My current work in progress is nearing completion, thank you God, and it’s because I’ve been working so hard on it that I haven’t had much of an online presence lately. I doubt many even noticed but I know I need to be more active on social media if I want to keep folks interested in my work. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
The truth is my mind is so focused on this book that there’s very little left of my brain when it comes to thinking about blog posts. Some people can post something nearly everyday, and I could probably do that too if I wanted to just hand out Man Candy or talk about random nothingness, like BIRDS, but I do that enough already. The birds, not the Man Candy.
So this post is going to be a conglomeration. Don’t you love that word? I’m going to talk a bit about moonshine (yes!) and then I’m going to share an excerpt from the book featuring moonshine.
First, have you seen this stuff in your local liquor store?
Doesn’t it look yummy? Well, it does to me, but you probably don’t want to plop one of those bad boys on top of your hot fudge sundae. Or maybe you do, who knows.
I keep eyeing that pretty jar every time I visit the liquor store. They’re a tad bit pricey which is why I usually resist the urge to buy ‘em. I doubt anyone else in my household would try them and I fear they might go to waste unless I just went on a bender one night and ate the whole entire jar. Can’t you see that cause of death? Alcohol poisoning by moonshine soaked cherries. Why was her tongue so red? My mother would be so proud.
This past weekend we had a get-together at my house and a friend brought along a jar of homemade moonshine for us to sample. For those of you who’ve been living under a rock, yes, it’s illegal to brew your own. Like that ever stopped anybody. Of course I had to try it, and it’s really not bad straight up, especially when it’s cold. His was very clean so there wasn’t much of an aftertaste, just the slow warmth that crawls up your throat and hangs there like you swallowed a mouthful of lighter fluid without the bad taste and side effects. He promised to bring me my own jar the next time he came over, you know, for experimental reasons and such. 
Now I also have a girlfriend that makes “Apple Pie”. Rather than me tell you how to make it, here’s the basic recipe in case you want to try to concoct it yourself:
1/2 gallon of apple juice
1/2 gallon of apple cider
3/4 cup white sugar
1 1/4 cups of brown sugar
4 cinnamon sticks
1/2 liter of 190 Proof Grain Alcohol, Everclear or equivalent, i.e. moonshine.
Proceed at your own risk! Drink responsibly, don’t drink and drive, don’t drink and drunk dial, don’t drink and climb things or attempt to ride farm animals, etc. etc.
My friend uses Everclear in her “apple pie” because you can buy it legally. Still packs a punch, one that’s masked by all the flavorings and sugar. The difference between the moonshine you can buy in the liquor store and the kind that’s made in backyard stills is the “proof”. Home brewed can get as high as 190 proof, though I’d be scared to drink it myself. The store-bought varieties tend to be around 80-90 proof *I believe*. The sample I had this weekend was less than 100 proof. Everclear is easier to get (it is banned in some states) and it’s cheap, thus the reason most people use it to make their Apple Pie, but it’s not something you’d want to sip straight. It’s mainly used as a mixer.
Moonshine has a fascinating history but I’m not going to go into that. Google it sometime if you don’t know about it already. There’s tons of fun reading on the web. Running moonshine is how NASCAR got started (insert token redneck jokes here). As much as it hurts me as an Orange-and-Blue-Bleedin’ Gator Fan, here’s a few lines from the song “Rocky Top” that pretty much sums it up.
“Once two strangers climbed Ole Rocky Top looking for a moonshine still. Strangers ain’t come
down from Rocky Top. Reckon they never will.”
The “strangers” mentioned would be revenuers. What do you think happened to ‘em? x.x
People tend to want to think that moonshining mainly takes place in the mountains of Appalachia. The show “Moonshiners” that’s on the Discovery Channel is filmed in Virginia. But, like I mentioned earlier about a friend bringing a jar over to my house, there are stills in every state and every country. Your neighbor could be cooking up a batch right this very minute but I doubt he or she would share.
So back to the current work in progress. There’s a family in this book, the Kyle’s, that brews moonshine, grows marijuana, and kills a DEA Agent that gets too close to their illicit operations. Now without giving too much away, my heroine, Bond Mason, has a past with one member of this family. It’s ugly, and even after 8 years, it still won’t go away. It haunts her, it hunts her, it hurts her. She can’t escape it because it sits literally across the river from her home, her bar, her life. Okay, I’ll stop trying to be clever with the sentences now.
This excerpt I’m sharing is a piece of writing I’m quite proud of, and it’s one of my favorite scenes from the book. I think it carries a ton of emotion: fear, anger, hurt, humor, sadness, even some hope. It’s long, but I’d love to hear what you think of it.
***
The bar was busy this afternoon. Freda made Beef Stew on Thursdays, and her fans were devoted and plentiful. Usually they ran out of product before they ran out of hungry customers so they knew to come early to be assured of getting a bowl.
Raucous conversation washed over Bond when she opened the back door, a reminder that she didn’t have time to stand around pining for Nathan and expensive roof-overs. Tying on an apron, she set to work behind the bar with Harry.
The two of them had a certain rhythm they got into when they worked together, a silent synchronicity of sorts. They moved around each other with ease, handing off food and money and liquor bottles like relay racers passing batons, never faltering or slowing their strides. It didn’t work quite this smoothly with her other employees, but then she and Harry had been running this race for quite some time.
This was why it immediately caught her attention when she tried to hand Harry a bottle of Jack Daniels and he didn’t automatically take it from her hand. She glanced up at him. His fingers had frozen on the beer tap, foam and Bud Light running over the top of the glass he’d been drawing and into the catch tray. Concerned, Bond touched his arm. “Harry?”
“Sweet Jesus,” she heard him mutter. He was staring fixedly at the front door. She hit the tap lever and he blinked then looked down at her. “Bond, Virginia Kyle just walked in the front door.”
“What?” Bond whipped her head around that direction, her body going taut and icy, as if all her blood had suddenly drained out of the soles of her feet.
Sure enough, there Virginia was, making her way through the crowded tables toward the bar. Toward her. It registered in the back of her brain that the room had gotten noticeably quieter, practically silent. All that could be heard was the raspy drawl of Ryan Bingham coming from the jukebox.
Bond’s gaze darted to the rectangular serving window of the kitchen, landing on Freda and Sarah. Why, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she was simply seeking the reassuring comfort of their familial presence. Like she needed to remind herself that she had people in her corner, too. As if they’d somehow communicated telepathically, Freda looked up, realized what she was seeing and covered her parted lips with her hand. Bond felt the light touch of Harry’s palm in the center of her back, letting her know he was there.
She pasted on as friendly of a smile as she could muster, which no doubt looked as fake as a four-dollar bill.
Virginia stopped at the end of the bar, smiling back at her. “Hello, Bond.”
“Miss Virginia,” Bond said, using the endearment she’d always insisted upon. Well, she’d asked Bond to simply call her Virginia, but her decent southern upbringing wouldn’t allow her to be quite so informal. “What a surprise this is.” What an understatement that was.
Bond didn’t dare hazard a glance at her customers because she knew they were all watching her and Virginia raptly, waiting to see if they embraced or started hissing at each other like two pissed off territorial cats. Instead, Bond took the initiative, stepping forward to hug her peaceably.
“It’s good to see you, girl,” Virginia said, patting her back lightly twice.
“You too,” Bond answered, though it was an outright lie. She wasn’t glad to see her here. She was on Bond’s turf and it made her mad, but she’d keep her claws sheathed because Virginia’s were sharper, they’d cut so much deeper if she brought them out.
“Grab us a couple of glasses and let’s go outside so we can talk.” Virginia looked up at Harry, her eyes narrowing with a challenge, daring him to balk at her getting Bond alone. “You don’t mind, do you, Harry?”
Harry was scowling fiercely down at Virginia. Bond swallowed, praying he’d bite his tongue hard enough to bring blood before he said anything ugly. The last thing she needed right now was a scene when every eye in the room was trained on them. All he did was move his head slightly from side to side once, though she wasn’t quite sure how he did it, given that his body had gone as stiff as a mature Slash Pine.
Bond grabbed two clean lowball glasses and followed Virginia outside onto the deck. Dill was coming up the steps whistling, sans tool belt, and she saw the minute he recognized Virginia Kyle and put two and two together. His happy tune stopped abruptly, eyes darting warily to Bond’s face. She gave him a quick reassuring smile. He ducked his head like he was afraid if he looked at Virginia he’d turn to stone, and hurried inside for his beer.
Virginia chose one of the covered picnic tables and set the small brown paper sack she carried down in front of her. Bond sat across from her, watching cautiously as she unrolled the top of the bag and reached inside, bringing out a quart-sized Mason jar filled with something golden in color.
Apple Pie.
The homemade concoction was extremely popular now with kitchen sink chemists; moonshine flavored with apple cider, sugar and cinnamon, sweet and made to taste like an apple pie. Bond had heard of it of course, but never actually tasted any herself.
She hated the taste of moonshine for more reasons than one. You didn’t appreciate it like you would a glass of good bourbon. And then there was also the unsavory association with the Kyle family that tainted it to the bitterness of quinine. But this mixture was supposedly quite tasty, the spice and flavorings completely masking the strong bite of the alcohol.
Virginia poured the two short glasses to halfway before sliding one over to Bond.
“Apple Pie. Have you tried it yet?”
“No, ma’am.” Bond picked up the glass, bringing it to her nose for a whiff. It smelled like the apple cider but then well-made moonshine was practically odorless anyway. And there was no question Virginia Kyle’s fell into that category.
Virginia extended her glass. “To family and friends.”
Bond wanted to growl that she was neither but she touched her glass to Virginia’s, willing her hand not to shake in the process. “Cheers,” she said and sipped.
It shocked her just how good the drink was. The moonshine was virtually undetectable, only the lingering warmth in the back of her throat and the flush crawling into her cheeks telling her it was still 180-proof and powerful. There was a little invisible man in the bottom of that Mason jar wielding a sledgehammer.
“So, what do you think, girl?” Virginia asked, the girl rolling off her tongue like curled ribbon.
“It’s very good. Dangerously so I would imagine.”
Virginia laughed. “Yes, you have to keep reminding yourself there’s grain alcohol in it.”
Bond kept her hands wrapped tightly around the glass, waiting for Virginia to get around to what the real reason for her visit was, because it sure as hell wasn’t to gossip over cocktails like they were best girlfriends.
She’d aged noticeably since Bond had seen her last, maybe six months ago at the grocery store in town. Bond, being the coward that she was, had darted behind a display shelf of Little Debbie’s to avoid detection.
Robert and Garrett had taken after their father, inheriting his dark coloring. But Jimmy was clearly his mother’s son. Nearing sixty Bond guessed, Virginia’s straw-colored hair was turning white around her face and her light-blue eyes had taken on more of a grayish hue with time. She was still quite attractive, though. A white, sleeveless blouse showed work-toned arms and she carried herself like a woman in her prime. She’d never been a flashy person, wearing only a watch and simple gold hoop earrings for jewelry. Her hair was pulled back into a modest ponytail at the base of her neck.
How could someone so normal-looking be so intimidating? It wasn’t like she breathed fire and brimstone with every exhalation. She didn’t threaten to boil people’s bones to make her bread if they dared cross her. Rumor was she was quite philanthropic, in fact. Of course the skeptic in Bond suspected that was simply a means to improve her image in the community and endear her to its residents. Fear cancelled out her benevolence.
“Jimmy mentioned he saw you Saturday night.”
“Yes, ma’am,” was all Bond said.
She was certain Jimmy had also told his mother what the nature of their visit was. That family didn’t keep secrets from each other either, but then why should they when they were all equal-opportunity law breakers.
But the murder of a federal agent? That was as bad as it got, callously taking another person’s life. It chilled Bond to think that Virginia could condone something so horrific being committed by one of her children. Apparently Jimmy and Garrett did too, since they saw fit to help Robert escape from jail.
“He doesn’t always come right out and tell me when he’s seen you, though. I’ve learned how to figure that out for myself. He’d deny it of course, but for days afterward he’s real quiet and tends to keep to himself. I wouldn’t say he was moody but he’s closed off, that’s for sure.”
Bond had no response for that, or at least none she was going to give freely.
“I’m gettin’ to be an old lady, Bond.” She looked up and smiled crookedly. “I thought I’d have a passel of grandbabies to spoil long before now.”
A twinge of pain hit Bond low in her belly, somewhere in the neighborhood of her uterus and ovaries. Children were something she wanted someday, but if her choices were to have them with James Kyle or not at all, she’d have to choose the latter.
This was where she was supposed to feel guilty for breaking Jimmy’s heart and Virginia’s, for not giving her those grandchildren she desired so badly. Bond refused. Jimmy could’ve moved on and married someone else by now. There was nothing stopping him but himself and the ridiculous hope he held on to that Bond would eventually have a change of heart and mind. Nothing shy of a lobotomy was ever going to bring that wish to fruition.
“You’re not old, Miss Virginia,” she said, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jimmy and babies, although the other places it could go were just as unsettling.
She huffed. “Most women my age have married children and grandchildren already. I know my boys ain’t perfect. All three are hard working and loyal, though. Garrett and Robert tend to be high-strung and impulsive but a little weak, whereas Jimmy’s my rock, strong and dependable. He’s exactly like his father, ya know.” An almost wistful smile crossed Virginia’s face at the mention of her deceased husband. “Travis was my first and only love. When he set his mind he was gonna have me, there wasn’t any changin’ it. Not that I ever fought him on it much. Kinda like how Jimmy was with you, girl.”
It was on the tip of Bond’s tongue to ask if Travis Kyle had had a vicious temper too, but she didn’t have it in her to be that cruel, no matter how badly she wanted this conversation to end and how much she disliked the person she was having it with.
What exactly had Virginia Kyle come here for? To extol what she saw as virtues in her immoral sons? To plead Jimmy’s case? To lay on the guilt so thick she thought Bond would crumble under the weight of it?
“Miss Virginia, I—”
“I know Jimmy has his faults but down deep inside he’s a good boy. He would take care of you, protect you, and you’d never want for anything.” Her eyes had taken on a bit of fire, the softness over her children sharpening to a hard edge at what she perceived as one of them being hurt. “All he’s ever done is love you, Bond, and you continue to punish him for past deeds.”
Bond’s mouth fell open in shock before she finally found her voice right along with her nerve. “Past deeds? Miss Virginia, he nearly killed a man with his bare hands. Over me! Do you know how hard that is for me to live with every day? I can’t look at Michael Levy or his family because of the pain I see in their eyes. Pain that I know I had a part in causing, even though I wasn’t the one delivering the blows.”
Virginia’s spine stiffened. “Michael has long since forgiven Jimmy for that. I’m sure he’s forgiven you as well.”
“I doubt that’s true. It’s hard to ever forgive that kind of hurt and humiliation.”
“You can’t keep holding on to the past, girl,” she said admonishingly.
Bond bristled with indignation. “Oh trust me, I try my damnedest every day to let go of the past, it just won’t let go of me. No matter how many times Jimmy apologizes or promises me it will never happen again, I can’t take that chance. I don’t want to take that chance! Even if he were to walk in here right now and tell me he’s willing to give up the lifestyle he leads, it wouldn’t change anything. There’s no way Jimmy and I will ever be together again!” Bond sighed heavily and lifted her chin. “I’m sorry you came here today in hopes of making me change my mind, truly I am. But you’re wasting your time and mine.”
Virginia stood and calmly recapped the Mason jar. It irritated the hell out of Bond that the woman thought she knew her so well, that she thought she had the right to come here and try to make her feel guilty for her choices when her and her sons were common criminals, one of them a murderer for God’s sake.
“You’ll come around eventually,” Virginia said, leveling a cold stare at her. “Every man in Trespass knows you belong with Jimmy. None of them will ever come near you because of it. Right now you’re young, but before you know it you’ll be forty and lonely, desperate. Your insides will start to feel like they’re dryin’ up. Bitterness will start to eat at you like a cancer.”
There were those claws she’d feared, sharp as razor blades. Bond could almost feel the blood seeping from the deep cuts she’d given her.
“You’re wrong. I’ll sell this place and leave town before I ever let that happen.”
Virginia smiled but it chilled Bond to the very marrow of her bones. Then she poured salt in the wounds she’d opened up. “No you won’t. You’ve got river water runnin’ through your veins, same as me, and you loved your granddaddy too much to ever turn your back on this place.”
Bond choked back a scream that she was nothing like Virginia. Tears pricked her eyes but the Suwannee would ice over solid before she’d ever give this woman the satisfaction of seeing her cry. No one in that family deserved her tears.
Without giving Bond a chance to respond, Virginia shoved the brown paper bag across the table. “That’s a gift from Jimmy. He said for me not to walk out of here with it and I don’t intend to disappoint him. I’m loyal that way, too.” Bond looked down at the bag then back up at her, anger making her jaw clench so hard she doubted she could crack it open to retort. “Enjoy the rest of the apple pie.” She turned to leave. At the top step of the stairs she paused, her hand on the brand new railing, soiling its beauty already. “Oh, and one more thing. Don’t think for a minute we don’t know about your nosy visitors, girl. You should probably encourage them to be on their way before there’s more trouble.”
Goose-flesh rose on her arms. Bond had to hand it to her; she was one brazen bitch, making blatant threats against officers of the law. It took all she could do to keep from hurling the Mason jar at her head. She waited for Virginia to disappear down the steps before she dropped her face into her hands and squeezed her eyes closed. Frustration at feeling so helpless made her chest ache, her skin too tight.
God, would this ever end?
***
Thanks for stopping by!
xoxo
Jenny
