Chapter 15
JOSEPHINE STARED AT THE BOTTLE in Mr. Daniel’s grip, then out the window at the buildings beyond his office, and finally back to the desktop. Receipts, bills, and order slips lay scattered. She picked them up. All were stamped with Jack Daniel Distillery.
“You make whiskey?” she asked, her voice as hollow as she felt.
“Not just whiskey, Mrs. Dunham.” Mr. Daniel beamed. “World’s Best Whiskey. That’s the title the World’s Fair in St. Louis gave it last year, and we came home toting a gold medal to prove it.”
He looked past her, and she turned to see a framed gold medal on the wall behind her.
“If I weren’t so secure a man, Mrs. Dunham,” he went on, “I might be a tad offended you’ve never heard of my little company.
But as Dodge already knows”—he glanced at Mr. Coburn in the doorway—“neither had anyone at the World’s Fair.
We walked in just a nothing-of-a-distiller from a town nobody knew.
” His grin widened. “So I’ll forgive you this once.
But we’re growing fast. Soon everybody will know about Jack Daniel’s whiskey. So if you’re going to work here—”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a shot glass.
Despite his jesting tone, Josephine could only shake her head.
And though she didn’t dare look at Dodge Coburn to confirm it, she could well imagine the humor he was finding at her own expense, knowing what he already knew about her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Daniel, but there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.
I cannot accept this job, after all. I—”
Rapid footsteps thumped on the porch, and a young girl burst in, breathless. “Uncle Dodge! Mr. Carver gave me extra jelly beans. Said to share with you. But I told him—” The girl’s attention skidded to Josephine. “Who are you? And what happened to your face?”
“Bethie!” Mr. Coburn laid a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder.
Fighting instinct, Josephine met the girl’s gaze, remembering the name and not missing that she’d addressed Mr. Coburn as uncle. “I’m Mrs. Josephine Dunham. I was in an accident, but I’m going to be fine.”
“Well, you look like you got the tar beat right out of you!”
“Bethie!” Mr. Coburn’s tone sharpened. “Head on up to the cabin. I’ll be there directly.”
He attempted to steer her toward the door, but she resisted, eyes narrowing as she stepped closer.
She was a striking child—golden hair, blue eyes, athletic build, and the indigo dress set off her features. She had an almost tangible exuberance about her, a keenness hinting at intelligence just waiting to be nurtured. The kind of student every teacher longed for, but that came along only rarely.
Then in a blink, the girl’s excitement dimmed. Her eyes went dark. “Where’d you get that skirt? And that blouse? Those belonged to my mama! You oughtn’t be wearing them!”
“Bethie Grace.” Mr. Coburn took her by the hand. “Now is not the—”
“But Uncle Dodge, she got no right. She didn’t even know Mama!” She turned on Josephine. “I bet you’re staying at the boarding house. I bet you stole them from Miss Mary when she wasn’t looking!”
Heat rushed to Josephine’s face, made worse when she caught the flicker of doubt in Mr. Coburn’s expression.
Embarrassed and ashamed, she couldn’t get the words out fast enough.
“I promise I didn’t take them. Miss Mary allowed me to borrow them so I could come here today.
But I’m returning them immediately. In fact, why don’t I take my leave, and I’ll—”
She moved for the door, but the child blocked her.
Josephine half expected her to grab at the skirt, but tears filled the girl’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
Only then did Josephine recall what Miss Mary had said about the garments.
They belonged to a dear friend who passed away last year. So your care is greatly appreciated.
This precious child’s mother . . .
The girl’s grief—and the raw pain on Dodge Coburn’s face—threatened to unravel what little composure Josephine had left. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “If I’d known, I would never have—”
“Don’t you ever wear those again,” Bethie sobbed. “You got no right. You just got no right . . .”
Mr. Coburn scooped her up, and she clung to his neck, face buried in his shoulder.
“She got no right,” Bethie whispered.
“Y’all excuse us, please,” Mr. Coburn said, voice tight. “Jack, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He looked at Josephine. “Mrs. Dunham . . .”
Josephine struggled to think of what else she could possibly say or do to make things right.
“Take your time, Dodge.” Mr. Daniel came around the desk. “And Bethie, you stop by the house later, darlin’. I got pineapple shipped in special, and Clara’s making her upside-down cake tonight.”
Bethie didn’t respond until Mr. Coburn whispered in her ear.
“Thank you, Uncle Jack,” she managed, the brokenness in her voice wounding Josephine all over again.
Josephine watched Mr. Coburn carry her out. The door stood open and she saw her path to escape, but couldn’t move, her vision blurred with tears.
“Mrs. Dunham . . .” Mr. Daniel’s voice filled the silence. “You’ve no reason to feel badly about what just happened. It was plain bad luck, that’s all. Just sorry, rotten timing.”
Josephine shook her head. “I never should have come here today. I shouldn’t even be in this place,” she finished in a whisper, astonished again at how swiftly her world had come undone. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Daniel.”
“You didn’t waste my time, ma’am. In fact, far as I’m concerned, I’m still looking at my new bookkeeper.
Although I got to say, I’m a mite confounded as to why she hadn’t already gotten to work.
I mean, it’s not like she can’t see what needs doing clear as day, right in front of her.
Unless she’s holding out for a pay raise, which—” He fingered his goatee as though having to think hard on the subject.
“I guess I could bump it up a little. I mean, seeing as she can start immediately, and she was obviously so very impressed with my gold medal. As every woman has been thus far, and rightly so.”
Perhaps it was his outlandish suggestions or quick-witted humor—or maybe the way he cocked his head to one side, looking at her expectantly—but Josephine felt the hint of a smile. This man possessed a dangerous amount of charm, and knew how to wield it.
“Thank you, Mr. Daniel, for that most gallant attempt to help me save face, and to change my mind, but—”
“How about I throw in a free bottle of good Old No. 7 every last Friday of the month, just for kindness sake?”
She gave a half-hearted laugh. “That would not qualify as an incentive from my viewpoint. You see, I’m a—”
“Teetotaler,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Just like our good Miss Mary.”
Josephine hesitated.
“Oh yes.” He wagged a finger. “Miss Mary Bobo doesn’t allow alcohol under her roof.
Not a drop. And if she catches you imbibing?
” He slashed a finger across his throat.
“You’re gone and done for. Tossed into the street with everything you own.
No, ma’am, don’t cross Miss Mary in that regard. She has no tolerance for it.”
“And yet, you have a seat at her table. In her home.”
He frowned. “Miss Mary and I may not see eye to eye on every little thing—”
“That’s a pretty big thing.”
He seemed to weigh that comment. “Not particularly. I respect her boundaries and she respects mine.”
“So . . .” She recalled their initial meeting in the library. “You weren’t enjoying a little Old No. 7, as you call it, last night? During your visit with Ben-Hur?”
His frown deepened, then awareness moved into his eyes. “No, ma’am, I was not. When I am in Miss Mary’s home, I abide by her wishes. But interesting that you jumped to that conclusion.”
Josephine winced. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that—”
“Oh, I think you did.” His smile returned.
“As I said, Mrs. Dunham, I prize bluntness. I loathe trying to figure out what someone’s thinking.
Which is one reason why I esteem Miss Mary like I do.
And not to toot my own horn, but I believe she holds a similar opinion of me.
Hence, why she sent you here today. She knows you need a job, and she knows I need a bookkeeper.
Which brings us full circle again, doesn’t it? ”
Feeling put in her place, yet knowing she was in the right on the alcohol issue, Josephine offered a slight nod.
“It does, Mr. Daniel. And while I sincerely appreciate your offer, I cannot work for you. Or more rightly, for your distillery. Because to state it bluntly—” She knew this would sever any future ties with the man, but preferred to go ahead and tell him herself rather than have him hear the truth from Dodge Coburn.
What a laugh they would share together later.
“I’m not only a teetotaler, I am a suffragist. I’ve vowed to champion temperance, abolition, the rights of labor, and equal pay for equal work.
I believe everyone is equal under God. Men and women. ”
He leaned back against his desk, arms crossed, smiling. “I had you pegged, didn’t I? You are one for the rule books.”
She lifted her chin. “It was we, the people—not we, the male citizens, nor we, the white male citizens—but we, the whole people, who formed this Union. And we formed it, not to give the blessings of liberty, but to secure them. And not to the half of ourselves and the half of our posterity, but to the whole people—women as well as men.”
To her surprise, he began to clap.
“Well done, Mrs. Dunham. Is that your own speech? Or someone else’s?”
Josephine briefly looked away. “I’ve long admired Miss Susan B. Anthony’s courage and dedication, and have heard her speak on occasion.”
“Ah, yes . . . Miss Anthony. I’ve read about her. Quite a stiff debater, I hear, even so advanced in years. But the problem is, Mrs. Dunham . . . I agree with everything you’ve just said. Men, women, equality, black, white. I’m right there with you.”
Josephine stared. “But how that can be? You run a distillery.”
“Do you know the definition of temperance, ma’am?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course, I do, Mr. Daniel. Abstinence from alcohol.”
“No, no.” He raised a forefinger. “That’s the definition taken on by the American Woman Suffrage Association, or the like.
Let’s consult Merriam Webster.” He retrieved a thick volume from a lower bookshelf and made a show of blowing off the dust, smiling as he did.
He flipped through the pages. “Ah, here we are. Temperance . . .” He cleared his throat.
“Moderation in action, thought, or feeling. An avoidance of extremes. Restraint.” He emphasized the last word then closed the dictionary with a thud.
“My whiskey can be safely enjoyed in moderation. Yes, it demands restraint. As do many culinary pleasures. All of that lies within individual choice.”
Meeting his self-satisfied stare, Josephine grabbed the dictionary and thumbed through the pages. Then looked pointedly at him before reading. “Preposterous: Contrary to nature, reason, or common sense. Absurd.” She closed the volume with a similar thud and tossed it on the desk.
A gleam slid into his eyes. “Mrs. Josephine Dunham, you must absolutely accept this job. Think of the discussions we would have! And I give you my word, you won’t have to fend off unwanted advances from me.
No doubt you’ve heard, or soon will, about my reputation .
. .” He shrugged. “I do enjoy the company of women, and I freely admit to having several . . . female friends.”
Josephine had no trouble believing that.
“But to put it delicately, ma’am, you’re not really the type of woman I’m attracted to. No offense. You’re just a mite tall for my liking.” He winked. “And even if you weren’t already married, I’m quite sure I’m not what you’d be looking for.”
“Good day, Mr. Daniel.” Josephine headed for the door, his laughter following.
“You won’t find another job in this town that suits you as well. Or comes close to paying what I will.”
She paused on the threshold. “While that may be true, I prefer to hold to my convictions.”
He grinned. “Your rule book, you mean.”
Josephine gestured. “Door open or closed, sir?”
He bowed slightly. “For you, Mrs. Dunham, I’ll keep it open.”
She closed the door firmly behind her.