Page 35 of In These Hills

“Generous nothing.” He stood. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. Speakin’ of, when can you start?”

“Today. Now, if you’d like.” She rose, a little dizzy with relief and gratitude. She glanced at his desk then eyed him playfully. “But I think it would be helpful to know something about your company first. Your shingle out front reads Jack Daniel Distributors. What exactly do you distribute?”

She didn’t miss the glance that passed between the two men. But it was the look on Dodge Coburn’s face she couldn’t decipher.

“Jack Daniel Distributors?” Mr. Daniel repeated, that glint sliding into his eyes again. “My dear Mrs. Dunham, we simply ran out of room on that shingle.” He reached into his desk drawer and produced a bottle. “This is Jack Daniel Distillery, home of good Old No. 7 itself. Sour mash sipping corn whiskey, charcoal mellowed, drop by drop!”

15

JOSEPHINE STARED AT THE BOTTLE in Mr. Daniel’s grip, then out the window at the buildings beyond his office, and finally back to the desktop. Receipts, bills, and order slips lay scattered. She picked them up. All were stamped with Jack Daniel Distillery.

“You make whiskey?” she asked, her voice as hollow as she felt.

“Not just whiskey, Mrs. Dunham.” Mr. Daniel beamed. “World’s Best Whiskey. That’s the title the World’s Fair in St. Louis gave it last year, and we came home toting a gold medal to prove it.”

He looked past her, and she turned to see a framed gold medal on the wall behind her.

“If I weren’t so secure a man, Mrs. Dunham,” he went on, “I might be a tad offended you’ve never heard of my little company. But as Dodge already knows”—he glanced at Mr. Coburn in the doorway—“neither had anyone at the World’s Fair. We walked in just a nothing-of-a-distiller from a town nobody knew.” His grin widened. “So I’ll forgive you this once. But we’re growing fast. Soon everybody will know about Jack Daniel’s whiskey. So if you’re going to work here—”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a shot glass.

Despite his jesting tone, Josephine could only shake her head. And though she didn’t dare look at Dodge Coburn to confirm it, she could well imagine the humor he was finding at her own expense, knowing what he already knew about her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Daniel, but there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. I cannot accept this job, after all. I—”

Rapid footsteps thumped on the porch, and a young girl burst in, breathless. “Uncle Dodge! Mr. Carver gave me extra jelly beans. Said to share with you. But I told him—” The girl’s attention skidded to Josephine. “Who are you? And what happened to your face?”

“Bethie!” Mr. Coburn laid a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder.

Fighting instinct, Josephine met the girl’s gaze, remembering the name and not missing that she’d addressed Mr. Coburn as uncle. “I’m Mrs. Josephine Dunham. I was in an accident, but I’m going to be fine.”

“Well, you look like you got the tar beat right out of you!”

“Bethie!” Mr. Coburn’s tone sharpened. “Head on up to the cabin. I’ll be there directly.”

He attempted to steer her toward the door, but she resisted, eyes narrowing as she stepped closer.

She was a striking child—golden hair, blue eyes, athletic build, and the indigo dress set off her features. She had an almost tangible exuberance about her, a keenness hinting at intelligence just waiting to be nurtured. The kind of student every teacher longed for, but that came along only rarely.

Then in a blink, the girl’s excitement dimmed. Her eyes went dark. “Where’d you get that skirt? And that blouse? Those belonged to my mama! You oughtn’t be wearing them!”

“Bethie Grace.” Mr. Coburn took her by the hand. “Now is not the—”

“But Uncle Dodge, she got no right. She didn’t even know Mama!” She turned on Josephine. “I bet you’re staying at the boarding house. I bet you stole them from Miss Mary when she wasn’t looking!”

Heat rushed to Josephine’s face, made worse when she caught the flicker of doubt in Mr. Coburn’s expression. Embarrassed and ashamed, she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “I promise I didn’t take them. Miss Mary allowed me to borrow them so I could come here today. But I’m returning them immediately. In fact, why don’t I take my leave, and I’ll—”

She moved for the door, but the child blocked her. Josephine half expected her to grab at the skirt, but tears filled the girl’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Only then did Josephine recall what Miss Mary had said about the garments. They belonged to a dear friend who passed away last year. So your care is greatly appreciated.

This precious child’s mother . . .

The girl’s grief—and the raw pain on Dodge Coburn’s face—threatened to unravel what little composure Josephine had left. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “If I’d known, I would never have—”

“Don’t you ever wear those again,” Bethie sobbed. “You got no right. You just got no right . . .”

Mr. Coburn scooped her up, and she clung to his neck, face buried in his shoulder.

“She got no right,” Bethie whispered.

“Y’all excuse us, please,” Mr. Coburn said, voice tight. “Jack, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He looked at Josephine. “Mrs. Dunham . . .”