always acted uppity, like she’s better’n everybody.”

  It felt like ages before Uncle Virgil said, “I tell you what. You ain’t gonna say a word because way I see it, your daddy’s owed me all along, and even more so now. What’s fair’s fair. We’re gonna get what’s ourn, and you’re gonna keep quiet about it.”

  I despised Daddy making shine. It and the money that came from it was fouled, not only because I believed it caused Mama’s death, but because it was also the source of every problem we’d ever had. Yet somewhere deep within me, an angry injustice at what they thought they could do, a tiny spark that ignited, began to burn.

  * * *

  I hunkered down in the living room, steering clear of the kitchen where Aunt Juanita and Uncle Virgil parked themselves, speaking so low I couldn’t make out what they said, which was bothersome. I missed my room, wished for a haven. I had nowhere to go, so I sat on the couch, with the TV off, staring at the wall or toward the window. Every now and then movement caught my eye, and it would be Oral grinning at me every time he passed by the living room door. It was infuriating. When I heard Daddy’s truck, I got up and moved the sheer aside to get a better view, wondering what Merritt’s new arm would look like. He got out, sulking, and pale-faced. I’d thought it would resemble a hand, and instead, there was the flash of silver, the shape of a hook.

  Merritt stood different, crooked, one shoulder dropped lower in an awkward pose. He bent his body like he wanted to get away from the harness attached to him, not that much different than what you’d put on a mule or a horse. Daddy said something, but Merritt ignored whatever it was and made his way toward the house. They came up the steps, and once inside Merritt wouldn’t meet my eyes. I didn’t mean to stare, yet I couldn’t help it. Here was Merritt, supposedly made whole again with something no better than attaching a board to his body by all appearances.

  I said, “Does it hurt?”

  He headed for the kitchen without answering me. Daddy and I followed, watching as he sat down at the table, refusing to look at anyone or at the hook. Uncle Virgil, Aunt Juanita, and Oral studied the new contraption with expressions of surprise, like it was some strange device laid on the table for them to examine. Uncle Virgil reached over and took hold of the hook and lifted it. Merritt let him, like he didn’t want to associate with it, like it didn’t belong to him and he knew not a thing about it.

  Oral said, “How you supposed to do anything with that?”

  Daddy said, “Oh, it’s gonna work good, right, Merritt? No different than your thumb and other four fingers. Doc said it was like a pincher.”

  Merritt sat stone-faced.

  Daddy said, “Here, show’em how it works. Might as well start getting used to it. Doc said the more you practice, the easier it gets.”

  Merritt used his left hand and turned the hook a certain way, then did a funny shrug of his shoulders to get it to open and close. It made a clacking sound, like knocking two spoons together. He worked on grabbing the edge of the newspaper, lifted his shoulder up and down, performing all manner of gyrations to grip it. It was a process. Shrug, click, shrug. After a minute, he pinched the edge of the paper with the hook. As Daddy watched Merritt go through these movements, he’d mimic him, going one way, then the other, like he wanted to do it for him. Aunt Juanita and Uncle Virgil sat slack-mouthed, the same way they did when watching a movie on TV. Merritt flipped the paper over, which I guess was what he’d been attempting to do, and once he’d accomplished that, his eyes trailed around the table, reading expressions.

  Oral, confused, said, “But what else can you do?”

  Merritt said, “This.”

  He lifted his right shoulder, and the strap that was wrapped around his left dropped off and hung by his waist. He grabbed it with his left hand, yanked it back over his head, pulled the other part that kept the wooden arm attached to his stump off. He’d removed the arm in much less time than it took him to try and grab the paper. He discarded it on the table like it was a pile of junk he’d found on the side of the road. He got up, and went to his room, and shut the door. Daddy rubbed a hand over his face.

  He said, “It’s gonna take him some getting used to it. The doctor said it’s a matter of practice, just like in baseball.”

  Oral said, “It’s like a pirate’s hook.”

  Uncle Virgil said, “I bet it gonna cost a pretty penny.”

  Daddy said, “It don’t matter. He needs it.”

  Uncle Virgil said, “Least you got plenty of money, huh.”

  Daddy had been staring after Merritt, and now he faced Uncle Virgil.

  He said, “It always comes to that with you.”

  Uncle Virgil said, “Well, I got reasons,” and then he leaned over and tickled Aunt Juanita. She let out a ridiculous-sounding giggle.

  Daddy said, “So I’ve heard. Over and over. It’s why you need to get out and get you a job.”

  Oral said, “Or a shovel.”

  I really had to marvel at how he was so good at opening his mouth, letting crap just fall out of it. He sure lived up to his name. Aunt Juanita gave an imperceptible shake of her head, but Uncle Virgil made some god-awful noise as if he’d let loose a demon, and when he jumped out of his chair, it startled all of us, except Daddy. He sat with his arms folded, observing the chaos as it unfolded. Uncle Virgil whipped his belt off in a split second and grabbed Oral by the arm almost in the same motion. Oral’s eyes bulged with alarm and then fear. I believed Uncle Virgil might wrench it clear out of its socket when he jerked him from the chair. He began thwacking Oral with the belt while Oral screamed and begged for mercy.

  “Please, Daddy! Shit! Daddy, quit, stooooppppp!”

  Aunt Juanita pulled on Uncle Virgil’s shirt, yelling at him to “stop! Virgil, ain’t no need for this!”

  Uncle Virgil’s arm went up and down like a piston, faster and faster as his anger won out over reason. It wasn’t a whipping. This was a beating.

  Oral was beside himself with pain, and in between the screams came, “I’m . . . gonna . . . tell . . . it!”

  Uncle Virgil released his arm, and as soon as he was free Oral whipped around and tried to punch him. Uncle Virgil raised his arm, threatening to start again, and Oral bolted out the door. Uncle Virgil flopped into a chair, letting the belt hit the floor.

  Daddy said, “Damn. Was that necessary? And what’s he talking about a shovel?”

  Uncle Virgil kept his wits about him enough to say, “Shit if I know. Maybe he wants me dead.”

  Chapter 17

  Oral didn’t come back that night, or the next day. Aunt Juanita and Uncle Virgil were unconcerned as they sat at the table on the second morning, a Sunday, drinking coffee, and yawning. I mean, the gall they had to face Daddy knowing they held on to his money. The sun was up, leaking through cracks in the curtains, offering warmth, and the kitchen could’ve been cheery but for the inhabitants of this one.

  Daddy said, “Reckon we ought to go look for him?”

  Uncle Virgil was disinclined to move.

  He said, “He can take care of himself.”

  Aunt Juanita nodded. “He goes camping sometimes. Better check the fridge and make sure he didn’t sneak in here last night and get him some wee
nies to cook over a fire.”

  Daddy wasn’t buying it. “Unlikely he’s camping after that ass whupping you gave him. He went out of here like a scalded dog.”

  Neither one of them reacted, something that stood out to me.

  Uncle Virgil said, “He’ll show up when he gets good and hungry.”

  “What if he’s in trouble? He could be hurt.”

  Aunt Juanita nudged Uncle Virgil. “Virgil, you yourself said he can get into more trouble than ten young’uns stuck in a room together. Maybe you ought to go see if you can find him.”

  Uncle Virgil raised his hands like he was under arrest. “A pain in the ass is what he is.”

  Aunt Juanita sniffed, and said, “Wonder where he gets that from.”

  They fell silent. I pulled the oven door open, and retrieved a pan of biscuits, my mind half on the conversation, half on the aroma that filled my nose and caused my stomach to growl. I was drinking that newfangled tea Mrs. Brewer kept plying me with, but to me, it only increased my urge to eat. I pressed the top of a biscuit and wished the kitchen empty. I visualized splitting each one open, laying on butter thick and creamy, spooning fresh peach preserves Daddy brought back from Mrs. Naylor in North Wilkesboro (who always got ajar of his shine for her cough, so she said), and at the same time, the thought was repulsive, sickening even, as the other part of my compulsion resisted.

  I was so into my thoughts, I jumped when Aunt Juanita said, “Jessie, you gonna bring’em over here, or stand there petting on’em?”

  I took the pan to the table and set it down, then went and leaned against the stove. I sipped on more of the tea and tried not to watch them eat. My stomach groaned long and loud, and I set the cup down so I could press on it. Merritt came into the kitchen at that moment, his empty shirtsleeve flapping loose, drawing Daddy’s attention.

  He said, “Son, where’s that new arm?”

  “It ain’t comfortable. It hurts.”

  “You got to get used to it and it ain’t gonna happen if’n you don’t wear it.”

  Merritt sat and lifted a biscuit using his left hand. He did a fairly decent job prying the top off. He ignored what Daddy said, a peculiar thing since he generally hung on to every word. Aunt Juanita and Uncle Virgil filled their plates, but Daddy didn’t.