“How’d you clean it up?” Bo asked Goose as they stood with Hannah and Lila on the second floor of the distillery, looking down at the spot where Rachel had given birth.
Or, to be more precise, they were looking where the actual spot had been.
“Bleach,” Goose said, “and some sandpaper.” There was a very distinct clean area in the middle of the wood-planked floor. “Eventually, the floor will weather again, and the clean area will fade away and blend back into color of the other floorboards.”
“It’s already happening,” Lila pointed out and noted how the more trodden areas of the path were already darker than the road less traveled across the distillery floor.
“Well, hell,” Hannah interjected. “I don’t want that to happen.”
“You told me to clean it up!” Goose cried.
“I know, and I’m not saying the stain could have stayed on the floor with all the tourists traipsing across it. It’s just that we should mark the place.”
“Like a plaque?” Bo asked.
“Maybe something like the bourbon flavor wheel,” Lila suggested. “Engraved oak planks placed right into the floor.”
“That’s a great idea! Tourists will see the wheel when they arrive, and then see the engraved marker where Jacob Elijah was born. What a great way to connect the two!” Hannah agreed.
“You want to connect a baby and bourbon?” Lila asked dubiously.
“The press has done it already,” Hannah pointed out. “Why can’t we? He was born right here between the mash tubs and the stills. Think about it,” Hannah said, holding up her hands as though she were reading an imaginary sign. “On this spot the world’s first bourbon baby was born—it’s great! And you know Elijah would love it,” she added with a wink to Goose. “We could even note that the baby was named for your grandpa.”
“I love the idea, but you’ll need to ask Rachel and Brady’s permission, I should think,” Goose suggested.
“Of course, of course,” Hannah said.
Walker emerged from the still area, climbing a short set of stairs toward the mash tubs. Hannah relayed the plan for a marker in the floor, and Walker loved it.
“But there’s another way to connect the baby to bourbon. You’ve overlooked all that mash and distillate that was here when the baby made his appearance. It’s all in the barrels now, in the rickhouses,” said Walker.
“Damn!” Hannah cried. “Why didn’t we think to mark those barrels? I guess we could go back and find them.”
“Who says I didn’t mark those barrels?” Walker asked, looking from Hannah to Goose. “Marked them all Elijah’s Choice. Like the name?”
Goose grinned. “Love the Elijah part, but why choice?”
“Because the baby chose to arrive when those batches of bourbon were being crafted,” Walker said, laughing.
“As a new owner in this distillery, I give it my full approval.” Goose vigorously shook Walker’s hand before pulling him into a hug.
“Now wait a second, what about the rest of us?” Bo asked. “I think all owners need to have a say on the name for the special barrels.” Goose’s face fell. “I’m kidding, Goose, kidding,” Bo added quickly, patting his cousin on the back. “I couldn’t think of a better name for that bourbon.”
The group briefly spoke about their plans to attend the memorial service that evening for Cara Forrest’s husband; he had been the fatality in the wreck Kyle had worked the night of the ice storm. Judge Forrest had been in seclusion, keeping to herself with her year-old son. According to CiCi, the judge was a basket case and hadn’t been able to plan her husband’s service for several days. The community was shocked by the death, since Todd had been a popular real estate agent around town.
Walker went back to the stills, and Hannah and Lila headed back to the visitors’ center to deal with the crush of tourists. Goose was about to follow them when Bo told him he wanted to talk to him in the old rickhouse.
“Something wrong in here?” Goose asked as he followed Bo into the venerable structure. He knew this was one of Bo’s favorite places, and that his cousin liked to come out here to sit and think. He called it his time with the angels, referring to the evaporating bourbon, the angels’ share, the heady smell of which was always in the air.
Bo took a seat on one of two stools made of old barrel staves and indicated to Goose he should sit on the other one.
“Okay, what’s the problem?”
“Nothing,” Bo said. “I just wanted to share something with you. And I hope you’ll listen to me.”
“You know I will.”
Goose looked at his cousin and saw facets of the man he wanted to be reflected there: shrewd, passionate, and in love with Old Garnet. The two men were close enough in features—tall, dark hair, blue eyes—that they could have been mistaken for brothers. And in demeanor they were similar as well, although Bo had markedly changed—he had never seemed more relaxed or happy since Lila McNee had entered his life.
“Do you know we are in the very spot where Lila proposed to me?”
“Lila proposed to you? I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I proposed later, with Mom’s ring,” Bo added. “On one knee and the whole bit. But she came here, sought me out, and proposed to me. And you know what she had to do before she got to that point? Before we both got to that point?” Goose shook his head. “She had to forgive me.”
“You? But… what…?”
“Suffice it to say that I’d done stupid stuff. I’d abused her trust, and we had some really bad misunderstandings. I eventually saw the error of my ways, tried to make it up to her, but she rebuffed me at first, held back. And then she came to me, right here. She didn’t say the words, I forgive you, but when she proposed—well, I didn’t need to hear anything else. I’m amazed to this day we somehow came through all that, still together,” he said, looking up toward the ceiling of the rickhouse.
“I never knew,” Goose said.
“And I’m not telling you just to be gossipy, as I’m sure you know.”
“I won’t talk. So your point is—I need to forgive Harriet?”
“I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m only pointing out what happened when one person decided to forgive another. Do you see what kind of power that is? How wonderful it’s made my life?”
“I think so,” Goose said slowly, glancing at the shiny new ring on his cousin’s left hand.
“So my question to you is this: if you have that power, why aren’t you using it?”
31
Harriet returned home late on Christmas night considering the day a success. Her parents had only mentioned Goose twice and Mark once. It seemed as though they had classified her relationship with Goose as some minor episode, an ephemeral failure to be forgotten.
But while Harriet could at least look at that part of the holiday as passing without incident, she was still miserable.
With one exception, she hadn’t seen Goose since the day after the ice storm.
After he’d retreated to his bedroom that terrible night, she’d cried herself to sleep on his couch, only waking in the morning because she had been freezing; the electricity had not come back on, and the fire had died. She had refused his offer of breakfast and requested he take her home at once. All the way back to town, they had said not a word to each other. Once she’d entered her condo and closed the door behind her, she’d felt like the door had been closed on the entire relationship; there had been a certain finality when the metal lock clicked and echoed in the foyer of her home.
But then she’d seen him a few days before Christmas in the grocery store.
She’d caught him looking at her when she’d been moving through the bread aisle. And even though their eyes had met, he hadn’t looked away. He’d kept looking, staring at her.
She’d seen that look before.
It was a look of longing and desperation. She’d seen it at his house the night of the ice storm. She’d seen it at Lila’s house the night she fell into t
he creek.
But Harriet hadn’t been in the mood for games and looked away first. As she’d made her way to the checkout, part of her had hoped Goose was in pursuit. But he wasn’t, and she didn’t see him in the parking lot, leaving her to conclude it was really over between them.
So late on Christmas night she found herself alone and pondering resolutions for a likely dull New Year when her phone rang. Thinking it was her mother, Harriet checked but saw the caller was Goose; she hadn’t deleted his number.
She picked up before it went into voice mail, but couldn’t say anything.
“Hello? Harriet?” he asked, apparently thinking the line had gone dead.
“Why are you calling me?”
Her shortness startled him, and there was a pause before he spoke.
“Do I need a reason to call you?”
“Yes, I think you do.”
She was angry with him for the way he had treated her. Granted, she’d made terrible assumptions about him. But she’d tried to apologize, and he’d cruelly rebuffed her.
That’s when she’d known there was nothing else for her to do. If one won’t accept an apology, there was no hope to mend a broken relationship.
She felt well within her rights to demand to know why he was calling.
“I have a promise to keep,” he said.
“Promise?”
“I promised you’d be the first to see the new bourbon flavor wheel floor in the lobby before anyone else, before even Bo or Hannah or Lila.”
“It’s done?”
“They finished yesterday afternoon.” Harriet could hear the pride in his voice, and something inside her warmed to him. “The distillery was closed, but I was there. Family hasn’t been back to see it because of the holiday. So this is our big chance to see it before tomorrow. The distillery will be open, and I’m sure the tourists will still be coming to see the spot where the baby was born.”
“Have you told Bo and Hannah about it yet?”
“No, thought it would sort of be my Christmas present to them. A little surprise.”
“So is this my Christmas present?”
“No, this is me keeping a promise.”
She was disappointed; she wanted to believe he was giving her something special. But the way he made it sound, it was just an obligation he had to discharge.
“Look, it’s late, and you really don’t have to do this,” she said, trying to beg off.
“Please come and see it. It’s important to me.”
It was shortly after ten, dark and cold, and she had little patience for whatever Goose was up to. She knew he was somehow manipulating her, and her heart (go for it!) and her head (hang up on him!) fought for dominance along with her weary body. She was just plain tired.
“I’ve got ice cream.”
She let out an exasperated grunt. “Do you think I’m so weak that I’d drive out to the distillery on a cold Christmas night just for ice cream?”
“Well, I thought that—”
“If you want to show me this thing so badly, you can come pick me up. I’ll be up for the next fifteen minutes,” she snapped and hung up.
Harriet poured herself some Garnet on the rocks and added a splash of water. It was a nice way to pass the time until fifteen minutes rolled off the clock. If Goose didn’t show, she’d have a nice nightcap before heading off to bed. If he did show, the extra bit of mellowness imparted by a glass of Garnet would be a welcome addition to a likely awkward situation.
Harriet dozed off on her couch to be abruptly awakened by the doorbell. After shaking the cobwebs from her consciousness, she hastened to the door, mad at herself for her eagerness. Why should she be so anxious to see him again after how he’d ended it with her?
But if he’d ended it, why was he on her doorstep late on Christmas night?
Harriet opened the door to find Goose standing before her in an Old Garnet parka and shivering in the cold. It had started to snow again, and the flakes glistened and glowed as they passed into the orbit of her porch light and fluttered to the ground.
Goose looked her up and down, and his gaze fell at her feet. She was wearing the boots.
“I wondered whether you were going to open up,” he said, rubbing his gloved hands together.
“I wondered myself.”
She was fighting a very strong urge to slam the door in his face—just like he had shut her out on the night of the ice storm. And she was actually biting her tongue so she wouldn’t fling something at him like Give me one good reason I should go out with you on a night like this.
But she kept the notion inside her head and her heart and reminded herself it was Christmas and to show a little bit of patience and compassion. Listening to her better angels rather than her better judgment, she grabbed her purse and coat and headed out into the darkness with him.
Goose tried to be chatty on the ride to the distillery but was only able to elicit monosyllabic answers from her about her holiday. He eventually stopped talking but probably not out of a sense of defeat. As the miles slowly passed, they became enthralled by the exquisite natural beauty unfolding around them.
The snow continued to fall, but the road remained clear. A blanket of ethereal diamond-encrusted softness coated the rolling Bluegrass landscape. Trees, fences, barns, the land—it was all enveloped in the fluffy white suppleness only a divine hand could so effortlessly and perfectly impart. It was ridiculously romantic and Christmassy, and her bitterness and suspicion began to ebb as the snow gently descended like an unexpected yet welcome baptism.
She had never seen the distillery grounds look so beautiful. For a few moments after she exited Goose’s truck in the parking lot at the visitors’ center, Harriet simply stood and looked and listened. She thought she could hear the snow falling, like the faint echo of a broom as it was gently swished across a wooden floor or angels’ wings in the rafters of a church. There was no other noise except for their breath and their footsteps.
Harriet followed Goose toward the main doors of the visitors’ center and was distracted by something to her right. The old rickhouse, made of limestone and nothing more than a light gray, was nearly invisible amidst the falling flakes. Her brain had signaled to her that the building was missing, having disappeared into the winter night. In fact, with the deepening cover of snow, the entire world did seem to be dissolving into a cold, quiet nothingness, leaving them as the only living things in that realm.
Goose unlocked the doors and let her pass inside first. He followed and turned on the interior lights, and the Christmas tree to the far left in the lobby twinkled to life with light.
All the clutter and mess which had been in the middle of the lobby for the past several weeks had been swept away. In its place was a gleaming floor with the bourbon flavor wheel carved into lacquered oak planks. It was much larger than Harriet had expected, with a diameter of at least four yards.
There in front of her was the realization of Goose’s wonderful and unique dream. All the flavors were represented along the spokes, and in the middle of the wheel was a small dark red circle, which, upon her closer inspection, Harriet realized was meant to represent a garnet. She squinted and saw that carved in small lettering on the disc were the same words found upon the Old Garnet logo: uisce beatha, meaning water of life in Gaelic, and from which the word whiskey originated.
It was a work of art and a brilliant design. The bourbon flavor wheel itself as a concept wasn’t anything new, but to use it as a piece of functional art—an object of adoration in a place devoted to the craft of making bourbon—was nothing short of genius.
Goose removed his parka and threw it on a bench near the door. He then offered to take Harriet’s jacket.
“I didn’t think we’d be here that long,” she said, but handed him her jacket nonetheless.
Harriet walked around the wheel and looked at the various flavors, wishing she could detect more of them in a bourbon beyond the meager abilities of her palette, which only extended to butterscot
ch, caramel, and a few fruits. She stopped when the tips of her boots touched the arc of the slice marked cinnamon, a flavor she loved but had never tasted in a bourbon.
Goose kept his distance, allowing her to admire the new floor, and wandered to the opposite point on the wheel.
“Thanks for bringing me here to see this, Goose,” Harriet said, her eyes still on the floor. She had her arms wrapped around herself; it was cold in the building. “This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
“I agree.” She looked up at him and realized he wasn’t talking about the floor. “We settled the problem with the old deed and land shortly after the baby’s birth,” he said before she could react to his comment. “It’s a small percentage, but I’m now a partial owner in Old Garnet.”
“That’s great! And the border issue with the state?”
“Still working on it, but it should be resolved in the next month or so from what I understand.” Goose took a small step forward, looked down at his feet, and with his eyes traced a line across the wheel to where Harriet stood directly opposite him. “I didn’t bring you here just to look at this thing or give you ice cream,” he said, taking another step toward the center of the wheel.
“I kinda figured that.”
Goose took a deep breath and gave her that familiar, soul-searching stare as she waited for him to say what she knew he’d brought her there to hear.
“For the past few weeks, Harriet, I’ve been trying to figure out how we get to our next. Because when you were at my house on the night of that ice storm, I couldn’t see a way there. But what you said to me about Parker and George not forgiving each other—those words have burned in my brain since that night. And I realized you were right, how an apology could have changed things, how they ran out of time—but we haven’t.”
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume II, Books 4-6 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 2) Page 59
