"It's Jesse. He's missing, left the house about a half hour ago and we can't find him."
"Who is we?” I asked.
Our family: Morgan, Verlie, Merriam, Vernon and Molly. We've looked all over and can't find him. He'll freeze if he's hurt or asleep."
I started to turn then stopped and stared at Kelly. "Asleep? Why the hell would he be asleep outdoors at this time of night?"
Sheepishly she mumbled, "Jesse was drinking, and we had a fight. He was mad and left in a huff without a coat."
"What was he drinking?"
"Whiskey."
"Who did he get it from?"
"I don't know." She said sheepishly. It was plain to see she was hedging.
"That's bullshit, Kelly. Who?" I was sure she knew and stood unmoving as I grilled her.
The anguish on her face said she didn't want to say. "Jesse makes it," slid out of her mouth.
"So you want help finding him. Have you checked both barns?"
"Yes, he's not there."
"Go wake Shane while we dress. We'll be right out. Ring the emergency bell, and then make sure everyone else gets up. He's been gone too long already, and we'll need all the adults we have."
Kira and I dressed and ran the kids back to their beds.
We went to the torch shed. In the distance, we saw multiple flames held high blowing in the breeze as Morgan's family searched for his son-in-law.
Inside the six-foot-square building sat an open-top fifty-five gallon steel drum with close to a foot of contaminated diesel fuel in the bottom. A multitude of four-foot-long wood poles stuck above the top rim of the barrel. Layers of natural fiber burlap were wired to one end of the poles. Kira and I each took two torches and lit one. Several others had been taken already, so I grabbed fresh ones from a rack and dumped the burlap ends into the fuel.
Within twenty minutes the entire camp had turned out to search for Jesse. Fifteen minutes later, Morgan and Molly yelled he was found. Under heavy questioning, they said he took a path that would take him to his whiskey still, two ridges and a mile from our cabins. It was a wonder he hadn't died from hypothermia. I guessed then that Morgan had a good idea of where Jesse was headed.
At two-forty-five we were all back in our beds. Not pleased but in our beds.
Before dawn I was up again. Forty-five minutes later, Shane and I trudged over the ridges in the direction Jesse was headed hours earlier. I toted a twelve-pound sledge hammer on my shoulder, and Shane carried a double bit axe. It took another hour to locate the hollow where Jesse hid his whiskey operation. It was a tranquil spot under trees with a small clear stream running through the middle of it.
As I smashed the copper cooking pot and copper tubing that cooled the vapors, I told Shane, "I feel like a 1920s Federal Revenue Agent raiding one of Al Capone's suppliers." In minutes, swinging the sledge warmed me to the point the coat had to come off. When I'd inflicted all the damage I could on the main equipment, bottles and jars were emptied of their clear but potent contents and then laid aside to be reused for other foods.
That was the easy part. Confronting Jesse and dealing with his rant could be much more traumatic if he had the balls to defend his actions. I knew he'd had help getting the equipment that deep into the forest and wondered if his accomplices and customers would stand by him when they learned of its destruction. It also occurred to me Morgan might be complacent in the unauthorized enterprise since he'd been making wine without the committee's formal approval, and he knew what trail to search for Jesse when he wasn't in the barns.
As soon as we were back home, I called a meeting of the Leadership Committee. Shane, Morgan, John, Andrea Margherio, and Richard assembled in the horse barn before I started.
"All of you were out earlier this morning while we roamed the area searching for a sleeping drunk in freezing weather. Jesse has been operating a whiskey still, and Morgan has been making wine." I paused to point my finger as I slowly moved my arm to encompass each of them. "What do YOU propose to do about both issues?"
Muttering ensued as most of the other officers, except Shane and Richard, danced from one foot to the other or breathed deeply as their frames slumped. I was sure everyone was aware of the alcohol production and had turned a blind eye to it as I had. I waited. Shane and Richard seemed to be the only members who didn't shy away from solving the problem.
Morgan straightened. "I've given wine to each of you and didn't hear any complaints about the taste or my making it. We've all ignored it, and I'd like it to continue making the wine. It's a hobby to me, and I'll see that no one gets enough to become intoxicated."
I jumped into the conversation. "This is a big change to our rules. Is everyone sure you want to make that change?" There were nods and two raised their eyelids.
Richard said, "Morgan, Carmen and I don't care for wine of any type. We still have the bottle you gave us, so please don't bring us more."
John Alton looked concerned. "I was okay with what was going on because it hadn't caused any problems, but now I'm worried we've set a bad precedent by looking the other way. I vote to let Morgan make wine.
