“She can change gears on a dime,” Colton said. “One minute she’s here, and the next she’s mentally back at the law office. Grab her while you can. She never sticks around long.”

CHAPTER FIVE

SADIE

Wednesday, December 24, 1941

Bluestone, Virginia

As her brother Johnny’s truck rolled into the town of Bluestone, which was not more than a few scattered wood-framed buildings, fifteen-year-old Sadie scooted to the edge of the worn seat. They rumbled toward Sullivan’s mercantile store.

Going into Sullivan’s General was always a treat. Although she could not afford a thing in the store, she still liked looking at the fabrics, gadgets, and magazines filled with pictures of beautiful people who lived in far-off, exotic places. Some days when Mr. Sullivan was in a good mood, he held back some of the older magazines for her. She was hoping with the holidays he was feeling generous.

Johnny downshifted into second gear and pulled up alongside the curb by the mercantile store. The town was nowhere as big as Charlottesville. But it had a church, a general store, a feed and seed, Dr. Carter’s office staffed two days a week, a small diner that was the only place within thirty miles that served liquor, and, of course, a jail. Since the soapstone factory had closed nine years ago, none of the businesses except the café and jail got much traffic.

The front window of the mercantile store was decorated with a big green Christmas wreath decked out with a crisp red bow. Underneath were several wrapped packages. Two weeks ago when she had been in the store, she had picked up the smallest package because she had been drawn to the bright-red paper. When she had shaken it and realized it was light as a feather, she had shouted across the store to Mr. Sullivan and asked what was inside. He had frowned, mumbled something about them being empty and just for show. She had then jostled all the boxes and sadly discovered they all felt empty.

“Remember, no touching,” Johnny warned. “Mr. Sullivan don’t like you shaking those boxes and announcing to the store that they’re empty.”

“Seems a real waste to take the time to put fancy red paper on a box just for show.”

“You take the time, Sadie, if you’re trying to sell the paper or get folks in the buying mood for Christmas.”

She stared at the wrapped packages, deciding to pretend they were full of pretty clothes. “I can’t hurt nothing by looking.”

“Look all you want. Don’t cost a thing.” He grinned.

“I bet Mr. Sullivan lets the new Mrs. Carter look and touch all she wants.” She had seen the woman only once since she had moved to Bluestone. Tiny and quiet, the new bride reminded Sadie of a mouse.

“You know as well as I do that the folks in Woodmont live by a different set of rules,” he said just above a whisper.

“It’s not fair.”

“Fair has nothing to do with it. It is what it is.”

Johnny was just nineteen but looked a decade older. Since their father had died two years ago and their oldest brother, Danny, had joined the army, Johnny had taken to working their farm from sunup to well past sundown. And when he was not growing wheat, he was working the odd shift in the furniture factory in Waynesboro. The weeks he was away were the hardest, as the farmwork and moonshine-making fell to Sadie. She had barely been to school this fall and knew she had fallen far behind the other students.

Prohibition had ended years ago, and the heyday of selling shine had long since passed. But there were folks, including the fancy Carters, who had developed a taste for the Thompson honeysuckle-flavored recipe. And honestly, anything homemade was tastier than store bought.

This time of year, sales generally rose. But this December had been extra brisk after President Roosevelt had told the world over the radio about the Japanese sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. Everyone in town wanted payback, including Johnny. And their mother, who always fretted about Danny, stopped sleeping so well and began pacing the wood floors. She had seen the Great War and wanted no part of it for her two sons.

Sadie hopped out of the truck, burrowing her gloved hands into the pocket of Danny’s old gray wool coat. She hurried around to the back, ready to pull out several mason jars filled with moonshine. At Christmas, Mr. Sullivan always accepted three jars and credited their store account.

Across the street, Sheriff Boyd strolled out the front door of his jail. A dark shirt stretched over his rounded belly and tried to stay tucked inside faded jeans but had slipped loose in a spot or two. Pinned on his chest was a star that never shined up well no matter how much he polished it. Boyd recognized Johnny’s truck. His dark eyes sharpened with interest.

“Is Sheriff Boyd going to give us trouble?” Sadie asked.

“He and I struck a deal.” Johnny removed two of the biggest jars from the milk crate.

“What kind of deal?”

“I give him two jars of the honeysuckle white lightning, and he looks the other way.”

Sadie calculated the value. “That’s worth two dollars, Johnny.”

Johnny tightened his hold on the jars, the frown lines around his mouth deepening. “He threatened to call in the state police and report my illegal still, and I can’t have that.”

Boyd was not as tall as Johnny but was a few decades older, and he sported at least an extra fifty pounds. Being sheriff did not pay much, but he found ways to skim extra benefits to add to his meager income.

Boyd hoisted his belt over his belly and tucked in the shirt. After looking from left to right, he crossed the street toward the truck.

“Why don’t you go inside the store and give Mr. Sullivan his delivery?” Johnny said. “Have a look at the magazines.”

“I saw all the covers two weeks ago. They can’t have changed. And seeing as I can’t touch, I’ll have no way of seeing inside the pages.”

Johnny clutched the jars close. “Sadie, go inside. No good will come of you mixing with Boyd.”

“I can be nice,” Sadie countered.

“No, you can’t. Go on inside.”

Sadie smoothed the folds of her coveralls, which were a castoff from the church bin. Though they were older, age made the fabric soft, and they felt good against her skin. Last year the coveralls had hung on her slim frame, but these days her hips and breasts had filled in the empty spaces nicely. One day she hoped to find a dress in the bin and wear it into Charlottesville or Roanoke to see a picture show.

“I want to stay with you, Johnny,” she said.

“Do as I say, Sadie.” Johnny’s tone was a blend of fatigue and worry. “One thing for us to fight at home, but not now.” He was whispering, but his gaze was locked on Sheriff Boyd.

Sheriff Boyd had arrested their brother, Danny, for driving shine and had locked him up. The judge had given Danny a choice. Three years in jail or the army. Seeing as the food was better in the army, Danny had taken that route. Sadie knew deep down Danny was glad for the excuse to leave Bluestone.

“Get!” Johnny ordered. “I’ll bring in the crate of jars.”

Frowning, she balled her fingers into fists. “I’ll be watching from the window.”

Johnny was grinning. “Good to see you, Sheriff Boyd.”

Sadie glanced back and caught Boyd’s gaze darkening as he studied her. Raising her chin to prove she was brave, she then stepped into the store. Bells jingled over her head, obscuring Boyd’s comment to Johnny.