She stared at the wrapped packages, deciding to pretend they were full of pretty clothes. “I can’t hurt nothing by looking.”
“Look all you want. Don’t cost a thing.” He grinned.
“I bet Mr. Sullivan lets the new Mrs. Carter look and touch all she wants.” She had seen the woman only once since she had moved to Bluestone. Tiny and quiet, the new bride reminded Sadie of a mouse.
“You know as well as I do that the folks in Woodmont live by a different set of rules,” he said just above a whisper.
“It’s not fair.”
“Fair has nothing to do with it. It is what it is.”
Johnny was just nineteen but looked a decade older. Since their father had died two years ago and their oldest brother, Danny, had joined the army, Johnny had taken to working their farm from sunup to well past sundown. And when he was not growing wheat, he was working the odd shift in the furniture factory in Waynesboro. The weeks he was away were the hardest, as the farmwork and moonshine-making fell to Sadie. She had barely been to school this fall and knew she had fallen far behind the other students.
Prohibition had ended years ago, and the heyday of selling shine had long since passed. But there were folks, including the fancy Carters, who had developed a taste for the Thompson honeysuckle-flavored recipe. And honestly, anything homemade was tastier than store bought.
This time of year, sales generally rose. But this December had been extra brisk after President Roosevelt had told the world over the radio about the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. Everyone in town wanted payback, including Johnny. And their mother, who always fretted about Danny, stopped sleeping so well and began pacing the wood floors. She had seen the Great War and wanted no part of it for her two sons.
Sadie hopped out of the truck, burrowing her gloved hands into the pocket of Danny’s old gray wool coat. She hurried around to the back, ready to pull out several mason jars filled with moonshine. At Christmas, Mr. Sullivan always accepted three jars and credited their store account.
Across the street, Sheriff Boyd strolled out the front door of his jail. A dark shirt stretched over his rounded belly and tried to stay tucked inside faded jeans but had slipped loose in a spot or two. Pinned on his chest was a star that never shined up well no matter how much he polished it. Boyd recognized Johnny’s truck. His dark eyes sharpened with interest.
“Is Sheriff Boyd going to give us trouble?” Sadie asked.
“He and I struck a deal.” Johnny removed two of the biggest jars from the milk crate.
“What kind of deal?”
“I give him two jars of the honeysuckle white lightning, and he looks the other way.”
Sadie calculated the value. “That’s worth two dollars, Johnny.”
Johnny tightened his hold on the jars, the frown lines around his mouth deepening. “He threatened to call in the state police and report my illegal still, and I can’t have that.”
Boyd was not as tall as Johnny but was a few decades older, and he sported at least an extra fifty pounds. Being sheriff did not pay much, but he found ways to skim extra benefits to add to his meager income.
Boyd hoisted his belt over his belly and tucked in the shirt. After looking from left to right, he crossed the street toward the truck.
“Why don’t you go inside the store and give Mr. Sullivan his delivery?” Johnny said. “Have a look at the magazines.”
“I saw all the covers two weeks ago. They can’t have changed. And seeing as I can’t touch, I’ll have no way of seeing inside the pages.”
Johnny clutched the jars close. “Sadie, go inside. No good will come of you mixing with Boyd.”
“I can be nice,” Sadie countered.
“No, you can’t. Go on inside.”
Sadie smoothed the folds of her coveralls, which were a castoff from the church bin. Though they were older, age made the fabric soft, and they felt good against her skin. Last year the coveralls had hung on her slim frame, but these days her hips and breasts had filled in the empty spaces nicely. One day she hoped to find a dress in the bin and wear it into Charlottesville or Roanoke to see a picture show.
“I want to stay with you, Johnny,” she said.
“Do as I say, Sadie.” Johnny’s tone was a blend of fatigue and worry. “One thing for us to