“Morning, Mr. Sullivan,” he said to the shopkeeper. “How are you doing this morning?”
“Can’t complain, Johnny.” Mr. Sullivan’s gaze lost its sour expression as he stared at the mason jars.
“Thank you for the order, sir.”
“Always brightens my holidays when the wife’s mother comes to visit. I’ll credit your account two dollars.”
“I appreciate that.”
Mr. Sullivan lifted a jar and let the clear liquid catch the light before placing it back in the crate. “That’s mighty nice.”
Sadie quickly turned the page, knowing if Johnny saw the war pictures, he would be worried. He was already fired up about the Japanese, and the news in Europe would make it all the worse.
She flipped to a page featuring the actress Rosalind Russell on her wedding day. She was marrying a fellow by the name of Frederick Brisson. Sadie had no idea who the groom was, but she recognized Cary Grant and Loretta Young, who were standing beside the couple. They were all smiling.
“Would you be interested in five more jars?” Johnny asked. “I made extra this year.”
“I can’t give you any more credit than I already have,” Mr. Sullivan said. “The missus will notice if I toy with the books too much.”
“I was thinking you might like to sell these. We’ll split the profits fifty-fifty.”
Mr. Sullivan peered inside the crate. “Taking a bit for myself is one thing, but selling is another. Boyd will have something to say about that.”
“I’ve given him extra, so he’ll look the other way for a few days. It’s the holidays, so there’ll be some looking for a little nip.”
Sullivan regarded the jars. He was smart enough to recognize that folks were looking for a little extra nip these days. He held out his hand. “It’s a deal, Johnny. Come see me in a few days to collect your half.”
Johnny shook his hand. “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Sullivan arranged the jars off to the side so that they could not be seen from the street window but would be noticed by his patrons who knew where to look.
Johnny fished a rumpled piece of paper from his pocket and squinted at the dark scrawl that passed for handwriting. “Mama is going to need three bags of flour, a can of lard, and salt.”
“That’s all?”
“For this time.”
The shopkeeper looked over at Sadie. “Go easy on those pages, Sadie Thompson.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you heard any more news about the war?” Johnny asked. “I heard that the National Guard has stepped up their drills. They’re likely to get called up any day.”
“Don’t be in a rush,” Mr. Sullivan said. “I was in France in 1918.”
“But we won,” Johnny said.
Mr. Sullivan slowly stacked the bags on the counter. “Nobody won, Johnny.”
“You make it sound like you lost, Mr. Sullivan,” Sadie said.
“It was bloody, Sadie. And war’s never as easy to win as the politicians want us to believe,” Mr. Sullivan said softly.
“Couldn’t be hard to shoot a gun,” Johnny said. “I been shooting squirrels since I was eight.”
“Never easy to shoot a man, Johnny.”
As their conversation drifted to the cost of grain and crops, Sadie stared at Gene Tierney’s soft curls and her dark eyes and full lashes. The photograph was in black and white, but she would bet her fingernails were painted a pretty shade of red.
“That reminds me,” Mr. Sullivan said. “The Carters are having a party tonight, and Dr. Carter said if I saw you for me to ask you to stop by Woodmont. They are celebrating the young Mr. Edward’s wedding to his new bride. It’s going to be a big shindig.”
“And they said they wanted my moonshine?” Johnny asked.
“He asked for you specifically. Might want to take extra. I’m guessing young Dr. Carter will be in a buying mood.” He stacked a jar of lard on the flour.
“I’ll do that,” Johnny said.
Sadie nudged Johnny. “Mama is having a big dinner tonight. She’s been curing a ham for weeks.”
“Dinner will keep,” Johnny said. “We can’t afford to turn down the money. Especially now.”
“Why now?” Sadie asked.
The worry lines on Johnny’s face deepened. “No telling what’ll happen.”
Sadie closed the magazine. “The war already has Danny. In my book that means the Thompsons have gave enough.”
Johnny shook his head. “It don’t work that way, Sadie.”
CHAPTER SIX
LIBBY
Monday, June 8, 2020
The Woodmont Estate
Colton’s truck rumbled and swayed as the tires rolled down a dirt road filled with weeds. The road, like the greenhouse, had been left alone for three decades, and the woods had reclaimed a good bit of it. Though it