Chapter 46
BY THE TIME JOSEPHINE REACHED THE DISTILLERY, her side ached and her lungs burned.
She paused by the office to catch her breath, then went from building to building, but couldn’t find Dodge, Mr. Daniel, or Mr. Prince.
Everyone she spoke with said she’d either just missed them or that they hadn’t seen them.
Finally, she headed back to the office, knowing that whatever came was by her own hand. But she would not allow Gideon Cartwright to pay for what she’d done. Or attempted to do.
Mr. Daniel had left her a note about the distillery’s first gathering of vendors soon to meet in Lynchburg.
Only last week, he’d reminded her about his plans to host them for dinner and dancing at his home one evening.
And again, she’d kindly but firmly declined, making it clear that while she would work on anything behind the scenes, attending the ball lay far outside her official duties.
His note continued with a list of tasks to be completed, and she read through it, trying to focus, but couldn’t. When Bart delivered the mail earlier than usual, her unease only deepened.
She scanned the pile of envelopes, one of them horribly wrinkled and torn on one edge, the ink on the front smeared by what appeared to be water stains. But her first priority was always the newspaper.
Nerves taut, she flipped through the pages, readying herself for the worst. But .
. . nothing about Atlanta. She stared. Was it possible that The Chattanooga Times had chosen not to report the story?
That seemed highly unlikely, given the climate surrounding suffrage and prohibition.
But whatever the reason, she was grateful.
After sorting through the envelopes, she looked more closely at the one so damaged. Part of the address the sender had written had been marked through. She could make out the name Jack Daniel’s Distillery well enough, but the address itself was—
She exhaled. The sender had mistakenly written Lynchburg, Virginia, instead of Lynchburg, Tennessee.
No wonder the envelope had gone astray. What a sloppy mistake to make, such lack of attention to detail.
Then she read the return address—Department of Agriculture, Washington, DC—and bolted from the chair.
Dodge grabbed the last hay bale from the wagon bed and walked alongside Jake toward the horse barn. Not watching where he was going, Jake stepped into a pile of manure and nearly went down. He mumbled a choice word.
“Careful there,” Dodge warned. “If Bethie hears you, she’ll make you put another penny in the jar.”
Jake laughed. “That niece of yours keeps us all on our toes, that’s for sure. I sure am glad y’all are staying around, sir.”
“Thanks, Jake. I appreciate that.” And he meant it, even if he still hadn’t found a way to move past the closed door of Wyoming.
“Want me to take the wagon back, sir?”
“No, I’ll get it. I need to pick up Uncle Jack and Mr. Prince. Go ahead and get started in here. I’ll send somebody in to help.”
“You got it, boss.”
Dodge made his way back to the wagon, hoping Mr. Prince’s tour of the barrel house was going well.
Uncle Jack had insisted on taking him, despite a broken big toe and a slight limp, thanks to the confrontation with the safe.
He’d said he wanted to give Prince the full dog and pony show this time, impress upon him how rapidly the distillery was growing.
Dodge wondered if it was because Uncle Jack truly was getting ready to step back and hand control of things over to his nephews. The man didn’t seem quite himself these days. Then again, he wasn’t the only one.
Dodge climbed up into the wagon, thinking of the ring still buried deep in his pocket.
He’d been so busy with Mr. Prince yesterday, and earlier in the week, there’d been no time to talk to Josephine.
No, that wasn’t true. He could have made the time, sought her out.
And he determined to. It was foolish, he knew, but he dreaded sharing with her that he’d found her ring because he feared the discovery would be taken as a sign—a sign that she should go back to her husband.
It didn’t help that Bethie had told him all she’d learned about her the other night. About her twin brother and parents dying not too long ago. Perhaps she’d married in haste, and hadn’t known the man’s true character until it was too late.
Jessie nuzzled close on the driver’s seat. Dodge rubbed her ears then released the brake and prodded the mules forward. Whatever the situation with Josephine, he had to give her back the ring.
He’d barely made it a few yards when he heard someone calling his name. He turned on the bench seat and looked behind him to see Josephine running full out toward him. He set the brake and jumped down, wondering if this was God’s way of saying, Do it now.
“I’ve looked everywhere for you!” she yelled when she got closer, near breathless.
“Someone finally told me they’d seen you head up here.
Something came for you. It’s from . . . the Department of Agriculture.
But instead of addressing it to Lynchburg, Tennessee—” She drew in more air.
“They mistakenly addressed it to Lynchburg, Virginia. So it took longer to get here.”
Dodge tore open the envelope. A single sheet of letterhead with two pages of instructions complete with drawings behind it.
“Dear Sirs,” he read aloud. “It has come to our attention that the cattle farm at Jack Daniel Distillery is currently experiencing . . .” He skipped ahead.
“While there is currently no oral medication proven effective in combating Texas fever in cattle, the US Department of Agriculture is overseeing a cooperative effort with state governments to eradicate cattle ticks.”
He skimmed some more.
“To this end, in coordination with the Bureau of Animal Husbandry, we hereby extend an invitation to your farm to conduct a field test that would consist of tank systems and an experimental dipping solution. Instructions for the dipping stations are included and outlined in detail. Understanding that no guarantee can be offered for its success or against the potential loss of more cattle, limited trials conducted indicate this could be an effective solution in ridding the animals of ticks.”
“Could be?” Doubt tinged her voice. “Still, it’s more than we have right now.”
Appreciating her use of “we,” he continued reading. “Should you agree to participate, your cooperation in reporting your findings would be mandatory . . .” He skipped on down. “Sincerely, etc . . . Then they give the details for the dipping solution.”
“Which are?” she asked, peering over the top of the letterhead.
He held the letter where she could read it, too.
Her brow rose. “A mixture of soda, pine tar, and . . . white arsenic? Dodge, that’s poison. Is that even safe?”
“I don’t know. The government claims it is, in regimented doses. But what alternative do we have? We’ve already lost almost half the herd, and stand to lose the rest if we don’t do anything. We already have pine tar on hand. And soda, I can get from one of the dry goods stores here in town.”
“What about white arsenic?”
“I’ll try an apothecary in Tullahoma. I doubt he’ll have enough on hand, but even if he doesn’t, I’ll need to wire for more from there anyway. Does Uncle Jack know we heard back from them yet?”
“No, I came to you first.”
“He’ll be encouraged. At least this gives us some hope.”
She hesitated, glancing in the direction of the distillery. “Do you know if Mr. Prince has reviewed the entries in the gauger’s book yet?”
“He hadn’t when I left them earlier. But the ledger’s ready to go. I double-checked everything myself.”
“I know. I was just—” An odd look came over her face. “Do you know where they are right now?”
“My guess would be the barrel house. But . . . why?”
She seemed intent on not looking at him, the discomfort in her demeanor growing with each passing second.
“I think I’ll go check in with them,” she continued. “See if there’s anything they need.” She turned to go.
“Josephine . . .”
She paused. But again, would not meet his gaze.
“Whatever’s bothering you, you best say it outright before it burns a hole straight through you.”
Jaw tightening, she grimaced. “Oh Dodge . . . I’ve made a terrible mistake. I—” She placed a hand on her midsection as though about to be ill. “I altered four of the entries in the gauger’s book yesterday morning.”
He stared. “You did what?”
“I made the changes while you and Mr. Daniel were gone to the stillhouse.”
“But why? Why would you do such a thing?”
Dread clouded her features. “I did it with the intention of giving Mr. Prince cause to temporarily shut down production here.”
He searched her expression, having difficulty believing what he’d just heard, much less reconciling it to the woman he thought he knew. Yet the gravity—and regret—in her eyes said she was telling the truth.
“Dodge, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t sleep last night and—”
“Do you have any idea what such an error could cost the distillery? Even more, how it could tarnish Uncle Jack’s reputation?
And the reputation of this distillery? We’re the first—and therefore, the oldest—registered distillery in the country, Josephine.
Since 1866, Jack Daniel has been known for his integrity and for paying every last penny of tax due to the government.
He’s never had the slightest trouble with the Bureau of Internal Revenue. ”
“Dodge, I feel sick about what I’ve done.”
“But apparently not enough to have not done it. Did you even give a thought as to how this might affect me?”
“I did, in fact—”
“It’s my responsibility to make sure that ledger is accurate. And what about the rest of the employees and their families?” Anger and disbelief churned inside him.
“I didn’t change any of your entries. I changed ones with the initials GC beside them. Dodge, I thought that person no longer worked here. Then I met Gideon Cartwright last night and—” Her throat knotted tight. “I realized I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t do that to him. To any of you.”
He exhaled, the muscles in his jaw working. “You say you’re set on helping the wives and children of some of the men who work here, yet you do something like this that guarantees they won’t see any pay for weeks!”
“I know, I should have thought it through better. I acted out of emotion, based on someone who’s hurting terribly and—”
Dodge headed for the wagon.
She followed. “I’m going with you. I’ll explain.”
“And just how do you plan to do that? Better, I hope, than you’ve done with me.” He climbed into the wagon, and she hurried around and climbed up beside him.
Neither spoke until they reached the barrel house.
He set the brake. “Best if you wait here in the wagon.”
She jumped down alongside him, Jessie following. “I did this, Dodge. I’ll take the blame. And whatever punishment is coming.”
“Easy to say when the punishment will likely be fines you have no possible way of paying.”
She flinched, and though he regretted his harsh tone, he didn’t take back the words.
“Listen, let me find them and see where we are in the process. If Prince hasn’t reviewed the ledger yet, I’ll make some excuse to get it from him, then you and I will go back to the office and you will fix this. You remember which transactions you changed?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Good, then maybe we can get everything resolved without anyone else being the wiser. Anyone other than Uncle Jack, that is. He’ll have to be told.”
“I know, and I’ll tell him.” Though she rightly appeared ill at the prospect. “But Dodge, please know how sorry I am. To you . . . especially.”
He looked at her—anger and disappointment roiling inside him, and feeling more than a little betrayed. But what bothered him almost as much . . . How could he have been so blind so as not to have seen this coming. How had he missed it—a second time.