Memories Of Another Day Part 5

He didn't answer.

"Maw was right," she said. "All you men are alike. You're on'y thinkin' o' one thmg. It's the Devil in you. Maw says."

Rachel came back, followed by the two smaller children. "You git them two kids cleaned up," Molly Ann commanded. "Then go find Alice out in the vegetable garden an' tell 'em to come in an' finish their lessons."

Obediently, the children went off to the house. Molly Ann reached up and took Mase from his sling. He gurgled happily, pieces of bark sticking to his lips. Molly Ann brushed them off with her hand, then wiped her hand on her skirt.

"Better git that wood cut," she warned. "Mr. Fitch is comin' this evenin' and Maw wants a nice fire goin'. Paw is fixin' to sell him some 'shine."

Daniel watched his sister go to the house, holding the baby easily in one arm, her body full and strong under the cotton dress, then turned to the woodpile and picked up the axe.

After a moment there was nothing but the sound of the striking blade and crack of the splitting wooden logs.

I.

'You'll find the feed bag in the back of the wagon/' Mr. Fitch said. 'Don't let him drinlc too much water, though. It makes him fart somethin' awful, an' I still got to ride twenty miles behind 'im tonight."

Jeb picked up the jug of evening squeezin's. *'You jes' have a taste o' this, Mr. Fitch. It'll wash away some of the travel dust from yer mouth."

*'Why, that's right kind of you, Jeb," Fitch said. He wiped the rim of the jug with his hand and took a long pull. He smacked his lips and smiled as he lowered the jug. **Lx)oks lak you don't put much water m this mule either, Jeb,"

Ten minutes later they were seated around the table, and Marylou placed the big iron pot of stew in front of her husband. Right behind her came Molly Ann with a platter heaped with freshly baked hot com bread.

Jeb clasped his hands before him and looked down. They all followed suit. *'We ask Thy blessin's. Lord, on this table, on this house, on those who dwell in it and on our guest, Mr. Fitch. And for Thy bounty and the food we are about to receive, we thank Thee, Lord. Amen."

The chorus of **Amen's" rose from the table, and the children looked up hungrily. Quickly Jeb spooned Mr. Fitch's plate ftiU, then Ws own. He nodded to Marylou. She took the spoon and began to fill the children's plates. By the time she got to her own there wasn't much meat left, but she didn't care. She never ate much anyway.

Besides, it just made her feel good knowing that Mr. Fitch would be telling all the neighbors that the Hugginses had served him rabbit stew for supper and that they didn't eat fatback and greens all the time the way some of the others did.

They ate silently, quickly, with no conversation, wiping their plates clean of even the last drop of gravy with the smoking-hot com bread.

Mr. Fitch pushed his chair away from the table and patted his stomach contentedly. "That's the best rabbit stew I ever tasted, Miz Huggins." Marylou blushed. 'Thank you, Mr. Fitch." The big man picked at his teeth. Ceremoniously, he took out his pocket watch^and looked at it. ''It's nigh on to six thirty, Jeb," he said. "Shall we go outside an' git down to business?"

Jeb nodded. He rose from the table. "Come, Dan'l."

Daniel followed the older men down the steps into the yard. His father led the way around the back of the house and up the small hill to the still. They walked single file on the narrow path.

"How much you got fer me, Jeb?" Mr. Fitch asked.

" 'Bout twenty gallons. Right prime 'shine."

Mr. Fitch was silent until they came to the still. "That's not very much."

"The drought is b.u.min' up all the com, Mr. Fitch," Jeb explained apologetically.

"Scarcely wu'th my haulin' all the way up here." This was no longer Mr. Fitch the nice man, who had sat down to the dinner table; this was Mr. Fitch the trader, who kept half the sharecroppers in the valley in his debt with the credit he ran for them at his general store and the prices he paid them for their moonshine and whatever else they had to sell.

The big copper kettles and tubing were camouflaged by leafy, interlocking branches. To one side lay a pile of cut wood.

"Git out a jug, Dan'l," his father commanded.

Daniel began to lift wood from the pile. A moment later the brown clay jugs lay uncovered. Jeb picked one up and pulled the cork with his teeth.

"Jes' you smell the 'shine, Mr. Fitch," he said.

Fitch took the jug and sniffed at it.

"Taste it," Jeb urged.

The big man tilted the jug. He took a swallow.

"That's quality, Mr. Fitch," Jeb said. "Right smart bead. No carbides, no lye. Smooth an' natural. You can give it to a baby."

''Not bad/' Mr. Fitch admitted. He squinted. "How much you want fer it?"

Jeb didn't look at him. ''I figgered at least a dollar a gaUon."

Fitch didn't answer.

Jeb lost his nerve. ''Six bits?"

"Four bits," Mr. Fitch said.

"Mr. Fitch, four bits for that 'shine jes' ain't right. That's what they been gettin' for quick 'shine, not the real slow, natural 'shine like this," Jeb protested.

"Business is bad," Mr. Fitch said. "Pfeople jest ain't buyin' things no more. They's a war on in Europe an' ever'thing's upset."

"Fifty cents a gallon ain't much." Jeb was almost pleading now. "At least meet me halfway, Mr. Fitch."

Mr. Fitch looked at him steadily. "How much do you owe me, Jeb?"

Jeb's eyes fell. " 'Bout four dollars, I reckon."

"Four dollars an' fifty-five cents," Mr. Fitch said.

"I guess that's 'bout right," Jeb admitted. He still did not look up.

Daniel didn't dare look at his father. He was too ashamed. It wasn't right for a man to be humbled so just because he was poor. He looked off mto the fields.

"Tell you what, Jeb," Mr. Fitch said. "I'm in a good mood. A generous mood, you might say. An' you can thank Miz Huggins' fine rabbit stew fer puttin' me in it. I always say that a ftill stomach dulls a man's sharpness in business. I'll give you sixty cents a gallon."

Jeb looked up. "You cain't do better?"

" 'Generous,' I said. Not 'foolish.' " Mr. Fitch's voice held a tone of finality.

Jeb felt the bitter taste of defeat. Three months' work, day and night, rain and shine, tending the still, taking the 'shine off drip by drip as it slowly condensed along the tubes so that every drop was crystal clear and perfect. He forced himself to smUe. "Thank you, Mr. Fitch," he said. He turned to his son. ''Fetch the jugs down to Mr. Fitch's wagon."

Daniel nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. There was an anger inside him that he had never felt before. An anger that left the inside of his stomach tied like a knot on a hangman's noose.

Jeb looked at the big man. "Come down to the house, Mr. Fitch," he said. "Miz Huggins must have the coffee ready by now."

"Don't know what the country's comin' to," Mr. Fitch said, the steaming mug of chicoried coffee in his hand. "Business the way it is, people movin' off the land because they cain't pay their rent. You don't know how lucky you are, Jeb, ownin' your land free an' clear the way you do."

Jeb nodded. "We kin thank the Good Lord fer that. But I don' know. Nine mouths to feed. With the drought an' poor crops, it ain't easy."

"Ever think of comin' down to town to work?" Mr. Fitch asked.

Jeb shook his head. "I'm not a city man. Never will be. If'n I cain't git up in the momin' an' look out over my land, I'd rather be dead. Besides, what kin I do there? All I know is farmin'."

Marylou came into the room and touched a match to the kindling in the fireplace. "There's a chill comin' to the air."

"Miz Huggins." Fitch smiled. "You suah do know how to make a man feel good."

Marylou blushed and smiled. She looked down at the floor. "Thank you, Mr. Fitch," she said, and left the room. But she stayed near the doorway, just inside the kitchen, so that she could hear every word that was said.

Fitch took a sip of the hot coffee. "Ever think of sendin' the two oldest kids down to work?"

Jeb was surprised. *'Dan'l and Molly Ann?"

Fitch nodded. "The boy's fourteen and his sister's older, if I recollect rightly."

"Fifteen."

"I'm good friends with the men who run the mills and gla.s.s factories. They're always lookin' for good young kids to work. I kin put in a word for them."

"I don' know." Jeb was doubtful. "They seem mighty young to be outta the house to me."

"They kin make four, mebbe five dollars a week. Room and board at a respectable house will cost 'em on'y a dollar and a half. That leaves five, maybe seven dollars a week they kin send home. It could go a long way to feedin' the others." Fitch looked at him. "You could even make some improvements to the house here. I understand the electric company will put in lights if you kin guarantee them five dollars a month/'

"I don' like them electric lights," Jeb said. "It ain' natural. It's too bright. It ain' soft like the oil lamps." But at the same time, he wondered. His would be the first house on the mountain to have electric lights.

Daniel came into the room. "All finished. Paw."

Mr. Fitch stuck his hand in his pocket and came out with a shiny new nickel. "You're a good boy, Daniel. Here's a little somethin' fer you."

Daniel shook his head. "No, thank you, Mr. Fitch. Ain't no cause for you to do that." He hurried from the room.

"That's a good boy you have there, Jeb," Fitch said.

"Thank you, Mr. Fitch."

Fjtch started for the door. "Better be on my way. or mule don't see too good in the dark on these country roads."

"Still got another hour of daylight at least," Jeb said. "Be in the valley by that time. Won't be so bad."

Fitch nodded. He raised his voice, knowing full well that Marylou was just inside the kitchen door and could hear him. "Please express my appreciation to Miz Huggins for that delicious rabbit stew an' her gracious hospitality."

^TUdothat, Mr. Fitch."

Fitch went down the steps and c.u.mbed back up into his wagon. He bent over the side and spoke to Jeb still in a loud enough voice for Marylou to hear. ''An' keep in mind what I said. Four, five dollars a week for each kid ain't chicken feed. Anytime you want, jes' send 'em on down to me an' I'll find a place for 'em."

Jeb nodded again. "Thank you, Mr. Fitch. Evenin', Mr. Fitch."

"Evenin', Jeb." Mr. Fitch clucked to his mule as he snapped the reins sharply. Slowly the mule began to pick his way out of the yard. Mr. Fitch began to hum to himself in satisfaction. Jeb was right. It was the best 'shine he had ever tasted. He ought to be able to get a dollar a quart for it. That was sixty-eight dollars' profit right there.

And he also had a feeling that the Huggins kids would soon show up on his doorstep. That would mean money too. There was no reason for him to tell Jeb that the companies paid him a twenty-dollar recruiting fee for every kid he sent them.

'Things take time/' Jeb said. "Women don't have the patience or the understandin' that men have fer those things."

Marylou was silent, accepting the rebuke without comment. Sometimes she wondered why the Good Lord had given women a brain if they were not supposed to use it. But that was a thought she kept only in her own head; it was a Etevil-inspired thought and not a proper one.

"Scarce enough money here to buy seed fer another plantin'," he said.

She nodded. It had always been like this. Each year they seemed to fall deeper into debt. "I need some cloth to make the children some clothes. They growin' so fast, I cain't keep up with iem. An' soon it will be fall an' they'll need shoes fer school. It'll be too cold for 'em to go barefoot. An' besides, it don't look proper."

"I didn' have no shoes until I was goin' on sixteen," Jeb said. "An' it didn' hurt me none."

"You didn' go to school, neither," she said. "Things is different now. Kids have to be eddicated."

"I learned ever'thing I had to know from my paw," he said. "I don' see where readin' he'ps Dan'l any to be a better farmer. Now that he finish school, he am't no better off 'n I was."

Again she was silent.

"An' goin' to school didn' he'p Molly Ann none. She ain't foun' a husband yet, an' by the time you was sixteen we was already married."

"It ain't her fault," Marylou said. "She's more'n ready to git married, on'y all the young men have gone down to the towns to work."

He looked at her. "Mr. Fitch says he can git 'em good jobs if'n we want him to."

She didn't speak. She had heard Mr. Fitch's offer, but it wasn't her place to acknowledge it.

"He says they can get mebbe four, five dollars a week."

"That's good money," she said.

He nodded. ''An' mebbe Molly kin fin' herself a man down there. That girl's ripenin' so fast I cain't believe my eyes."

Marylou nodded. She saw the way Jeb's eyes followed his daughter as she moved. She knew her husband. Jeb was a good man, but he was human and he had a lot of the Devil's earthy l.u.s.ts in him. She also knew that sometimes the l.u.s.ts could get too much for a man. There were enough incidents in the hills around them to prove it. Many the girl was sent off to live with relatives because her paw had given in to the Devil. And it had been a long time before the preacher had come and purified them. "It mought be a good thing fer 'em," she said.

"I don't have much fer Dan'l to do 'roun' here," he said. "What with the drought an' the earth doin' so poorly. The north field's 'bout wasted."

"Rachel could he'p me with the little ones when she comes home from school," Marylou added.

He looked down at the coins on the table. "We mought even be able to git electricity up here."

She stared at his hands as he touched the money. 'Mebbe we could git some chickens, a sow or two, mebbe even a cow. The little ones could sure do with some fresh milk."

"Callendar, over the hill, is willin' to let me have his other mule fer five dollars," Jeb said thoughtfully. "It would suah he'p with the plowin', an' on Sundays we could hitch 'im up an' go visitin' kinfolk."