The Moonshiner's Daughter

by Donna Everhart

  Oral exclaimed, “Ow! Sons a bitches!” while Merritt stared down at the wood arm like he was seeing it for the first time.

  He held it up and turned it this way and that in wonderment. “I ain’t never thought about how it ain’t got no feeling to it. I mean, I can sometimes still feel my fingers, you know?”

  Oral, rubbing on the area Merritt hit, said, “Well, I sure can’t feel mine now. What’d you go and do that for?”

  “Because you can be such a pain in the ass.”

  Oral sat back down on the bed, a sullen look on his face, and I could see that peanut brain of his working overtime at being ganged up on. I left the room and went to lie down on the couch, my head starting to throb. With the lamp on, I studied Mama in the photo, staring at the jugs around her feet.

  Late in the night when all should’ve been quiet, I woke up to Aunt Juanita and Uncle Virgil arguing. Their voices rose and fell, vibrating off the wall and sounding like giant bees. After a while, footsteps came down the hall and the shape of Uncle Virgil appeared in the living room doorway, with Aunt Juanita right behind him, whispering. They came into the room, and with the light still on they could see I was awake.

  I sat up and said, “What do you want?”

  Uncle Virgil came closer and said, “You went in the room today?”

  “It’s my room.”

  Aunt Juanita nudged him and said, “Which means yes.”

  He said, “That money, we need it.”

  “What do you want me to do, steal it back for you?”

  Aunt Juanita bent down so her face was close to mine and pointed her finger under my nose.

  She said, “You listen to me. This is all your fault. We wouldn’t be here but for you causing trouble. You need to get us that money. It’s the least you can do. And it ain’t stealing when it’s owed us. And if you can’t get it back, you need to replace it somehow. Maybe from up on that hill there.”

  “I ain’t about to dig up my own daddy’s money for you. You got your little mole to do that, remember?”

  Aunt Juanita clenched her fists, and Uncle Virgil gripped his head like it was about to come off his neck. She made a frustrated movement, throwing up her hands as she turned to leave.

  “You can’t reason with her, Virgil. She’s too hardheaded. Always has been.”

  “Damnation,” was all he said.

  They went back down the hall, Aunt Juanita sounding as if she was scolding Uncle Virgil, her voice going up and down. I turned off the lamp, and flopped onto my back again. I had almost drifted off when the back door squeaked open and closed softly. I got up, crept into the kitchen, and looked out the window. In the moonlight, a tall, dark shape headed uphill, then toward the shed. It had to be Uncle Virgil. I eased the door open and watched as he disappeared around the back of it. Aunt Juanita’s constant harping must’ve compelled him to go back outside in the pitch dark, the time of night when the most common critters moving were possums, raccoons, and rodents. I put him in the category of a rodent.

  I shut the door, and went back to the living room to decide who was worse of a traitor, me, for what I’d planned to do, or them stealing from their own kin. My thoughts came to a stop when the back door opened. Uncle Virgil went scooting down the hall faster than normal. There came the click of my bedroom door, the low murmur of voices, then silence. Finally.

  * * *

  I’d been out with Daddy a few more times learning to drive Sally Sue. One of those times he taught me how to do the bootleg U-turn.

  I almost refused when he began explaining what I would do, and why I would do it, but he said, “Your mama, I’m telling you she could whip this car around on a dime.”

  I quit protesting and learned. On that particular trip, he’d made a comment that buried its way into my head where it echoed loudly.

  He’d said, “You’re a natural, like she was. You got a feel for this car, an ability like she had. Shoot, you might come to be as good at driving as her.”

  I didn’t know what to think anymore. I was getting so confused about all of it.

  One morning, Uncle Virgil and Aunt Juanita acted subdued, communicating through odd looks mostly. Oral wasn’t behaving right neither, sitting at the table, and picking at his scabby wound, while not talking much. Highly irregular, all of it.

  Daddy, talking to no one in general, said, “I’m going to get Big Warrior going, got corn to haul in.”

  Uncle Virgil nodded, and Aunt Juanita said, “That’s nice,” like Daddy had said he was going to Sunday school.

  Daddy said, “Jessie, how about you come with me? I could use some help since your uncle Virgil’s going looking for a job today.”

  My initial reaction was to balk, to throw up barriers and tell him no, but out of the blue, I found myself in this weird place, like I had to allow him a tiny bit of loyalty against the wrong being done by Uncle Virgil behind his own brother’s back, while also struggling with what I’d learned about Mama.

  I sighed, and said, “All right.”

  Uncle Virgil rubbed his hands together, and said, “Yeah, heard about some possibilities up near to Adley.”

  Daddy said, “Good, good.”

  Merritt didn’t bother to ask if he could come with us. He’d given up on Daddy letting him do much of anything right now. The both of them were already butting heads over Merritt’s refusal to use the prosthesis on a regular basis. Daddy thought more harm would come to him, as if the loss of his arm made it impossible for him to function in the world, like a baby bird with a broken wing.

  He’d said, “Son, you’re at a disadvantage right now.”

  Merritt adopted Oral’s behavior and sulked.

  Daddy and I went outside and, as had been his custom of late, he tossed me the keys. We rode with the windows down, going south on Highway 18. We had the radio off, not talking, just riding. It felt good, although I wished I’d put my hair into a ponytail. It was flying around my face, and every time I reached a hand up to brush it behind my ears, I came away with a few strands I released out the window, floating off my fingers like threads in the wind.

  Daddy said, “Why’s your hair coming out like that?”

  “Everybody loses a little bit of hair.”

  “Not like that.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  He went back to gazing out the window, slouched in the seat, falling silent once more. I turned onto the small side road off Highway 18, and after a few miles there was the familiar curve where a pathway sat tucked away. The tracks were hidden, barely visible unless you knew how to find them. I put on the brakes, turned, and soon the shade of the trees cooled the air. Undergrowth scraped the bottom of the truck as I maneuvered a section and the truck jostled us back and forth. We bounced over ruts and roots until I finally came to a stop near a thicket of mountain laurel. I parked and we got out. We hefted bags of corn out of the back, one apiece, and began walking in, him in front, me trailing after, struggling a bit with the weight of what I had. This was when Daddy offered me another tidbit about Mama.

  He said, “She liked coming to Big Warrior best.”

  I tried to stay calm, but the “why?” came out as a shocked little gasp.

  He gave me an assessing look before saying, “The creek was closer, and she could cool off in that area that pools sorta deep at that one end.”

  He shifted the corn on his back. Here he was, dropping bread crumbs while I was starving to know her. I wanted to understand everything and as fast as possible, not unlike the way I ate sometimes. Closer to the site, Daddy set down his sack of corn, and motioned I should do the same. Silent, we observed the surrounding woods from the left to the right. Big Warrior Creek ran fast, and the water rushing over the rocks muffled the birds calling out to one another overhead. We waited several minutes before advancing a few feet, and waited some more. We did this a few more times, until finally, the still was in view, where all looked fine.

  Out of the blue, Daddy whispered, “Got something I’m needing you t
o understand. It’s about your mama, an arrangement I made after she was gone.”

  I whispered back, “Okay,” sounding calm, but in a turmoil over what he’d said.

  He said, “Let’s get the still going, and we’ll talk about it.”

  I nodded, and he held his finger to his lips, then pointed at the site, indicating he would go the rest of the way first and for me to wait until he gave the all clear. I nodded. He proceeded with care, head swiveling. He got to the point of no return, that critical fifty feet, and finally, he was right at the boiler. He faced me, and went to lift his hand in a signal, when movement in the woods beyond stopped me. To my horror, the man with the patch over his eye stepped out from the cluster of bushes behind the still. He held a pistol, wore a strange smile. The urge to yell a warning rose in my throat, but it came instead from the expression on my face. Daddy spun around to face the man as I ducked into the underbrush. Peering through leaves and branches, I watched in disbelief as the very thing we’d avoided all our lives began to unfold. The man kept the gun aimed at him, but Daddy made no move to run. Then, Nash Reardon and another agent came forward.

  The man with the eye patch said, “Well now, look a here who done got caught finally after all this time.”

  The man’s comment explained why he’d acted like he had that day when I told him my last name was Sasser. He knew Daddy somehow.

  Nash Reardon said, “Easton Sasser?”

  Daddy still didn’t respond.

  The man with the eye patch said, “I recognize him; it’s him.”

  He took the patch off, exposing what was beneath it, an empty, pink eye socket. Daddy had no reaction and acted as if he was in another place.

  The man said, “Remember this?”

  Daddy ignored him, his expression passive, staring straight ahead. He moved slightly, trying to face me, but both Nash Reardon and the other man closed in tighter, like they thought he might try to make a run for it.

  Mr. Reardon said, “Good stuff, Smith. Let’s get on back to town, and get the process started for his day in court.”

  The man called Smith pulled the patch back over his eye. Mr. Reardon motioned for Daddy to follow him, while Smith and the other man stayed behind and began hacking at the still. Daddy came within twenty feet of me. He didn’t dare look at where I was hiding, and there was nothing I could do except watch as he went by. Once he and Nash Reardon were out of sight, I didn’t move while the pounding and banging went on. Like before with Boomer, the distinct smell came as Daddy’s shine gushed out and onto the ground. They left soon after. I remained, head down, bewildered and shaken by what I’d heard and witnessed. I didn’t feel vindicated like I thought I would, and all the anger I’d held on to for years suddenly seemed petty.

  Chapter 21

  I remained in the hiding spot for some time, tears free-falling off my jawbone. Finally, knees cramping, I had to stand. I rose from my crouched position, stiff-legged. I stepped into the clearing, waited, and listened. Blood rushed to my deadened feet, the way the water rushed over the rocks nearby. I left, moving slow while sniffling. I stayed off the usual path just in case, so it took a while before I made it back to where the truck was parked. I was too nervous to go to it right away, and I hid behind a tree, staring at it, noting it was well hidden. We’d not seen anything odd when we first got there, and I couldn’t imagine how they’d found the still. Wary and skittish, I tried to decide when to take a chance. I had to get home, had to figure out what to do. I half-ran, half-stumbled to the truck, opened the door, and slid in. I dug the keys out of my shirt pocket, panting in the manner of a dog during the summer, apprehension making my hands tremble as I gripped the steering wheel. I cranked the truck, reversed, and went down the path fast as I could without wrecking.

  On Highway 18 I relaxed some, but kept my eyes on the rearview. An occasional car whizzed from the opposite direction, but there was no one else on the road. Before long I was back on Shine Mountain, and going at a speed fast enough to make the truck doors rattle like they might come off the hinges. I rounded the curve to the house and pulled into our drive. Around back, I noticed Uncle Virgil’s truck was gone, him still off looking for that job. I dreaded telling everyone about Daddy, and believed Uncle Virgil would go clear off his rocker once he heard. He’d take off out of here on a revenge mission, but it was telling Merritt that would be hardest. I went in the back door, sickened by the thought. He sat at the table alone, apparently mad, and upset.

  I said, “Where’s Aunt Juanita and Oral?”

  With a strange glance, he said, “Gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “They’re gone and they ain’t coming back.”

  I sat down at the table with him, and waited for what else had gone wrong today.

  He said, “Soon as you, Daddy, and Uncle Virgil left, Aunt Juanita said, ‘I ain’t sitting here waiting on more trouble to come. I’ve had about a bait of it. You tell your uncle he can find me at Mama’s.’”

  I said, “But how’d they get there?”

  “She called her mama. She picked them up an hour later. I think she had it planned.”

  I sat back on the chair. It was a surprise, then again not. She’d threatened it. I stalled, unsure how to begin about Daddy.

  I said, “Uncle Virgil will go after her, job or no job.”

  Merritt lifted his shoulders like it didn’t matter all that much to him. He got up and looked out the door into the backyard. “Where’s Daddy?”

  Merritt scanned the backyard before he spun around, and said, “Where’s he at?”

  I couldn’t hardly speak right when I said, “Come sit down.”

  His voice angry, he said, “Is what you’re gonna say got anything to do with the way you look?”

  I could only imagine. Eyes wild and hair stringy. Pale-faced. Sweat making my clothes droop like they were hanging on a clothesline.

  I said, “Daddy got caught by revenuers.”

  He went still, mouth open in disbelief, and I went to studying the streaks in the wood of the cabinets, the tabletop where someone’s greasy fingerprints showed up. That made me think about Daddy getting fingerprinted. I could hear Merritt fighting not to cry, a muffled noise like he’d swallowed wrong.

  My voice low, I offered the details. “He did like he always does. He went first, and as soon as he was close enough, they came out of the woods where they’d been hiding and waiting.”

  “How’d they find it?”

  “How do I know?”

  My voice was higher pitched, sounding like I ought to be blamed even when I shouldn’t. Everything was tangled as a briar patch.

  Merritt said, “It’s because of you, and you know it.”

  Worried, I said, “What do you mean, because of me?”

  “You’ve always talked about how you hate it. Wishing Daddy would stop. Oral told me about you wanting to mess up our stills. He said you’re the reason their house burned down. I didn’t want to believe him, but why would he make that up?”

  Shame flushed my face while Merritt stared at me like I wasn’t anybody he wanted to know.

  I said, “It’s true, I did want to stop him from making liquor, but I didn’t have nothing to do with him being caught. I bet that little shit didn’t tell you what him and Uncle Virgil were doing, did he? I bet he didn’t open his mouth about that. Come with me.”

  He shoved his hand in his pocket, his expression defiant.

  He said, “What for?”

  “You won’t believe me if I told you, so you got to come see for yourself.”

  I led the way out the back door, up the hill, and around to the back of the shed.

  Once there, Merritt said, “I don’t see nothing.”

  I could see what he couldn’t, funny little disturbed areas in the grass, subtle, but there. I went to one area, and pulled on a section of grass. Up came a chunk at least one foot by one foot, like pulling a cap off someone’s head. I got on my hands and knees and moved the loosened
soil. It was easy. I lifted out ajar, held it up for Merritt to see. Empty.

  I said, “They’ve been stealing Daddy’s money.”

  Merritt looked incredulous, angrier.

  He shouted, “And you didn’t say nothing? You might as well have been stealing it too, Jessie!”

  “I tried to fix it! Remember when Daddy found that five hundred dollars? Remember how Oral said I could have Mama’s picture back for five hundred dollars?”

  He shook his head. Nothing I could tell him would make a difference, but I told him anyway.

  “I found that money in my room, hidden on the windowsill. I was the one who put it back in his nightstand. I should’ve told him, but I figured putting it there would make him suspicious something was going on and he’d find out himself.”

  He didn’t say anything for a minute; then he said, “You tried to fix it without taking blame for it; that’s what you did. Now what’re we gonna do?”

  He was right. I hadn’t had the guts.

  I said, “I don’t know.”

  Later on the phone rang. What if those same calls started up again, as if the caller was sensing we were here alone, and vulnerable?

  I picked the receiver up, hesitated, then said, “Hello?”

  Daddy’s voice came across the line, “Jessie, it’s me.”

  I sank against the wall. My throat closed up. I shut my eyes, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I addressed him in the way I’d not done in years.

  I said, “Daddy,” and started to cry.

  He said, “I know, I know, but listen. I need you to listen. Jessie? Stop crying; it ain’t gonna do no good.”

  Which only made me cry harder, even while I tried not to. After a few seconds I managed to say, “I’m okay. Go ahead.”

  He said, “In my drawer is that money, that five hundred dollars. I’ll use it for bail, get to come home for a bit. There will be a court date, but you and Merritt ought to know, it might be I’m going to have to spend some time in here.”

  I gripped the receiver when he said the amount for bail. Coincidence?

  I felt a little flicker of hope, and whispered, “Okay.”