Shine On

by Jewell, Allison J.

  “Miss Emmie.” Young Max peeked his head around the corner. “Mamaw Mae sent me to pick her up some stuff from the store but there ain’t nobody in here to take my money.” He held out a few dollar bills and some coins that were wadded in his left hand.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Mr. Thomas must be out back. What’d ya need Max?” She smiled down at him as she walked behind the counter.

  Max was Walter and Mae’s grandson, but he’d lived with them since before he was two years old. And from what she had heard that was for the best, his mama had died when he was born. Emmie barely remembered it but she remembered saying Mae and Walter like to have died right along with their only girl. When the boy never crawled or walked the boy’s dad had dropped him off at Walter and Mae’s. He never showed up again. Her mama said that’s what brought the old couple back to life again, having a little piece of their daughter shining on in that baby boy’s eyes. Max was growing up fine.

  He dug down into his right pocket and put a crumpled list onto the counter. Then reached across and flattened it with his left hand. Max’s right side didn’t ever seem to work as well as his left. The gossipy ladies at church said he’d never walk, but Walter made a brace for his leg. Mae practiced with him every day and proved all those old biddies wrong.

  He wasn’t much older than six but read most of the words on the crumpled grocery list and figured the sum of the total cost before she did. Which was saying something considering half the people in this town couldn’t read much more than their own name and address.

  Emmie quickly got his change and boxed up the goods that he couldn’t carry and put the smaller items in a couple of sacks.

  “Wow, great job totaling out that sum, Max. I might have to ask Mr. Thomas to get you a job working at this counter. Is your Mamaw Mae going to be by later to pick the rest of this up?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Max smiled and headed back out the door. His limp was hardly noticeable. Sweet kid. She turned to head back into the side parlor she used for sewing and bumped right into something hard.

  “Better watch where you’re going Emma.” Mr. Thomas smiled down at her, grabbing her elbows to steady her from stumbling.

  She tried to step out of his grasp but he didn’t let go. His fingers were digging into her elbows.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Thomas.”

  “I heard what you said to that young gimp.” He looked down at her.

  “Gimp?” she questioned.

  “You know, the handicapped child. You really do not have the authority to hire anyone. One—I would never hire anyone that young. Two—He would be of no use to me here. He can’t even carry ten pounds of sugar and flour home to his grandparents,” he added.

  Emmie’s mouth fell open and froze in a small O. “He is not handicapped, he limps. He’s faster at sums than most adults,” she spit at him. “And I was just kidding. I can’t believe you’d say something like that.”

  His bony fingers dug deeper into her arm. “I will not have an employee talk back to me. I pay you to sew, not give me your opinion.” His frown softened but his stare was as condescending as ever. “But I guess I cannot fault you for your big heart, my sweet Emma.”

  He released her arm and brushed the hair back from her forehead. Her skin crawled where his clammy hands had touched her.

  My Sweet Emma, I’ll never be your anything, Mr. Thomas.

  Take this job and stick it, Mr. Thomas.

  Stick this needle in your eye, Mr. Thomas.

  There were so many things she wanted to say to Mr. Thomas but unfortunately she needed this job. She needed his money. So she said nothing, stepping around him, taking her chair.

  Needle in, needle out, change color, repeat.

  Never looking up at him again for the rest of the day. She tried humming to no avail. No amount of humming could cheer her up today. She wanted out of here. Walter was the only ticket she could see right now.

  Chapter Six

  Emmie walked into her house to the shrill of a ringing phone. She started to ignore it. The party line calls were rarely for her but it rang twice followed by a short pause. That was her ring. She rushed over and jerked the receiver off the hook.

  “Emmie dear, I’m glad I caught you.” It was Molly’s soft voice on the other end. “How were things at the store?”

  “Good,” she lied. No point in telling the truth. It wasn’t going to change the fact she still needed to work there. “How are you?”

  “Well, Emmie I hated to do this to you but we are actually going to have to head back to Chicago,” she started. Emmie’s heart sank in her chest. “I am so sorry to leave you like this when we’ve only just returned. My uncle has fallen and has no family; so, I need to be with him. Al’s got some work to do in the Chicago office and is going to let the boys handle things down here. We’ve told them they are to check in on you while we are away but I couldn’t leave without talking to you. You’re like my own, you know that.”

  Emmie nodded at the phone. Only after a few seconds pause did it occur to her that Molly couldn’t see her actions. She smiled in hopes it would shine through her voice, “Yeah, I’m good… and I know. Don’t you worry about me, I’m fine.”

  “I know you are, child. Are you sure you won’t rethink staying at our house? I cannot help but think your Ma wouldn’t like you living in that farmhouse all alone,” Molly pushed.

  “I’ve got Spotty. He’s a good guard dog,” Emmie laughed. “Thanks anyway. I just,” Emmie shrugged then started again, “I just feel like I’m not ready to leave yet. Like if I leave for one night I may never stay here alone again. I know that sounds silly.”

  “No, I understand. Your mama would be proud of the lady you’ve become.” Molly sounded choked up. After a short pause she repeated her question, “Do you need anything at all: money, food?”

  “I promise, I’m fine. Go take care of your uncle. I’m sorry he’s unwell,” Emmie answered.

  “You sound like your mama,” Molly laughed. “Well, I’ve got to get to the train station. Ava’s is pacing the floor to talk to you right now. Take care, Emmie.”

  “Did you hear the news? We’ve got the house to our selves. Get over here,” Ava sang into the phone. Her voice was barely above a whisper; her Ma must still be in the room.

  “Oh, Ava. I don’t know. I’m beat. I think I’ll just turn in early. It’s been a long day,” Emmie said, toying with the cord and slipping off her shoes.

  “Come on, Emmie. You can relax here. It’s not good for you to be cooped up in that house by yourself like some old bird,” Ava begged.

  Old bird. That’s what she felt like lately. No one should feel like an old bird at her age. Ava was right, she refused to let this be the rest of her life. A bad, boring day at Mr. Thomas’s was not worth a night of moping, no matter how tired she was.

  “You’re right. I’m too young to be an old bird. Are the boys there?” Emmie asked.

  “Just us. I’m not sure when they’ll be back. Are you hoping to see one of my handsome McDowell cousins? Hypothetically speaking, which did you want to see more Trick or Silas? I couldn’t tell which you like best,” Ava laughed.

  “Ava, I was humiliated. I am interested in neither…” Emmie shouted into the phone and a traitorous grin escaped her mouth.

  “Well, I guess I get to choose for you then when you get here. You’ll come over right away?” Ava pushed.

  “Yes, I’ll be there soon,” Emmie gave in.

  Emmie smiled as she slipped into the dropped-waist sailor Ava had brought back from Chicago. The fabric was so soft and light it felt more like a nightgown than clothes. Ava or her ma always brought her back special things from Chicago. Clothes from the city always looked and felt a bit different than what you could find here. It was one of the few things she had that really made her feel special.

  She was unpinning her hair when she heard a knock at the door. Spotty jerked up from his pallet on the floor. Standing at attention, he took his spot and barked a warning a
t the front door. Emmie brushed him to the side. A quick peek out the window and she found Walter staring back at her. He was carrying a sack of flour.

  “Howdy there, Emmie. Brought you some flour for the paste. I’ll be needing it tonight,” he said, dropping the sack by the kitchen table.

  “No problem, Walter. I’ve got something I want you to try though.” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. He was going to be so pleased, she just knew it. “Do you have a minute for me to mix it up?”

  He merely nodded. He still wasn’t really happy with this arrangement, but he wanted to help the child out. For a good girl like her to come find him in a cave in the middle of the night and ask to help make ’shine… something wasn’t right. It liked to have broken his heart when she told him she wanted to go to school to be a teacher. She was a smart girl that’d just been given a hard row to hoe. Four dollars a month wasn’t going to get her to college but it was the best he could do right now. She scurried around the kitchen mixing up some concoction and… putting on a pot of tea?

  “Emmie, I ain’t really got time to have tea. Mae’s cooking up supper. Ya hungry? She and Max would love to see ya,” he said, rubbing his gray whiskers. Poor girl must be lonely.

  “Oh, I can’t. Thanks anyway. I’m actually just getting ready to head over to Ava’s. This’ll just take a minute. I’m not making tea. I’m going to use that pot to show you something.” She gave the mixture a final stir, scooped some up and beat the side of the bowl with the spoon testing the consistency. Then looked up at him with a grin, eyebrows raised.

  “That looks fine Emmie,” he answered her unspoken question and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. Walter wondered what was she playing at.

  “I put some holes in this spout see.” She held the teapot up close for him to get a good look. Sure enough somehow she’d worked little dings and holes into the pot.

  Her nimble fingers spread the paste thick over the broken spots. She added water to the pot and put it on the stove. “This’ll just take a minute. I’ve been working ever since I met with you. Trying out different ratios of flour and water. Yesterday morning I was eating breakfast and it hit me. You need more than flour to keep that steam in.” She studied the pot like some mad scientist. Such a good, smart girl. He couldn’t let her get mixed up in this mess. What was the old coot thinking?

  “Heard Max saw you today. Said you bragged on him for his number smarts,” Walter said, looking down at his calloused hands.

  “I did and I meant it. Max’s a smart boy, Walt. You and Mae have done a fine job with him.” She smiled at him.

  Walt nodded. “Said he came back to get the grocery list and heard you talking to Mr. Thomas.”

  He looked up at her for the first time. Her eyes were huge. Pain pricked at her throat hoping the boy hadn’t heard Paul call him a gimp. But she didn’t have to ask. She could tell by the look on Walt’s face that he had.

  She closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

  “Thanks for taking up for him. He said he heard you say he wasn’t no gimp and he was a smart boy,” Walter added.

  “Oh, I really think Mr. Thomas is some kind of ugly. Just a big ole bully. Wish I could tell him where to stick his opinions.” She saw fire thinking about that sweet boy hearing a grown man call him names.

  “You’ve got a good soul, Emmie. I’m not sure it’s right to get you mixed up with any of this.” He pointed at the pot that had just started to whistle.

  Sure enough almost no steam was coming out the cracks and holes she had made in the spout. It was all pouring right out the top, just as it should.

  “That looks pretty good there, Emmie.” He took a closer look at the bowl. “What’d you do?”

  “Well, like I was saying I was eating breakfast yesterday and it hit me… oatmeal. I mixed a little of oatmeal in with the flour and tried it out on the pot and it worked like a charm.” She grinned.

  “Did you beat the heck outta your teapot just to learn to make good paste?” he asked, then chuckled, not sure if he was laughing because she’d outwitted him on the paste he’d been making for forty years or because she was so happy with the results of her experiment.

  “Fine job, Emmie. Right fine job,” he said as she covered the bowl of paste with butcher paper. “That should keep it fresher for you. Is that enough or do you need me to mix up some more?” she asked.

  He assured her that the bowl was plenty, gave her a dollar with the promise of another next week. Then he paused for a moment like he had something else to say but thought better of it.

  Chapter Seven

  “Where in the world have you been? I was getting worried about you,” Ava asked as she opened the door. She was wearing a large feathered headband, an obnoxiously large feather headband.

  “Ya been plucking a chicken, Ava?” Emmie laughed, pointing to her friend’s forehead. Spotty made an attempt to walk into the house with her. She gently pushed him back to the porch.

  “Wait, here.” He flopped down on under the chair nearest the front door with a disapproving sigh. When Emmie turned back to the door Ava was standing with a hand on her hip, glaring down in her direction. Apparently, she did not find humor in Emmie’s joke.

  “I’m sorry. It’s lovely.” Emmie smiled but then couldn’t help but add as she walked by, “I’m just saying it’s a good thing the dog is staying outside. Or he may try to eat your hair.”

  Ava frowned and patted her curls. “It’s the latest fashion you know—all the rage in Chicago.”

  “Hmm…” Emmie smiled and nodded. “Well, if anyone can pull off hair of feathers, it’d be you. But really you needn’t get so dressed up for me.”

  “Looks like you got pretty dressed up, yourself, there Emmie,” Ava said, straightening the collar on her dress. “And it’s a good thing too.”

  Emmie looked confused but, in that moment of silence, noticed she could hear music from a record player in the distance.

  Ava continued, “Because my feathers aren’t for you and I’m guessing this pretty dress isn’t for me.” She smiled.

  “You said the boys were out,” Emmie said quickly and quietly. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears.

  “They were but you took a long time to come over and they came home. What took you so long anyway?” Ava asked.

  “I ran into Walter and he wanted to talk to me for a bit about Max.” Emmie then recounted the story of what had happened earlier at work.

  There was no way she could tell Ava about the paste she was making for Walt. She’d thought about it the whole walk over to her house.

  To tell Ava or not to tell Ava. She’d decided not. What she was helping with was illegal. She wasn’t selling the ’shine but she was sure there were laws about helping someone make it. Not that she thought Ava would tell on her. Emmie just didn’t want her to be caught up in it. Heck, as soon as she could save up a little money she’d be done too. So she shared as much of the truth with her friend as she could. Ava was disgusted at what Mr. Thomas had said about Max. She said someday he would get what was coming to him.

  “Let’s not think about the crazy ole man tonight. Come on.” She grabbed Emmie’s arm and led her down the hall to the parlor.

  Well, one of the home’s parlors anyway. This was the “boys” room as Ava called it. A dark wood desk sat in the front of the room with leather couches and chairs, and blue striped curtains framing the floor-to-ceiling windows. They were actually one of the sets Emmie’s mama had made all those years ago. In the back of the room, a heavy wooden pool table was adjacent to the fireplace. That’s where the boys were playing billiards. They looked like some ad in a magazine. Posed laughing, smoking, playing pool, drinking… wait… drinking?

  Trick froze when Emmie entered, glancing immediately from Vincent to Silas with an unspoken question, obvious to all. She had never felt so unwelcome walking into a room. It was like the life had been sucked out of the place.

  “Take it easy, Trick. She’s fine,” Vince added, bare
ly looking up from his shot at the back corner of the pool table.

  Silas put his cue down on the floor and looked right at her with a smile that made her feel uneasy. “You’re not gonna be calling the buttons are ya?”

  “Sorry?” Emmie asked genuinely confused.

  “The police,” Ava laughed at her expression. “Give her a break, boys. Sheesh.”

  Ava walked over and helped herself to a drink. This wasn’t the stuff that Walter made. Walter’s moonshine was clear. This was dark caramel brown and didn’t come from an old canning jar—it had a real bottle sealed with dripping wax.

  “Since when do you drink?” Emmie asked, sitting next to Ava to get a closer look at the glass.

  “Since a few weeks ago. It’s more of just something to hold in my hand. It’s the entire buzz in Chicago. They have whole clubs for it and everything,” Ava explained, sloshing the drink around as she spoke.

  “Well, this isn’t Chicago.” She instantly felt like she was talking out of both sides of her mouth. She wasn’t a fan of drunkards, but was prohibition right?

  “Just take a sip. It’s not that bad. It sort of tastes like that cough medicine that Dr. Baker used to mix up,” Ava said.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Trick answered right away, clearly this conversation had peaked his interest. “It’s bourbon. Kentucky is famous for it, you know. I heard this story of some man that came down here right after the start of prohibition and bought a whole distillery, disassembled it, put it on a train, and moved it to Canada. Now he’s selling all kinds of bootleg liquor, taking money away from the people of your state.”

  Ava just raised her eyebrows and smiled behind her glass. She still had yet to take the first sip. Gabe walked over and took the glass from Ava’s hand and set it on the table, tsk-tsking in mock disapproval. Louis Armstrong belted out an upbeat song and he pulled her up for a dance. She twirled, kicked her legs, and waved her hands like a mad woman. Emmie couldn’t help but laugh at her erratic movements.