Moonshine, Coal, and Hope

by Richard Allen Evans

  “An accident,” John said as he stood and pulled his daughter from the stroller. He held her in a tight embrace.

  “Are you sure you’re okay John?” Trish asked again.

  He nodded.

  “I will be. So help me, I will be,” John said as rubbed his daughter’s back and continued to hug her.

  Trish looked at him warily.

  “I’ll get supper started,” she said.

  “Before you start, there’s something I need to do,” John said as he placed his daughter in Trish’s arms.

  He walked to the cabinet over the sink and pulled down two quart jars of clear liquid. He took the top off of the first jar and took a long look at the liquor inside. His eyes then shifted to his daughter. John poured the moonshine down the drain and then opened the second jar. He emptied its contents as well as Trish watched, the relief showing on her face.

  “Would you care to watch Ginny a while longer? I’d like to take a bath and shave,” John said.

  “I’ll be glad to. We’ll get supper started,” Trish said.

  “That sounds good. I could stand a good meal. And uh...Trish? Thank you. For everything. I don’t know where me or Ginny would be without you,” he said.

  She smiled warmly.

  “I love this child just like I loved her mother. You don’t ever have to thank me for taking care of her or you. I made a promise to Rachel and I intend to keep it,” Trish said.

  John nodded.

  “So did I but I’ve not been living up to it,” he said.

  “I think you just started,” she said as she nodded toward the empty jars.

  ***

  Bob walked through the newsroom. He moved slower than he did just a few months before but he moved with the assistance of a cane instead of crutches. He made it back to his desk with a cup of coffee without spilling a drop — another improvement.

  Bob sat down at his typewriter and flipped open his notepad. When the Milners reached an agreement with the union it set off a chain reaction, leading other — mostly smaller — mine owners to do the same. An uneasy labor peace had finally come to the hills.

  It was great news but it also left Bob feeling guilty. He missed the constant strife, which fueled so many great articles. State politics was the beat Evan wanted him on now but covering state politics left him frustrated. The wheels of government moved at a glacial pace and the backroom deals orchestrated by both political parties in Frankfort left him even more disillusioned than he thought possible.

  Evan walked out of his office.

  “How’s the story on the LaBeck Committee coming?” He asked Bob as he approached the desk.

  “You’ll have it this afternoon. Education reform. Who are they fooling?” Bob asked.

  “I take it you don’t trust Sen. LaBeck?” Evan asked.

  “I trust him alright. I trust him to pad his pockets on meaningless hearings. The man has no concept of actually being productive. He hasn’t voted on a single bill this term but he’s had twenty—three hearings on different facets of the proposed reform bill,” Bob said.

  Evan chuckled.

  “He doesn’t seem to have the best interests of the good people of Owsley County at heart,” the editor said.

  Bob looked around the office.

  “Where’s Cotton?” He asked.

  “Liquor store got robbed off of Richmond Road. Owner apparently got pistol whipped,” Evan said.

  “Who’s covering it?” Bob asked.

  “I sent Jay. The kid’s becoming a pretty good reporter,” Evan answered.

  Bob nodded and reached for a cigar.

  “Look Bob, I know you’d rather be on the police beat where there’s more excitement but you’re my best political writer. You have the contacts and the experience,” Evan explained.

  “And it’s better suited for a crippled man?” Bob asked as Evan winced.

  “That’s not fair and it’s not true,” he said.

  “If I’m wrong, then I apologize it’s just I hate being tied to this desk,” Bob said. “I’m getting around a lot better these days.”

  Evan’s look softened.

  “Yes you are but you’ve got the state government for the reasons I said. If I thought you couldn’t handle a beat, I’d tell you,” Evan said.

  “Is that why Mac wound up covering city government?” Bob asked with a grin.

  “Mac’s got the city beat because his daughter is married to the Deputy State Attorney General Henry Sherman, who desperately wants to be the next state attorney general,” Evan said.

  “And ride that into the office of lieutenant governor and eventually governor,” Bob said.

  “And Mac would try to help as much as possible. Can you imagine that jackass in the governor’s mansion?” Evan asked in disgust.

  “Mac or Sherman?” Bob asked.

  Evan thought for a couple of seconds.

  “Actually...either,” he said as Bob laughed.

  The phone rang on Bob’s desk and he answered,

  “Bob Fulton.” Evan stood to walk away but Bob gestured for him to sit back down. He listened to Bob’s end of the conversation.

  “Oh pretty good...She’s fine now that things have settled down some...No, not today. He called yesterday. Yeah, me too...Well, it’s gonna take some time, but we all already knew that. Daisy keeps trying to talk him into moving up here but I don’t think he’ll stay away from Crystal Springs too long but I do think it would help him to get away for a little while...Uh, yeah, I should have some time, let me check,” Bob said as looked at the calendar on his desk as he listened intently. “Really? I don’t guess you want to tell me who it is?” He asked with a laugh. “No, that should be fine. I’ll see you then Ed,” Bob said as he hung up the phone.

  “Our boss?” Evan asked.

  “The one and only. He’s coming to Lexington tomorrow and wants to drop in with a scoop,” Bob said with a chuckle.

  “What kind of scoop?” Evan asked.

  “He’s got this crazy notion of putting a Democrat in Congress from the Ninth District,” Bob said with a lopsided smile.

  Evan looked at him in disbelief.

  “The Republican Ninth? I know he’s got money but I don’t think he can pull that one off. Who’s his candidate?” He asked.

  Bob shook his head.

  “Don’t know. Ed said he’s found his man and he’d tell me tomorrow,” he said.

  “I wonder if he’s planning on running?” Evan asked.

  “Could be. Ed’s a popular man with the miners right now,” Bob said. “I reckon we’ll know tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll have Cotton standing by in the newsroom in case the boss wants a photo,” Evan said. “That might make a lively race down there for a change.”

  Bob looked up at his editor.

  “Ain’t this a little like why you reassigned Mac?” He asked.

  “No. Ed Elkins signs my paycheck and if wants this paper to back a guy to the hilt, we will. We owe him. Without him I’d likely be on the obit desk at one of the other papers in town or in Louisville. Besides, he makes a lot more sense than the jackass,” Evan said.

  “I repeat, Mac or Sherman?” Bob asked.

  “And once again, either,” Evan answered with a grin of his own.

  Bob filed his story before the afternoon deadline but it was a struggle as he listened to Jay describing the robbery story to Evan while Cotton sifted through several photos to find the best one for the article.

  Bob left the newspaper building at the end of the day and made his way to his car, a gray 1928 Chevrolet National. Though tired, he didn’t feel like he had accomplished much for the day. As he pulled out of the parking garage Bob recalled thinking he felt that way a great deal lately. He still loved writing but in the past few months something had changed. The job satisfaction was no longer there.

  Maybe something changed inside of him after the shooting. Loud noises made him jumpy anymore. On more than one occasion he caught himself scann
ing an area for would be gunmen; distracted to the point of not listening to the person he was interviewing. He wondered if he ever get back to the place he was mentally before losing his leg. But for whatever reason, his job was rapidly losing appeal.

  Sure, it beat digging coal and the pay wasn’t bad – it wasn’t good either. Money was becoming more of a concern. He and Daisy rented a small house but it wouldn’t be long before a bigger place would be needed. A couple of days earlier, Daisy suspected she was pregnant. A local doctor confirmed it. Part of him was thrilled and part of him was scared stiff.

  He worried about being able to provide for a wife and a child — his worries were compounded even more by the fact that now he had just one leg. With Ed coming to town he could see if there were any openings at one of the Elkins dairies, which was now thriving more than ever even though the economy was terrible. Nobody would ever get rich running a dairy but their family wouldn’t starve and there would be a roof over their heads, he reasoned.

  As he drove on, he thought about Daisy. He worried when they got married she would hate living in Lexington but she liked Central Kentucky and living in the city. Would she be happy taking on farm life? She was raised to it and maybe she would be closer to home and her younger sister Millie. That didn’t mean she would be happy.

  Bob determined to talk to her about it after supper.

  In a few minutes he pulled into the driveway next to a small white clapboard house. It was nearly dark when Bob hobbled his way up the short set of steps and onto the porch. He walked inside and the aroma made his stomach growl and his mouth water involuntarily.

  Daisy stuck her head out of the kitchen.

  “Supper’s just about ready,” she said.

  “Smells good,” he said as he made his way to the couch. His leg ached. As he already learned when his stump of a left leg felt the way it did a major weather change was on the way.

  “You wouldn’t believe what they’re charging for lard these days. It’s up to twenty-seven cents a pound. And coffee? It’s fifty-one cents a pound. It keeps getting higher and we’ll start cutting way back on the coffee,” Daisy called out from the kitchen, as she set the table.

  “I got a feeling prices are gonna get worse. With so many people out of work, it’s gonna be hard for a lot of stores to stay open,” he said. “Before long, farmers are gonna be only ones with plenty of food.”

  “The man on the radio — the one from NBC — said Hoover is working on a plan to get people working again,” she said.

  Bob shook his head.

  “He’s late to the party; the damage is done. It’ll be a long time before folks get back to working the way they were before the market crashed. The next president will have to fix it. Hoover can’t do the job and the American people are seeing that,” Bob said.

  “Go wash up, I’m setting the food on the table,” she called out.

  Bob did and then made his way into the kitchen. He looked at the table. On it sat a large bowl of pinto beans, a bowl of fried potatoes, a skillet of cornbread, and a plate of fried hog jowls.

  Daisy poured a glass of milk for him and one for herself out of a glass Elkins Dairy bottle.

  “At least milk prices ain’t went up,” Bob said.

  “I’m just glad you have your job at the paper. We might not be rich but we ain’t starving,” she said as she took his hand, a silent signal for him to ask the blessing on the meal.

  After saying grace, Bob reached for the cornbread and crumbled a piece in his plate.

  “I know we got it better than a lot of people but a few more dollars wouldn’t hurt,” he said as he ladled a couple of scoops of beans over the bread.

  “Well I wouldn’t complain if you got a raise,” she said as she prepared her own cornbread and beans.

  “Ed’s coming up tomorrow. He has a story for me about some guy he’s got lined up to run for Congress,” Bob said.

  “Is Lucy coming with him?” Daisy asked.

  “I didn’t ask but I got the impression this is purely a business trip,” he said.

  “Too bad. I haven’t seen her since the funeral. I know how much she thought of Rachel. If she misses her as much as I do she has to be lonely,” she said as she took a bite of potatoes.

  Bob nodded as he ate. He then looked over at his wife.

  “Are you happy here?” He asked.

  Daisy looked at him in surprise.

  “What? Of course I’m happy here. Why did you ask? You’re not?” She asked.

  Bob put down his spoon.

  “I’m happy...it’s just...with the baby...we need more money,” he answered.

  “You know, you could always ask Ed for a raise. I’m sure he’d be happy to give you one,” she said.

  Bob nodded.

  “I could,” he said.

  “But you don’t want to...you’re not happy,” Daisy said.

  “It’s not a matter of being happy. I’m worried about feeding a wife and a child. My work prospects are limited,” he said as he patted his left leg. “I can’t go much higher in pay at the paper.”

  Daisy looked at him carefully.

  “It’s more than money. I know you. What is it? You love working at the paper,” she said.

  Bob shook his head.

  “I don’t know. It’s just not the same since the shooting. It feels like people are always worried if I can do my job now. Every time I limp through the newsroom it feels like everyone is watching me. And every loud noise...it’s like I expect to happen again,” he said.

  Her brow furrowed.

  “Have you felt this way since you went back to work?” She asked.

  Bob nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve said something,” Daisy said.

  “I didn’t want you to know...no woman needs to learn her husband is a coward,” he added, “Especially from him.”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re not a coward. You went back and go keep going every day. You still write things and ask questions that make people mad. Being afraid don’t make you a coward; not facing what you’re afraid of makes you a coward,” Daisy said.

  “It doesn’t worry you?” Bob asked.

  “I worry about you all the time. I did before the shooting. But you’re doing what you love. You want to help people. If you ever walk away from that it’ll kill you inside,” Daisy said.

  He considered her words.

  “You might be right,” he conceded.

  “I know I’m right. You’re meant for bigger and better things. I’m not worried about money. We’ll make it — we’ll find a way, I don’t if we live in Lexington, Crystal Springs, or up a holler in Whitley County. Just don’t give up on who you because of what might happen,” she said.

  Bob pushed some beans around his plate with his spoon.

  “As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine. I think I’ll ask Ed about a raise anyway,” he said.

  Daisy smiled and resumed her meal.

  ***

  “So what are you saying? We need to sell our mines?” Lee asked.

  “No. We just sell a percentage of them. We – the family,” Joe interjected, “will retain a controlling interest. Selling stock will give us a stronger cash flow to invest in the stock market.”

  “I don’t like having to rely on outsiders,” Lee said as he rose from his desk chair in the study and walked to the liquor cabinet, where he selected a bottle of Canadian whiskey.

  “I don’t either but this is the quickest way to rebuild the family fortune,” Joe said as he eyed the bottle.

  Lee picked up two tumblers and poured a double shot in each. He handed one to Joe.

  “How about expenses?” Lee asked.

  “Now that the long awaited labor peace is here we can save some money through cancelled contracts for the handful of strikebreakers we had,” Joe said as he lifted his glass.

  “What else?” Lee asked.

  “If you’d like, we could sell off some of our real estat
e holdings – particularly the farms in Western Kentucky. It eliminates expenses and gives us an immediate shot of revenue,” Joe said.

  Lee sat his drink on the desk and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one from the pack and opened the lighter with a click. As he lit the cigarette, Lee looked to his brother.

  “Keep the big one outside of Paducah. A farm and all of that flat land might come in handy. Sell the rest,” he said.

  Joe nodded.

  “We have a few safe houses around the state,” he said before Lee started shaking his head.

  “We need them. There’s still work to be done,” Lee said.

  “Even the ones you’ve already used?” Joe asked.

  “Even those. We don’t dump any safe houses,” Lee said as he blew out a large puff of smoke.

  “Okay, we’ll keep the safe houses. One last expense is the money we’re paying politicians,” Joe said.

  “I figure we have to keep doing that,” Lee said as he picked up his tumbler.

  “To a point I agree. We are still funneling money to a few judges through third parties. Thankfully, their names didn’t come out during the trial. We need to keep up those payments. But these campaign contributions we’re making to candidates for state and federal offices is a waste,” Joe said.

  Lee sat down in the desk chair and leaned back.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “The Republican Party is in a bad spot right now. Hoover’s going to go down in two years. When he does, he will take the party with him no matter how much cash we throw to our slate of candidates, either now or then,” Joe said as he took a sip of his drink.

  “So we save our money and wait until the party is stronger,” Lee said.

  “And by then we’ll be on stronger financial footing and able to make an impact on Kentucky politics and beyond,” Joe said.

  “It’s gonna make a lot of people mad – some of them are old friends of the family,” Lee said.

  “Do you really care?” Joe asked.

  “Hell no. Save the money and cut the bastards loose,” Lee said.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Whaddya think of the new car?” Hill asked, looking to Ed in the backseat of the new dark green Ford Model A four—door sedan.