“Why in the world would you do that? You heard Mr. Sullivan say that war ain’t all that easy.”

“I suspect because it ain’t easy, that’s why they’re going to need men like me.”

She twisted toward him, knowing every bit of shock she felt was on her face. “I need you.”

“Not as bad as the country does. Watch the road.”

She refocused on the headlights barely penetrating the darkness ahead of them. “When do you leave?”

“The second of January.”

“What?” she said, glaring at him again.

He pointed ahead. “The road.”

The truck’s wheels rumbled over a small pothole, drawing her attention back to the narrow band of headlights. “That’s less than two weeks!”

“I know.” He stared ahead, his gaze not really looking at anything, especially her. It was as if he felt poorly about his decision at this moment. But his jaw was set in a way that signaled he had made up his mind. He could be so stubborn that she often joked he was part mule.

“What are Mama and I going to do?” Her question was selfish. He was heading off to fight in a war that she wanted no part of, and here her first question was for herself.

“You two will be fine. You’ll keep making the shine, Mama’s got her piecework sewing, and I’ll send money home each month like Danny.”

“And the farm?”

“It’ll be more work for you, but that’s just the way it is.”

“Danny never sends money or writes.”

“Well, I will. The army pays better than the factory in Waynesboro, and I won’t be having to pay for the back-and-forth travel.”

“That’s why you’re making me drive tonight?”

“Might as well get used to it.” She had first driven when she was twelve, but her first driving lesson had been cut short when she had hit the side of the barn as she had tried to park. Her father and Johnny had been in the car, and neither had let her forget it for years.

“I don’t think you should leave.” The panic churning in her belly leaked out in her tone. “Your place is here.”

“The war is going to need me. Nazis and Japs are killing people right and left, and someone has got to stop them.”

“Why does it have to be you? The army’s already got Danny.”

“And they’re going to need me. Besides, someone’s got to do it.”

She slowed as the truck approached the twin pillars that marked the entrance to the Woodmont Estate. Downshifting, she made the turn and headed down the long driveway flanked by tall bare trees dusted with snow.

She had never been to the Woodmont Estate, but Johnny had worked here several days in October helping a crew from New York put in a house made of glass. She had wanted to see it, but he had never felt comfortable bringing her along.

As they rode in silence down the long driveway, the bare tree limbs draped across the road, reaching for them like clawed hands. As the truck came over the last rise, Woodmont came into view. It was the biggest house she had ever seen, and every window in the front was lit. As they pulled around the side, she heard the faint notes of music.

“Go in that side entrance. That’s where the kitchen is,” he said.

Sadie kept silent as he shut off the engine and set the parking brake.

“You need to be on your best behavior, Sadie,” Johnny said. “No cussing. Speak when you’re spoken to. In fact, better you don’t talk at all. You can get long winded.”

“I do not get long winded. I just say what’s on my mind, and you know my brain is full of all kinds of ideas.”

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Like I said, keep quiet.”

As she opened the car door, a gust of icy wind caught it. She barely grabbed it before it all but flew off its hinges. “Damn it.”

“No cussing like that,” he said.

She slammed her car door, determined to show her brother just how angry she was over his leaving.

Johnny carefully closed his door. “You ain’t going to see a revenuer at Woodmont.” As they met at the back of the truck, he added, “Better to not speak at all. Let me do the talking.”

“I’m going to have to talk to them at some point if they want more hooch.” Prohibition had ended a decade ago. During the dry years, her pa had said he could not make the shine fast enough, and the money from it had built their house. The sales were not near the same anymore, but they still got enough orders to make the still worth keeping. The Carters could have afforded any kind of booze, but Dr. Carter considered the honeysuckle blend a holiday tradition.

“It’ll be up to you to make all the deliveries now,” Johnny said. “And you’ll be mixing the mash too.”

“I have been doing that for years.”

“Yeah, well, most folks don’t know that. They think it was Pa, Danny, and me.”

“I’ll just keep pretending you’re doing it magically from wherever you are.”

He lowered the tailgate on the truck. “Tell folks I mixed up a good amount before I left.”

“Who’s going to believe that?”

“You like to make up stories. If that one don’t work, find a better one.”

Johnny took the heavier of the two milk crates while she lifted the smaller.

Jars rattled as icy wind off the James River cut through her thin coat. “Must be nice to live in a house like this. Did you ever wonder what it would be like?”

“No. I’m too busy to wonder.”

“I bet Gene Tierney lives in a house like this. She’s like the Carters. They don’t worry a bit about putting food on the table or heating the house in the winter. If they got problems, it’s only the kind rich folks have.”

“More thoughts to keep to yourself.”

The Carter family roots went back over two hundred years, and it was said the first Carter was a Scottish nobleman born a second son. He had made a fortune growing wheat, and his son had continued to build the family farm and had also managed to skirt real trouble during the Revolutionary War.

However, the last couple of generations of Carters had turned to medicine. The latest heir, Edward Carter, had done the same. Like his daddy before him, Edward had a general practice and one day a week donated his skills to the Lynchburg hospital and the poor.

Johnny climbed the side porch steps first and knocked on the door. The kitchen door opened to a tall sturdy woman with red hair and a complexion that was as white as a summer cloud. Mrs. Fritz always wore her hair back in a tight bun, and her dresses, stockings, and shoes were black.

Sadie had seen Mrs. Fritz at church often enough and once or twice had been tempted to ask if her underdrawers were black too. But she had held her tongue, fearing, as her mother often said, her questions were “too well acquainted.”

“Evening, Mrs. Fritz,” Johnny said.

Sadie rubbed her fingers together, wishing her gloves were thicker. “We have the Christmas order for the Carters.”

A thick red brow rose. “Come on inside. You and Sadie can set your bottles on the counter.”

In the original house, the kitchen had been a separate building located a hundred feet from the house. That kept the risk of kitchen fire spreading low, but it also made for a lot of running back and forth for the help. Dr. Edward Carter’s daddy had converted the west side of the house into a modern kitchen complete with a white enamel oven that could heat four pots and roast a turkey in the firebox all at the same time. He had also installed large porcelain farmhouse sinks and built enough counter space to make food for two dozen guests.