Countryside Yarns
TALL TALE OR TRUTH? YOU DECIDE!
The Purple Gang, Part 3
By Janis Stein

Join in the continuation to learn what happens after Federal agents find Daddy’s illegal stash.

That night when I saw Daddy walking up the lane, I ran to meet him. He had a jug of hooch in each hand; he looked so comical, swinging them as he walked. When we made it to the yard, Daddy asked me if we had any milk and eggs stored in the well. Daddy had placed hooks all around the inside wall of the well so that we could keep things cold. The eggs I collected each day were placed in a basket, the basket secured on its hook. When we had enough eggs worth selling, we would take them into town with us and sell them just as we did the extra milk and cheese.

I told Daddy we had taken everything into town that morning, with the exception of a few eggs we’d saved for tomorrow morning’s breakfast. Daddy untied our guard dog, Spike, from his stake near the well so he could run free for a bit. With many people hungry and out of work, some folks had turned to thieving. Earlier in the month when Mama had relayed the news in town to Daddy about the increased thefts out in the country, Daddy decided right then and there, we’d best put our dog, Spike, on guard duty – both at night while we slept and during the day while we tended the store.

Daddy smiled and lifted the well top, saying then there would be plenty of room for both of his jugs. Daddy said the last batch of liquor he had made had tasted exceptionally good, and he wanted to keep one jug for himself to have on hand for company and one for his very best customer who had been down with a fever and hadn’t showed up at his usual time. Likely, Daddy said, his favorite customer would show tomorrow, providing he was feeling better.

Sure enough, the very next evening I saw two fellows coming up our lane. I had already collected the eggs and swept the kitchen floor as were Mama’s instructions, so I was resting under the shade tree with a book I’d read cover-to-cover so many times I knew it by rote. (Always a dreamer, Mama said, when I told her that I’d love to write a book like that someday.) The pair walked at a good clip, and before I had a chance to run to the barn to fetch Mama, there they stood before me, asking where Daddy was. I promptly told them Daddy wasn’t home, as I had been trained to do. I remembered my pinky-swear with Daddy, and I had never, ever told a soul he was out in the woods running his illegal still.

I looked toward the barn where Mama was milking Bell and McCormick, praying Mama would come out. When she didn’t, I told these visitors where Mama was in the hopes they would seek her out to answer their questions. These men, though, didn’t bother, asking instead when Daddy would be home. I shrugged my shoulders, looking again toward the barn.

The tall man took his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow, saying he sure was thirsty. Trained to be polite, I ran to the pump and returned with a dipper filled with icy cold water. The other fellow laughed and laughed until his wild giggles turned into a coughing fit. With tears rolling down his eyes, when he finally did get his coughing under control, he started right back over again into the biggest fit of giggles I’d ever heard or seen. All the while, the tall man looked on without cracking a smile, though he did quietly say a drink of water wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

Friendly they were though and, plopping down on the grass beside me under Daddy’s favorite oak, they began talking among themselves about whether they should walk back toward town or whether they should wait for Daddy to return. The taller one said that maybe they should just come back later, but the shorter one with the rosy cheeks and big belly said it was a shame Daddy had missed his best customer.

Oh, so this was Daddy’s favorite customer! I hopped right up with glee. I could help these fellows after all, and relieved I was that they wouldn’t have to bother Mama. She’d been growing crankier by the day as the number of Daddy’s customers increased.

Though Spike had maintained a low growl deep in his throat since the pair arrived, I shushed the dog one last time and went to unhook his chain. Spike would only allow Daddy or me to go near him. Mama had no control over Spike whatsoever. Naturally, Spike was my hero.

Nervous at the sudden release of the dog, the two visitors jumped up, asking me what I was doing and, at the same time, telling me they would just be on their way. Since the well top was too heavy for me to lift, I invited the pair to do it for me. Concentrating on helping with the well top, I missed seeing the questioning glance these two men shared. Instead, I explained that Daddy had told me just last night that he had saved his best jug of moonshine for his best customer!

The men lifted both jugs out, though I tried to tell them the other jug was Daddy’s. More perplexed was I when neither took a drink to sample Daddy’s latest batch. When they asked again where my Daddy was and I didn’t so much as budge, they said I had best sit back down under the tree with them to wait for Daddy. They said they’d be staying awhile longer; they wanted to thank Daddy properly – and in person.

Mama came out of the barn just then, but her whistling stopped mid-tune when she saw the two men, each holding one of Daddy’s jugs, and me, sitting there between them, thinking something felt wrong but not knowing quite what it could be. The men showed Mama their identification and invited her to sit for a spell under the tree after they helped hang her milk pail in the well.

Under the tree, silent tears coursed down my ruddy cheeks. Mama glared at me for an eternity. Through clenched teeth, Mama angrily let loose on me, grumbling she knew Daddy should have never trusted me with such a secret, saying she knew I would eventually tell somebody about Daddy’s still. Though I shook my head no, I couldn’t find the words to make her stop.

Finally, the short, potbellied man looked sadly upon me and told Mama he had heard enough – and that they had learned about Daddy’s still not from me but from her own words.

I learned too late that the man proclaiming to be Daddy’s best customer was instead a federal agent, as was his partner. They led Daddy away that night in handcuffs, but not before Daddy gave me a hug, telling me he’d be gone for a little while and that no matter what, I needed to remember that it wasn’t my fault. Daddy assured me and reassured me it wasn’t my fault. He said he would have to accept the consequences for his choices, and it wasn’t a little girl’s problem.

Daddy spent the next year and a half in the state prison. And it was my fault the bad men took Daddy away.

I had missed Daddy terribly during those longs weeks and months. Left all alone in the world with the woman who blamed me for her husband’s absence was my own prison sentence. Mama blamed me every day of those 18 months, blamed me by what she said and by what she didn’t say. No more hugs and good-night kisses. No more speaking for the sake of conversation. No more new tablets from the General Store so I could write my stories. But that was all right. She couldn’t blame me anymore than I already blamed myself.

Look for the continuation next month when Daddy completes his jail sentence and daughter Maggie learns she’ll be going to live with her Aunt Ginny for a spell.

Have a yarn you’d like to share? We’d be happy to spin it. You may write to Janis in care of The Lakeshore Guardian, P.O. Box 6, Harbor Beach, MI 48441, or give us a call at 866-479-3448 to share your story.

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