The Wasted Grave by Michael S. Nuckols

Author:Michael S. Nuckols [Nuckols, Michael S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Noisy Goose Publishing

He took a sip of the chicory tea, winced at the flavor, and then tried to smile. Basil knew she had no money for any coffee to cut it with, the bitter flavor of the roasted roots overwhelming.

Iris changed the topic. “Just how do you make moonshine?”

“Ma’am, making moonshine is against the law. I buy corn to make cornmeal. I eat lots of cornbread. Every day.”

“Still worried? After saying a prayer over tea?”

He shrugged.

“How much corn you buying?”

“All you got.”

“You gonna’ make all that ‘corn-bread’ by yourself? ‘Cause I got a few bushels.”

“I doubt you got that much corn.”

Basil studied her for a moment and then looked out the window. He bit his lip as he pondered. The roar of Bubbling Brook echoed from down in the holler. “You ain’t afraid of me,” he said, “Most people take one look at me and back a ways off.”

She smiled. “Don’t know why that would be the case.”

“People talk about me. Say I’ve done things…”

“Well, you threw a skunk through the church window. That’s one thing.”

“Beyond that.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“I had a good reason for doing that.”

“I thought the note was about me,” Iris said, “That maybe…”

Basil stopped her. “Oh no. That wasn’t about you. I never thought… Never intended to hurt you. I feel bad about that.”

He seemed embarrassed.

“Somebody must’ve hurt you something bad,” Iris said, “To do something like that.”

“He did.”

The man stood in sunshine that streamed through the window. He surveyed the property through the glass, scanning from the old stove to the garden to the shed. “This place used to be used for moonshine ‘til my uncle died. He owned all this land, way up this hill towards the old mine property and out towards the Mayfield place.”

“I know that mine. That building is falling down on top of itself. Needs a gallon of gas and a match.”

“It ain’t so bad,” he said, “Anyways, they stole the land from him and then closed the mine down a year later. Never got much coal to sell as the vein ended. Nothing there, they said. They cut the land up and sold off pieces. Before that happened, Momma and me would come down out of the mountains and visit him. The water down here always runs cold and clean. Makes a sweet mash. Nobody ever comes through here and you know if they do. My place ain’t well suited for making mash.”

“Where do you live?”

Basil smiled. If she had listened carefully, she would have known. “I got a place. Not far.”

Iris looked out over the garden. She knew what he was thinking. “All that corn would make a few pennies. How about we do this together? A lady selling… uh… cornbread would draw less suspicion. Don’t ya’ think?”

Basil smiled. “You want to make it here?”

“Why not?”

“You do know I ain’t talking cornbread? Right?”

“I’ve heard every word you’ve said, Mr. Basil.”

She stared him in the eye.

“My back is to the wall. That new Sheriff is honest. He’s gonna’ be like a bloodhound looking for a rabbit.

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