I shook my head. She looked mad.
She thrust out a paper bag, and said, “I was trying to give
you this. I wanted to bring it to your house after school, but I can’t now.”
There was an unfamiliar, yet becoming, sparkle to her this
morning.
I took it and said, “Thankee.”
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Her excitement, usually contagious, wasn’t catching today,
even though she was practically vibrating with it.
She said, “Wanna guess why?”
I side-eyed her, then Willie Murry, who leaned against a
car every bit as capable as Sally Sue, with the same black color, and the bulkiness of a tank. I could tell what it was used for, running his daddy’s radiator poison whisky. I could tell about Willie too. He was mean, and his perpetual spiteful expression matched how he walked down the hall in school, chin
raised, almost like he dared anyone to cross his path. If they did, they’d connect with a hard shoulder or a foot placed just so. Aubrey couldn’t be still and wiggled with pent-up emotion.
I said, “I can’t imagine.”
She grabbed my arm and said, “I’m going out for a milk
shake with Willie. He asked me! And I can’t believe Daddy’s
actually allowing it! Law, his eyes are gorgeous. You ever seen green like that?”
I pulled away from her hand. “You got to be kidding.”
She mistook my meaning. “I know! Ain’t it something?”
She tilted her head. “You don’t look like you’re too happy
about it.”
I wasn’t aware of how I looked, so I tried to smile, and
failed.
She laughed, and said, “Oh, Jessie! You look like some-
body’s making you swallow poison,” and she giggled again.
We approached the school doors, and I shoved against them
hard. One side banged the wall, and Aubrey was silent as
we walked down the hall toward my locker, sensing I wasn’t
happy about what she’d said.
I said, “Ain’t a one of them good for nothing but trouble.”
She shook her head, denying what I said. “Willie’s nice!
Mama likes him fine, and you know how choosy she can
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be. I know what you’ve said about them, but Willie, he says
his daddy works for the county. He says it ain’t nothing
but a bunch of rumors. He said people just like to talk, stir things up.”
There was no need in arguing with her about it. It was al-
ready Willie this, and Willie that.
I said, “You gonna start riding with him to school?”
She tugged at the sleeves of the light blue sweater she’d tied around her shoulders.
She sighed. “I don’t know. It’s too early to tell what might happen. But I really like him, and I hate waiting! I wished I could see into the future. Mrs. Aubrey Murry. Don’t it sound grand?”
My only friend, head over heels for a member of a family
mine tried to avoid at all costs. It was too much to take in.
I came to my locker, rotated the dial on the lock, and thrust the bag she’d brought inside. She kept talking and dreaming.
She was at the point of what to name their first baby. Heaven help her. I grabbed the books for my first class as she went on and on. I didn’t want to hear anything more about the new
life she dreamed of with Willie Murry. There was a picture
of us taped inside my locker door where we sat in the back-
yard at her house, ten years old, grinning, the words “best
friends” scrawled across the bottom with the skill of fourth-grade penmanship. She’d moved on to choosing paint colors
for a nursery.
I cut her off. “He’s only taking you out for one stupid milk shake, Aubrey.”
Her eyes widened, and she said, “You’re just jealous.”
Well, that was plumb crazy. The long hall had filled to
capacity as bus after bus unloaded, and without another word I stepped into the flow of bodies, like wading into a rushing river. Classes came and went, and as I was released from each, I navigated the corridor, slipping along the edges, brushing Ever_9781496717023_2p_all_r1.indd 72
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against lockers, turning to avoid the press of the others milling about. When school started each year, I always took a seat at the back of the classroom, praying the alphabetical arrangement teachers favored to get to know us by name wouldn’t
mean I’d get stuck in the very front. This year I’d been able to shield myself, lucky enough to have a seat at the back of every one. I had no idea how this had worked out, but it was a comfort knowing there was no one behind me. This was a
new feeling that had started in the past couple of years.
Lunch came, and with it a tinge of regret for what hap-
pened earlier. She might not show up. I sat on the low brick wall near the big oak and pine tree, our customary spot. I
debated if I cared or not. I looked around and it seemed the whole school had come outside to sit in the sun, enjoying a
warm day. Everyone had someone with them. I was the only
one alone. With my legs straight out, one foot jiggling non-
stop, and my hands on either side of me, I studied the grass.
I stared up at the clouds floating by. I made out a unicorn on one, a rabbit for another. More time passed. I began to sulk.
Aubrey took me for granted. The fact she was pretty and well liked by most, she would never have to wonder what people
thought of her, or if they talked about her behind her back.
She would never have to hope for a seat on the bus. Why did
she even consider me her friend?
Maybe she was beginning to see me as I really was, fat,
ugly, and uninteresting. The murmur of voices and the oc-
casional laugh began to grate. I lifted my head long enough to look down the sidewalk and over to the gravel lot. Willie’s car was in the same place it had been earlier, so they hadn’t gone off grounds like some would do, although it was forbidden.
With only ten minutes left to the lunch period, I resigned myself to the fact she wasn’t coming. Well, fine. I nudged a ladybug crawling along the edge of the cement. It flared its wings, momentarily distracted from its mission, and then continued
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on. Finally, I noticed Aubrey hurrying toward me, and when
she was close she was full of apologies. She sat beside me, and I was so relieved she’d not abandoned me, I couldn’t speak. I don’t think she noticed as she hurried to open her lunch. She began eating, taking big bites while shaking her head, and
looking at her watch while I ogled her sandwich. She saw that and, without thinking, offered half.
I said, “No. Remember?”
She brought her hand up to her mouth, and she said, “Oh,
gosh, sorry!”
Aubrey acted as if nothing had happened this morning. I
tore my gaze off her food and saw Mrs. Brewer directly across from us, watching. I began studying the grass.
Aubrey said, “I had to go see Mrs. Adams about my test
grade in science. I hate that class; I really do. Willie says—”
She stopped, then cleared her throat.
She said, “How’s Merritt?”
“Okay. He might come back to school in a day or two.”
I was back to watching the ladybug now making its way
toward her fingers. She saw it and flicked it away. It landed by my foot. I wanted to share what was bothering me, explain
why I was so short-tempered.
I finally said, “I hate what Daddy does. Really hate it.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“I’m thinking about doing something about it.”
She perked up and said, “You are?”
I was about to admit it, but again, I paused. She smacked
her shoe on the ladybug as she waited for me to respond. I
gave her a disgusted look.
She said, “Well, I hate them things. They stink! Hurry, the
bell’s gonna ring any minute.”
I said, “Promise me you won’t say a word, Aubrey.”
She did that thing we would sometimes do when we were
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going to share a secret. She made an X on her chest, and said,
“Cross my heart, hope to die.”
The words came out fast, an elimination, like food. “Daddy
loves his moonshining and bootlegging more than anything.
I’ve always been of a mind it was the thing what killed Mama.”
She said, “I know.”
“Ain’t nothing I’ve ever said about that, or done, has ever
made a difference. He just keeps on. I feel like I ain’t got no future except up on that mountain, doing that, or doing
nothing. Least that’s how it seems. He ain’t ever said I got a choice. It’s like he expects it, and that’s that. I got dreams too, though. I want to do something, almost anything other than
that.”
Aubrey leaned in closer. “Has it got to do with the other
night, y’all getting run off the road?”
I huffed. “No! Why do you keep on about that?”
“Well, I know what you said, but . . .”
“Geez!”
“What?”
“It’s for all them reasons I just told you.”
There was more, but I didn’t want to explain how it made
me feel second class. Point out any more of my faults and
doubts. Despite my annoyances with Aubrey, she was still the only friend I had, and maybe I didn’t want her to get to looking at me too hard.
I finally half-whispered it to her. “I just might get rid of them stills myself. Can’t nobody know who really done it.”
She drew back, and her voice went a notch higher. “You
mean like what them revenuers do?”
“Uh-huh. Crenshaws got caught about a month ago. Not
that it’s common, but it could happen to us too.”
Aubrey was openmouthed and I nodded firmly as if to con-
vince myself.
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I said, “Daddy might figure it out though. Ain’t nobody
ever found ours.”
She said, “Somebody must’ve snitched on the Crenshaws.
That’s the only way anyone ever does.”
The comment made me look at her. I’d taken her a time
or two, shown her what we had, just two gals going down a
mountain road on their way to check on some stills.
“You can’t say nothing about this.”
“Gracious, Jessie, I already said, didn’t I?”
I said, “I know. I’m just nervous about it, I guess.”
The bell rang and we walked back to the school. Inside,
before we parted ways, I had to throw out one more, “Keep
it to yourself.”
Aubrey rolled her eyes and hurried down the hall. She
waved at Zeb and Willie while I hoped I’d not made a mis-
take. Sitting in English class, I recollected hearing about what happened to Mr. Crenshaw. Everyone in Wilkes County
knew about it because it had been one of the more successful raids anyone could recall. Revenuers and moonshiners had a
strange relationship. It was all about the chase, the elusive nature of it. Cat and mouse like. They’d been close to catching Mr. Crenshaw and the ones who helped with his operation for
some time. The story was there’d always be the backslapping
and teasing when he’d see one of the agents in town. A “just you wait, I’ll get you,” and Mr. Crenshaw laughing and saying, “Not hardly.”
Eventually one of the agents did find his stills, a couple
large sites capable of making hundreds of gallons at a time, and Mr. Crenshaw happened to be at one of them. This, in
and of itself, was of real interest to the community—how had they even found the sites caused a lot of talk, and catching him was always regarded as suspicious. Revenuers generally
had a hard time because they didn’t know the area all that
well. They came from other parts of the state or were from
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out of state altogether. The back roads, trails, the hidden hollers, caves, and creeks, were like a maze and some had been
known to get lost and had to have local help rescue them.
Now and then they’d get lucky through their own diligence
in exploring suspicious areas, or listening surreptitiously to locals, or having someone inform, and a still would be no more.
In Mr. Crenshaw’s case, it was the suspicion it had been an
informer, maybe someone in his own operation even. There
was always somebody wanting to put somebody else out of
business, especially if there was competition, or if there’d been a grudge between families. The revenuers brought their
government-purchased axes and went to chopping holes into
the sides of the boilers, thumper boxes, and the jars and buckets sitting full and ready to be loaded up were smashed or
overturned. The moonshine flowed then, just not where Mr.
Crenshaw wanted. He had to stand by and watch it all.
What was most important to Daddy was that Sassers were
moonshiners through and through, but I just didn’t see myself that way.
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Chapter 8
Daddy had a leather-bound book with the name Sasser etched
on the cover, containing entries all the way back to the days of our great-grandfather. Merritt had once said he wanted it, like a keepsake. I had said I’d burn it and Daddy had looked at me like he had no idea who I was, or how I came to be
there. What I wanted to do was fitting, considering Mama.
Daddy liked to thumb through the ink-smeared pages, and
whether I wanted to hear it or not, he’d recite various bits of information back to me and Merritt. He’d make some remark
about how our great-granddaddy had started a new still on
a particular day, or how Daddy himself had been entrusted
to run their biggest load ever into Tennessee when he wasn’t but thirteen. He pointed out special routes, secret trails, and obscure roads so deep in the hills, nobody knew of them but
Sassers. He talked about the rudimentary little maps no one
could understand unless the notations were explained.
“It’s important to understand,” he’d said.
He’d recounted what good times they’d had back then,
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reunion. It was as if he was
looking to prove our history was as deeply embedded as the ancient rock face on the southern
side of Shine Mountain. Showing me what I was made of,
that there was no escaping it.
It’s in your veins, girl.
Merritt loved hearing about all that stuff and asked ques-
tions while I viewed it like a mountain I had to climb, whether I wanted to or not.
Since I’d decided to set out and destroy the family stills,
I’d already been through the readying of them several times.
Each time I helped lug in corn while figuring out how to
tolerate Oral, and Uncle Virgil to the best of my ability, I told myself it would happen, it was simply waiting for the right
time. At the moment, however, Big Warrior was ready for
distilling, and once again, with great reluctance, I’d upheld the Sasser legacy. I waited for Uncle Virgil and Oral’s help, and heard them long before they came into view. Neither
one was as cautious as me, Daddy, or Merritt. They argued
back and forth, clanging and banging the buckets they car-
ried, used to catch the liquor. They finally broke through the trees, and Uncle Virgil nodded at me as he tossed a few on
the ground while Oral ignored my presence. They went back
for more, and while they were gone, recollections of Mama
came unwanted. I stopped setting buckets in place and leaned against a juniper tree, thinking of her, hating this part we were about to do. Uncle Virgil and Oral soon returned and
Uncle Virgil raised his voice and pointed at me.
He said, “Ain’t you gonna help? Or maybe you ain’t wan-
tin’ to mess up them fancy new clothes I see you finally gave in and bought.”
He said to Oral, “Get that oil burner going there.”
Oral said, “I will, damn; we just got here.”
I let Uncle Virgil think what he wanted. I didn’t owe him
any explanations, didn’t want him making fun of me wearing
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someone else’s castoffs. I started for his truck, moving easier in dungarees that fit good, paired with a plaid blouse that
fit too. I peered through the trees, left, then right, listening for what didn’t sound typical, vigilant and wary, my nerves
on edge because of their disregard for being cautious. At the truck I grabbed as many buckets as I could hold and started
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