Moonshine, Coal, and Hope

by Richard Allen Evans

  John shook his head, almost bewildered by the question.

  “But I saw those wounds on the battlefield under the worst possible conditions. Without seeing the wound myself, I can’t really tell you much,” he said.

  “Do you think he’ll live?” She asked.

  “He lost a lot of blood...but these men know how to tie a tourniquet. Yeah, I think he’ll pull through but the condition of his leg...I just don’t know,” John said quietly.

  Daisy sat down in a wooden chair. Her expression looked like so many shell—shocked soldiers the three men saw in France a decade earlier. Ed looked to John and gestured with his head for him to step over to the other side of the waiting room.

  “As long as Bob is in here, I want to keep a couple of guys at the hospital — just in case,” Ed said.

  John gave him a curious look.

  “What have you not told me?” He asked.

  “I ain’t got anything to prove this but my opinion, but I think Lee James Milner is back,” Ed said.

  “And you think he shot Bob,” John said calmly.

  “I think he tried to shoot both of us. When Bob fell he pulled me down with him. The union guy was too slow to move. The bullet I think meant for me, hit him between the eyes,” Ed said.

  “Good Lord,” John gasped.

  “I think the guy with Biddle was a distraction while the real shooter was hiding in the tree line,” Ed said.

  “Rachel...Ginny...they’re alone,” John said as the realization hit him.

  “I already sent a couple of my boys to stand watch before you left and I’ve got more men on the way. Nobody will bother them,” Ed said.

  John looked a little relieved but not much.

  He started to speak but the surgeon, Dr. Baker, emerged. Still wearing his surgical gown, he looked at John.

  “Anyone else from the family here?” Baker asked.

  “Over here,” John said as he led the doctor to Daisy.

  “Good to see you again John. I just hate that it’s under these circumstances,” the surgeon said as John nodded.

  “How’s my husband?” Daisy asked.

  “He’s stable. Barring any post—operative complications, I expect him to recover fully in a few days. However, there was a problem with his leg,” Baker said, his hazel eyes bloodshot from strain and fatigue.

  “How bad is it?” John asked.

  “The kneecap was totally shattered. The bullet fragmented. Ligaments were severed beyond repair and a good portion of the cartilage was destroyed. The last time I saw anything like this was in the war,” Baker said.

  “Were you forced to amputate?” John asked as Daisy started to cry.

  Baker inhaled slowly.

  “I had no choice...the damage was just too much,” he said sadly. “I am so sorry.”

  Daisy sobbed as John held her. He was on the verge of tears himself but he managed to hold his emotions in check.

  “I know you did everything you could J.D.,” John said as Baker patted him on the shoulder.

  “As soon as he comes out of recovery you’re welcome to go back with him. If you need anything else, let me know,” Baker said.

  John nodded as the surgeon walked away.

  Ed and Hill stood silently, unsure of what to say or do. John looked at Ed.

  “Find him. Make him pay,” he said.

  “You have my word,” Ed said. “If it takes days or years, we’ll get him.”

  ***

  Junior turned off of State Hwy. 93 about eight miles east of Crystal Springs. He followed a rut—filled dirt road about a quarter of a mile up a hollow. A small shack sat at the end of the dirt road.

  “Help me inside,” Lee said as Junior hurried around and opened the car door.

  Once inside the house, Junior lit a kerosene lamp. The shack wasn’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination. It was one giant room with nothing separating the living room from the kitchen with a single bedroom off to the left. However, the house was very well furnished. Junior noticed a new looking dark red couch with a matching chair and a heavy round coffee table in the middle of the room. There was also a pot—bellied stove near the far wall.

  “Get a coupla more lamps lit and see if you can get a fire going in that stove,” Lee said as he slowly made his way to the kitchen sink.

  He reached into a cabinet to the right of the sink and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. With his teeth, Lee pulled the cork from the bottle and spat it onto the cabinet next to the sink.

  After he took a long drink he sat the bottle on the cabinet and started taking his shirt off. Clad in a blood—stained white T—shirt, he looked at the wound, which was still bleeding but at a much slower rate. Lee examined the wound.

  “It looks like it went straight through. Missed the bone completely,” he said as reached for the bottle again.

  Lee took another long swallow and then held his breath as he poured bourbon over the bleeding wound. He howled in pain as Junior winced.

  “Wound has to be cleaned,” Lee said through gritted teeth. “After you get the fire started, see if you can find something for me to use as a bandage.”

  “Sure thing,” Junior said started tossing a pieces of coal from a bucket in the stove. “I need to go outside and get some coal. ‘Tween that and the wood in here, it should be plenty for tonight.”

  Lee nodded.

  “Just be quick about it,” he said rummaged through a drawer and found a bottle of aspirins and dry—swallowed a couple of tablets.

  Lee carried the liquor with him and took a seat on the couch. He waited patiently for Junior to return. In a couple of minutes Junior returned with a bucket of coal. He went to the kitchen and used the pump at the sink to wash the coal dust off of his hands.

  Junior walked into the bedroom and returned with a clean white pillow case.

  Lee nodded.

  “That ought to do,” he said as he took another drink of the bourbon.

  Junior took his pocketknife and cut the pillow into wide strips.

  “You’re gonna have to wrap my arm,” Lee said as sat the bottle down and fished out a cigarette.

  Junior immediately started wrapping the wounded left arm.

  “Let me know if it’s too tight,” he said.

  Lee flicked open the gold lighter and lit the cigarette.

  “It’s fine,” he said as smoke rolled out of his mouth.

  Junior tied the crude bandage.

  “I need you to come back tomorrow. Bring plenty of food and more liquor. Smokes too. Talk to Russell. I need a gun, plenty of ammo, a couple of men, and a car. I want to lay low for a few days,” Lee said.

  Junior nodded.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow. Until then,” he said, “take this,” as he handed him a Navy Colt .32.

  Lee took the revolver in his right hand and held it up to look it over.

  “Take care of it. It’s my back up gun. It was a gift from Mr. Milner,” Junior said.

  “He must have liked smaller calibers,” Lee said.

  “Navy Colt was his favorite,” Junior said. “The old man used to have one just like it.”

  Lee placed the pistol on the coffee table next to the bourbon.

  “Just hurry back tomorrow with the stuff I told you,” Lee said as sat back on the couch, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and reclined his head.

  Junior took that as his cue to leave.

  ***

  Bob opened his eyes. He was still very groggy. He saw the off-white ceiling and dim light overhead. The inside of his mouth was so dry it felt like he had eaten sand. His left leg didn’t hurt nearly as bad as it had on his way to the hospital. That’s not to say Bob was comfortable. There was still a nagging burning pain and he couldn’t move his left foot. His head felt heavy — too heavy to lift off of the pillow and he drifted in and out of consciousness. The blankets were heavy too but even still he felt so cold. He felt a warm hand on his.

  “We’re here Bob,” as he turned his head to see Daisy
at his bedside.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. Bob squeezed her hand. He raised his eyes to see John standing next to Daisy. The expression etched on his face meant something was seriously wrong.

  “How bad?” Bob managed to rasp.

  Daisy looked nervously to Ed and then back to Bob.

  “It’s pretty bad,” John said as Daisy started to sob quietly.

  Bob nodded.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “The surgeon did everything he could but there was too much damage. He had to amputate your left leg from the knee down,” John said as bile rose in the back of his throat in delivering the news.

  Bob didn’t blink.

  “Will I live?” He asked.

  “Yeah and you’re lucky. You might not believe it — especially right now — but you lost a lot of blood. You could have died on the way here or even on the operating table. You’re going to be alright,” John said.

  “With one leg,” Bob said.

  Daisy’s face twisted from sadness to anger.

  “No. No, Bob. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself. You’ve made yourself a target for so many people. This is what happens. This is what’s worried me for the longest time. So no, don’t start feelin’ sorry for yourself,” she said.

  “So what do I do?” He asked.

  “You’ve got to be tougher than ever now. You’ve got to show whoever’s responsible for this that they failed. Let them know a bullet won’t stop Bob Fulton,” she said.

  “She’s right. Now is the time to fight harder than ever,” John said.

  Bob remained quiet but pondered their words — as much as he could. The effects of the anesthesia and the news of his amputation warred with Daisy’s words. He felt so tired. Too tired to argue and too confused to care. All he could do was nod.

  “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Daisy said.

  ***

  Hill drove as Ed sat on the passenger side and studied the landscape as they traveled back to Evans County. They left the hospital just before daylight and now the sun was coming up. The ground was covered with a heavy frost.

  “Spread the word. Fifty thousand to the man that will bring me Lee James Milner. And I want him alive,” Ed said.

  Hill nodded.

  “And I want to see the kid as soon as possible,” Ed said. “If Milner Mining thinks I’ve been hard to deal with before, they’ve got another thing coming. I’m declaring war on every mine owner in Kentucky and the blame is gonna rest at the doorstep of the Milners.”

  “That’s gonna take a lot of men and ain’t sure we got ‘em to spare,” Hill said.

  “Put out the word. There’s enough men out of work they do anything for a steady paycheck,” Ed said.

  “I might have a better idea,” Hill said.

  “I’m listenin’,” Ed said as he turned to his friend.

  “You need men trained in this business, not out of work miners,” Hill said.

  Ed nodded.

  “Al’s got problems of his own right now,” he said.

  “Yeah, Al’s got problems but his boys still need to get paid. We can take some of his overhead and save him some money. We can always use the boys from the mines to protect the stills and transport the shine,” Hill said.

  Ed paused and thought about it.

  “It makes sense. I can send Al some cash as a fee of sorts. If things go bad for him, some of his men will have a place with us in Kentucky. We can never have too much experienced muscle. It’s a good idea. Get the ball rolling today. You and the kid go to Chicago with a satchel of cash. Explain everything to Al,” he said.

  “You got it,” Hill said.

  “In the meantime, I need to call my favorite banker in Boston. This country’s changin’ Hill. I want to be one of the people controllin’ that change,” Ed said.

  ***

  The next day, Junior returned to the little shack. He brought with him two men. A third man drove a car loaded with supplies. He would leave with Junior.

  “You boys wait out here until I talk to...the boss,” Junior said as he adjusted the Fedora on his head.

  He knocked on the door.

  “It’s open,” Lee shouted.

  Junior walked in and took a look at the wounded man in front of him. Lee was pale and looked as though he hadn’t slept much — if at all. There were dark circles under his eyes and while the room was warm it wasn’t warm enough to explain the sweat on Lee’s forehead.

  “You bring the stuff I asked for?” Lee queried.

  “Y-yeah...it’s outside. The boys’ll bring it in here in a minute. I’ve got some bad news,” Junior said as he pulled the hat off of his head.

  “What is it?” Lee asked suspiciously as the slim man fiddled nervously with the hat.

  “Mr. Biddle and Jack...they’re dead. Both of them shot dead at that union rally last night,” Junior said.

  Lee weighed the news. Losing Jack was part of his plan. He had no intention of keeping him around. Jack knew his secret and possessed the potential to blackmail him someday.

  But losing Russell Biddle was something he had not planned on happening. The brains running the family business was gone. Lee was shocked.

  “Anybody else get killed?” He asked.

  “Some guy from the United Mine Workers. That Fulton feller from the Lexington paper was shot too but he’s still alive. From what I hear they expect him to pull through,” Junior said.

  Lee picked up the nearly emptied liquor bottle from the coffee table and took one a long drink.

  “There’s more,” Junior said as he looked at Lee, who promptly swallowed what remained in the bottle.

  “Miz Milner said to tell you she knew about your arrangement with Mr. Biddle and he told her all of the details of how he brought you here,” Junior said.

  Lee’s eyes widened slightly in surprise.

  “Do you know any of those details?” he asked.

  “No sir. That’s all I was told,” Junior said.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “She said when you’re ready to leave here she wants to meet with you privately. Miz Milner wants you take over Milner Mining,” Junior said.

  “Did she tell you that?” Lee asked.

  Junior nodded.

  “She said you’re the new boss and your word is law,” he said.

  Lee popped a cigarette in his mouth with his good right hand and then he fished out the gold lighter. He made a production of lighting the cigarette and flipping the lid closed on the lighter. Lee exhaled a small cloud of smoke.

  “Tell her to give me a couple of days. I’ll see her after Russell’s funeral. Now, get over here and change this bandage “he said.

  ***

  A week after the shooting, Bob was getting ready to be discharged from the hospital. He used crutches to get around. Although had been fitted with an artificial leg, he was a long way from being able to walk without assistance.

  He sat on the hospital bed wearing slacks and a white collared shirt. A gray snap brimmed Fedora sat next to him on the bed beside the propped up crutches. Daisy sat in a chair by the bed. She wore a plain gray dress with a darker gray overcoat placed across her lap.

  Cotton walked in. He too had been a fixture at the hospital Bob since the morning following the shooting.

  “Doc says you’re free to go. Ed sent a car over to take us to the train station,” Cotton said.

  Bob nodded.

  “I never thought I’d say this but I’ll be so glad to get back to Lexington,” Daisy said.

  “Any place beats here I reckon,” Cotton said.

  Bob put on his hat and stood on his good leg. He placed the crutches under his arms as Daisy stood ready to help him.

  “I’m fine Daisy. I’m startin’ to get used to these blamed things,” Bob said as he started walking toward the door.

  “I talked to Evan. He said you don’t need to rush back and not to worry, you’d still be gettin’ your c
heck,” Cotton said.

  “You got anything to smoke?” Bob asked.

  “Will a cheap cigar do?” Cotton asked.

  “The cheaper the better — that means there’s more for me to smoke,” Bob said as Cotton laughed and handed him a cigar.

  Bob bit the tip off of the cigar and spat into a trashcan. Cotton struck a match and lit the smoke as Bob inhaled and then took the cigar out of his mouth and took a look at it.

  “I could get used to these,” he said.

  “I’ll run to the store at the depot and get you a box. That way we’ll both have plenty to smoke on our way back to Lexington,” Cotton said as they walked down the hall with him to the left and Daisy at Bob’s right watching every step.

  “I never told you but the pictures from the night of the shootin’...you did a great job,” Bob said.

  “I appreciate that but truth be told, I’d rather have not had the opportunity to take them,” Cotton said.

  Bob chuckled.

  “Believe me, I understand. But you did your job and now, I want to go back and do mine. The people of Kentucky and the rest of the country needs to understand what miners have been up against. I can speak for them now like I never could before,” he said.

  “I reckon that’s right too,” Cotton said. “You just need to take your time. You ain’t gotta prove anything to anybody.”

  “Cotton you ought to know better. This is the most bull headed and stubborn man on earth,” Daisy said as she watched her husband struggle toward the front doors of the hospital.

  “I’m only stubborn when I’m right,” Bob said as he took another step forward.

  “Then you must never be wrong,” Cotton said as he opened the door for Bob.

  ***

  John continued to split his time between seeing patients and caring for Rachel. A nasty strain of the flu was going around. It wasn’t as bad as the pandemic in 1918 and 1919 but even so, he and Cat were swamped with cases. Most of the people they treated were house calls as people were too sick to even make it to their office.

  It was nearly eight o’clock on the second Wednesday in December when John drug his tired body through the front door of his house. The living room was empty so he quietly made his way to the bedroom. Rachel was sleeping at the moment. Trish was sitting in a chair next to the bed. When she saw John she gestured for him to talk to her outside the bedroom. John walked into the living room.