Lines of poetry sometimes came to her in short thoughts. She’d scribble them down through the course of the day and night. Sometimes in the full light of day the notes made no sense. An idea she’d thought was genius in the twilight hours would turn out to be rubbish the next morning. Those she crumpled and tossed toward a basket in the corner, only hitting two out of the three.
The phrases she’d written the previous night after seeing Lovey still rang true for her. She tucked them inside a leather wallet on the bedside table, climbed out of bed, and pulled on a shirt and trousers. She fished in the leather satchel hanging on a nearby hook for the wad of bills she’d collected from Big Earl. She shoved the bundle of cash into her loose fitting trousers. Yawning and running a hand through her sleep-sculpted hair, she tottered down the narrow, steep steps that led into the kitchen.
After her window hopping antics the previous night until the wee hours of the morning, Royal had slept in. Sleeping in meant it was around nine in the morning. She was surprised to see Teddy was already seated at the table. Her brother rarely left his pillow on a Saturday before ten. He was usually up late drawing.
Teddy had real talent as an artist, and Royal hoped, given his sensitive nature, that he could follow that path and avoid the family business. Not because she perceived moonshine to be a bad thing, but because Wade was far too rough on the boys. Teddy tried to avoid Wade as much as humanly possible, and Royal agreed with that approach. He was hunched over a cup of coffee; long bangs shielded his eyes so she had to lean low to see his face.
“Are you sick?” Royal poured herself a cup and settled into a chair across from Teddy.
“No, why?”
“It’s before ten. You’re never up this early. I thought you must be ill. Or maybe you just never went to bed?”
“Oh, yeah, you’re hilarious.” He pushed a clump of hair off his forehead and took a swig of his coffee.
Royal leaned over to look under the table. Teddy was wearing only one boot. His other foot was shoeless and covered with mud. “Where’s your other shoe?”
“Stuck in the mud by the barn. I somehow lost a shoelace yesterday.”
“Hmmm,” was Royal’s only response as she tried not to laugh. “So why is it you’re up so early anyway?”
“I’ll have you know I was firing up the still.”
This was something that Royal’s grandfather Duke normally did. He’d usually fire it early, while still almost dark, so that no one could see the smoke. If he’d asked Teddy to do it then something must be wrong. He typically asked Wade, if he didn’t do the task himself.
“Why’d he ask you?”
“I dunno. I guess he weren’t feelin’ well or something.”
“You didn’t ask him?” Royal found her brother’s lack of curiosity annoying.
“He’s up at the house. Why don’t you go ask him?”
“Maybe I will.” Royal stood, refilled her cup, and left Teddy to sleepily sag over his morning brew. She stepped out onto the uneven back porch. The house that she shared with Teddy and their mother needed some work. The back stoop had been missing for more than ten years. At some point, her grandfather found a piece of sandstone tall enough to fill the gap, and that irregular shaped, smooth-surfaced stone had acted as the stoop ever since. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Her granddad’s words sounded in her head.
Royal sauntered up the hill toward her grandfather’s house. As she drew close, she saw him in a rocker on the long, sheltered front porch.
“Hey,” said Royal.
She settled into the rocker next to him. His gray hair, thin on top, was wafting in the breeze. She took a moment to look him over. His clothing was worn almost through as if these were his favorites and he wore them every day. His boots were scuffed and seemed molded to the shape of his feet, turned up just a little at the toe.
“Hey,” her grandpa responded without looking at her; he seemed to be studying something along the ridgeline in the distance.
“Teddy said you asked him to fire the still this morning. Are you sick?”
“Nothin’ serious. I’m just feeling a mite under the weather. It’ll pass.” He crossed his legs and reached for a glass of water on the table next to his chair. “It does Teddy good to be called on from time to time anyway.”
“Well, I won’t disagree with you there. Was I as lazy as him when I was his age?”
Her grandfather snorted a laugh. “Not hardly. You was a wild thing, always into something. Good thing I put you to drivin’ so you’d have something to settle your mind on.”
Royal had to smile. She felt lucky that her grandfather never once doubted that she could do anything a boy could do. He treated her as an equal, not as some fragile creature to be protected. Maybe part of that was also her own doing. If her family had tried to force her into some preordained stereotypical female role she’d have run off long ago.
Footsteps called Royal’s attention away from the soft flannel plaid pattern of her grandfather’s shirt that she’d been studying. Her uncle, Wade Duval, rounded the corner of the house. All she’d wanted was a moment to check in with her grandfather. It was too early in the day to deal with Wade’s surly self. He would usually not make a show in front of his father. His cowardly way was to be as mean as a snake when no one was around to stop him. Actually, to compare him to a snake was demeaning to snakes, which she felt had gotten a raw deal ever since the Good Book blamed them for tempting Eve.
“You got some cash for me?” Wade propped
