Don Johnson
301 Sierra Drive
Palestine, Texas 75801
903-729-7503
don48b@gmail.com
*****
'SHINE
by
Don Johnson
*****
*****
‘SHINE
by
Don Johnson
*****
A likable farm boy from the Tennessee hills is driven by the whip of poverty into a lifestyle he despises. He faces powerful enemies who want nothing more than to destroy him and his family. But, what to make of the elfin, pale-haired girl from the ridge. Was she an enemy? A friend? More than a friend?
© 2011 Don Johnson
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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CHAPTER 1
Against the darkness of the late night sky, the flat-topped Tennessee hills stood as a muted silhouette on the horizon. The towering trees and their understory of shrubs and brush melded in an indistinct blob —darker by slight degree from their surroundings. In almost startling suddenness, the landscape was bathed in light as a full moon burst from behind an obscuring cloud.
A smallish boy, made to appear even smaller by his oversized overalls that hung on his bony shoulders and flapped loosely about his legs and torso, scuttled deeper into the shadows of the sheltering brush. His wide eyes were fixed on a narrow, deeply rutted road gouged out of the red clay hillside.
He casually brushed aside a mop of dark, straight hair that threatened to drop down over his eyes. After several snoops of his running nose, he pulled a wrinkled blue handkerchief from his hip pocket and blew as discretely as he was capable of under the circumstances.
His freshly cleared nostrils sniffed at the musty, but not unpleasant, odor of fallen leaves and other vegetation which mouldered in uneven layers beneath the trees as fungus and bacteria worked at the age-old recycling processes of nature.
He cocked his head to one side and craned his neck at the faint sound of a running engine. Then in the distance, two headlights flickered faintly from across a small rise in the distance.
****
Once the pride of Henry Ford’s fleet, the battered four-door Model A sedan lurched desperately up the pockmarked road. Favoring a broken spring at the left rear, it tried gamely to follow the frequently erratic instructions of the driver who rolled loosely from one side to the other at every change of direction. This in spite of an effort to hold himself upright by a death grip on the steering wheel.
He was a large florid faced man with sloping shoulders and huge hairy hands. Two little pig eyes, framing a large bulbous nose, tried, both singly and together, to focus on the blurring roadway which wavered in the dim light from the headlamps.
“Sumbitch! Them dim-damn old lights -- can’t see a fuckin’ thing.”The words oozed between thick flaccid lips, slurred and indistinct.
Slumped on the passenger side of the car was a gangly scarecrow of a man with watery blue eyes set deep inside his skull. From beneath his battered high-crowned hat, strands of black stringy hair protruded.
“Cripes, Gaylord, you done hit ever’ chughole ‘tween here and town. Cain’t you miss just a few of ‘em?”
The driver turned to concentrate on the passenger, and both front wheels dropped into the deep, dried out ruts, skewing the car sideways until the back wheels dropped into that same groove. “Dade, you fuckhead! I gotta go where the road goes.”
The passenger reared back his head and let out a cackling sound. “Well, you damn sure dunnit. You been all over that sumbitch.”
He slumped back and mumbled, “We shoulda stayed a while longer.”
The driver kept his face toward the road but grinned crookedly. “What fur? You wa’nt gonna do no good nohow.”
“Mebbe not. Anyhow I’da liked to tried that tall redhead.”
“She wasn’t gonna do nothin’, Dade. The bitch jest wanted more free drinks.”
The other man stretched, then tugged at his crotch. “You prob’ly right, Gaylord, but I shore needs a woman tonight.”
Gaylord scratched his chin with the back of his hand. “Them women at the Green Frog ain’t nothin’ but a buncha teasers.”
He giggled and slapped his knee. “Damn shame that nobody but women got pussies.”
“Yeah.” Dade reflected for a moment. “You know if they didn’t have pussies there’d prob’ly be a bounty on ‘em.”
Gaylord laughed a long, snorting laugh. “Damn shore would be.”
Dade’s face turned sullen. “We shoulda gone to Murphey’s Place.”
Gaylord reached down to the floorboard between his feet, and pulled up a brown, crockery jug. “Dade, you know damn good’n well them’s nothin' but straight out hooers there at Murphey’s. Here, take a pull on this jug.”
Dade rubbed at the lip of the jug with the palm of his hand. “Don’t give a damn. I’m sheriff, ain’t I? Wouldna cost us nothin’.”
“Ain’t worth nothin’ them ugly old hooers.”
“Better’n doin’ without. But, hell you ain’t gotta worry none. You got a woman waitin' at home.”
Gaylord cast a sly look at the passenger. “Hell, if you was to make it worth my while, I might make the old lady give you a piece tonight.”
“Hoo boy! I don’t think that’d set too good with Nellie.”
“Why not? It’s all in the family. We brothers. ain’t we? Besides what do you care. I’ll just beat hell out of her ‘til she does it.”
“Naw, Gaylord, I couldn’t get it up to do my own brother’s wife.”
“Then, how ‘bout that youngun?”
Dade tugged again at his crotch. “Ramona? She kinda young ain’t she?”
“Shit, she’s sixteen. I figger it’s time she learnt what it’s all about.”
****
At the first glimpse of headlights, the boy leaped to his feet, bolted into the brush, and scrambled up the slope. He ran in a short zig-zag pattern avoiding the heaviest thickets and ducking under the low hanging tree branches. When he reached the top, he didn't even slow down.
He lurched on over the crest and sped down the other side, running more upright now, scrawny arms flailing to maintain his balance. Branches and briars tore at his bare arms. A jutting rock banged against his foot, and he winced with pain, hopping along on one foot for a time before resuming his headlong pace.
Near the bottom, an exposed root snagged his toe, sending him sprawling down the rocky slope. Without a pause, he rolled over, came to his feet in full stride, seemingly oblivious to scraped abrasions on both hands and knees.
Reaching a small clearing, he turned uphill once more toward the sheltering brush and took refuge behind a straight limbed plum thicket. Pausing for a moment, he dropped to a knee, lungs gasping for breath.
His apparent destination was in sight, a small log cabin with a sagging roof and dilapidated porch that stood just high enough off the ground to serve as a makeshift dog shelter. He trotted toward the cabin, stooped, and picked up a handful of small rocks and gravel. As he approached what might pass as the front yard, he hurled the pebbles against the roof of the cabin.
“Bert! Uncle Bert!” he called. “Car a’comin’.”
The door burst open and the porch creaked under a man’s weight. His hair was mussed and his shirt unbuttoned and thrown over his shoulders. From the waist down, he wore only a pair of long, baggy drawers. His shoes were in his hand and his pants slung over his back.
He crossed the porch in a single bound and headed for the brush cover at the back of the cabin. “C’mon, Glenn, let’s get the hell outa here.”
The boy lurched after him, breath blowing heavily from exertion and excitement.
Once into the woods, the man slowed and hopped on one foot as he tried to ram his other foot into the pants leg. “That goddam Gaylord Martin. Can’t depend on that jackass for nothin’. First time that bastard’s come home early in a coon’s age.”
“Shhh.” Glenn’s finger was over his lips.
“It’s all right, boy. That drunk fool couldn’t hear hisself fart right now.”
****
The Model A shuddered to a stop outside the cabin. It fired several times even after Gaylord cut the switch, then, with a last quick belch, it died. The two men stumbled out and groped their way to the front porch.
A kerosene lamp in the front room was dim but still burning. Gaylord turned up the flame and indicated a door on the left. “That’s the gal’s room. Le’s get you fixed up first, Dade.”
He staggered to the door, thrust it open and lurched into the room.
A slender girl, just beginning to round into woman’s form, lay in a crudely constructed bed frame with a worn quilt pulled up to her chin. Pale, silvery hair fanned out around her face, the features delicate, skin translucent in the lamplight. A hint of moisture glistened on her upper lip.
The pig faced man ripped the bed covers away, exposing the girl’s body clad only in a flimsy nightgown.
“Wake up, gal, and give your Uncle Dade a piece a’tail.”
The girl sat bolt upright, reaching frantically for the bed cover which now lay on the floor at the foot of her bed.
“You don’t need no cover, gal. Yore Uncle Dade gonna warm you up real good. Ain’t that right, Dade?”
Dade Martin staggered up beside the bed. “Shore am. Don’t be scairt a’me, honey. I ain’t gonna hurt you none.”
He was fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. “Me’n you gonna have ourselves some fun.”
The beginning of comprehension showed as a flicker in the girl’s blue eyes. She crawled quickly to the far side of the bed, pulled her legs up under her and hugged her arms against her chest.
“No. No, Pa. I don’t want to.”
Gaylord leaned across the bed and slapped her hard across the mouth.
“I didn’t ask if you wanted to —I told you how it was gonna be. Now, what did I say?”
The red mark left by Gaylord’s hand contrasted vividly with her pale face. She shook her head violently from side to side. “Please, pa. Don’t make me. I don’t want to.”
The girl’s eyes widened suddenly, there was a sharp “thwack,”and Gaylord Martin’s knees buckled. Only the bed in front of him prevented him from sprawling to the floor. His brother scuttled to one side.
The diminutive Nellie Martin stood, her bare feet planted resolutely in the doorway, a flatiron clutched in her right hand.
The voice of Dade Martin was uncertain and whining. “Hey Nellie, we was jest playin' around.”
She ignored him.
“Gaylord Martin,”she said, “I done put up with your abuse for many a year. But, you ain’t a gonna start on her.”
Gaylord turned painfully, still on his knees, to face the woman. Although she was still attractive, years of toil and hardship showed in the silver that streaked through her dark brown hair and the deep lines etched in the corners of her eyes -- dark eyes that flashed her anger.
“You just ain’t a gonna start your meanness with her.”
Like a striking snake, Gaylord launched himself upward and raked a stinging backhand across her face. She slammed up against the wall, and the flatiron fell from her hand.
“Don’t you tell me what I’m gonna do, woman.”
A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, but the fire still blazed in her eyes. “You touch that girl, Gaylord Martin, and I’ll make you wish with everything you’ve got that you hadn’t.
The man clambered heavily to his feet and pulled a hoarse chuckle from deep in his throat. “That’s mighty big talk for sech a little woman. Jest how you figgerin’ on doin’ that?”
Her gaze didn’t falter. “That’s somethin’ you’ll never know until it happens, you smirkin’ jackass. Maybe while you’re asleep, I just beat your head in. Or, maybe I’ll catch you in a horny mood and slice off your dick. Or, poison your vittles and let you fill your greedy gut.. But, mark my words . . . touch that girl again, you’re a dead man —sure as poison ivy grows on the creek bank.”
The huge man drew back his right arm as though to strike again, stood for a second trying to match the woman’s steely gaze, then let his hand drop limply to his side. “”You ain’t gonna do nothin’. C’mon Dade, le’s get ourselves somethin’ to drink.”
He lumbered out the door, followed by his brother who glanced warily over his shoulder as he left.
Nellie sat on the bed and gathered her daughter in her arms.
“Nobody gonna hurt you, baby. Nobody gonna hurt you -- ever.”
She glanced at the open door, reached out with one foot, and kicked it shut.
CHAPTER 2
The folks around the community said that Ridge Darcy was a giant of a man, barrel-chested and tree-top tall. A flowing white mane topped a set of bushy eyebrows and a down turned beak. His own, natural teeth were white and straight. The eyes, normally calm and placid pools of green, flashed with sparks of fire as he confronted the man and boy.
His voice rumbled out of the massive chest, intense as a gathering storm. “Just don’t give me no bullshit about no coonhunt,”he roared. “I know where you been and what you been doin’.”
He turned slightly to direct his next words directly to the man. “Dammit, Bert, it’s bad enough for you. You’re ‘way old enough to know better. But to get the boy involved in your moonlight wick dippin’ is downright wicked.”
Bert was what the women in the village called “a handsome devil”with his wavy blond hair draped across his forehead, bright blue eyes, a stubborn jaw line and fine, boyish features that sloughed off 36 years as easily as 20. Now though, he shifted his weight nervously.
“Hell, I know you’re right, Ridge. I shouldn’t have done that. It was just that . . .”
The boy interrupted. “It wasn’t his fault, daddy. He didn’t even know I was . . .”
“Dammit all!”the man exploded. “I don’t wanta hear this. I don’t give a big rat’s ass whose fault it is, or who knew what. I just want it stopped right here and now. Do you hear what I’m talkin’?”
The boy bit at his lower lip and forced out his answer, “Yessir.”
Bert looked at the boy with affection. “Yeah, Ridge. I understand.”
Ridge Darcy relaxed a bit, reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Next time you boys decide on a moonlight coonhunt,”his eyes sparkled and the corners of his mouth tilted slightly. “I wanta be invited. Now, get your butts in bed. We got a full day tomorrow.
****
In the very early morning, the kitchen of the Darcy cabin was an inviting spot. Located just out from the back wall, the cast iron woodstove bathed the room in welcome warmth, emitting a comforting crackle of burning wood. An occasional hiss of steam betrayed a hint of dampness trapped inside a fat chunk of hickory. The tantalizing aroma of home-cured bacon was spiced by a stray wisp of wood smoke escaping from the cooking ports on top.
A large, hewn table set with plates, saucers and cups in a colorful blue pattern, later to be valued as “depression ware”dominated the room. Around the table, humped over plates heaped high with hot biscuits, bacon, eggs and grits drowned in cream gravy, sat the Darcy clan. As breakfast began to wind down, a large jar of wild honey made the rounds, spooned over fat biscuits slathered with home-churned butter.
A bustling, efficient Mavis Darcy presided over the table with a cheerful demeanor and capable hands. She brooked no interference in what she clearly considered to be her exclusive domain. She quietly brushed aside all offers of assistance and quickly whisked depleted dishes to the dry sink for later washing.
She paused for a moment between the chairs that supported Bert and Glenn. Hear tell you boys had yourselves a little coonhunt last night.”
His mouth full of biscuit and honey, Glenn just glanced at her over his shoulder and shrugged. Bert put down his fork, raised one eyebrow, and grinned his lopsided grin that had served him well with the female population of the surrounding four counties.
“Now, Mavis,”he said. “You know how us menfolk love to chase the coon.”
She returned a wry smile of her own. “Yep. That I know, Bert Dancy. I also know that some of them ol’ boar coons don’t take kindly to the chasin’. Mighty likely to do a little chasin’ of their own.”
“I ‘spect you’re right about that, Mavis. Reckon I’ll just hafta make sure that ol’ boar coon don’t ketch me.”
She laughed and flipped him lightly on the back with her dish towel. “See that you do, you old woods colt, and see that that boy don’t get chewed up in your place.”
Bert’s ears showed a red tinge. “Yes’m, I’ll be sure and do that.”
Ridge Darcy pushed his chair back heavily and decisively. “Enough jawin’, it’s coming light outside.”
Bert rose immediately and reached for his jacket. Glenn made one last swipe with a biscuit at a puddle of honey on the edge of his plate and stuffed the morsel in his mouth as he pulled away from the table.
****
The Martin’s kitchen was smaller and less well equipped than that of the Darcy’s. The utensils and dining ware were strictly utilitarian, mostly enameled metal, badly scratched and chipped. It was, however, n eat and spotlessly clean. Nellie Martin gazed down from her perch on a tall stool, where she was cutting up a frying chicken, to where her daughter sat near the window, shelling blackeye peas.
Such a pretty girl. Enough to make a person cry. She belonged somewhere else —far away from this house —from these hills. Nothing here but misery for a girl like her.
As though she sensed her mother’s gaze, Ramona raised her head and smiled. “Where’s pa?”
Nellie poured a little water over the chicken to rinse it. “He and that shiftless Dade went into town —thank the Lord. But don’t you worry none, honey. Them two just had a little too much whiskey last night. They won’t bother you no more.”
Nellie only wished she could be as sure as she sounded.
Ramona’s face took on a shy look. “Ma, I know about you and Bert Dancy.”
Nellie was startled —as much by the girl’s saying it as by the obvious fact that her secret was no longer the secret she had thought it was. She lowered her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Ramona.”
The girl smiled shyly. “Sorry it happened, or sorry I found out?”
Nellie turned to face the girl directly. “Just sorry you found out, honey. I could never be sorry it happened.”
“What’s he like? Bert Dancy, I mean.”
Nellie beamed at the recollection. “He’s real nice, honey, real nice. He’s gentle and kind. No better man in the county than Bert Darcy.”
Ramona savagely jerked a hull open, popping the peas out on the floor. “Ain’t much like pa then, is he?”
“No, girl, he ain’t nothin’ like your pa. But think I’d better tell you the whole story about me’n Bert.”
The girl dropped a handful of peas back in the bowl and folded her hands in her lap. “If you want to, ma.”
“I think I ought to. I owe you that.”
“You don’t owe me nothin’, but if you wanta tell me, I’d kinda like to hear it.”
“Well, you see, me’n Bert was crazy about each other clean back in high school. I knew even then there’d never be another man for me but Bert Darcy. And I know he felt the same about me.”
“What happened, ma? How come you to marry pa?”
“You’ve got to remember, girl. Them was really hard times —worse than now. Bert didn’t have no more then than he does now —which is pretty much nothin’.
“He worked hard, always has. But it was always for old Aaron Darcy and then for Ridge. Never was no part of it really his.
“My pa said that Bert couldn’t ever afford no wife —let alone a family. Forbade me to keep company with Bert.”
“Grandpa did that to you?”
“Your grandpa figgered he was doin’ the right thing by me. Your pa wasn’t so bad back then. He had his own land, money in the bank. He treated me good when he came courtin’. Gaylord promised to help take care of my ma and pa if we was married, so I figgered since I couldn’t have Bert nohow, I might as well be sure ma and pa would be all right. Besides, I liked the idea of havin’ a home and family of my own.
“If I coulda looked ahead, I’d surely have done somethin’ else — anything else.”
A tear slowly worked its way down Ramona’s cheek. “Ma, I’m so sorry.”
The woman sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “My own fault really. I made myself a sorry bed, and I’ve had to lay in it ever since. But it ain’t been all bad. You’ve been a real joy to me, honey. What’s kept me goin’.”
“What did Bert say about you gettin’ married?”
“I didn’t see Bert after the wedding until you was born. I didn’t dare see him. But he came by and brought you a rattle and a pretty little dress musta have cost him way more’n he could afford.
“I didn’t see him again until about two years ago. We run into each other right outside town one day, and it started all over again for us. I tried to send him away, but wasn’t no use. We just couldn’t . . .”
The woman’s voice broke into a keening wail. She seemed to physically shrivel as she hunched her shoulders forward and covered her face with both hands. Gradually, her voiced lapsed into wracking sobs punctuated by the heaving of her shoulders. As if with great effort, she lifted her face from her hands, wiping at eyes as she did so.
“Lord help me, I just didn’t have the strength. Now I don’t think I could stand it —knowin’ I wasn’t ever gonna see him again.”
Ramona walked quickly to her mother’s side, took her in her arms, and gently stroked her hair, as though the mother was the child. “It’ll be all right, ma. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
Somewhat later, Ramona gave her mother a sly smile. “I thought we was supposed to hate the Darcys.”
Nellie started pitching chicken parts into a brown paper bag. “That’s just the Martins —your pa and that worthless brother of his. Besides,” her eyes took on a twinkle, “Bert ain’t really a Darcy nohow.”
“What you mean? That’s his name, ain’t it?”
Nellie sat and idly shook the sack containing the chicken and flour mixture. “But he’s no Darcy. Bert’s a foundling —a woods colt.”
“You mean somebody left him on a doorstep?"
"Not exactly. You see, there was this young girl —one of the Simpsons from across Tucker’s Ridge —took up with one of them travelin’ drummers. Reckon she was a lonely little tyke. Anyhow she got caught, and the family wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with her. Wouldn’t even let her in the house when her time come. Had that baby out in the barn like an animal.
“Well, old Miz Miller, the preacher’s wife, heard about it and came over and took care of her as best she could, but I reckon the little gal was too young and weak. She died when the baby was born. Then, the family wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with the baby neither. Told Miz Miller to just let it die, they wanted nothin’ to do with it.
“So she wrapped it in a blanket and toted it over the hill to old man Aaron Darcy’s house —that was Ridge Darcy’s pa —and him and his wife raised that pup like it was their own, even though Ridge was near half-grown at the time. That baby was Bert. So you see, Bert ain’t no blooded Darcy even if he does call hisself one.”
“Golly ma, I never knew that.”
“Not many people do, honey. Ain’t somethin’ anybody wants to talk about very much. And Bert’s still the finest man I ever knew —don’t care who his folks was.”
The girl rose and placed both hands on her mother’s shoulders. “I don’t blame you, ma. I’m just glad you had someone to love.”
Tears trickled down the woman’s face. “I’ve always had you, honey, and I hope I always will.”
****
In spite of the trampled vegetation indicating heavy usage within the clearing, there were no trails leading into it. Those who used it took great pains to avoid frequent use of the same route on their visits.
Near the center of the plot, secure behind its living screen of primeval forest, a small chemical plant plugged along, functioning day and night as it had for many years. A model of simplicity, the plant consisted of a cooker at one end, in which corn mash was heated, and a reservoir at the other into which powerful corn whiskey dripped and was held. In between were several coils of copper tubing which served as an excellent condenser.
Close by the reservoir a couple of dozen crockery jugs, recently filled and corked, sat on the ground. With a small dipper in his hand, half full of cool spring water, Ridge Darcy squatted by the reservoir and drew off a measure of the liquid into the dipper. He took a sip, rolled it around in his mouth, and swallowed.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just right,”he said. “If it was any better, I wouldn’t sell it at all. If it was any worse, I’d have to cut the price. How about you boys, care for a sip?”
Bert dropped the armload of firewood he was carrying in. “Don’t mind if I do. How about you, Glenn?”
The boy sat with his back against a large tree. “No thanks, Uncle Bert.”
Bert nodded as though he’d expected that response and drained the dipper.
“Easy, Bert,”Ridge muttered. “We still got to pack these jugs in.”
Bert pitched the empty dipper into a clump of grass. “Where you wanta take it this time?”
“Thought I’d put it in that hole under the smokehouse.”
Bert frowned. “Think that’s wise, Ridge? Right there on your own homeplace?”
Ridge laughed, flashing his white teeth. “Now ain’t you the cautious one, Bert? Mr. Prudent his ownself. Naw, it’ll be all right. You know I don’t sell outa that stash.”
Bert shrugged. “If you say so, Ridge.”
Glenn strolled over and tossed several coils of rope down by the jugs. “How come we have to make ‘shine at all, daddy. All this hidin’ and sneakin’ around don’t set well.”
The older man pursed his lips. So that’s the way it is, huh, boy? You’d rather jest play that old dobro guitar and sing. You don’t like foolin’ with ‘shine. You maybe forget that ‘shine’s what puts the food on our table and the clothes on our backs.”
Glenn didn’t look up. “It’s against the law. My dobro ain’t.”
“Some kinda law,” Ridge snorted. “If folks wanta buy it, and I wanta make it. Appears to me that ain’t nobody’s business.”
“That ain’t what the law says.”
Pain showed momentarily in the older Darcy’s eyes. “I don’t hold with breakin’ the law, son. But that law don’t make no sense. We make ‘shine. That’s how we live, and you’d best take a little more interest in it. Ain’t no livin’ to be made playin’ the dobro in these hills, boy.
He knelt and quickly looped a rope through the handles of several jugs, hooked it over his shoulder and eased out of the clearing.
Bert, who’d been standing aside, looking from one to the other, slipped down beside the boy. “Glenn, don’t hold nothin’ against your daddy. He’s doin’ the best he can.”
Glenn looked bewildered. “He don’t have to make ‘shine.”
Bert put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Glenn, what do you see from the backside of the cabin? Think about it now.”
Glenn looked puzzled. “Well, there’s trees . . . hills ... rocks.”
“What else?”