Another voice in the background said something, and Daddy said, “I got to go.”
The line went dead. I turned to Merritt.
His mouth was thin and determined, him ready to do whatever Daddy asked. “What’d he say?”
I said, “He talked about posting bail. It’s five hundred dollars.”
I went down the hall to Daddy’s room, encouraged I might redeem myself, if only a little bit. Merritt followed, watched as I opened the drawer. The money wasn’t there. Merritt made a derisive noise as he left. I found him near the shed furiously scraping at the ground. Just plain furious, really. I joined him without saying anything, and when we took a break, he walked away and stared off into the woods. At first I dug with hope, but as the day went on, I began to lose it when nothing was found.
Later that afternoon, I was surprised to see Uncle Virgil’s truck coming up the drive. He climbed out and didn’t bother looking up the hill. He went inside and I glanced over at Merritt, but understood from his silence, I was on my own, far as he was concerned. I started down the hill, and heard him following some distance behind me. Uncle Virgil was in my bedroom, and I watched from the doorway as he opened and closed the closet door, the drawers on the bureau, moving faster and faster as he discovered Aunt Juanita’s things missing. Merritt was a silent spectator behind me, yet I could feel an energy coming off him that made my spine tingle.
Uncle Virgil said, “Where’s her stuff?”
I said, “Merritt said she’s gone to her mama’s. Her and Oral both. Said to tell you that’s where you’d find them.”
“I will be damned. I knew it!”
“There’s something else too.”
“What.” His voice was flat, guarded. With his hands shoved into the pockets of his ragged coveralls, grass stains on the knees, I pictured him up on the hill where we’d been, doing what we’d been doing. I couldn’t help but wonder how it was that he could be brothers with Daddy. The only common thing I could see between them was their last name.
I said, “Daddy got caught by revenuers earlier today. They done took him down to the courthouse jail, and that’s where he sits. He needs bail money.”
Uncle Virgil took a step backward, and sat on the bed. “You shittin’ me?”
I shook my head.
“Sons a bitches.”
“We’ve been up on the hill, trying to find the money, and there ain’t none left. None.”
He said, “Well hell.”
“You ought to give it back, that and the five hundred dollars that’s gone missing.”
Uncle Virgil shook his head, his voice rigid. “We had us an agreement, remember?”
“I didn’t agree to nothing.”
“Why, sure you did.”
Frustrated, I said, “He’s stuck in there!”
“The odds was against him, and he got caught. It was bound to happen to one of us, one of these days.”
Uncle Virgil leaned in so we were eye to eye.
“You tell your daddy I consider us even steven now. Tell him I’d stick around, but I can’t get put in that there penitentiary. She’d never let me back in the house.”
He jingled his keys once, glanced about the room, then walked by me into the hall where Merritt hovered.
He stopped, and said, “You want to come with me? I reckon I can do that much for him. Look after his boy.”
The offer obviously didn’t extend to me, and the only way I’d have gone with him was if he’d offered to pay Daddy’s bail. Merritt appeared to consider it for a second.
He finally shook his head and Uncle Virgil said, “Suit yourself.”
Out the door he went, cranked his truck, and tore down the drive. We didn’t speak about Uncle Virgil or what he said. We went back outside and up the hill, back to the futile effort of finding even a dollar bill. We dug the rest of that day, and again the next morning. All we found were three more empty jars lying in knee-high weeds, discarded like trash. We began to dig random holes, stopping and starting over and over. Finally, we quit. Filled with dread, and feeling sick nonstop, I waited for Daddy to call again, and when the phone rang late the next day, I almost couldn’t get up to get it.
Distressed, I answered with a shaky voice, “H-h-hello.”
He said, “Jessie. Why ain’t you done what I told you to?”
I was at a loss for what to say.
“Why ain’t you come here yet to put up the bail?”
I blurted out, “We can’t find any money.”
I heard the intake of his breath and held my own. I waited, knowing he’d get to asking me questions I wouldn’t be able to answer.
He said, “I, myself, put it there, so it has to be there.”
I almost whispered, “No.”
“What?”
“It ain’t!”
He didn’t say anything for a few seconds; then he said, “Somebody’s took it. Listen, near the shed . . .”
I confessed, “Uncle Virgil, maybe Oral, they might’ve been digging around the shed some.”
“You saw them?”
“I wasn’t sure what they were doing.”
There was a long silence and I could hear a clanging noise in the background, a gate being shut.
Finally, in a low, tight voice, Daddy said, “Put Merritt on.”
I motioned at Merritt, and he snatched the phone from my hand, and where I hadn’t hardly been able to speak, he had plenty to say. “It’s her fault, everything that’s happened. She wanted to ruin our stills, Oral said he overheard her friend Aubrey and her arguing about it.”
He stared right at me as he said this and he wasn’t finished. “For all we know, it’s why they run us off the road that night. Why I lost my arm, and can’t play ball no more. The reason Uncle Virgil’s house burned, and Oral got branded. I bet it’s why you’re in there.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t true.
I said, “It ain’t true,” to the room.
Merritt listened to whatever Daddy was saying, responding with a, “Yeah,” before he put the phone on the counter. He walked out of the kitchen, his back rigid with anger. I picked the phone up and put it up to my ear.
I said, “Daddy—” but he cut me off.
He didn’t sound like himself when he said, “Damn, Jessie.”
The line went dead again, not because he had to go this time. That much I knew.
Chapter 22
I was up on the hill, stabbing at the dirt again, searching in vain, when Mrs. Brewer showed up, waving a newspaper in the air over her head. Her white hair in a chaotic swirl, her mouth a thin line, I could tell she was distressed. I threw the shovel aside and walked down to where she stood by the driver’s door, her apron covered with cherry-colored stains, splotchy and uneven, like she’d wrung a chicken’s neck, or spilled some of them fruit bitters she touted as a cure-all. She handed the paper to me and on the front page of the Wilkes Journal-Patriot was a picture of Daddy with Nash Reardon. One of them had evidently snapped it right after he’d been caught. I studied the lack of expression on Daddy’s face, flat as a dinner plate, his hands clenched into fists the only sign he was upset by what was taking place. She stabbed at the page with a knobby finger, crooked as an old tree branch.
She said, “Saw this and it like to have stopped my ticker. I’ll tell who it otter be, it otter be one of them low-down good-for-nothing Murrys, that’s who. Them and all their good-fer-nothing kind.”
She looked down at the photo, made a sound of disgust like she might spit on the ground.
I said, “It’s them who’s been causing all the trouble we’ve had, like what happened to my cousin.”
“That boy I seen the other day with that M burned into his chest?”
“Yes’m.”
“They must’ve gone to them revenuers.”
“I don’t know. I think it was them that destroyed the still near to Boomer.”
I didn’t elaborate as to what everyone else thought happened.
“Who all
’s here?”
“Me and my brother.”
Merritt had only come out of his room once since he’d spilled everything to Daddy the day before, and then it was to rummage about the kitchen for something to eat. It was tough because of his one arm, and I thought about helping, but I didn’t. I let him do for himself. He was going to have to learn anyway. After Daddy hung up on me, I’d kept myself preoccupied straightening out my room, putting it back in order while trying not to think too much.
I said, “You want some coffee?”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t mind me a cup.”
We went into the kitchen and the pot I’d made earlier was still on the back of the stove, and hot. I poured, then set the cup in front of her. She sat fanning herself, while sipping the hot liquid. It was into August already and the day was warm, but would get even warmer. I opened the paper to read the article. It was brief, stated what I already knew. I skimmed by that page, wondering what people thought, especially those who knew him well. I absentmindedly scanned articles, not really paying much attention until I came to the community news where I saw another photo that made me pick the paper up for a closer look. It was of Aubrey and a few other classmates I recognized standing behind some tables set up on the lawn of the Shine Mountain Episcopalian church.
The caption said: “Students of Piney Tops High School hold church yard sale to raise money for the purchase of new sports equipment for their school.”
In the background leaning against a tree behind Aubrey’s table was Willie Murry wearing his customary unfriendly expression. His attention wasn’t on her though. He was clearly eyeballing Cora McCaskill, who must be her new best friend. Even in this fuzzy black-and-white photo, I could see the want in Willie Murry, not unlike what Uncle Virgil had for the liquor. I was certain Aubrey was going to find out the hard way Willie would be about as difficult to nail down as a cockroach on the run after a light is switched on. I missed the old Aubrey, her energy, her presence by my side giving me a boost of confidence. I’d trusted her to keep my secret though, and she’d turned right around and betrayed me to Willie. Whatever she felt for him had been stronger than our connection. Did she even regret it? The picture said no. The picture said she was doing fine. I tossed the paper aside.
Mrs. Brewer said, “Where’s your aunt and uncle?”
I didn’t want her knowing we were on our own.
I gave a flimsy answer: “They’ll be back.”
Secretly I hoped not.
She pointed at the paper. “It’s plumb ridiculous. Man minding his own business while the government thinks they got a say in what’s what. Folks round here been making shine all their lives. Born doing it, like me. Ain’t no different than selling jam, you ask me.”
I didn’t agree. I’d seen too much bad come out of it. People didn’t get upset over the sale of jam, and the like. People didn’t get run off the road. People didn’t get branded. People didn’t get killed.
I said, “Uncle Virgil said the odds was against Daddy.”
“How’s your daddy holding up?”
“Okay, I reckon. We ain’t had the chance to talk much.”
I picked up my coffee cup and sipped at the bitter brew. The cramping in my middle was uncomfortable because I’d not eaten much these past few days and I was drinking it black like her, trying to conserve sugar and milk. I thought I should talk, but I didn’t want to get into all the sorry details of how we’d fallen apart as a family. What my family thought about me, how Daddy’s own brother stole off of him, then abandoned us, or how my brother evidently blamed me for all the bad that had happened, including losing his arm.
She stood as if to go, and I did too, but had to grab the edge of the table to steady myself.
She said, “Dizzy?”
Mrs. Brewer missed nothing.
“My foot went to sleep.”
She said, “I brung something for y’all to eat. Figured you wasn’t doing as I said.”
I followed her outside and she retrieved a plate off the back seat. Whatever it was, it was covered up with a dish towel. She handed it to me, lifted a jar of honey, and another of homemade strawberry jam. She shut the door and we went back into the house, the smoky odor of sausage teasing my nose the entire way. In the kitchen I set the plate down and took off the towel. I was right. It was sausage biscuits on one side and peach jacks on the other.
She said, “I don’t know any boy who ain’t always ready to eat. You want to get your brother?”
I hesitated, then said, “Sure.”
I went down the hall, pausing outside his door before I knocked. A heavy thud came, like he’d thrown a shoe at the door.
I said, “Merritt, there’s—”
He yelled over me, “Leave me the hell alone, Jessie!”
Mrs. Brewer was right behind me.
She said, “It ain’t surprising he’s upset.”
“He ain’t the only one—”
The door jerked open with Merritt ready to give me what for, until he saw her.
Mrs. Brewer calmly said, “You want something to et?”
Merritt’s manners required him to speak, and with a crimson face, he said, “Yes’m.”
We went into the kitchen and sat at the table. Having Mrs. Brewer here was comforting, and if I could’ve forgot about Daddy sitting in a damp jail cell, I might would’ve enjoyed her company more. She offered the plate to Merritt and he took a sausage biscuit and one of the peach jacks. When she passed it to me, I didn’t dare refuse. I decided on a peach jack. She said a blessing, and then the two of them proceeded to eat while I eyeballed the pastry, as my stomach flip-flopped. I broke off a small piece and stuck it in my mouth, where it sat on my tongue. I sipped on coffee and was finally able to swallow. I waited a moment or so, and that was all it took. My brain got the message something was happening, and I was able to take another bite, and another, and before long, I’d finished it. I scrutinized what was left. I could’ve eaten all of them. Meanwhile Mrs. Brewer and Merritt finished their biscuits and had moved on to having themselves the jacks.
In between bites, she said, “Judges, sometimes they’re fearful somebody’ll run and they won’t never catch’em again, but maybe it’ll work out all right if your uncle will vouch for him.”
Even if that were possible, Uncle Virgil wouldn’t vouch for nobody but himself. Merritt quit chewing and his forehead wrinkled.
He said, “We can forget about that.”
Mrs. Brewer said, “What do you mean?”
Merritt’s demeanor changed. He scowled at his plate, and jerked a thumb in my direction.
He said, “Uncle Virgil took off with all of Daddy’s money. We could’ve had bail if it hadn’t been for her.”
Mrs. Brewer sat back on the chair.
She said, “He stole from y’all?”
He nodded.
She said, “Why, shoot! Ain’t no call to take from your own.”
Merritt leaned forward, doing like he’d done with Daddy, filling in Mrs. Brewer. He started with Uncle Virgil, Aunt Juanita, and cousin Oral leaving, and how it was just as well. He cast rotten looks my way when he described how I’d seen them taking what belonged to us and said nothing. His belly full, he was talkative, and Mrs. Brewer listened, picking at the edge of the table. He went all the way back to the evening we got run off the road, and went from there. He even told her about how everyone at school thought I was peculiar, and how I’d only ever had one friend, and now had none. I tried to think of some way of explaining it all away that didn’t make me sound so terrible. I couldn’t think of how to defend myself. Finally, he was done.
I whispered, “There’s reasons why it ended up like it did.”
Merritt said, “Ain’t no good ones.”
I got up from the table and went out the back door.
Mrs. Brewer said, “Jessie?”
I didn’t stop. I wasn’t going to try and explain, or listen to Merritt making snorting noises each time I brought up how he had it wrong
, what I’d done was because of Mama and her horrible death, how I’d turned against making shine because of it, and partly because of Daddy. It was rude to leave so abruptly, but who cared? If everyone already had such a crappy opinion of me, why not add rude to it?
Merritt said, “She just feels sorry for herself.”
My insides bubbled like a still about to cap. He was wrong, all of them were wrong, about everything. I marched up the hill to the shed. The field behind it was pockmarked with dark holes where I’d been violating the land, punishing it for all my troubles. The shovel was leaning against a post as well as the pick I used to loosen the soil. I grabbed the pick and began stabbing at the earth repeatedly, working out my anger and, yes, maybe even a tiny bit of sorrow for being misunderstood. Mrs. Brewer had come after me. She stood by the shed, but I didn’t slow down.
She said, “You wanting to tell me your side of it?”
I raised the pick overhead and brought it down hard.
“No’m.”
“I know you mean no real harm, child. Things just get out of hand sometimes when you think you’re doing the right thing.”
I couldn’t handle that sympathetic tone, the soft way she spoke like she believed I wasn’t all that bad, even without having heard me say a word in my own defense. I wanted to tell her how it happened. How I’d come to my conclusions and why I was the way I was—except I didn’t know for sure if I understood it myself. I slowed, wondering how I would even start to unravel what was like a knot of strings pulled tight, how to begin to justify myself.
I leaned into the handle, spoke to the ground. “It’s because of what happened to Mama I’m like I am, and that’s why Daddy’s like he is. It’s why I hate making shine, and why I think like I do. Am I crazy?”
Mrs. Brewer said, “Shoot, no. You’re confused is all. You got to figure it out, and when you do, it’ll be fine.”
I shifted position, my arms and legs feeling fragile as twigs.
I said, “I ain’t figured out nothing yet.”
“Sure you have.”
“Ma’am?”
“Last time you and I went and ate them tamales, you called him Easton. You calling him proper now.”
The Moonshiner's Daughter Page 21