“Jessie!”
I turned them wide open and didn’t reply. I hoped he’d quit calling me, find something else in the cabinets to eat.
I flinched when he banged on the door. “Where’s the food? You said there was chicken. Biscuits. Where’d you put it?”
I said nothing and he left, then came back and banged on it harder.
He said, “You ate it. I found all them bones in the trash, so you can’t quit pretending you can’t hear me.”
I shut the water off.
I said, “Yeah, I ate it. You didn’t want it. So what.”
“But that was enough for all of us, Jessie!”
“How do you know? Maybe she only brought a couple pieces.”
“I can count bones in a chicken and she brought a whole damn chicken.”
I turned the faucets back on. He hit the door with his fist and I bowed my head. I slid down into the tub, covering myself with the water, full of shame. I began scrubbing hard with a washcloth, attacking my arms, belly, legs, every single part of me, as if I could wash away the fat, rid myself of the humiliation. The feeling of failure flowed over me like water as I rinsed and scoured until my skin was as raw and hot as my embarrassment.
His words from weeks before came like a nasty whisper in my ear, You ain’t never gonna stop.
What he didn’t know was what I’d eaten: a fitting meal for a coward.
Chapter 12
The still at Elk Creek was discovered by two agents in early June, nestled in a deep holler and surrounded by large rocks. The land disguised it well, and there was no telling how long it had been there. The full story was reported by the Wilkes Journal-Patriot, and it made front-page news. Normally they would have preferred to wait for someone to show up so they could arrest them, but maybe they wanted to send a message, because the agents made sure they had plenty of pictures showing hundreds of gallons of Murry shine saturating the ground. Nash Reardon was there, front and center, a serious look on his face, pointing to the gushing liquid, cascading from a large container like water rushes over rocks in the Yadkin River. I stared at the picture, a small hint of pride surfacing over the fact I’d had something to do with it, while imagining how I’d feel if it had been one of ours.
Daddy’s reaction to all this was to comment, “Somebody’s been careless or running their mouths about it. I can’t believe them agents found it on their own.”
I drew up at that, but then relaxed. How could anyone know it was me?
Soon after, rumors began circulating the Murrys were on a rampage. This was the topic of conversation over supper a week later, the night before school let out. Uncle Virgil, Aunt Juanita, and Oral had come over, and sat at the table with Merritt, and Daddy. I was at the stove, frying up a mess of chicken gizzards and livers, listening to them discuss how it didn’t make sense the way that still was found. Daddy continued to be confounded.
He said, “Maybe them agents are getting better at learning this area. That or someone’s got wind and reported it.”
Uncle Virgil said, “Maybe it was the landowner discovered it.”
I kept my attention on the food as I put plates on the table, placed the platter full of fried gizzards and livers in the middle. Next came a big bowl of rice, one with gravy, another with early sweet corn on the cob, and finally biscuits. For the sake of appearances, I sat and served myself along with the rest.
Merritt said, “Better get you some before Jessie gets it all.”
His comment turned my stomach so the food on my plate was as appetizing as if I’d dropped it in the dirt. He poked Oral, and they laughed. I sat back, and put my fork down.
Uncle Virgil said, “Royce Murry might think it was us.”
Daddy chewed on a gizzard and said, “Won’t be the first time.”
Uncle Virgil laughed and said, “Last time they came looking for trouble, I seem to recollect ole Royce got himself an ass full of buckshot.”
There was a lot of hand slapping on the table, more laughing, and of course Oral and Merritt soaked it all in. Aunt Juanita only smiled, puffed on her cigarette, while fingering the new necklace strung around her neck, tiny glistening pearls the size of little green garden peas. Uncle Virgil had a jar of shine he kept by his tea glass and he took more from it than tea. There was an air of celebration, the Sasser swagger on display, invincible and unshakable. How could I ever feel part of this family when I didn’t understand what they felt, or where it came from, that pride and honor? It would be like thinking I was beautiful and popular. It would be false.
Oral said, “I say we ambush’em before they git us,” which earned him the habitual reaction from Uncle Virgil, a smack to the head.
Merritt didn’t join in on this part of the conversation. He generally asked Daddy questions, but tonight, other than the little jab he’d made about me, he wasn’t saying much.
When the phone rang, Daddy got up to answer it while Uncle Virgil got to messing around with Aunt Juanita, reaching under the table to grab at her legs. She good-naturedly swatted his hands away.
Daddy said, “Hello?” and there was a pause, followed by, “You got to be kidding.”
Everyone around the table fell silent.
He said, “We’re coming.” He hung up and in disbelief he said, “Your damn house is on fire, Virgil. That was your neighbor.”
Uncle Virgil and Aunt Juanita jumped up at the same time.
Alarmed, she said, “Our house? How did it catch fire?”
She repeated the question, and pulled on Uncle Virgil’s arm. He jerked away, irritated.
He said, “How the hell do I know, maybe you left the goddamn iron on, or the stove. Hell if I know, but come on, let’s go!”
They moved toward the door as one, and she said, “Don’t you dare blame me! You leave them cigarettes burning all the time! You left one in the ashtray, and if I hadn’t seen it, it would have fell right onto the floor!”
Daddy was halfway to the truck and yelled, “It ain’t time to be arguing and blaming while the damn thing’s burning. Let’s go!”
I suffered my first twinge of denial. Surely the Murrys wouldn’t have reacted so quick. Maybe it hadn’t been them; maybe it was something stupid Uncle Virgil or Aunt Juanita had done. They tore down the drive and onto the road, the sound of tires squawking as they met asphalt. Merritt backed away from the table and stood at the screen door.
He said, “It was them; I know it.”
“No you don’t.”
He gave me an annoyed look. “The Murry still was just found, and now Uncle Virgil’s house is on fire, you don’t think that’s obvious?”
Hesitant, I said, “Not really.”
“They might come and do something here.”
I said, “No they won’t! I’d bet it was Aunt Juanita or Uncle Virgil’s fault. Who knows? Ain’t no reason to jump to no conclusions. Could be coincidence.”
Merritt eyed me, and said, “Coincidence? More like suspicious.”
“It ain’t all that suspicious.”
He moved into the living room, his face rigid.
“Is too.”
Like Merritt, I was afraid it was them. I wanted to deny it because I didn’t want to accept blame, but being too adamant might also sound fishy.
Reluctant, I said, “You’re probably right.”
The sound of sirens rose and fell as the fire trucks made their way up and around the steep roads and on toward their house. I stepped outside on the front porch and Merritt acted like he might want to run after them, but he stayed behind me, watching. Our house sat near the crest of Shine Mountain while Uncle Virgil’s was about midway down, and situated similar to us, in a deep curve that gave way to a straight section right before their drive. A trail of black smoke rode the breeze, appearing above the tree line, thick, and rolling. I was afraid of the outcome. If they lost their home, it would surely be my fault, no different than if I’d lit the match and flicked it into the house with my own fingers. When I went and spoke to Nash Reardon, I’d not th
ought of such consequences.
I went back inside, laid down on the couch, and stared at the ceiling. Merritt came in after a minute and eventually dozed in a chair. I got up when headlights hit the opposite wall where the front door had been left open. The room went dark again as the vehicle went around to the back of the house. Doors slammed and I went into the kitchen. The clock said midnight. Merritt appeared in the kitchen doorway.
He said, “This late, it can’t be good.”
Daddy walked in first, looking like he’d been working in the coal mines. Behind him came Uncle Virgil, Aunt Juanita, and Oral, all of them just as grimy as him, clothes and skin smudged and dusted with ash. Red-rimmed eyes blinked in the stark glare of the overhead light, faces pale under the smut.
My voice low, I said, “Is the house okay?”
Without answering, Daddy dropped onto his chair at the table. The rest of them sat scattered around the same way they’d been in only a short time ago, only the atmosphere was very different. I got clean glasses from the drain, cracked open a couple of ice trays, poured tea, and handed filled glasses around. Nobody spoke. My answer came from the way they acted.
Finally, Daddy said, “Stay long as you need.”
His offer broke the silence, and Uncle Virgil said, “I’m gonna get’em. They gonna pay for this. I had money kept near to the bed. They got it or it’s done burned up with the house.”
Daddy said, “We don’t know for sure it was them.”
I looked at Merritt, but he ignored me.
“Who in hell else could it be?”
“It could have been anything that started it.”
“You blaming one of us?”
“I ain’t saying nothing other than we can’t just go off half-cocked when we don’t know.”
“They got to be made to pay.”
“We ain’t stirring them up, not until somebody says something, and they will. They ain’t never been ones to not know when to keep their mouths shut.”
“Hell. They’s already stirred up. It makes me crazy. I got to do something about it. I can see’em now, snickering behind our backs. Making us look like dumb asses.”
“Won’t be to anybody but their own, and who gives a shit about that?”
“I do.”
“We’ll handle them when the time’s right.”
“Since when did you get to be boss man of all us?”
Daddy rubbed at his face, in a tired manner.
Uncle Virgil got up and paced the floor. He said, “I got to be able to make do; I got to think about how to get along.”
“We’ll have us a run here before long.”
“And what do we live on till then?”
“You’ll get paid working over at them chicken houses.”
“Hell. It ain’t hardly worth my time.”
“Virgil, you ain’t got diddly-squat owed now with that house gone. If you eat, sleep here, ain’t a thing gonna cost you one red cent. Save your money, you’ll be ahead of yourself in no time.”
Daddy’s logic didn’t set well with Uncle Virgil, and the old rub he had rose quick as his temper. He stopped beside Daddy’s chair.
“You know I ain’t never had what’s owed me all these years.”
His eyes challenged. Daddy shoved his chair back quick and the legs scraped the floor loud as he stood. Uncle Virgil stepped out of his way and Daddy went outside without a word.
Once he’d left, Aunt Juanita said, “Virgil, can’t you let that go? It ain’t his fault.”
“Hell no I ain’t gonna let it go. He knows it ain’t right.”
It was uncomfortable listening to them snipe at one another over Uncle Virgil’s idea of injustices and what he was owed.
Aunt Juanita said, “Always running your mouth, ain’t you got no pride?”
“Running my mouth? Pride? Hell, it ain’t a damn thing wrong with me reminding him what’s right and what ain’t.”
“He’s letting us stay here.”
“Like that’s supposed to make it even?”
Merritt shifted in his chair, while I grew preoccupied with a scratch on the tabletop and traced my fingernail along it. Oral paid attention to his feet, ears pink like slices of bologna. Daddy came back in and tossed some bills onto the table. Uncle Virgil gave Aunt Juanita a self-satisfied look. He picked them up and counted.
He said, “A hundred bucks? I can’t hardly begin to build a house with that. It’s gonna cost me twelve thousand or so.”
Daddy said, “You expect I’m supposed to give you money to build your house? It ain’t my fault the damn thing caught fire.”
“Well, by God, it ain’t mine neither.”
“Ain’t what it sounded like when we left out of here a while ago, blaming for this and that.”
Uncle Virgil shoved the money in his pocket. “It’s just talk. It didn’t mean nothing.”
Aunt Juanita changed the subject. “It’s late. Where’re we sleeping?”
There wasn’t much choice in a three-bedroom house and six people.
I said, “You and Uncle Virgil can have my room.”
Daddy’s eyebrows went up, and he said, “Good, that’s good, Jessie.”
Aunt Juanita said, “I appreciate it.”
Uncle Virgil said nothing, still obsessed with his idea of fairness. He was propped against the sink, ankles and arms crossed, seething. I left the kitchen, went into the living room, and laid on the couch, pulling the blanket off the back. I covered up, even my head, and hoped by the light of day it wouldn’t seem so bad. I was an expert at hashing over problems in the middle of the night. Worry always made sleep impossible, like I’d had ten cups of coffee. Having three more people and the one bathroom, plus I’d just lost the privacy of my own room; how would I manage myself? That compulsive need that came and went without warning?
No more talk came from the kitchen. Oral was talking a mile a minute, his voice carrying down the hall from Merritt’s room. Other footsteps passed, and I heard Aunt Juanita and Uncle Virgil whisper arguing. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, even with the front door still open and the night air slipping in. I pulled the blanket away from my face. What did Daddy think about what happened? Did he think it was the Murrys or some mistake made by Uncle Virgil and Aunt Juanita? I could see the back side of his chair, a part of his T-shirt. He didn’t move and I stared at that spot until I fell asleep.
The next morning, when the sun had yet to come up, I woke up with that strange awareness of others in the house. I threw the blanket off, and went into the bathroom and shut the door. I stepped on the scale, and noticed I’d lost a pound. I got off and stepped back on, to be sure. One pound. Happy about that, I brushed my teeth, and my hair. I pulled some off the bristles and threw the fuzzy clump in the toilet. I brushed some more, without looking in the mirror, and before I went out, I flushed the toilet, watching the strands disappear. I left the bathroom, and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I was startled by Daddy still sitting on his chair like he’d never left it the night before.
I said, “Didn’t you go to bed?”
“For a little while.”
“Oh.”
I went to the sink and ran water into the coffeepot. I got coffee out of the cabinet and scooped some into the basket. I turned a burner on, and the entire time I did all this, Daddy didn’t say a word. It was like he wasn’t really there. With the coffee on, I got out the packet of tea Mrs. Brewer had given me and put a pot of water on the stove to boil.
Daddy said, “What’s that?”
I held up the packet. “Tea.”
“What kind of tea?”
“Blessed Thistle.”
“Let me see it.”
“Why?”
“Just let me see it, Jessie. I don’t know why you always have to be so contrary.”
I handed the packet to him and he looked inside.
“Where’d you get this?”
“Mrs. Brewer, the school nurse.”
“Why is she giving you th
is? You sick?”
“No. I ain’t sick.”
“What’s it for?”
“She said . . . it’ll help my stomach.”
Daddy dropped the packet on the table and the subject, likely assuming woman issues. The coffee finished percolating and I poured him a cup. The water had boiled too, and I poured some into a mug, and dropped the aluminum steeping ball in. We sat together and he didn’t say anything else about the tea.
Before long the others were up and in the kitchen. Aunt Juanita was very different in the morning, hair gone wild, and makeup scrubbed off. She’d found one of my nightgowns, and it hung off her the way a flag hangs down a pole without any wind, all folded upon itself. I tried to recall how it fit me. Not the same, definitely not the same. Oral had on one of Merritt’s striped T-shirts and the same pair of dungarees he’d worn yesterday. Both boys sat at the table yawning. Uncle Virgil wore one of Daddy’s white T-shirts, his skinny arms ropy with muscle and tan below the sleeves only. I pictured doing laundry till kingdom come. I got up and put pieces of bread on a pan to toast.
“Anybody want eggs?” I asked.
There was an odd dancing of eyes between our “guests.”
I made it a statement. “I’ll fix eggs too.”
Aunt Juanita said, “I want mine fried.”
Ignoring that, I cracked several open into a bowl, and began beating them within an inch of Sunday.
Daddy said, “Mr. Naylor over to Lore Mountain Road has a place to rent.”
I dumped the eggs into the skillet and swirled the spoon through the pale yellow liquid, waiting to hear how that would be received.
Uncle Virgil said, “I ain’t renting again.”
Daddy said, “I don’t care what all you do; I only mentioned it as an option, if’n you want it.”
Uncle Virgil said, “Ain’t but one option, in my mind.”
Daddy threw his hands up, and went out to the mailbox to get the paper.
Oral, voice innocent as a two-year-old, announced, “Merritt says Uncle Easton’s got money buried all over this place.”
Aunt Juanita pressed her lips tight, and then did what Uncle Virgil would routinely do. She popped him on the head.
The Moonshiner's Daughter Page 12
