Chapter 18 #2
“Same could be said for you. You’ve been around this place longer than I have. What with your father having been such a part of things.”
George smiled. “We seen a lot, haven’t we?”
“We have.” Dodge looked ahead. “But Uncle Jack’ll be fine, no matter what happens. He always is. You know as well as I do, Jack Daniel doesn’t give up for anything or anyone.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” George’s gaze drifted toward the stillhouse. “Sometimes I think what he’s building here’s gonna outlast us all.”
The words sank in as Dodge took in the early-morning bustle of the distillery.
A new barrel house was going up. Sugar maple was being stacked in five-foot cords for charcoal, doused in raw whiskey, and set to burn in the rickyard.
Production had doubled just to keep up with demand.
Another crew hauled cold limestone spring water from Cave Spring Hollow, which Jack swore was part of the secret to his whiskey.
George’s voice softened. “I wish my daddy could’ve seen all this. Would’ve made him so proud.”
“Your daddy was a good man. I miss him, too.”
Dan Call’s farm lay just over the rise, and Dodge often walked those hills and hollers, picturing a young preacher, an eight-year-old Jack, and Nearest Green working side-by-side, unknowingly building something that stood to outlast them all. What was he building that would endure like that?
For the second time that day, something shifted inside him and left him feeling unmoored. An odd sensation given he’d decided to stay put.
Sensing George’s attention, Dodge gathered himself.
“I do miss your daddy’s stories. The way he and Uncle Jack would sit on the front porch late into the night, laughing and talking about old times.
And your daddy playing that fiddle of his like nobody else could.
” He smiled faintly. “Those were good days. You know your laugh still reminds me of his.”
George glanced over. “Really?”
Dodge nodded and clapped his shoulder. “And rest assured, my friend, your father is proud. Proud of what he helped build here, but even prouder of you and your brothers and sisters. Of all his family. He talked about y’all every chance he got.
And who knows?” Dodge shrugged. “Maybe he can see. Maybe he and Kathleen both can.”
They walked on until the path split.
“Hey,” George said. “Don’t go telling Miss Bethie it was me said you thumped her.”
Dodge smiled. “I won’t. But I appreciate you letting me know.”
“Us papas . . . and uncles . . . we gotta stick together.” George gave his customary parting salute, then paused. “You know anything about that woman? The one wearing your sister’s clothes?”
“Mrs. Dunham? Not much. Why?”
“It’s just that . . . there’s a rumor going ’round about her.
Ain’t my business, but Bethie’s been stirring things up.
Mind you, I ain’t even laid eyes on this woman.
But folks were saying last night they think she’s lying about being married.
” George briefly looked away. “Some say she might be . . . in the family way. That her daddy beat her and turned her out. And that she came here to hide.”
Images flashed in Dodge’s mind—Mrs. Dunham’s bruised face, the way she’d bent down to pick up that rock before climbing into the wagon, her sickness on the road, the panic over the missing ring. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember if she’d been wearing a ring when she climbed into the wagon.
“All I know,” Dodge finally said, “is Slim Poyner asked me to give her a ride when I was pulling out of Tullahoma. So I did. As for the rest . . . people talk. Especially in this town. But Bethie seeing her in Kathleen’s clothes was just bad timing.
Mrs. Dunham didn’t do it on purpose. She didn’t even know.
Miss Mary loaned her those clothes for an appointment. ”
“Oh, folks know all about that appointment, too. Jack was talking last night, saying he tried to hire somebody for the office.” George gave him a look.
“Wasn’t hard piecing those two things together.
But hear tell, she turned him down. That didn’t sit well with some folks, them taking offense on Uncle Jack’s part. ”
Dodge felt heat climb his neck. “But if she’d said yes to Jack’s offer, those same people would be angry that an outsider got it. I swear, we’d all be better off if people would just mind their own business!”
Hearing the anger in his own voice—and seeing George’s uncertainty—Dodge blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I reacted that way.”
George’s look was steady, compassionate.
Dodge lowered his head, clarity coming. “Kathleen,” he said quietly. “You remember how folks talked about her behind her back? Even years after, and even after the kindness she’d showed them. I still see it sometimes when they look at Bethie.” He swallowed. “I want better for her.”
“And she’ll have it, my friend. From the people who matter.”
Dodge nodded. “That’s something Uncle Nearest would have said to me.”
“Did I mention I’m glad you’re staying?” George smiled, then took the path toward the barrel house.
Dodge returned his salute and headed for the office, wondering if the pull of Wyoming—and all he was determined to let go of—would ever let go of him.