The Moonshiner's Daughter

by Donna Everhart

  I said, “Mrs. Brewer said she knows some who’ll want to buy. I might be able to sell some in town too, at that spot where Daddy went.”

  Merritt nodded, then said, “I’m going too.”

  I weighed this in my mind, thinking about how it might seem with Merritt and me riding together in Sally Sue. It might appear suspicious, but riding around and even driving Sally Sue had always made me feel like that anyway. Everyone knew Daddy was in jail, and to be sure his young’uns wouldn’t be up to no good after he’d set such a bad example.

  I said, “Okay.”

  To that, he acted surprised.

  I said, “We’re gonna have to switch off and take turns until this is done.”

  He nodded and said, “I’ll stay first.”

  “Maybe we should both stay. In case someone comes.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Since it’s our first liquor batch and all.”

  “Don’t go and try to make it special.”

  “It is though, ain’t it?”

  “It’s just a regular thing, what we’re supposed to be doing. What our family’s done all along.”

  “I know that, Merritt.”

  “You ain’t ever acted like you knew it. What’s changed?”

  He was starting to irk me, but I gave him the best answer I could.

  “Me.”

  He didn’t say a word. We sat around watching the liquor trickle out with an easy quiet that felt like a truce had been declared.

  After a while, I said, “When we get home, I’m gonna go call Mrs. Brewer, tell her to come stay at the house, if she’s inclined.”

  He said, “Yeah, okay.”

  * * *

  A few days later, she sat at the supper table with us, sipping from a jar we’d taken out of Big Warrior, and said, “Now that’s mighty fine. Y’all done real good.”

  It was the Saturday before school, and after we ate, Merritt and I climbed in Sally Sue. She was loaded down with jars and jugs under the special back seat.

  Mrs. Brewer said, “I took a few of them jars and added in some apple slices and a little honey. Folks seem to like that.”

  I said, “Long as it’ll sell, I don’t care.”

  She leaned down, rested her forearms on my opened window, and studied us with an intensity I’d only seen when she was upset about my eating.

  She said, “Y’all know where yer going?”

  I nodded. “Yes’m. We’ll try Tenth Street first because there’s a place Daddy always went on Saturdays.”

  She said, “Be careful. Keep yer eyes open on the road.”

  “Yes’m.”

  She straightened up and we pulled away with Merritt grinning ear to ear. The wind blew the hair off his forehead, and he even had his hook arm resting on the edge of the door, no longer trying to hide it. The sun was bright and we were heading down Shine Mountain with Sally Sue loaded up. It was a good day. I wondered what Daddy would think if he could see us. We got to Wilkesboro and drove through to North Wilkesboro, and as I went toward 10th Street it didn’t escape me the looks we were getting.

  Merritt said, “They’re staring at us like we’re from outer space or something.”

  “Who cares, I’m used to it.”

  I could imagine what they said, what they thought: That’s them Sasser kids. You heard about what happened to their old man, didn’t you? Ain’t it shameful? What you reckon they’re doing?

  We poked along, going about ten miles an hour, being polite and stopping so some could cross the street. There was an atmosphere like a festival, almost. People went in and out of various stores, while some men stood around in sweat-stained coveralls talking, dusty hats shoved to the back of their sunburned heads, their booted feet propped on bumpers. They each enjoyed a chaw of tobacco and would occasionally spit. I puttered over to the alley where Daddy had done pretty good, and parked. We were underage, so we couldn’t walk into some of the places he’d supply. There was a beer joint, pool hall, and a woman who had on so much makeup, I was sure she might be one of them women Uncle Virgil and Daddy had joked about being “a lady of the night.”

  I said, “We’ll wait till we see someone getting ready to go in, and see if they can pass along a message.”

  He nodded, and we both watched the crowd.

  Merritt suddenly pointed and said, “Hey! Daddy has sold to him. I remember him.”

  It was Mr. Denton, who owned a pool hall, and Merritt gave him a little wave. Mr. Denton was on the heavy side, not fat, but solid, and as he came toward us, it was like watching a bulldozer with the blade lowered and clearing a path.

  He came up to Merritt’s window and said, “Why, if it ain’t the Sasser brood. What’cha’ll doing here today, got some shopping to tend to?”

  Merritt said, “You could put it that way.”

  I said, “Yeah.”

  Then there was silence. We weren’t real good at the conversating part leading into what we were really shopping for—customers.

  Mr. Denton rubbed at his neck, stared up at the sky, then said, “Listen. Damn shame is what it is, what happened to your daddy. If there’s anything I can do, you let me know.”

  I said, “There might could be something.”

  Merritt said, “If you’re thirsty, that is.”

  Mr. Denton’s expression went from unsure to attentive.

  Mr. Denton said, “I’ll be danged if I ain’t about parched. Come right on around to the back.”

  I said, “We’ll see you there.”

  I pulled out and turned right at the next corner. Mr. Denton waited in a graveled area and pointed to a spot where we could park. A scratched and beat-up wooden door painted dark blue hung crooked off the back of the building. There were aged brick steps leading inside, and an old loading dock off to the left. It looked like an old warehouse. He held up a finger for us to wait, and disappeared inside. I turned the car off and we sat barely moving, both of us too nervous to talk. After a minute or so, I was clenching my fingers around the steering wheel and Merritt got to spinning his hook, round and round.

  I finally said, “Hope he ain’t setting us up, Merritt.”

  He said, “Maybe we ought to get out of here. We get caught with all this hooch, they’re liable to stick us in a detention center or something.”

  I started the car, about to put it in Reverse, when Mr. Denton came back out with another man I didn’t recognize, someone younger, maybe in his early twenties or so, his skin scarred by acne. He was dressed well, carried himself like he was busy, busy, busy, with a quick pace, and lots of hand gesturing. This was it. He’d done informed on us.

  Merritt said, “Go!”

  I said, “I ain’t running now. It’s too late. Mr. Denton’s done told him all he needs to know.”

  They came down the back steps, heads together, conspiring against us, maybe hoping to turn us in and keep some anyway.

  Mr. Denton said, “This here’s Mr. Lewis. He’s a mite thirsty too.”

  I sat with the engine still running, trying to decide if it was a trap. Mr. Lewis took in how the both of us appeared like we’d been working in the sun all day. He didn’t move, and I got to thinking he probably needed to see the evidence before he could arrest us. I was stuck in place and couldn’t move if I tried. Merritt’s hook clicked repeatedly.

  Mr. Lewis turned to Mr. Denton and said, “It ain’t nothing but two young’uns.”

  Insulted, I said, “I reckon I’m old enough.”

  “You don’t appear to be.”

  “Well. I am. You wanting any or not.”

  “I want a sample first.”

  “Fine by me.”

  I got out, and so did Merritt.

  Mr. Denton said, “Let’s go inside right there,” while Mr. Lewis stared at Merritt’s prosthesis. I got a jar out from the back and we went inside where it was cooler, and dimly lit. In a small circle, we waited while Mr. Denton unscrewed the cap and sniffed. He sipped, and rolled it around in his mouth and swallowed. />
  He passed the jar to Mr. Lewis and said, “I’ll hold my opinion till you have a sip.”

  Mr. Lewis sniffed too, then had a little taste. He gave Mr. Denton a look I couldn’t discern. He sipped again, put the lid back on real slow, and handed the jar to Mr. Denton.

  Mr. Denton said, “Well? What’choo think, Glen?”

  Mr. Lewis said, “Who’d you get that last run from?”

  Mr. Denton studied us, then said, “Murrys. Near about threatened me if I didn’t take some.”

  The mention of their name sent a chill down my backbone and Mr. Lewis rubbed at his cheeks, creating a rasping noise.

  He said, “You still got some of it?”

  Mr. Denton said, “Yeah, folks is drinking it, but complaining. Hang on.”

  While he was fetching it, Mr. Lewis said, “Corn, not sugar?”

  I nodded, and said, “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded and said, “The good old kind.”

  Mr. Denton came back with another jar. It was grimy like it hadn’t been washed, while our jars sparkled, and the shine in them did too. He opened it and sniffed and pulled his head back sharply before he handed it to Mr. Lewis, who lowered his head and sniffed, and made a face. I held my hand out, and he gave it to me. I knew right away what was wrong. I handed it off to Merritt so he could get a whiff of the Murry poison.

  I said, “We only use the heart. No foreshots, heads, or tails. That there’s been proofed with all three probably and anyone who drinks that is gonna be sick with a popskull headache or worse. I can smell the acetone. We proof with water.”

  Mr. Denton said, “I ain’t ever buying from them again.”

  Mr. Lewis said, “Their shit ain’t never been any good.”

  I said, “Anyone lives to tell about drinking that is lucky.”

  Mr. Lewis said, “I want some of what they got.”

  Merritt said, “Ain’t nobody never took sick drinking ours, not unless you just drank too much.”

  I said, “We got about a hundred gallons of what you just tasted. I’ll cut you a deal, sell it a dollar cheaper a gallon than what they charged you.”

  Mr. Denton’s smile went as wide as it could get. “That’s a mighty fine proposition.”

  He stuck his hand out, and I shook it. He shook with Merritt too, after an awkward right, left, right fumble. Mr. Denton bought half of what we had, and Mr. Lewis bought the rest. When we were done unloading they handed us a total of two hundred dollars in cash. I’d seen more money than this piled up on our kitchen table when Daddy was home, but I’d never understood how it felt to see something through to the end, and then to be rewarded. I’d never been proud of anything I’d ever done until this moment.

  I smiled at both men and said, “Thankee. I thankee kindly.”

  We promised we’d make a delivery once a week, same as how Daddy had handled it. Mr. Lewis happened to be scouting out for potential customers in New York too. He had relatives who conducted matters similar to the way we operated down here.

  He said, “Hope you can keep up with the demand.”

  Merritt said, “Sure.”

  I said, “No problem.”

  We walked back out into the sun and sat in the car.

  He said, “We might need us some more stills.”

  I said, “Yeah, and if we sell cheaper we could put certain folks out of commission.”

  Merritt nodded and grinned.

  He said, “I can’t wait till I call Daddy.”

  There was so much to tell him, so much we needed him for. I wasn’t bothered about fending for ourselves; it was mostly about the Murrys. It troubled me how we’d manage them, but despite that, it might have been a hint of happiness I felt right then, and even the problem of the Murrys couldn’t overshadow it.

  I said, “I want to go buy some school clothes, some new shoes.”

  Merritt said, “It’s about time.”

  Chapter 28

  After tugging on a new skirt, and buttoning up a new blouse, I thought of facing my classmates. Having something new to wear might make a difference in how I looked outwardly to others, but really, I was no different than the same old house only with a new coat of paint.

  The lady helping me said, “You ain’t big as a minute.”

  It was the exact same thing Mrs. Brewer had said about Mama, but I couldn’t get by the vision I’d held of myself for long as I could remember. I stood in front of the mirror, attempting not to judge, not to see what I always saw, the plain, fat, and dumpy girl with sad eyes. I tried hard, but it didn’t work, because I still didn’t care for what was reflected back.

  The saleslady came by the changing room a couple times and said, “You all right in there, honey?”

  “Yes’m.”

  I studied the way the clothes fit, struggling to decide what was real and what was only in my head, maybe an illusion, maybe the truth. I saw a big girl, one that defied the “you ain’t big as a minute” comments. The new clothes made a difference in how I presented myself, if nothing else.

  I came out of the little changing room and told the saleslady, “Can I get me some dungarees, maybe a couple more blouses, and another skirt, and a dress?”

  “Why, sure, honey.”

  She left to get what I wanted and Merritt drifted over from the other side of the store after buying what he wanted.

  He said, “You don’t look the same.”

  I stared down at myself, and said, “I don’t?”

  I went back into the dressing room and came out wearing what I’d had on, the too-soft, threadbare skirt, yellowed blouse, and scuffed shoes. With the old clothes, the other me came back and inhabited my body, the uncomfortable, heavy, and stick-to-the-shadows me. The saleslady came back with the other items.

  She said, “You want to try these on?”

  I shook my head. I was done with shopping, decided I really didn’t like it, but was glad to have gone through with it. We went up front to pay. After we left the store, everything wrapped in tissue paper and placed carefully in big bags, we went to the Goodwill store and got a couple Smithey Burgers to eat on the way home. I ate one, and before I could think twice I told Merritt to please eat whatever was left.

  Monday morning came and a case of the nerves hit. I stood over the toilet, the temptation to drop to my knees like giant hands pushing on my shoulders. I turned away, knowing if I relented I’d never get past this curious behavior, never figure out how to stop. I ought to be proud is what I told myself. We’d sold our first batch of shine, made enough money to buy ourselves some school clothes, get groceries, and had money for bills. I had even washed my hair the night before and tried rolling it. I took the rollers out this morning and brushed through the light brown loops hanging near my collarbone, hoping a bunch of it wouldn’t come out. Of course some did, so I tied it back in a loose ponytail, and went into the kitchen. Merritt came in a minute later, walking stiff-legged in his new dungarees, cuffed at the bottom, and wearing a white-and-blue plaid shirt. He’d used Daddy’s hair tonic, and that familiar odor, fresh and sweet, brought him straight from the jailhouse and into the kitchen with us. We sat at the table while Mrs. Brewer, who’d shown up on our doorstep at the crack of dawn waving around a bag filled with links of sausage and eggs, set three full plates on the table.

  She sat down, and said, “Now, don’t y’all look nice.”

  Merritt’s face had gone the color of putty, him worried about everyone seeing his prosthesis for the first time.

  Mrs. Brewer said, “Maybe I ought to be ashamed of myself, but I’m glad I’m not going back. I got my pension, Social Security, and that special little something on the side. I don’t need to do it; I was just doing it to keep from being lonesome.”

  She gave me the odd little smile that really wasn’t.

  Without any real thought, I said, “Why don’t you come stay here for a bit? Bring Popeye.”

  She hesitated, her fork in the air as she thought about it.

  She said, “I reckon I
might could do that.” And without hesitation, she said, “I’ll bring my shotgun too, you know, just in case.”

  Knowing she’d be there when we got home eased my mind, but once we got to school that sense of well-being disappeared. Aubrey’s brother, Zeb, followed close behind Willie and his voice carried clear across the school lot.

  Zeb was yelling, “Hey, Willie, where you been?”

  Willie ignored him, coming straight for us, and when he was close enough, he slowed down and fell into step beside me.

  He said, “Sure is some interesting reading I’ve been doing. Hey, how does your old man like his new accommodations?”

  We picked up the pace, and I said to Merritt, “Don’t stop. Don’t say nothing.”

  Willie stayed on our heels while Zeb wasn’t far behind.

  Willie said, “Hey, cripple. Bet you can’t even wipe your own ass. Does she help? Hey, Hook Boy, she wiping your ass for you?”

  Zeb laughed too loud, and too long. “Ha-ha! Tell’em, Willie! That’s right; hey, cripple, does she help?”

  Willie spun around and used his finger on Zeb’s chest like a bird pecks for seed.

  He said, “Shut up, dumb ass. And tell that nitwit sister of yours to stop calling me all hours of the night.”

  Zeb’s laughter sputtered, while Merritt’s face darkened with a combustible combination of anger and embarrassment. Heads down, we aimed for the doors. I was angry too, but couldn’t think what to say to shut Willie up. A swarm of students unloaded from the buses and Cora McCaskill stepped off our old one. Willie called out and almost ran to her side. His expression molded into the same smitten look in the paper a few weeks back, and she blushed from the roots of her hair down her neck. Aubrey came zipping out of one of the doors at the front of the school like she’d been watching. She came to a standstill when she saw him take Cora’s hand.