Chapter One
Kentucky, 1924
Part I
The truck sat parked sideways on the road, its wood-rail sides barely visible underneath the cloth that covered its cargo. Should a passerby stop to offer help to the stranded driver – not that it such a thing was likely a this hour – they’d be waved away with a brisk call of, “God bless but never mind. Someone’s already on the way.”
And should someone come along more interested in inspecting the cargo than offering help – still unlikely but a greater possibility – the only thing they’d see under the cloth would be bags of grain.
A car engine could be heard on the horizon now and below, in the holler, a dim glow of headlines could be seen threading itself through the smoky mist. The car’s shiny exterior glowed in the moonlight as it came around the bend. The lights of a second vehicle that followed the first silhouetted the drivers of the car.
No one said anything about a second car. Mickey frowned and reached inside the window of the truck. The shotgun was there, its grip cool to the touch.
The cars stopped just behind the truck and doors opened and closed as they emptied of passengers. There were seven men altogether.
The driver of the first car walked over to where Mickey stood. He was tall, and walked with the confident swagger. When he was just inches away he tipped back his hat and smiled the smile of a man who is used to disarming people with nothing more than charm.
“Hello, beautiful.”
“Don’t ‘hello beautiful’ me, Colton.” Mickey glared up at the man, willing her heart not to lurch towards him. The hand on the rifle stock was suddenly sweaty.
“Come on now,” he drawled. “Don’t be like this.”
She looked past him over to the other men. City people. She could tell by the way they avoided the mud puddles by the side of the road. When they were small, she and Colton used to jump in puddles. Mickey wondered if that had changed, too, and whether he now thought shiny shoes made the man.
The men were hanging back, looking to Colton before moving any closer. He was obviously in control. That hadn’t changed. She took her hand off the stock.
“You didn’t say anything about bringing other folks,” she said, walking around to the back of the truck.
“These aren’t just ‘folks,’ Mickey,” he said. “These are potential customers.” He leaned into her. “Good potential customers.”
She pulled him towards her. “How do I don’t know they’re not revenuers?” she hissed.
He looked down at her, his grey eyes locking onto hers. “Because you know I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Mickey regarded him for a moment and then turned to pull back the cloth covering her cargo. “Help me get these bags offa here.”
Colton pulled them off two at a time, carefully stacking them to the right of the truck’s rear tire.
“Clever girl.”
Mickey looked up to see a short, heavyset man in an expensive suit staring at the door leading to the hidden compartment in the truck bed.
“Most local law are too lazy to haul down twenty sacks of grain to see what’s underneath,” she said.
“Or too drunk off of your moonshine,” Colton added. Behind him, the men erupted of laughter.
“They can drink all my liquor they want,” Mickey said. “Just so long as they don’t suspect me of brewing it.”
She pulled a jug from the hidden department and held it up for the men to see. The moon’s light shone through the clear liquid, which lacked the amber hue of legally distilled spirits aged in oak barrels.
“This is my best batch yet,” she said to Colton. “Very potent.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” The stout man in the suit stepped forward. In his hand he held a tin cup and a flask of black powder.
“You’re going to test my moonshine?” Mickey couldn’t keep the indignity from her voice.
Colton suddenly looked embarrassed. “Sorry, Mick,” he said. “I should have explained. This is Sparky Cox. He’s from Chicago. Owns a chain of establishments up there. He’s got money to spend on new product.”
But Mickey wasn’t any closer to relinquishing the bottle than she’d been when she took it out.
“And what? Your words not good enough for him?” The jibe was intended to sting, but she didn’t care. He’d hurt her plenty, and it pleased her to see him standing there embarrassed.
A moment of silence passed between them and Mickey could see in Colton’s eyes a clear desire to do now what he’d failed to do in the past: tame her careless tongue.
“No. It’s not,” he admitted. “Sparky Cox didn’t get to be where he is by trusting other people. He’s like you in that way.”
Now it was Mickey’s turn to redden, and she hated the way Colton could so coolly turn the tables, even now that she was away from him. She focused her attention on Cox, flashing him her prettiest smile.
“Well, it looks like we have something in common, then.”
Mickey sat the jug on the tailgate of the truck and uncorked it while Cox sprinkled some gunpowder into the bottom of the cup. When he held it out to her, Mickey first made a show of inspecting the powder itself before pouring some of the spirits over it. Cox took the cup, and held it out to another man who struck a match on the bottom of his shoe and dropped it in the cup. The contents blazed in an impressive, short-lived flash.
“The lady speaks the truth,” Cox pronounced.
He reached for the bottle and hefted it to his lips. Mickey suppressed as smirk as the portly man tried to look casual while the liquor blazed a trail down his throat.
“So?” Mickey asked after a moment.
She took the jug from him and corked it, putting it close to the hatchway.
“How much do you have in there?” he asked.
“Fourteen more jugs like this and ten dozen two-quart canning jars.”
Cox appeared to mull things over in his head, but Mickey knew she’d had him from the flash in the cup. Now it was just a matter of price.
Cox reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He handed them to Mickey.
“Will this cover it?” he asked.
Mickey counted the money. It would more than cover it. But she knew enough about how this business worked.
“Ordinarily,” she said. “But given that you forced me to put a match to my brew I’m thinking about twenty more will cover the liquor and my hurt feelings. You know how we ladies are about our hurt feelings.”
“Mickey…” Colton’s voice was alarmed, but Cox threw up his hand to silence him.
And he began to laugh. “I like your spunk, Mickey…what did you say your last name was?”
“I didn’t,” she replied and held out her hand. “Twenty and we’ll call it a deal.”
Cox reached into his pocket, pulled out another wad of bills and peeled off two twenties. “One for your pride and the other for the entertainment of your company.”
The men behind him laughed, but all Mickey did was smirk.
“Let’s get this stuff loaded into your cars before someone comes along and sees us,” she said.
Part II
Kit Patterson paced nervously in front of the living room window, glancing every so often towards the bedroom door and praying that her husband didn’t wake up.
Mickey had promised to be back by midnight – had guaranteed it even. If she came crawling in at dawn with more excuses - Kit began to chew nervously on her thumbnail – there was only so much Freddy would take before he packed her off to live somewhere else. And that wasn’t something Kit wanted to happen. It was bad enough, having to marry Reverend Freddy Patterson to keep herself out of the poorhouse. The only bright spot in her life was her headstrong little sister who was out doing God-Knows-What with God-Knows-Who.
And that was the other part of the problem. Because Kit did know who and what Mickey was doing. Not that she condoned it. In many ways she agreed with her husband’s strong support of prohibition. Liquor did lead to all the things he preached against – broken families and broken lives and poverty and shame. But part of her agreed with Mickey, too, when she pointed out that God put the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the garden to give man a choice. And if Man wanted to turn that fruit into wine and get staggering drunk, well, that was just between him and his God.
She rarely got between Fred and Mickey when they had these discussions, and only intervened when Fred began quoted Neal prohibitionist Dow like he’d written the Bible and Mickey began asking him if the man had. Usually that’s when Fred would stand up and begin rolling up his sleeves. Usually Mickey would be able to sprint away before Fred got her. But not always. Then Kit would flee to her sewing room and clamp her hands over her ears to try and drown out the sound of her husband’s hand wailing away on Mickey’s bottom, like that ever had an effect on Mickey Sweet.
If spanking worked, then she’d have still been with Colton Rogers.
Kit knew darn good and well that’s where Mickey had gone, although she denied it seven ways to Sunday.
“I’m not stupid,” she told her sister earlier in the day. “I know what Colton’s into, and I know what you’re into. And one of these days you’re going to come in this house smelling like sour mash when Fred’s around and he’s going to put two and two together and you’ll be out! And where do you think that’s going to leave me?”
She’d glowered then until Mickey had said, “You know, even when you’re mad-dog angry you’re still the prettier sister.”
And Kit had thrown up her hands in the air and turned, wondering how Mickey always knew how to say the right things at just the wrong time.
“Now you listen to me,” Mickey had said, coming up behind Kit to wrap her arms around her neck. “We’re both getting out of here. I promise. And don’t lie to me and tell me that’s not what you want, neither. Because we know it’s true. But to make that happen I’m going to have to do what I have to do and you’re going to have to trust me. Right now all we’ve got is Daddy’s old beat up truck, some land up in the hills and my cooking skills. But I’m making something of it and Fred might not be the best husband or brother-in-law but his reputation as a preacher is keeping me above suspicion. I mean, really, who would suspect the innocent-looking relative of God’s Own Warrior against Bootlegging to be turning out the best moonshine in Kentucky.”
Kit had groaned then and turned around to clutch her sister in a tight hug. “I never could tell you want to do,” she said. “But do know that I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. So be careful, all right?”
Mickey had smiled, the corners of her cornflower blue eyes crinkling in her tanned face. A smattering of freckles ran like a little constellation across her nose, and her teeth were slightly crooked. True, she lacked Kit’s peaches-and-cream prettiness. But there was an impishness, a recklessness about Mickey Sweet that drew men to her like bees to honey.
The clock struck four when Kit heard the crunch of Mickey’s boots on the gravel outside. With one final glance back to where her husband slept, she pushed out through the screen door and flew down the steps.
“Where on God’s green earth have you been?” she asked in a furious whisper when she reached Mickey. “I’ve been worried sick – beyond sick!”
“Look.” Mickey reached into her pocket and pulled out the wad of bills Sparky Cox had given to her.
Kit gasped and stepped back, as if she were being offered as snake. “Is it real?”
“Of course it’s real,” Mickey said.
Kit reached out and took the money, shaking her head as she counted it. “This is unreal, she said, halfway through. Then: “There’s so much…”
Mickey took the money and stuffed it back in her pocket. Then she took her sister’s hand and drug her through the moonlight to the woodshed behind the house. Along the left wall was a board that concealed a hidden compartment – Mickey was big on hidden compartments. Mickey removed a jar already half-full of money and stuffed in the fresh wad of bills.
“Another night or two like this one, Kit, and we are out of here. We could go to Illinois, or Tennessee or even further south to the Carolinas or even Florida if you wanted. Then you could grow flowers year round. We’ll buy a house and live together…” She walked over and took her hands. “And you can find a new husband. One who will love you instead of boss you around and rail at you for not getting pregnant fast enough.”
Mickey regretted the words once she said them. Even though Kit did not love Fred, she longed for children. But after more than a year of marriage, she’d become no more pregnant than she had been the day Fred had fumbled his way through rupturing her maidenhead.
“And what about you?” Kit asked, changing the subject with an attempt at more cheer than she felt. “I’m not the only one of marriageable age.”
“I don’t want to marry.” Mickey fixed the board back in front of the jar and stepped away, wiping her dusty hands off on her pants.
“That’s only because he hasn’t asked you yet.”
“Kit, don’t start.” Mickey turned and glared at Kit.
“Come on now, Mickey,” her sister persisted, knowing that Mickey would allow a little ribbing after bringing up the delicate subject of her sister’s possible infertility. For Mickey was nothing if not fair. “You know Colton loves you, and you two would be great together.”
“No,” Mickey said resolutely. “Colton loves the idea of me. Specifically the idea of taming me. If we were together he’d never stop trying until one of us was dead and if I ever did give in he’d end up leaving me out of boredom. That’s how men like Colton are.”
“Mickey, it’s not that uncommon for men to take a strap to women around here, even if they’re not yet wed. Fred does it to me, he’s even done it to you….”
“Only if he catches me,” Mickey shot back. “And I wouldn’t marry a man like Fred. And I won’t marry Colton.”
“Because he spanked you.” Kit said, crossing her arms angrily. “You’re not going to marry the man who loves and understands you above anyone else simply because he tanned your fanny for good reason.”
“No. I didn’t refuse to marry Colton because he spanked me, Kit. I refused to marry him because he felt entitled to spank me.” She turned and walked towards the door. “I don’t expect someone like you to understand the difference.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” Kit was running after her sister now, nearly tripping over the hem of her nightgown as she did so. “I never said it was right. I just said it was the way things are.”
“Not for me!” Mickey rounded on her sister so fast that Kit nearly collided with her.
Mickey sighed then suddenly very tired.
“Look, Kit,” she said. “I don’t want to fight about this. Not anymore. Nothing is going to change the way I feel. Nothing. And frankly I’d rather focus on my successes right now than my failures. Maybe I never will make a good traditional wife. But I can’t focus on that right now anyway. I’d rather think about the next step in getting us away from this place.” She turned, offering her parting shot in a low voice. “And away from this backwoods mentality.”
Kit pretended not to hear. “I’m sorry,” she said, catching up again to her sister and now walking beside her. “You’re right. We don’t need to argue. Not with both of us being so miserable here.”
Mickey turned then and wordlessly hugged her sister, grateful that Kit was less stubborn than she, that Kit at least knew when and how to gracefully give in.
The house was silent when they walked in. Mickey went into the kitchen and poured herself a bit of cider and helped herself to a bit of bread as her sister returned to the bedroom she shared with her husband.
She heard Fred ask sleepily ask where she’d been, and heard her sister silkily and easily lie that she’d heard raccoons in the henhouse but had chased them away. Mickey heard Kit ask her husband if he’d warm her cold feet and shuddered at what it must take for her to pretend to want his touch.
And Kit’s mind unwillingly found it drifting back to Colton, to his touch, to the way he had made – how he still made – her feel. He was the only man who’d ever sparked her interest, the only man who seemed delighted by her wild side and the sharp mind so unusual among the highly domesticated women-folk of the region.
It was Colton who had introduced her to moonshine, first as a drink, and then as an art. He and his family had been involved in making and selling illegal liquor before the Volstead Act became law.
Around the same time, Adam Rogers, Colton’s grandfather had died, leaving his father Colton, Sr., a huge horse farm in the southern part of the state. Colton had stayed behind under the guise of settling affairs, but the truth was he planned to continue making moonshine which now promised a far greater profit since it was illegal. And his partner in crime was to be his bright understudy, Mickey Sweet.
The two worked like a cog and a wheel together, except for one problem. They were both uncompromisingly stubborn. And one day after Mickey had openly argued with Colton over something neither could now remember, he’d done what he thought was his right – something that ultimately destroyed their relationship – he upended Mickey Sweet over his lap and gave her the worst spanking of her life.
