The Moonshiner's Daughter

by Donna Everhart

  I took a minute to sit and rest, before I added in the cornmeal that had been ground at a mill, special, so it wouldn’t create too much heat. I stirred out the lumps, then added in the rye. I had to let that sit for a bit, and while I waited I perched on a small boulder, combed my fingers through my hair, discarding the silky strands that came out. I wondered if it was common to lose so much.

  Before long, it was time to separate the mix into other buckets, so I could add malt. All this was blended back together into the boiler and I sprinkled some remaining malt on top. I sat down again, waiting for cracks in the foaming top to appear. By the time that finally happened, I was limp as a dishrag, and dreaded the long winding walk back to the truck. I finished by adding yeast; then I heaved and pulled on the large square piece of wood to cover everything. I sat on the boulder again, resting and staring at the still, feeling nothing much about what I’d just accomplished, by myself. In about three hours, what I’d done would be fermenting, and in three days, if all went right, it would be ready to distill.

  I began walking to the truck, and had to stop several times to catch my breath, leaning against various trees for support, seeing pinpoints of light dancing in front of my eyes. When I got like this, it was a sign I needed to eat, but my ordinary rituals were off because of Uncle Virgil and everyone at the house. Although more food was cooked, they always ate most of it, leaving very little behind. Last thing I could remember eating was the piece of bacon I’d snuck on the sly.

  The final time I had to stop I leaned against a big oak, rubbing a hand across my forehead where my hair clung. It was dirty work in the summer, and my clothes were covered with brambles, leaves, and splattered mud from the creek water. I pushed off the trunk when something moved near a tree to my right. I saw a man, one eye covered with a black patch. That same side of his face had an unsightly scar, the skin mottled, and lumpy. His clothes were dirty too and he wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt, even though it was warm, and a leather hat, showing a line of sweat where a piece of rawhide circled the crown. He had a shotgun pointing straight at me. He had to be the landowner.

  His voice demanded, “Who’re you?”

  I stammered, gave him a flimsy answer. “I-I was only taking a walk out here. It’s such a nice piece of land.”

  The one eye narrowed. He spit tobacco juice and wiped his mouth.

  “Walk?” he said. “Pretty dirty for just walkin’.”

  I said, “I fell, took a little tumble.”

  He said, “Hm. What’s yer name?”

  “Jessie.”

  “Jessie what?”

  “Jessie Sasser.”

  He lowered the gun. “Sasser,” then moved it so the stock end rested on the toe of his boot.

  He repeated my last name, “Sasser,” like he’d heard it before, then said, “Well, now.”

  I wanted to go, but he kept on talking.

  He said, “What’s back thataway?”

  “Nothing.”

  He stepped closer. “You sure about that?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “No illicit activities?”

  “No, no, sir.”

  “Things is changing; revenuers gonna see to it one way or the other. Guess you could say I’m helping to oversee it.”

  “You work with them?”

  “You might say it that a way.”

  He looked like he belonged to the Brushies, not the government.

  I said, “You know Nash Reardon?”

  “I don’t talk about who I know or don’t.”

  “Well, I was just out walking, and I’m leaving now.”

  He said, “I know this area pretty good, and I know it ain’t the best place for a casual walk. What you reckon goes on in them woods there?”

  I grew more fearful, believing he already knew what was back there.

  He cut a new plug of tobacco and said, “Maybe you can help.”

  He shared what might have been a smile, except the scarring on his face twisted it into that expression of pain.

  “Help? How?”

  He shoved the new tobacco in his mouth, and brown spittle lined his lips. “You might have some information to share.”

  I said, “I don’t know anything, and if I did, I wouldn’t share it.”

  With that pained smile, he said, “Fine. If you’re so inclined one of these days, I’m over there directly,” and he pointed to a completely different area I’d never been. “Over yonder is a small shack. An undercover hideout, you could say. You change your mind, well, that’s where I’m staked out. About two miles northeast.”

  I said, “It don’t interest me none.”

  After delivering an assessing glance, he then said, “You can’t run in both directions.”

  He went back the way he’d shown me, and anxious to put distance between me and him, I ran for the truck. Once there I cranked the engine, appreciating how the new battery made it dependable. I headed down the path and out onto the highway just as the sun was giving up its hold on the sky and sinking below the trees. I rolled the window down, eyes on the road ahead and the darkening sky above, thinking about the stranger and the last thing he’d said, like he knew Nash Reardon, maybe even knew me, but I couldn’t figure out how. I’d not given my name when I’d told Mr. Reardon about the Murrys. Maybe this man with the eye patch saw me that day, coming out of the building. That was the problem in a small town; nobody missed nothing.

  I rounded a few curves, and caught the glow of lights in my rearview, a car right on my bumper. It was as if it had materialized from out of nowhere, like a spirit. It had the low, sleek hood of a runner’s car, and my first thought was it belonged to the man in the woods, but I knew it was more likely a Murry if it was anyone. I pressed on the gas, accelerating from thirty-five to forty-five. It was as if I’d made no change in speed at all, as if the car had attached itself with an invisible link. I was immediately taken back to the night we were pushed off the road.

  I didn’t know how to drive like Daddy, who knew when to go faster or when to let up. He could do a one-eighty in the middle of the road, called a bootleg U-turn. It would get a vehicle pointing in the opposite direction, with a balanced measure of speed and a spin of the steering wheel in seconds flat. I didn’t know how to do that, much less how to take the curves when accelerating. I only knew how to drive normal. Not like a bootlegger. My hands gripped the steering wheel, while the rearview showed the car remained close. I could hear the sound of its engine above the wind whistling through my open windows, a deep, rumbling noise like thunder filling the cab. I pushed down on the gas and my speed climbed to fifty. I came up on a curve and had to apply the brakes, and as I slowed down, the car moved into the opposite lane, until it was almost alongside me and took the curve with only a slight squeal of the tires.

  The bend in the road straightened out, and I slowed down, my speed barely above twenty, hoping they’d pass me, tired of fooling around. They dropped back instead and I didn’t know if I should stop and pull over, only if it was a Murry I surely didn’t want to come face-to-face with one of them alone. I began to think about the coincidence of them being on this road just as I was leaving. Like I’d been spied on.

  My headlights revealed wrinkled tree trunks, steep drop-offs, and occasionally twin golden orbs belonging to wildlife frozen at the edge of the woods. The driver didn’t let up, and before long I came to our road. It was worrisome I’d been followed this far. I turned onto it, and my chest went hollow, emptied of blood when they did too. I came to the sharp curve, and what I’d been expecting happened. The car sped forward, swerved in front of me, but instead of slamming on brakes, they whipped into the drive and roared up the hill to the back of the house. I stared in dismay at the rear lights as they disappeared into the shed.

  A slow, growing heat of anger came over me. That was Daddy driving Sally Sue. Fuming, I pulled the truck in behind the house, parked, got out, and slammed the door hard enough the hinges protested. I stalked back and forth in front
of the truck’s hood, all the while glaring into the night, waiting on him to show up so I could give him a piece of my mind. He came down the hill, footsteps swishing through grass that needed cutting, and materialized from the gloom, lighting a cigarette. Nobody inside had thought to turn on the outside porch light and the night covered us like a black blanket. My eyes adjusted enough to make out his white T-shirt.

  Angry, I said, “Why’d you do that?”

  “To prove a point.”

  “What? How you could scare the living daylights out of me?”

  He said, “You think that was scary? What if it had been one of the Murrys and they started giving you a hard time, and run you off the road?”

  “I’d have stopped the truck before they could do that. Locked my doors. When they got out to mess with me, I’d have hit the gas and got away.”

  “And you think that would’ve worked?”

  “Yes.”

  “You pulling a stunt like that wouldn’t do nothing but piss them off but good. Let me tell you something. If they’d seen you alone, they’d have made sure you would remember it. They’d have got you, one way or another. What you reckon they would’ve done then?”

  I didn’t want to think about that, but I also didn’t want to admit he was right.

  Daddy said, “You got to learn how to drive and be on the offense, not helpless. You didn’t know what you were doing, slowing down, speeding up. That would’ve only made them think you were playing around. They’d have got you, girl, they’d have got you, and all hell would’ve broke loose.”

  He was scaring me, but I didn’t let it show.

  I insisted on my way of thinking. “I could’ve gotten away if I needed to. Besides, I could tell I wasn’t in danger.”

  “That was because it was me. Not them. I’ve seen what they’ll do. I’ve dealt with them sons a bitches a long time. I’d bet money they set fire to your uncle’s house, and it’s not the only thing they’ve got a mind to do.”

  “I would’ve come straight here.”

  He said, “You wouldn’t have made it. I saw them go by on Highway 18 just after you left. Had you been a little later, you’d have seen’em too. They were out scouting around, looking for trouble. I parked close to where you were, and waited. You got to learn to drive better’n that.”

  What he was aiming at was me learning to drive like a bootlegger, something Merritt wanted. Far as I was concerned, I had no need for it. He was about to say more when we heard a shuffling noise near the shed where he’d parked Sally Sue. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the other side of the truck and we ducked behind it. Someone stepped onto the gravel and went across the drive toward the house. Daddy motioned for me to stay put and began to creep toward the shadowy shape of a man. The space between them shrank until Daddy was almost on top of him and the man suddenly spun around, lost his footing, and stumbled.

  He put out a hand to steady himself on the back-porch rail, and said, “Shit, I didn’t see you there.”

  It was Uncle Virgil.

  Daddy said, “What the hell you doing out here?”

  “Thought I heard something.”

  “Heard something? Like what?”

  “Don’t know, something up yonder.”

  “Behind the shed?”

  Uncle Virgil cleared his throat. “Damn, I reckon. Somewhere near there.”

  I had a good idea what he’d been doing.

  Daddy waved a hand at me and said, “Let’s go on in the house.”

  Inside the kitchen light was too bright, and there was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. If I didn’t get something to eat, I was going to be in a bad way, but I wanted to wait until everyone went to bed. I could at least drink some of that tea, and I went to the cabinet and got the packet out only to find it was empty. I’d had at least enough for three or four more cups. Aunt Juanita came shuffling in, wearing my housecoat, and another gown. She had on a pair of slippers, new ones I’d never seen before, and she sure hadn’t come here with them. Even Daddy stared at her feet.

  She yawned, motioned toward the sink, and said, “We done ate supper.”

  I waved the packet in the air. “Who drank my tea?”

  She turned to me. “Oh. Was that yours?”

  I wadded the paper up and threw it in the trash.

  Daddy said, “Virgil, what was going on outside?”

  Uncle Virgil said, “It weren’t nothing, I reckon. Just thought I heard something is all.”

  Daddy said, “Hm.”

  Uncle Virgil wobbled, put a hand on the table, and said, “What? You think I’m lying?”

  Daddy said, “Why didn’t you take the shotgun?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I just didn’t.”

  “You’ve always carried one.”

  Aunt Juanita went and took Uncle Virgil by the arm. “Come on, Virgil. Let’s go on to bed.”

  Daddy said, “You notice anything behind that shed?”

  He was thinking what I’d been thinking.

  Uncle Virgil pulled his arm from Aunt Juanita’s grip.

  He said, “Nothing worth my time.”

  Daddy said, “Good. That’s real good.”

  Uncle Virgil said, “I’m going to bed.”

  Daddy said, “You need to get out tomorrow and see about getting a job.”

  Uncle Virgil mumbled, “Shit,” before he stumbled off down the hall, with Aunt Juanita trailing behind, her voice low and angry, questioning. My bedroom door slammed. I went over to the sink and scrutinized the clutter they’d made and left for me to clean up.

  Daddy said, “He ain’t never had the motivation to do nothing except get ajar and bend his elbow.”

  I turned on the hot water. I squirted dish soap, and gritted my teeth, my insides feeling so hollow, I was sure air could blow straight through me. I gripped the cabinet edge to hold myself still, fighting a dizzy spell. Daddy didn’t notice my distress because I had my back to him.

  Daddy said, “I’m taking Merritt down to Charlotte tomorrow. They got that arm of his ready.”

  Wishing he’d hurry up and go to bed, my voice clipped, I said, “All right.”

  He said, “You want to go?”

  It hit me wrong, partly because he made it sound like a regular outing, like we were going grocery shopping or to get a fountain drink, and partly because I was about to collapse.

  I said, “Why in the world would I want to be part of something like that? He’s gonna be a cripple the rest of his life all because of you.”

  Daddy said, “Jessie. Watch your mouth.”

  “Who cares what I say? It ain’t ever mattered before.”

  “It matters.”

  “I sure can’t see how.”

  Daddy walked by me and went out the back door and disappeared into the night. The shed light came on and I was certain he’d be out there a while. I didn’t care if what I’d said made him mad or offended him. I eyed the refrigerator as I turned off the kitchen light and pulled the door open. My hands trembled. So did my legs. I quickly gathered up what I could hold, sank onto the floor, and pulled the food around me like treasure. The ritual took over. I wasn’t thinking anymore. I only attempted to fill the void, working myself into a frenzy, restraint gone, and the rapid mechanical-like movements of hand to mouth became the only things that mattered. I forgot everything except the urge to keep going. I forgot about Daddy being outside, about the fact that Uncle Virgil, Aunt Juanita, Oral, or Merritt could walk in at any moment. I was in my other world, my body demanding more, more, and more. Comfort came, those spontaneous moments when I experienced something akin to euphoria, and I built onto it, layer by layer. Words circled, my mind whispered, It isn’t enough, it isn’t enough . . . until the kitchen light came on, and I was caught.

  Chapter 15

  Motionless, I sat on the floor, waiting for whoever had turned on the light to speak.

  Aunt Juanita said, “What in God’s name on earth?”

  My hair hung in my face, hiding my shame as
I considered the new slippers only two feet from me. So clean, I thought, white with pink roses on top, polished toenails peeking out from the opening. I felt her staring down at me, but I didn’t look up. Food surrounded me in a little pile. The empty plate, the bowl, smears of jelly on the counter, the milk that had dripped on the floor, it was all there where she could see and know what I was. Pig. My hand was over my mouth, holding in the partially chewed food. My chest rose and fell. Each second was a year. Daddy came back in at that moment and saw me on the floor with Aunt Juanita hovering nearby.

  His voice raised, he said, “What’s going on now?”

  Aunt Juanita said, “Hell if I know. I come in here to get a glass of water, and there she was on the floor, cramming food into her mouth like nobody’s business.”

  Daddy said, “Jessie?”

  How would I explain? This would most certainly appear. . . peculiar. I was sure I would choke if I tried to swallow. I put my other hand up, the need to be sick hitting me without warning. I rose to my feet, fought off the bizarre dizziness, and with both hands over my mouth, I left the kitchen. I shut the bathroom door and locked it. I spit out the wad of food into the toilet, and fought down the yearning to get rid of everything I’d had. I could hear them. They were both out there, whispering, making comments I couldn’t understand. Daddy knocked on the door.

  “Jessie.”