“How we ever gonna save enough for another car if you keep wasting the corn we’re buying? That’s twice now.”
“I can’t help it; geez, Merritt, do you want us to get caught?”
“No, but ain’t nobody ever showed up. Ain’t ever been a sign of a soul. You’re just spooked is all.”
I had to hope it would get better as time went on, this jumpiness I had. It caused internal turmoil, and made it difficult for me to manage that other thing, what Mrs. Brewer called “the monster.” It felt like one, the roaring inside me like some horrible beast, urging me to eat, eat, eat, then give it the relief it wanted. I hated it, and loved it. I obeyed it at times and ignored it at others, and that made it rage louder and longer.
Mrs. Brewer got to where she hovered over me like a bee over a flower, maybe seeing something I couldn’t.
I finally had to say, “I’m fine; it ain’t all that bad anymore.”
She folded her hands in front of herself, and sniffed. She didn’t believe me, and the worry lines on her brow deepened.
She said, “I’m only wanting to help you, child.”
I didn’t admit how uneven my heartbeat had become, even as I lay in bed at night, or how unsteady my legs were, as unreliable as balancing on toothpicks. I didn’t talk about how sore the insides of my cheeks were, the burning from my chest into my stomach, the odd way my lower legs and ankles swelled. I tried to do as she wanted, eating when she fixed food and brought it over. She took hold of my hand one time, frowned at the scrapes on my knuckles, which were from my own teeth from pushing my fingers down my throat. I pulled my hand away.
“That’s from stacking wood crates.”
She only shook her head.
* * *
Daddy came home in the late spring of 1961, almost unrecognizable, gray, sad-faced, thin as a scarecrow, and wearing the clothes he’d had on when he was caught. They were clean, but hung on his frame, flapping like curtains at an open window. It was good he was home, but strange too. I was seventeen, and Merritt fifteen, taller than me by almost a foot. Daddy wasn’t so keen at first on knowing about our shine operation, while I was itching to tell him how I’d just hauled a hundred gallons into Winston-Salem two nights before.
He said, “So, tell me, Jessie. What do you want to do?”
This was puzzling.
“What do you mean, what do I want to do?”
“I been thinking. Had plenty of time for that, and such.”
He gave me a sad little smile.
Merritt said, “Hey, Daddy, watch this.”
He showed him how good he’d become at using his hook, twisting it and going around the kitchen picking up this and that.
He said, “I even learned how to pitch left-handed. I ain’t as good as I was, but I been playing with some of the boys from school. I do all right.”
Daddy said, “That’s fine, Merritt. You’ve been working hard at it; I can tell.” Then he turned back to me, and said, “I might’ve been wrong forcing you into something you never wanted to do. I can see that now.”
“If you mean making shine, I do like it.”
“You don’t need to pretend just because of what happened.”
“I ain’t pretending. Ask Merritt. Ask Mrs. Brewer. They’ll tell you it was my own decision. I ain’t so bad at it either. Maybe not as good as Mama, but I reckon I could be, one day.”
Merritt nodded, but Daddy held on to his guilt tight, like I held on to my own shame.
He gestured toward me, and said, “You look like you been locked up.”
Mystified, I said, “What?”
His hand dropped by his side, like it took too much strength to hold it up.
He said, “Pale.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine, just working a lot is all. Daddy, I made a haul over to Winston-Salem.”
“You ought not work so hard; slow down some.”
“I’m fine!”
Merritt said, “She ain’t neither; she’s puking in the toilet all the time.”
“No I ain’t!”
He said, “I can hear you, even when you turn them faucets on, Jessie.”
I felt cornered. Mrs. Brewer could help me explain if she’d been here, her kindness, and softer words would’ve made it all right. I wasn’t up to arguing. It had been a late night, and Daddy had only come in just this morning, at the crack of dawn, using his old key.
“I’m fine. I am.”
The two of them swayed, like they were pitching about on the deck of a ship, but it wasn’t them. It was me. I placed my hand on the back of a chair, steadying myself.
I said, “Really. I am.”
Epilogue
A few days later we went to Big Warrior and I explained to Daddy how we’d transferred the materials from Blood Creek and rebuilt it. I was panting by the time we walked in, but if they noticed, they said nothing. He went over to the still, knocked on it, and smiled at the smell of the mash fermenting.
Daddy said, “I sure have missed that. Why’d you decide to move it here?”
Merritt acted like he didn’t know, but I said, “I figured they wouldn’t come back after they’d caught you, and destroyed the still that was here. Mostly though, because it was Mama’s favorite place.”
“That’s mighty good thinking on your part, Jessie. Don’t know that I could’ve been that smart.”
His words filled me, but not the way food did. In a good way, because I didn’t want to get rid of them, I wanted to hang on, hold them close. On the way home the three of us crammed into the front seat of the truck, and rode with the windows down, sweet mountain air filtering through.
Mrs. Brewer had come over and cooked a big welcome home meal, and while we were all sitting around the kitchen table, I said, “I’ll make a run into Charlotte in a day or so.”
Daddy said, “I gotta tell you. You do sound just like your mama.”
More words to cling to.
After I helped Mrs. Brewer clean up, Merritt and I showed him the money we’d saved, going to all the hiding places, and counting as we went.
He said, “You hear anything out of your uncle Virgil?”
We shook our heads. “Nope.”
He said, “Just as well, I reckon. He acted the fool most of the time. That agent said he came in there drunk and they followed him. It’s how they got me.”
It was like he wanted me to know he didn’t blame me for what happened. I brought up about wanting to buy a running car.
I said, “We got more than enough saved here. There’s a ’57 Ford that might work out good if nobody buys it before we do.”
Daddy said, “I’ll go look at it with you.”
We went the next day, and Daddy again was full of praise for my good eye. We bought the car and I drove it home while he and Merritt followed.
He said, “It’s your car, Jessie. What will you call her?”
I knew right away. “Lydia, after Mama.”
It caught him by surprise, and I thought his eyes shimmered. Well, it was all right, because my own vision blurred. The next evening I prepared to go to Charlotte, and Merritt and Daddy helped me load her up. These cars, well, it was easy to think of them as family members, and I already had a special attachment to this one.
Daddy said, “We got to get Troy to make some adjustments, but she’ll take right much, even now.”
When we were finished, surprisingly, Daddy hugged my shoulders, his fingers kneading my bones, as if he was verifying for himself my physical state, buried underneath layers of clothing. I was always cold, even though it was almost summer.
I leaned against him and said, “I’m happy, Daddy.”
I wasn’t lying.
I got in the car, and went down our drive. At the end, I stopped, adjusted the rearview mirror, and saw him and my brother, side by side like they were framed for a photograph. Before I headed out, my fingertips touched the edges of Mama’s picture on the dash, right where I could see her, like she was going along with me. I headed
for Charlotte, winding around the familiar curves of Shine Mountain, smiling at the completeness, at how it had come full circle.
* * *
Over the next year, I gained a bit of notoriety when I got tangled up with a few agents, but they could never outrun Lydia. Daddy got Troy Dalton to do the work, and she could go like a rocket. My driving got better and better, and every now and then, I’d see some agent in my rearview, trying once again to catch me, then simply giving up.
Daddy said, “Maybe you ought to take it on over to that racetrack some of them boys is using. Bet you could win.”
The back roads through the hills and hollers were enough for me.
Merritt and Lucy Morris became practically inseparable, actually that entire group of kids he’d taken up with ever since he’d played Captain Hook became his new crowd, while I realized I preferred being alone. I wasn’t into what the other girls were, the dances, the boys, the dreams of being Mrs. So and So.
Mrs. Brewer had gotten to where she moved a little slower, said her legs bothered her, but other than that, it was me she fussed over, always trying out some new concoction I had to drink.
She was at our house often enough Daddy said, “You ought to just move in.”
We thought he was only kidding until he got to building a little room off to the side, just for her, and old, scraggly Popeye. She sold her house in town, tried to give Daddy half the money, and he acted insulted by it.
“I ain’t taking no crotchety old woman’s money. How you think that’s gonna make me feel?”
I remembered my own refusal over not taking money for particular reasons, and when I raised my eyebrows he gave me a sheepish grin. They got along good, and I noticed he was the only one who could make her actually laugh, which usually made me laugh because she sounded like an owl hooting.
I continued to fight the battle against my internal demon, winning some days, losing on others. Mrs. Brewer flitted around me, urging me to eat, always watching with a worried look, always telling me to fight the monster.
I patted her hands, and repeated what I always said: “I’m fine.”
* * *
The event was unexpected. My heart vibrated, a spontaneous thing I paid no attention to as I drove Lydia fast around a curve. The odd trembling quickened, and within my chest came an unfamiliar pressure. Light-headed, I gripped the steering wheel, intent on working through it like before. I focused on the sunlight slanting across the trees, turning them so green and sharp it was like they’d been struck by lightning. The tires squealed, then became the cry of the gulls at the seashore from long ago. The scent of sour mash filled my nose; I heard Merritt laugh, and watched Daddy cradling Mama. I’d always been her daughter, and I’d become his too, bound by their love, but also by the moonshine that flowed in our veins. A sense of relief, happiness, and peace came over me, one of lightness, the sensation of being free. My gaze locked in on Mama’s picture, and at how her face appeared to . . . shine.
Wilke Journal-Patriot, September 18, 1995
An unsolved mystery may have been settled earlier today after the discovery of a vehicle thought to be owned by eighteen-year-old Jessie Sasser, missing since May of 1963, was uncovered in a remote area known as Switchback Holler, near the popular Moravian Falls. Construction of new condominiums planned for vacationers and tourists is underway, but was halted shortly after a bulldozer, operated by Tim Wheeler of Wheeler Construction, uncovered the 1957 Ford. Soon after, skeletal remains were discovered inside and the Medical Examiner was brought in. The remains have been sent off for positive identification and cause of death.
Local law enforcement in 1963 were unable to determine the circumstances around Miss Sasser’s disappearance, although speculation it was because of an old rivalry between the Sassers and another family by the last name of Murry has circulated among locals over the years. The Sasser family, infamous decades ago for their highly successful moonshine operation here in Wilkes County and beyond, competed against the Murry family until the members of the latter moved away to an undisclosed location. Some locals said it was in deference to Miss Sasser, who gained notoriety even among revenuers with the Alcohol Tax Unit originally dispatched for the sole purpose of shutting down the illicit still operations that peppered the hillsides back then. Aside from the discovery of remains, the vehicle also revealed hidden compartments, and crates of broken jars under the back seat, fitting the history of such pastimes. Because of the folklore around Miss Sasser, news of the findings brought many locals out, including Miss Sasser’s father, Easton Murry, 75, a retired auto mechanic, and her brother, Merritt Sasser, aged 49, currently employed as a teacher at the local Pine Tops High School and a coach for the high school baseball team, despite the loss of his right arm, in what he called “an unfortunate accident years ago.”
As the car was pulled out of the ravine, a quiet hush fell over the group of spectators as father and son approached the vehicle together to each place a hand on it.
Author’s Note
All writers joke about characters telling them what they want to do and we’re to just follow along. It happens with every book, but I can honestly say when I began this story I hadn’t planned on writing about an eating disorder (ED). I spend a lot of time contemplating what I view as important public issues, and I will sometimes land on a possible topic as I did with this novel. I’d written the scene where Jessie Sasser was frustrated with her father’s lack of response to her persistent questions about her mother’s death. Then, as so often happens when beginning a story, I was stuck. I sat back and thought, okay, she’s verbalized her frustrations with him, how might she show this through her actions? Within seconds, I wrote the scene with the peach cobbler, how she kept eating, and couldn’t seem to stop.
At first, I went along with the idea Jessie’s low self-esteem would simply be tied to weight issues. That was different, fresh and new from my other characters in my previous novels, who were all, in their own way, strong, resilient, and essentially healthy-minded despite the trials and tribulations I put them through. Jessie declared herself different almost immediately. First, it was the overeating. Then, she took over my keyboard and pounded out the first incident of purging. And there it was. My main character was going to suffer from an eating disorder.
What did I know about eating disorders? Nothing. It goes without saying I spent some very intense weeks studying about bulimia, and anorexia. I learned that, similar to autism, EDs can’t be defined absolutely in black and white. There is a spectrum of disordered eating, and some individuals display behaviors associated with both anorexia and bulimia. Some have distorted visions of their bodies. Some may binge and purge twenty times a day, while others twice a week. Many think they are controlling it. They get good at hiding what they do. Very good.
I used sensitivity readers to see if I was portraying this disease accurately. I thank them immensely for opening up to me, and what I was trying to show: the origin of the behaviors, the suffering, the longing for normalcy, the signs that things have reached a critical point, and what happens when the health of an individual is severely compromised. I owe them a debt of gratitude. The true intent of my Author’s Note, however, is to provide links to resources where those suffering from an ED and their families can get help. There is always help. Please seek it if you or a loved one is at risk or suffering from an ED.
https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/
https://www.womenshealth.gov/mental-health/mental-health-conditions/eating-disorders
https://kidshealth.org/en/parents/eating-disorders.html
A READING GROUP GUIDE
THE MOONSHINER’S DAUGHTER
Donna Everhart
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of Donna Everhart’s The Moonshiner’s Daughter!
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. At the age of four Jessie witnessed her mother’s brutal death. As time went on, Jessie came to her own conclusio
ns as to what happened. Do you believe Jessie was destined to become self-destructive because of what she saw, or was it because she couldn’t get the answers she sought?
2. Jessie grew to hate making moonshine, and this put her at odds with her father. Do you think his reasoning to stay silent was justified?
3. Merritt, Jessie’s younger brother, didn’t remember their mother’s death, and couldn’t relate to Jessie’s sorrow or her intense dislike for what he viewed with pride, a family legacy. What did you think of Merritt and Jessie’s relationship? What did you think of how he treated Jessie?
4. Jessie’s “best” friend was Aubrey. Do you think she was ever concerned for Jessie’s well-being, or did you find her mostly selfish and self-absorbed?
5. The time frame is 1960, and eating disorders were not well known. Despite lack of public awareness, Mrs. Brewer, the school nurse, recognized it. If she could have known Jessie at a younger age, do you believe her herbal teas, support, and advice could have helped Jessie battle “the monster”?
6. Jessie’s other family members, Uncle Virgil, Aunt Juanita, and cousin Oral, were each responsible in their own ways for creating discord. Of those three, who did you view as the most harmful to Jessie?
7. The leather journal Jessie’s father kept with their family’s moonshine history, as well as her mother’s picture, became critical and important items to Jessie, giving her a better sense of belonging and understanding. These inanimate objects held such significance for Jessie. What do you think is the reason for this?
8. Fire is a component used in various major events in the story. Why do you believe the author chose it?
9. What did you think of the ending? Given Jessie’s behaviors, did this seem like the most likely outcome?
The Moonshiner's Daughter Page 32
