Shine On (3 page)

Spotty came up and nipped at his hand. The dog yipped as Ronnie’s work boot met his fur. Emmie grabbed Spotty and pushed him out the front door. When Ronnie was in this kind of mood it was better to get the dog away from him.

“Forget about it,” he huffed as he put on his hat. “I’ll be expecting supper tonight but I’ll be home late. Gotta work outside on the farm for a bit. You can just leave my dinner on the stove.”

Those were the last words she heard out of him. He was always working out on the farm but there was never anything to show for it. He let go of the garden six years ago after Mama died of the flu. He sold the only cow two years ago. The land was overgrown. She tossed and turned most of the night. Her brain wrestled trying to put it all together. She hung in the balance of sleep and awareness for hours, thinking it through.

“Oh my heavens,” Emmie said aloud. Spotty turned his head listening for something outside.

When she did not speak immediately, he plopped back down on the covers. “The jars of ’shine, the late nights, always outside but nothing to show, the woods—that’s it,” she said aloud. Part of her wanted to toss off the covers and go look right this second. She knew it was a foolish idea. Dawn was approaching. So, she closed her eyes and made a plan instead.

Chapter Four

“W
hat are ya doin’ here in the middle of the night, girl?” Walter said, rubbing his long beard.

“I told you. I’m here to help. I’ve put it together. I know what Ronnie was doing out here. I’m not some kind of fool,” Emmie said, looking around the dark cave that was hidden in the hills near the back of her property line.

This had been her third night out here roaming around the woods. She was about to give up when it hit her that she hadn’t checked the only spot on their property that included a creek—the cave.

As she got closer she could feel it in her gut. She just knew she was right. Emmie did not know exactly what she was looking for out here: some old barrels, a still, or a person. Stumbling around the leaves she could see the faint glow of an old lantern coming from inside the dark entrance.

She’d never been so relieved when she smelled the familiar scent of Walt’s sweet pipe tobacco and heard him whistling “Old Dan Tucker.” He looked startled as she stepped into the mouth of the cave. Spotty ran right up to him, wagging his tail. Emmie wished she felt that at ease.

“You better get back to ya house. It ain’t right for you to be walking around here at night. There’s wolves in this forest, girl,” Walter scowled.

“There are no wolves in my woods, Walt. You sound like that grandmother in Little Red Riding Hood,” Emmie said, squaring her shoulders for the fight. Walter slowly closed the distance between them. The uncomfortable silence that passed almost made her lose her nerve.

“Does this look like a fairy tale to you? There ain’t nothing for you in this cave,” he said.

“I know what’s been going on. I put it together. Ronnie’s moonshine, all those late nights out here on the farm, with nothing ever to show. This is a still isn’t it?” Emmie asked. When he didn’t answer she continued, “You’re gonna need help now that Ronnie’s gone. You can’t do all this by yourself. The way I see it you need help and I need money. Done deal.”

“Emmie, I’ve known ya for a lot of years. You should know better than to walk up on a man’s still. If it weren’t me, you might be leaving with a hole that God didn’t give ya,” Walter started.

Emmie cut him off, “Walter, this is my land. This is my cave. That is my water you are pumping through that barrel. Part of that ’shine is mine the way I see it.” She kept her shoulders square and looked him right in the eye and hoped he didn’t see the way her hands trembled when she balled them up into a fist at her side.

“What do you know about ’shine?” Walter adjusted his pipe in his mouth.

Well, he had her there. She only knew three things about moonshine:

1. It was illegal.

2. It made Ronnie as mean as a snake.

3. It made fast money.

And none of those things she could say out loud. Well, maybe she could tell him the last one.

“I need the money, Walter,” she mumbled relaxing her shoulders a bit.

“Emmie, you don’t want this money. It’s not clean. Ain’t you working down at the shop sewing stuff?” he asked, pulling a long draw from his pipe.

“I can’t make a living on that. I’ve been trying. I just need to build up a little money, then it’s all yours again. I swear it,” she said.

“You hungry, girl? Cause you know you are welcome at our table any time. I thought Mae done told you that?” He stood and started working on some copper pipe that was losing steam, only half paying attention to her. He didn’t have time to be messing around out here with some half-grown kid.

“Besides, I hear Mr. Thomas has been trying to catch your eye. Why don’t you just let him? You could do worse than a storekeeper,” he added, never looking at her.

Great. As if this conversation wasn’t bad enough now she had to talk about Mr. Thomas.

“No, Mae invited me for supper anytime I wanted. I appreciate it, really. I make enough money to eat. And I don’t want to depend on Mr. Thomas anymore than I already do. He pays me for sewing and that’s all I need,” Emmie answered.

“You’re talking out of both sides of your mouth girl.” Irritated he started putting some goop on the pipe to no avail. It just kept running right down the side of the curved copper. “Ya say you got all the money you need from Thomas and ya got food. What do you wanna work out here with me and Ole Maizy for?”

“Maizy?” Emmie looked around. Was there another woman here?

“My still, Ole Maizy,” he said with an odd sense of affection, like it was a pet.

Emmie blinked slowly and nodded. Had the old man gone off his rocker? Her face must have asked the question she held inside her mouth.

“Maizy’s been in my family for years.” He patted more paste on the copper pipe. She noticed how careful he touched it. “My paw told me they named her Maizy cause that was what them Indians called corn and bein’ as we use corn to make the ’shine…” he shrugged then smiled thinking back on some memory leaving his sentence unfinished. He glanced back to Emmie.

“But that don’t matter,” he regained his gruff composure, “cause this is gonna be the first and last time ya see this here still. Now, tell me what’s going on. You are a good girl. Why’re you trying to get yourself all caught up in my business?” He hooked his thumbs under his overalls and waited for her to speak.

“Alright, here’s the truth of it. I could use a little money to help make the difference in the mortgage. But mainly, I want to go to college. I want to be a teacher. I need to save up some money to pay for school. Please, I can help you…” She looked around praying to God she’d see something she knew how to do. But he was right she knew nothing about making moonshine.

Spotty stood and stretched his legs with a little groan. When she turned to face him she spied something out of place. Propped up on a large rock was half a sack of flour. She could tell it had been used because there was a little trail of white powder spilling out of the mouth. Why in the world would Walt have a sack of flour out here?

Walter was paying her no mind. He’d turned his attention back to Ole Maisy. He was worrying with the watery paste to no avail. The spot where the two copper pipes had been fused together was still emitting unwanted steam from the joint. His hands were shaking; he wasn’t as young as he used to be. And this was hard work. Walter didn’t drink this stuff like Ronnie, or much of it anyway. She believed him. He did this for tradition. No doubt his family had been making moonshine for years before the 18th Amendment made it illegal to do so. Truth be told, the little extra money he was getting from it probably didn’t hurt his family either. He wasn’t wealthy by any stretch. Emmie watched him as his brow wrinkled with frustration. Walter wiped the paste on his overalls and stepped back to see what was wrong.

“Here let me see your mix, Walt,” she said. Emmie was surprised when he handed her the small bowl of paste. “This is too thin. Did you make this from that flour over there?”

“Who are you to be telling me what to do, girl? I’ve been doing this since before you were knee-high,” he snapped but his eyes didn’t hold any ill feeling toward her.

“Well, you’re right. I don’t know about moonshine. But I do know about baking and making a good batter. That paste is too thin. See, it’s just dripping right down the sides. You’re losing steam which probably means you’re losing ’shine,” she said, adding more flour to the bowl and giving it a good stir. “Try that.”

He gave her an annoyed look then walked over to Ole Maizy muttering something under his breath. He carefully scooped some paste onto the joint, careful to slather it in each of the nooks and crannies. Sure enough most of the steam quit coming out of the sides of the pipe. Emmie grinned like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“My eyes ain’t as good as they used to be. Can’t see how thick it’s getting anymore,” he said, taking in her expression. Then he pointed a finger at her. “Just because you make a good paste don’t mean you’re my partner. I tell you what though, you’re right. It’s your land and so I’ll make a deal. You mix me up some paste, I’ll pay you one dollar each week.”

“Walter, I’m not a child. I need more than that. I explained to you that I need the money. I can do more than make paste,” she begged.

“Emmie get back to your house before I change my mind. I’m not playing at this game any more. I’ll bring you your money soon as I can. That’s four dollars a month. It’s the best I can give ya right now.” For the first time tonight he used a stern voice, he was serious now. He’d always been like a grandpa to her. She couldn’t disrespect him now. He’d given her more of a chance than anyone else would have. Heck, some folks would have shot her for getting so close to their still. Folks around here didn’t mess around when it came to their ’shine.

“Alright. Thanks Walter. You just let me know when you need me to mix more of that up for you,” Emmie said and then turned and headed back toward the mouth of the cave. She patted her leg and Spotty trotted along after her.

“Um hmm,” he answered as she was leaving. “Be careful on the way back to the house.”

When she got back to her house it was nearly two in the morning but she couldn’t sleep. It was good to finally figure out what Ronnie had been up to. Finally it made sense why Walter had been the one to find him that night. Emmie appreciated that Walter was at least willing to give her a few dollars a month. That would pretty much take care of the rest of the mortgage but there’d be no money left for school. Walter would come around, she just had to find a way to make him see he needed her help.

Chapter Five

N
eedle in, needle out, change color. Repeat.

That’s what her job felt like today. Monotonous. When Emmie used to help her mother with sewing and smocking, she loved it. It was creative, relaxing, peaceful quiet. Mama always hummed as she sewed. Church hymns, lullabies, classics, it didn’t matter. She said it was impossible to be anything but happy when you’re humming. It spoke louder than words.

Emmie started idly humming Ole Dan Tucker thinking back to her conversation with Walter a couple days ago. She had seen neither hide nor hair out of him since their midnight chat. She knew him well enough to know he wasn’t going to skip out on the money he’d promised but Emmie wondered when he’d come for the paste. She’d worked every night practicing different ratios of flour and water trying to get a good thickness for the gooey concoction.

“Miss Emmie.” Young Max peeked his head around the corner. “Mamaw Mae sent me to pick her up some stuff from the store but there ain’t nobody in here to take my money.” He held out a few dollar bills and some coins that were wadded in his left hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Mr. Thomas must be out back. What’d ya need Max?” She smiled down at him as she walked behind the counter.

Max was Walter and Mae’s grandson, but he’d lived with them since before he was two years old. And from what she had heard that was for the best, his mama had died when he was born. Emmie barely remembered it but she remembered saying Mae and Walter like to have died right along with their only girl. When the boy never crawled or walked the boy’s dad had dropped him off at Walter and Mae’s. He never showed up again. Her mama said that’s what brought the old couple back to life again, having a little piece of their daughter shining on in that baby boy’s eyes. Max was growing up fine.