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 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 happened 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 nonstop, 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 occasional 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 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 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 convince myself.
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 mistake. 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 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. T
here 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.
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, talked about the people involved like sharing about a family 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 questions 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 carried, 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 wantin’ 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 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 back. Several hundred feet from the site, near to the start of the creek head, I could hear them arguing.
Oral shouted, “Give it here!” and when they came into view, Uncle Virgil had a jar held over his head, and Oral was jumping for it.
Uncle Virgil turned this way and that, laughing in that ridiculous hooting way of his while shoving Oral back. I dumped my load near the ones they’d brought and knew by the way they were getting more and more rambunctious, their little game was going to end badly. Sure enough, Oral jumped again for the jar, and this time, he knocked it out of Uncle Virgil’s hand. It landed on the ground, and busted. Uncle Virgil changed in a split second, going from laughing to snarling.
“Sheeyut! Now look it what you done made me do, boy!”
He walloped Oral on the back of his head. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the look Oral gave him before he stalked away, cussing a blue streak. He flopped down under a tree like he would spend the rest of his time sulking. Uncle Virgil kicked at the shards of glass, knocking the pieces from sight under the foliage. He acted no better than Oral, tramping around, and cussing. Finally, he went to the boiler and knelt by one of the burners. Daddy had started using oil burners a while back because they heated the stills without putting off smoke like wood fires.
I backed away as Uncle Virgil brought out a match, and flicked the end of his thumb over it. He fiddled around, adjusting the blaze, and I let go a sigh of relief when the flame caught and we weren’t sent to kingdom come.
Now we’d take turns stirring until it was the right temperature when we’d have to put the cap back on and hold it in place with a big rock. This kept the cap from exploding from the buildup of steam. It really wasn’t much different than a big pressure cooker. While Uncle Virgil stirred, I envisioned myself busting the still up. Over and over again I saw myself as I chopped and bashed, watching the mash soak into the ground, and me, wild and frenzied as I delivered blow after blow. My mouth filled with saliva like it would when I was standing in front of the refrigerator. I pictured Daddy discovering it, and coming home with the news, perplexed as to who’d found it, and had the nerve to defy him and what was his.
* * *
Ever since telling Aubrey, I’d been uneasy. She got to asking about it all the time, more than was necessary, in my opinion.
“You done it yet?”
I shook my head, irritated, and her mouth would go down, disappointed in my lack of gumption maybe.
Her remark was similar to Merritt’s, “You ain’t never gonna do it.”
Like I’d been bluffing, like I was nothing but talk. I didn’t understand why it mattered so much to her.
“I got to be careful. It takes time. I got to think. And quit asking me about it.”
She got huffy and stormed off. After that I’d gone to lunch alone more than I cared to think about, and the bus rides for the past week were hell. Merritt started back to school and sat with his friend Curt Miller, Abel, or sometimes Oral, while I stood in the aisle, ignoring him, ignoring everyone. It was okay because I was preoccupied, obsessing, my mind restless, and I couldn’t concentrate in my classes. I kept rehashing where Daddy would be, where he might want me to go, and I had to consider Uncle Virgil and Oral too. Nothing made me comfortable enough to pull it off. I began to think I was too chicken. I began to think maybe Aubrey was right.
The stills were all at the fermenting stage; at least six hundred gallons would come from them, meaning Daddy and Uncle Virgil would be busy hauling for the next few nights, collecting their cash, and, you know, breaking the law. I listened carefully to him saying where they needed to go, and recognized I might have the opportunity I’d waited for. During the runs, the both of them would be gone for hours. I had a chance. Next day I went to the shed during the late afternoon. The inside was dim; the rays from the setting sun directly behind the building seeped through thin cracks in the walls and made jagged yellow lines on the dirt floor. Like a jail cell. Daddy had just taken off in Sally Sue, and I could smell the exhaust when I went in, and got the axe. I hurried down the hill, and shoved the tool under the front seat of the truck. When I straightened up, I saw Merritt at the back door. His face was flushed and I froze. What if he’d seen me?
He said,
“Ain’t nothing for supper?”
Relieved, I said, “I was about to run to the store. What do you want?”
“Chicken.”
I almost laughed at his choice. Back inside I took down the small tin box in the cabinet, and stuffed some money in my pocket. The truck was slow to crank, turning over a few times, but finally the engine came to life. Once on the road, I drove that old truck hard as I could, as if I was punishing it. It shook and rattled like it was about to fall apart, but held tight in the curves. Finally, I slowed down and began talking, reassuring myself I could do it, that it would be all right.
“Be quick and don’t think too hard on it, do what you need to do, and get it over with. Them other two will be easier then. You only need the confidence of a first time. Afterward, you’ll go into Wilkesboro, pick up what to cook for supper, go home, fix it, and maybe even eat a little. Act normal.”
I fell silent. It had been a while since I’d sat at the table and I’d noticed Daddy had quit teasing me. As I washed the pots, I’d seen him looking at me, hesitating before he picked up his fork, like some measure of blame had maybe shown up. I was living on coffee and water alone, but each time I got on the scale, I wasn’t never satisfied. When I looked in the mirror, I was repulsed. If I didn’t do what my mind wanted, I hated myself even more.
I parked in the spot well hidden off Boomer Road, and grabbed the axe out from under the front seat. I’d chosen this one because out of the three, it was the easiest to get to. I ran for the cover of trees, then stopped after going only a short distance, feeling weak. I ignored my shakiness, and went along the familiar path. There were a few areas off to the sides where the weeds were pressed down, as if someone was going one way, and then changed their mind. It could have been deer, or maybe a black bear. I went on, my belly knotted up. I came to the last turn of the creek, and stopped. I hunkered down, peering through the underbrush, my heart hammering in my ears while I inched forward to see the area better.
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