Page 124 of In These Hills

Emotion threatened to undermine her voice, and it didn’t help that Dodge was seated close, watching. She thought of Gideon Cartwright and of how her actions would have affected him. But in the end, she knew the what—or who—behind changing her mind. “You, Mr. Daniel.” Her voice held, but barely. “Namely, your generosity. Not only to me, but to others. I—” She looked down at her hands folded tightly in her lap, then forced her gaze back to his. “I did not expect that. Or more candidly, I didn’t expect it from a—”

“Distillery owner,” Mr. Daniel stated matter-of-factly.

She nodded again, then could hardly push the next words past the shame gripping her throat. “And you as well . . . Mr. Coburn. Knowing that my actions would also affect you. And this, after you’ve been remarkably kind to me since my arrival.”

She dared look over and the intensity in his blue eyes challenged her composure.

“Mr. Daniel,” she continued. “What you said yesterday about reaping what you sow also set me to thinking. Regardless of my opinion about alcohol, I could not repay your overwhelming generosity with such . . . ingratitude.”

“I’d hardly call what you almost succeeded in doing mere ingratitude, Mrs. Dunham. I’d term it more retaliation. Perhaps even payback on behalf of the American Woman Suffrage Association.”

“But it wasn’t intended toward you personally, sir. I hope you know that.”

“No, you only intended to harm my distillery, my livelihood, and that of everyone who works for me. That makes all the difference.” Though his expression was guarded, his sarcasm cut deep.

She struggled for what else she could say or do to convey her regret.

“Earlier . . .” Dodge finally broke the silence. “You said you acted from emotion based on someone who’s hurting. Who were you referring to?”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”

“I only ask because I think it might help if we understood the motivation behind—”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. It would reveal a confidence that’s not mine to share.”

Dodge faced forward again, his frustration evident. But what wounded far more was the disappointment she sensed from him. As though she should expect anything different.

“So, Mr. Daniel . . .” She intentionally unknotted her hands. “What are you going to do?”

He looked across the desk at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, sir, what happens to me? Are you firing me? Are you going to send for Sheriff Rigby?”

He studied her over steepled hands, then released a slow sigh. “I must confess, Mrs. Dunham, I committed a cardinal sin in relation to you. I did to you what people have been doing to me my entire life . . . I underestimated you. Don’t get me wrong, I figured you would try something. After all, you left here that first day all hellfire and brimstonin’ me, and not at all impressed with my illustrious gold medal.” A touch of humor ghosted his mouth. “Then when I spotted you coming back that next morning, after you’d flat refused the job the day before, I thought to myself, Here we go, Jack. This spitfire of a female is going to try to take you down.” He laughed softly.

But Josephine couldn’t.

“Your passion for justice—or perceived justice”—Mr. Daniel aimed a look she knew only too well—“is admirable, even if I adamantly disagree with your opinion on the matter. And here I was thinking you would choose to conveniently forget to order supplies or pay a bill, which would certainly have interrupted production. But your ingenuity to alter the gauger’s book—gutsy, too, I admit—would have cost me dearly had you seen it through.” His eyes narrowed. “So I’m most grateful, for all our sakes, Mrs. Dunham, that you did not.”

Though he didn’t say it outright, she clearly heard or this would be turning out quite differently.

“While I’m grateful, too,” Dodge said, his tone solemn, “I think it’s important for us to acknowledge something else. Although I’ll admit, I was so angry, I didn’t see it at first.” He turned to her. “In the end, what prevented this from happening was that you placed Mr. Daniel and me, along with everyone else who would have been negatively affected by your actions, above your passion for justice as it relates to drinking. Or more specifically, in this instance, whiskey making. You valued people over strict principle, and that is not at all lost on me . . . Mrs. Dunham.”

“Or me,” Mr. Daniel echoed quietly. “As one of the finest men I knew used to say, Hold your principles with conviction, and your neighbor with compassion.” His gaze slid to Dodge whose expression held gratitude. “

My father,” Dodge said softly, glancing over at her.

Josephine looked between the two of them, and swallowed hard. If she’d been close to losing her composure a moment earlier, their unexpected grace all but shattered it. To find such understanding not only from men, but from these two men—distillers—and here in these hills. So different from her father’s begrudging, often prickly form of grace. Her father’s adherence to principle had been unyielding and his interpretation of the letter of the law applied without question.

“So,” Dodge continued. “Where do we go from here, Uncle Jack?”

“Forward, of course, but . . .” Mr. Daniel paused, his gaze steady on Josephine. “As the saying goes, No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man. Or in this instance, not the same man or woman.”

She recognized the quote. “Heraclitus,” she said—at the same time as Dodge. She looked beside her in surprise.

“I do know how to read, remember,” he said in a stage whisper.

She shook her head, appreciating his attempt to lighten the tension. But when Mr. Daniel leaned forward in his leather chair, his expression grave, she braced herself. And sensed Dodge did, too.