Chapter 53
THE NEXT EVENING, Josephine arrived for the dinner party at Jack Daniel’s residence a little late, not at all surprised to discover he lived in the finest home in town.
The large two-story Victorian house, set back a good distance from the road and a quick walk from the distillery, was flanked on either side with magnolias and crepe myrtles gone a little wild.
A muted shade of blue, or what once might have been teal green, covered the weathered wooden siding, and intricate woodwork of gingerbread trim and decorative railings accented the wraparound porch.
Hanging ferns and potted geraniums, along with front flower beds overflowing with lilies, irises, and daffodils gave the place a touch of elegance she’d come to expect from Mr. Daniel.
As she climbed the steps to the front porch, soft strains of piano music drifted through the open floor-to-ceiling windows of what appeared to be a ballroom on the main floor.
Why was she not surprised. Her thoughts turned to the young woman Mr. Daniel had spoken of—Fannie, he’d called her—the one who had played the piano for his parties.
And she felt quite certain, based on the weight of memory in his voice that day, that he still thought of her, too.
She knocked on the door, wishing again she could have foregone this event, especially after yesterday’s discovery in the newspaper by Miss Mary. But she had given Mr. Daniel her word, and she was eager to talk to Dodge again. She’d seen him in passing today, but never alone.
She’d worn her best dress, which fell far short of anything remotely formal. But she had taken extra care with her hair. Thanks to Calla’s braiding skills, she trusted the elegant chignon borrowed from Miss Mary would hold for the night.
A woman in crisp, formal serving attire answered the door. “How do you do this evening, Mrs. Dunham. Come right on in. Everyone’s in the ballroom just there.”
“Thank you.” She continued in the direction the woman had gestured, then paused just outside the room, wondering at Mr. Daniel’s definition of a dinner party. This was a proper Southern social soiree.
At a glance, she estimated at least a hundred people—most already twirling and dancing on the polished marble floor, others gathered in small groups visiting, drinks in hand.
The room, a good thirty feet wide and at least fifty feet long, had high ceilings, close to sixteen feet, she guessed.
Rich red draperies framed the tall windows, lending an elegance to the room that complemented the grand piano in the corner.
If not for the candlelit crystal chandeliers that cast a soft glow over the elegant gathering, she might have believed she was still in Atlanta.
A touch to her elbow brought her around and though she instantly knew those eyes, she still couldn’t help but stare. She had considered Dodge Coburn handsome before, but this . . .
He wore a dark single-breasted waistcoat with matching vest, the pieces accentuating his broad shoulders and tapered waist. His white dress shirt with its stiff, starched collar contrasted with his tanned skin, and the formal trousers, night-and-day different from the dungarees he wore every day, were classic straight legged with a crisp crease down the front.
But it was his freshly shaven face that caused her mouth to slip open.
“May I have this next dance, Miss Dunham,” Dodge said where only she could hear, bending slightly at the waist.
“What happened to your beard?”
“I was told it was time to shave it off.”
“Bethie?”
He nodded.
“Remind me to thank that girl.”
He feigned a hurt look.
“Don’t get me wrong. I very much like you with a tamed beard. But this is also nice, Mr. Coburn.”
He smiled in a way that made her wish they were alone again by the creek.
She glanced around. “But are you certain this is proper under the circumstances?”
“Completely. This is Lynchburg, after all. We’re far less formal. Besides, if you haven’t noticed, other men are already eyeing you.”
She looked around and true enough, a few men were looking in her direction.
“Since you’re married,” he continued, glancing at the ring on her left hand, “you’re a safe dance partner.
Meaning they don’t have to worry about their attention being misconstrued.
Plus, at least to locals, you’re an outsider.
They see you as temporary and likely gone soon.
So best they enjoy the view close-up while they can.
” His grip tightened on her elbow ever so slightly, and she read hope in his eyes—and wanted to believe it.
But a thousand-dollar reward felt impossible to outrun.
“Lastly, Mrs. Dunham, the simple fact is . . . you are the most stunning woman in the room, and every man in this room knows it.” He glanced toward the dance floor. “Shall we?”
From the pianist at the grand piano, the “Swan Theme” from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake began to fill the hall as he led her to the dance floor.
A little rusty, she discovered him to be a confident and steady lead.
It had been years since she’d danced like this, but with each step, she felt the rhythm returning.
Dodge kept a respectable distance between them. Still, just touching him—him holding her right hand, while his other rested lightly on her upper back—made her grateful Mr. Daniel had mandated attendance tonight as her punishment.
Not missing the occasional glance in their direction, she noticed that most people were simply enjoying themselves.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said softly.
“You’re the one who has all the women staring.”
He frowned. “There are other women here?”
She playfully swatted his arm, then swallowed against the sheer magic and unlikelihood of this moment.
Being in a ballroom, in Jack Daniel’s home, in Lynchburg, Tennessee—a place she’d never even heard of a month ago, much less could have found on a map—and in the arms of this man. “Thank you for this, Dodge.”
“For what?”
Her eyes watered and it took her a moment to get the words out. “For knowing what you know, and yet still being here. With me. Like this.”
His hand caressed her back. “Josephine Dunham, if we weren’t on a dance floor . . .”
Her breath quickened at the look in his eyes.
“Later, after the party, if you’ll allow me to walk you back, I have some ideas I’d like to share. One, in particular, I hope you’ll say yes to. Let’s just say it has to do with figuring out a way to make you truly disappear, once and for all.”
Whether it was the promise in his eyes or the yearning, bittersweet nature of the melody of the music, she actually started to believe there could be next steps. And with him.
The music gradually ended, and a popular tune—“In the Good Old Summertime”—began. To Josephine’s surprise, Mr. Daniel tapped Dodge on the shoulder and cut in. But she didn’t mind overmuch. She needed a chance to catch her breath.
If she’d thought that dancing with Jack Daniel, who stood slightly shorter than she did, might have come with some awkwardness, nothing could have been further from the truth.
He was an excellent dance partner and never missed a beat.
The man was in control on the dance floor.
Just as he seemed to be in other parts of life.
She, on the other hand, had to concentrate to keep up with him.
“I’m glad you came tonight, Mrs. Dunham.”
“I am, too, Mr. Daniel. Thank you for inviting me.”
He smiled, obviously catching her meaning. “Are you surprised to find such elegance in these hills and hollers?”
“No, not at all.”
He looked at her.
“Well, yes, a little. But you have a beautiful home and this is a lovely gathering. Well done to your nephew, Mr. Motlow. That said, I have learned to expect nothing but excellence from you, sir.”
“My goodness, high praise, indeed, especially coming from you. And hard-earned, I’ll say.”
She chuckled. “Judging by the size of this gathering, it looks as though most of New York City showed up.”
“It is a good showing. More than half are established vendors already selling Old No. 7 in their establishments. But the rest are potentials we’re working on, Lem and me. Just you wait, Mrs. Dunham, they’ll be ordering Old No. 7 by the wagonload.”
While she couldn’t share his enthusiasm for that particular outcome, she had to appreciate his entrepreneurial gift. “You’re a natural-born salesman, Mr. Daniel.”
“Oh I don’t know about natural, Mrs. Dunham. I just learned while I was young how to talk to people. But mainly how to listen. That’s the key, I think. That and making the best-tasting whiskey in the world.” He wriggled his mustache. “Have you seen my gold medal?”
She laughed, easily understanding why women flocked to this man.
“I do credit most of my success to two men who helped me very early on in life. One a preacher, the other a slave.”
“George Green actually told me about them both, sir. Especially his father, Nearest. I would have loved to have known him. Admittedly, though, I found it odd that a preacher would be teaching a young boy about whiskey.”
“Oh, Dan and his wife Mary Jane taught me about far more than that. They, along with Nearest and his family, accepted me, gave me a home, a purpose, a place where I felt like I was wanted, and where I could make a difference. That’s a mighty hefty gift to give a person in this life.”
She looked into Jack Daniel’s eyes and, in a blink, saw both the man and the boy, and caught a glimpse of where the seed of his generosity to so many—including her—had been sown. And to people whose opinions differed so vastly from his own.
“Is he still alive?” she asked softly. “Dan Call?”
He shook his head. “He’s gone now too. Died last year. Everybody you love eventually seems to leave you, one way or the other, don’t they?”
Her throat closed, and it was all she could do to answer. “Yes,” she whispered, thinking of her family, of Sarah, her students. And even of him, and the people in this town who, so quickly, had come to mean so much. “It certainly feels that way.”