Page 130 of In These Hills

“While I’m still not at liberty to share who it is, I’m wondering . . .” Earnestness filled her expression. “How do you help someone who’s addicted to liquor? I know all the right things to say. I’ve stood outside taverns and have handed out pledge cards. I’ve spoken publicly about the evils of drink and the need to stop.” She briefly looked away. “But I have no idea how to practically help someone. But I deeply want to.”

More convinced than ever that Calla was that someone, he didn’t dare admit it. But if it was her, he hurt for her. And that also meant he’d somehow missed the signs, and that hurt on a whole other level. “First, I know about this because someone I’ve worked closely with here at the distillery struggled with drinking too much. He quit about six years ago. I remember the time frame because he and I just talked about it the other day.”

“I would imagine many people here are plagued with that particular problem.”

Accusation layered her tone and apparently she heard it, too.

She winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound—”

“I think you might be surprised, Josephine, at how many people work here yet who only drink it on occasion. Some perhaps never. Take me, for example. I’m a regular taster for the distillery and—” He paused for effect. “I enjoy that aspect of my job. And even the taste of it.”

She made a face, and he laughed.

“And I will, on rare occasion, have a glass of Old No. 7, and I’ll enjoy it. But I don’t have to have it, and beyond that, I’ve made a conscious choice not to have it on a regular basis. Because—”

“Because you’ve seen what liquor does to people,” she interjected. “The misery and trouble it brings.”

He held her gaze. “Because I’ve learned that while a man—and woman—are free to choose, not everything he or she chooses is good for them. And anything we can’t control—drink, food, anger, bad habits . . . desires—”

Something flickered in her eyes.

“—those things end up controlling us. And I don’t want to be ruled by anything or anyone. Well, except the Almighty.”

She searched his gaze, her own so full of honesty and curiosity, then she chuckled beneath her breath. “Underestimated,” she whispered.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I’m just saying I underestimated you, yet again. And we’ll simply have to agree to disagree on the taste.”

“Is that right?” He smiled, remembering the jerky she loved so much. “Remember that recipe you wanted me to share with you?”

“For the jerky you make. Yes. Are you finally ready to—” Awareness flickered across her face. “No . . .”

He laughed and looked away for a beat. “I haven’t had the heart to tell you, seeing as how you love it, and yet knowing how you feel about Old No. 7.”

“And you’ve let me eat it, even knowing what you do about me.”

Hearing both teasing and slight seriousness in her voice, he held up a hand. “All the alcohol cooks out of it during the process. Or mostly all.” He winked. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”

She tossed him a playful glance of promised retribution, then shielded her eyes from the sun, her expression going serious again. “How did you help that friend? Practically speaking, I mean.”

“Mainly I was just there whenever he needed anything. Someone to talk to, to go fishing with, shooting with. Sometimes I’d just sit and listen as he walked back through his life, reliving both the good and the bad. I guess you could say my door was always open. Doc Wyatt helped him a good deal, too, though. Doc mixed up some remedies. Nothing magic, mind you. Nothing like those ‘natural tonics’ laced with alcohol that swindlers in big cities hawk on street corners. Doc’s grandmother was what we used to call a healer. Talk to him. He was here a while ago, but left. He’ll be happy to help you . . . and whoever it is you’re trying to help.”

She nodded, taking it all in. “Thank you, Dodge.”

“You’re welcome, Josephine.”

She turned to go, and he remembered the ring in his pocket.

“I need to talk to you about something, too, Josephine. If you have a minute.”

“Sure.” She glanced around. “But could we find somewhere out of the sun?”

They walked a short distance down a sloping path through a stand of pines to the creek where the canopy of an old oak provided relief from the heat. Water sluicing over smooth rock and the chatter of birds overhead made a comforting backdrop. He gestured to a fallen log, then sat beside her, keeping a respectable distance, mindful of the solitude around them.

He could feel her watching him as he reached into his pocket. “I found this a few days ago. I keep meaning to give it to you but—” He started to say he hadn’t had the opportunity or had forgotten, but didn’t want to lie. “It was wedged between the floorboards beneath the driver’s seat in the wagon.” He opened his palm.

A soft gasp threaded her lips. She took it from him, her eyes filling. She slipped it on her ring finger, then held out her hand to admire it. “Oh Dodge, thank you. I can’t tell you what this means to me. I thought I’d lost it forever.”