Shale Hollow
Tess Boyd stared at the man on the other side of the makeshift plank bar and wondered how a fella could be so obvious and stupid at the same time. This one’s name was Ike Pearson. He wasn’t much worse or better than most fellas. He just happened to be the one standing in front of her, scratching and scheming.
She watched Ike’s eyes flit back and forth like a greedy hound dog. First, to the jar of whiskey on the counter, then to the low pallet bed at the back of the shed. Then he eyed her body, not looking at her eyes. If Ike had bothered to notice, he might have left off sooner.
Ike mumbled some guff, but Tess didn’t pay him much mind. She only half-heard the fool while pondering the question that often perplexed her. Were menfolk born stupid, or did they lose their brainpower somewhere along the way?
Tess heard Ike mutter something about a fine figure of a woman, his eyes on the quilts as if he had an icicle’s chance in hell of getting her there.
She kept Ike’s education simple, her hand inside her canvas work coat while her eyes focused on his foolish grin. Fast as a snake, her hand reappeared full of pistol. The clack as the hammer cocked filled the shack and corked Ike’s blather.
Ike’s eyes went wide at the sight of a Colt .38 Police Positive revolver pointed at his fat belly. He shut his lips tight. Tess liked how her pistol put an end to tiresome arguments, one of the many reasons the revolver hung from a lanyard under her coat. Best to have it close to hand.
Now that she had Ike’s full attention, Tess pointed out the errors in his thinking. She conjured up a smile to keep things friendly.
“Ike, you’ve lost track of our deal. There’s a quart jar of good shine sitting right in front of you. You came in looking for a quart, and there it is. You see it?”
Ike managed a nod, his eyes fixed on the pistol.
“You know me. I sell the best whiskey in Kansas City, and I sell it at a fair price. I don’t deal any of that methane swill that will blind a man.”
Ike’s eyes darted to hers, then dropped back to the Colt.
“The shine is three dollars a quart. You keep on with your nonsense, and I’ll add a hole in your belly for free. Your choice, but I don’t have all night.”
Ike must have decided to take Tess at her word, for he dug into his overalls and came up with three silver dollars. He laid the coins on the plank, looked up at her, and hesitated. Tess nodded her head. Ike wrapped a hand around that jar of shine. Then he turned and scampered for the door without so much as a fare-the-well.
The plank door banged shut. Pistol still in hand, Tess eyed the door while her ears charted Ike’s unsteady retreat. She waited until his boots thumped to nothing. The crickets resumed their singing. Only then did Tess step to the door and slide the iron bolt.
Safe inside the locked shed, Tess uncocked her pistol. She let the Colt slide under her jacket, felt the pull against her shoulder as the lanyard took up the weight.
Tess crossed the shack and sat on the edge of the pallet, elbows on her knees. She tried to laugh the bitterness from her tongue, but the sound that issued from her mouth was more of a snort. She laughed then, a real laugh, and reached under the pallet for a jar of shine. One good sip and no more.
The whiskey left a trail of fire in her throat. The same whiskey she sold out of her shack, coaxed from the still her father had crafted, the finest anyone had ever seen. The family still was tucked into a small cave in the shale hollow below the house.
Her shine was the best in Jackson County, but it did not wash the bitter taste from her tongue. Why the hell should she have to lock up shop, just because some no-account man wanted to have his way with her? Never a bit of trouble with the womenfolk, and more than a few women bought her shine. No, it was always the men, and always the same thing on their addled brains.
Not that she wouldn’t share her bed with a good man, but damned if she could find one. Most were just stupid like Ike Pearson, but some were hurtful. A few were downright mean, like her no-good husband John Boyd, wherever the hell the sonofabitch might be.
Coming up on two years gone now, and nary a word from her vanished husband. Not that she expected a letter. John Boyd never was much of a hand with pen and paper. Not much good for anything, truth be told, except for bringing home his railroad wages. A pay envelope was no small thing when the whole country had fallen into what the newspapers called the Great Depression.
Those railroad wages started shrinking after the crash of twenty-nine, but John’s pay was enough to put bread and bacon on their board. Plenty of folks had less. But in the end, it was the very same railroad that carried her husband away.
John’s itch started after little Dale was born. Dale was their third child and second boy. Her husband grew restless, started acting jittery around the children as if they were snakes.
Time passed, and John Boyd traded restless for sickness. As the baby grew to a toddler, his father developed a mysterious Irish malady no doctor could cure. Then John Boyd decided to cure himself. He wandered off one evening after supper, boarded a westbound freight, and got himself gone.
Losing their daddy was hard on the children. Tess knew John for a hard sonofabitch. She could be hard as coffin nails herself, but she grieved for her little ones. Her oldest boy understood his father wasn’t coming back. Acey was fourteen, old enough to be a comfort to his little sister, Jessie. Dale had just turned four. He still asked about his daddy, risking his mama’s wrath.
Tess had enough wrath to spread around and still keep some handy for randy customers like Ike Pearson. She plowed that anger into her work. In a good week, she turned out four gallons of shine. Divided into quarts and pints, a week’s distilling brought in forty-five dollars at most, not counting costs.
Malt grain didn’t grow on trees. Neither did yeast cake or bags of sugar. Half of what Tess distilled went back in trade for rye, barley, and corn. She bought sugar out of pocket. At the end of the week, she was lucky to have twenty dollars and risked the jailhouse if her luck didn’t hold.
The shine trade kept her family fed, but Tess wanted more for her children. She was determined to keep Acey and Jessie in school. None of her kids would be joining the gangs of dirty urchins gleaning coal along the railroad tracks or shadowing delivery wagons for fallen scraps.
To make lean ends meet, Tess waited tables at Frankie’s roadhouse. The wages were bad, and the tips were worse, but paying work was scarce as hen’s teeth. Friday and Saturday nights, Tess pasted on a smile, tied on an apron, and did what she had to do.
The kids fended for themselves. Acey protected his sister and the toddler. He was handy with a shotgun and kept his promises. Acey looked after Jessie, Jessie looked after Dale, and all three of them did what they could for Tess.
At the roadhouse, Tess had her regulars, but none more regular than Captain Joe Burke. The captain was a widower, so it was natural he’d take his meals out. The man was easy enough on the eyes, grey at the temples, and sporting a broken nose healed crooked, but that didn’t matter. What mattered, handsome or not, was that Joe Burke was a cop.
Tess treated him the same as any of her regulars. She greeted him, took his order, and served his food. Joe Burke, for his part, was always on his best behavior. He called her Missus Boyd and tipped as if he’d never heard of hard times. Good tipper or not, the man was a police captain and Tess ran a moonshine still.
Some time passed before Tess realized that despite Joe Burke being a copper, she looked forward to seeing the man step through the roadhouse door. It was no surprise when Joe Burke sat at his usual table that Friday evening. But before Joe Burke ordered his dessert, Tess discovered the man was quite capable of surprising her.
She cleared his table, expecting him to ask for a slice of pie. Instead of ordering dessert, he watched her. She caught him looking, but he didn’t avert his eyes the way most men did. He seemed to be waiting to be asked, so Tess did.
“You fancy some pie, Captain Burke? The apple looks good.”
Joe Burke pulled the napkin from his collar, folded it, and dropped it on the table.
“How about you call me Joe? I’m off duty at dinnertime.”
He smiled up at her while Tess mulled that over.
“Fair enough, if you call me Tess. So, Joe, will you be wanting dessert this evening?”
Instead of answering, Joe leaned back, folded his big hands in his lap, and asked another question.
“Tess, you know one of the things that makes me a good cop?”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, you’re not a man to tussle with.”
He laughed at that, good and loud. She liked his laugh.
“Don’t go believing everything you hear. I’m old and slower than I used to be. As I was saying, part of being a good cop is knowing what to notice and what to ignore. Times are hard, and hard times stretch people thin. They gotta do things they might not normally do. When I’m dealing with folks like that, sometimes it’s best to turn a blind eye.”
Tess stored his words away and tried to keep a smile on her face.
“I guess that’s a talent these days. You want to think about that pie, or should I bring you the check?”
He smiled at her, not shifting his eyes from hers.
“I’ll take you up on a slice of apple since you recommend it. And a cup of coffee as well.”
“Be right back, Joe.”
She gave him a nod and a brief smile, lifted her tray, and headed for the kitchen.
Saturday night rolled around, and Joe Burke with it. Frankie’s was jumping. Tess was half run off her feet by the time she circled back to Joe’s table. Nothing remained on the man’s plate but a gnawed steak bone. He’d sopped the drippings with a hunk of bread. She liked a man with a healthy appetite.
“My apologies, Joe. We’re short-handed tonight. What else can I get you?”
The big man smiled up at her, his thumbs hooked into his waistcoat.
“Before I order dessert, I’d like to ask you a question.”
“You can ask, Joe. Don’t know that I’ve got an answer.”
Joe Burke gave a short nod and let fly.
“Would you like to take a stroll with me? Tomorrow being Sunday, I thought we might take in the zoo.”
Tess asked the first question that came into her head, a dodge to buy herself some time.
“Don’t you have church tomorrow?”
“Truth is, I’m not much for church. Never took up the habit.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
“You don’t say? Does that mean you’re free tomorrow?”
The next words out of her mouth surprised Tess more than Joe Burke’s question. Her brain meant to say no, and her common sense backed up her brain, but her mouth ran off in a different direction altogether.
“Why, yes, Joe. I guess that means I’m free.”
Joe Burke’s smile got real big under his crooked nose. Tess wanted to stay, but she caught beckoning glances from other tables.
“I got customers getting antsy, Joe. Can I get you a dessert?”
“Sure, Tess, whatever looks good. Surprise me.”
* * *
True to his word, Joe Burke pulled up in front of Tess’s house at the stroke of ten. Tess pinned on her hat and met him at the door. Joe escorted her to his Model A and held the door open. Tess settled her hands in her lap and tried to settle her nerves as well.
Joe drove down Seventh Street and descended the steep hill into the flats of Armourdale. As the Ford bumped across the wide swath of the railroad switchyard, Tess thought of her husband.
John Boyd had traveled these same rails and used them to abandon his wife and three children. Tess fought the urge to spit out of the open window. Instead, she turned to Joe Burke and smiled. Looking back on that day, she could not honestly say whether she smiled from spite or hope.
They crossed over the muddy Kansas River. The Ford’s tires sang on the steel decking. Joe was in high spirits as they hit the Missouri side. If he’d noticed her dark lapse, he didn’t let on.
It was a beautiful spring Sunday. Tess enjoyed the novelty of riding in an automobile. She realized she didn’t care if they ever reached Swope Park. Forget the zoo, they could just keep driving. Joe might turn East, right on across Missouri to St. Louis on the Mississippi River. Tess had never seen the Big Muddy, never allowed herself the notion of travel.
When they arrived at the zoo, Joe paid for the tickets, and they walked through the turnstile. He offered her his arm. She surprised herself by hooking her elbow through his. They strolled through the sunshine, threading their way past other couples and packs of excited children.
Joe steered her to the giraffes, and they leaned against the railing. He smiled at her, then turned to the enclosure.
“Marvelous creatures, giraffes. The way they move, like they’re in slow motion. We’re lucky to have the chance to see them. Zoos are struggling across the country. Not enough money to feed the big animals.”
“They’re not the only ones struggling, Joe.”
“Don’t I know it. Four years into this depression and no end in sight. Don’t know if Roosevelt can change anything, but I wish the man luck.”
“The country is due some good luck, don’t you think?”
He turned to her and patted her hand. Tess did not pull away. Then he went back to staring at the gangly creatures.
“Funny thing. I like seeing the animals, but I hate that they’re caged. Reminds me too much of the penitentiary.”
“But that’s your job, isn’t it? Putting criminals in the penitentiary?”
The big man shook his head.
“That’s not how I see it, Tess. Sending men to prison only serves to keep the bad ones in one place. The way I figure it, you’ve got good folks, bad folks, and them that’s sitting on the fence. They could fall to either side. The bad folks will always be around, same as the good. My job is to keep the fence sitters from falling on the wrong side. At least, that’s what I tell myself.”
He patted her hand again and led her away.
Tess enjoyed strolling with this strong man, enjoying the sure way Joe steered her by the arm. Still, she felt the need to set the record straight. Better now than further down the road. Tess believed in grabbing a bull by the horns.
When they paused before the sleepy lions, Tess seized her moment.
“What do you want, Joe? What are you looking for?”
She watched his response, liked it that he didn’t balk at her question. She saw Joe thinking it over and gave him room.
“The answer’s simple. It’s been two years since my Mary passed. I’d like the company of a woman. I admire you, Tess.”
“But why me? Plenty of women would jump at the chance to be with a respectable working man.”
“Don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do know this. A copper’s life is hard. It takes a special kind of woman, a strong woman, to stand up to it.”
“I’m not a young woman, Joe. Matter of fact, according to the law, I’m still married.”
“Well, I’m no spring chicken myself. And speaking of your husband, when was the last time you heard from John Boyd?”
Tess sighed and turned to look at the big cats sleeping in the sun. What a life, napping while you wait for someone to throw you a meaty bone. She kept her eyes on the lions as she answered Joe’s question.
“Not since he walked out on us going on two years ago. Not one word.”
Joe nodded.
“Exactly, so it’s not like I’m courting under another man’s nose.”
She chuckled at his brashness, turned to smile into his craggy face.
“Courting, is that what you’re doing, Joe?”
“I’m trying my best, Tess. Not to be too forward, but I know a lawyer fella. He’s good with divorces, especially in cases of abandonment.”
“Lawyers cost a heap of money.”
“That is surely true, but this fella, he owes me a favor. I got him out of a scrape. Anyway, I thought you might want to speak with him.”
“You are a bold one, Joe.”
“I’ve got no time to be otherwise, Tess. Besides, better you know who I am right from the start.”
* * *
Their courting went on for a month of Sundays. They promenaded through Penn Valley. Joe rowed Tess around Troost Lake, sweating under his straw hat. Every outing was public. Joe remained a proper gentleman, offering his hand to Tess or holding her arm. Never more than propriety allowed.
On their fourth Sunday outing, Joe drove Tess to Wyandotte Lake. Bumping along in the Ford, Joe seemed somber, as if he had something on his mind. When Joe chose a secluded picnic spot, Tess thought she knew why. Joe meant to steal a kiss from her. It surprised her to realize she would welcome a kiss from Joe.
When they settled the picnic spread and sat down, Tess got a bigger surprise than she had bargained for. Joe ignored the fried chicken and potato salad. He took a sip of ginger beer, cleared his throat, and looked her in the eye. What he didn’t do was lean in for a kiss.
“Tess, I hate to ask, but I’ve got no choice. Do you know a fella name of Ike Pearson?”
A jolt ran through her when she heard that name. Anger first, hot and bright, followed by a wave of resentment. What had that stupid bastard gone and done, and why should she get stuck paying the tab? But there would be no lying to Joe Burke. Tess wasn’t a woman to dodge when it came time to lay the cards on the table.
“Ike Pearson is a drunk and a rascal. I’ve had trouble with him in the past. But I’m guessing you already knew that.”
“I did, Tess, and I admit it straight out. I’m not trying to trap you into anything. But I do need to warn you. This Pearson character got picked up for drunk and disorderly. Drunk enough to think he was a boxer, so the beat cops gave him a few whacks with their billies. The desk sergeant added resisting arrest to his charge sheet.”
“Serves him right and good riddance.”
“I agree. But this Pearson has a big mouth. Once he sobered up, he started shouting about how he knew people. Claimed to know a big moonshiner. Offered to spill his guts to get himself out of the pokey.”
Tess shook her head and looked out across the shimmering lake. There were damn few peaceful moments in her life. Leave it to some worthless sonofabitch to spoil this one. Her anger spilled out of her mouth.
“I could kick that fool for ruining our picnic.”
“I’m sorry, Tess. The precinct captain is a friend of mine. I can keep a lid on this for a few days, but not forever. Pearson will probably spill his guts either way. His kind always do. If he starts talking, someone might listen.”
“What is it you want me to do, Joe?”
The man ran a thumb over his jaw and managed a small smile.
“Thing is, when folks have nothing to hide, they’ve got nothing to worry about. Let’s say someone I know and care about needs a bit of warning. In a case like that, I’m happy to buy them some time.”
Joe held her eye for a long heartbeat, then raised his hands over their food.
“Why don’t we enjoy our picnic, Tess?”
She managed to push a smile onto her face, but try as she might, the chicken tasted like ashes.
* * *
At sundown that same Sunday, Tess left her shack carrying an unlit lantern, a twelve-gauge shotgun, and a tote sack. She descended the steep trail that zig-zagged down into the shale hollow. She threaded the dark trail to the very back of the hollow and the entrance to the small cave that concealed her precious still.
Tess knew the clock was ticking. She believed Joe, believed in her heart that he was a man who could be trusted. At the same time, she knew Ike Pearson was a rat and kicked herself for selling to him. The still would have to disappear.
Lantern light pushed back the darkness of the cave. Tess looked over the still and her mash pots. She’d not be mixing anymore mash, but not even the threat of Ike’s big mouth would force her to pour out good mash that was ready to distill. Money was going to be tight enough once the still was dead.
Three mash pots meant three long nights. Once the whiskey was distilled, the works had to be broken down, toted up out of the hollow, and hidden in the shack. If she kept at it hard, Tess figured she could have the whole shebang done by Friday afternoon, just in time for her shift at Frankie’s Roadhouse. She banked up kindling, lit the pot fire, and set to work.
Those long nights were hard work, plain and simple. Tess tended the fire, watched the drip, collected and poured off the liquid backset that would normally go into the next batch of mash. It stung her heart to throw juice that could become good liquor, but the sting of the jailhouse would be worse.
At dawn, she scaled the goat trail, carrying out empty mash pots, buckets, anything that wasn’t essential. Her legs and back ached, but she kept at it. As the sun rose over the treetops, Tess collapsed on the pallet inside the shack.
While their mother slept, Acey and Jessie rousted little Dale from his bed. They were no strangers to doing for themselves. Acey got Dale washed and dressed while Jessie made breakfast and packed lunches. Brother and sister herded Dale to a neighbor’s house, set the boy loose in a pack of little kids, and headed to school.
Wednesday evening, Tess walked to the shack to gather her gear for one last night at the still. Her boots thumped the packed earth, and the crickets went silent as she passed.
Tess saw the plank door standing ajar and cursed herself for a fool. She’d left her pistol inside the shack, and the shotgun as well. Tess crept up to the door and peered through the crack. When she saw who was inside, she pushed the door open and stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.
“Acey, what do you think you’re doing?”
The lean boy stood behind the plank bar. Tess’s shotgun lay across the rough boards. Acey had just shoved a shell into the shotgun and was reaching for another. He gave his mother a hard look.
“What’s it look like I’m doing, Ma? I’m fixing to go shoot that bastard Ike Pearson. He’s out of jail and running his mouth.”
Tess felt a wave of anger course through her and fought to get hold of her temper. She saw the hard set of Acey’s jaw. Not a trace of fear on the boy’s face. She’d raise him to be fearless. It wasn’t the boy’s fault.
Tess stepped inside and pulled the door closed, shutting out the hard world. Acey did not move a muscle. Tess walked to the plank bar, reached across it, and laid her hand on his.
“Acey, how are you going to finish school if you’re sitting in the state prison? Someone will do for Ike Pearson, but it’s not going to be you.”
“Won’t be no school to go to if you lose the still. How’re we going to feed the kids? I’ll have to find work somewhere.”
“Listen to me. You’re a strong young man. You’re a good son and a good brother. No more talk about shooting people, you hear me?”
“But Ma…”
“I won’t hear no buts, Acey. You’re going to finish school and that’s that. I’ll find a way. It’s never easy for folks like us. When your daddy drank up a whole week’s pay, I kept food on our table. When he ran off, I kept you kids fed and in school. I don’t aim to change that now, and I damn sure don’t aim to see you in prison.”
Tess felt her son’s hand go slack, saw him fighting back tears of frustration. Her heart broke for the boy. She eased the shotgun out from his hands and laid it across the planks. Acey swiped the back of his hand over his eyes.
“Ma, tell me the truth. Is this about that bastard Ike, or is it because of that Joe Burke fella?”
“I’d warn you about your cussing, but Ike is a bastard, true enough. As for Joe Burke, I don’t know what’s going to happen. One thing I do know is I’m not going to jail, and neither are you. I’ve got to get after this last batch. If you want to help, get in the house and mind the little ones. Can you do that?”
Acey nodded his head and Tess saw what it cost him. She patted his hand, lifted the shotgun, picked up her lantern, and left the shack.
* * *
The birds were stirring in the brush outside the cave. Dawn tinted the eastern sky, but the hollow was still dark. Inside the cave, the still clicked as steel and copper cooled.
Tess stood in a pool of lantern light and ran one rough hand over the metal surfaces. She hoped this last batch of whiskey would be worthy of her father’s still. Her heart ached at the thought of breaking the still down. Would it ever drip clear liquor again?
Leaves rustled outside the cave. Then she heard boots slide on crumbled rock. Tess stepped out of the light and grabbed the shotgun. She pumped a round into the chamber and the footfalls went silent.
“Don’t shoot, Ma! It’s us.”
Tess lowered the shotgun.
“Acey, you know better than that!”
“Sorry, Ma. I brought help.”
Exasperated, Tess stepped to the mouth of the cave. She could just make out Acey. Two thin shadows stood behind him.
“Who you got with you?”
“Jimmy and Floyd. Figured we’d help you tote things.”
Tess couldn’t help but smile.
“Morning, boys. Bit early, isn’t it?”
“No Ma’am.”
She smiled at their lie and waved them in.
“Well boys, I’m obliged, I surely am. I think she’s cool enough to tote. Best we get done before daylight.”
Tess broke the still down. Even then, moving the parts was no easy task. She was glad for the strong young legs and willing hands. The boys worked in silence, carrying their burdens up the goat trail and descending for another load.
They made the last climb together, Acey cradling the cask of newly distilled shine. In the warm kitchen, Jessie served them coffee and griddle cakes. The boys wolfed down their breakfast and then Tess shooed everyone off to school. Little Dale slept through it all.
The morning sun warmed the shack. Tess left the door open so she could hear Dale if he cried. She pried up loose floor planks to reveal a stone-lined pit beneath the shack.
Tess scrubbed and cleaned each part of the still, then wrapped them in burlap. She tucked the disassembled still into the secret cellar and replaced the floorboards.
The deed was done and not a trace left behind except an ash pit and stacked firewood. There was no law against storing firewood in a cave.
Though dead tired, Tess looked forward to her shift at the roadhouse. She looked forward to seeing Joe Burke. Let that bastard Ike sing for all the good it would do him.
There was courting to be done, and Tess meant it to go forward. She would tell Joe Burke that his Sundays were booked solid from here on out. Next week, she would go see that lawyer fella Joe had recommended.
Tess crossed the shack and sat on the edge of the pallet, weary to the bone but smiling. She smiled because she had hope for the first time in two long years. With hope came the possibility of dreams.
She laughed aloud and reached under the pallet for a jar of shine. She took one good sip and felt the fire trickle down her throat. Then she allowed herself a second taste. She knew she’d earned it.