Bittersweet (22 page)

“Pa’s gonna be happier’n a dog with two tails,” Ivy declared the next day as she set the second hot pumpkin pie on the table.

Mrs. O’Sullivan smiled. “My own da used to use that same expression. It brings back many a pleasant memory.”

Ivy nodded. Try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a single time with Pa that brought happy thoughts to mind.

“The laundry ought to be dry in a little bit.” Mrs. O’Sullivan went over to the pie safe.

Ivy held her tongue. If Mrs. O’Sullivan wanted to put the pies in her safe, she could—but they’d store better if left to cool awhile first.

“You and I are going to sit out in the sunshine and finish this off.” Mrs. O’Sullivan turned around, a pie tin in her hands.

“Hilda’s pecan pie!”

“Grab us each a fork. We’ll sit together and eat straight out of the tin.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice!” A minute later, Ivy sat beside Mrs. O’Sullivan on the porch steps and took a bite of the pie. “Mmmm!” She closed her eyes. “It’s even better than I ’membered.” Her eyes opened. “And that’s sayin’ a mouthful!”

Mrs. O’Sullivan stuck her fork in and took a bite. “There’s something different about her recipe. We’ll look at the ingredients together and figure out how she manages to make it so good.”

Ivy stared at the way her dress draped over her bony knees. “You don’t mind readin’ to me?”

“And why would I?”

Boom!
The ground shook.

Ivy sprang to her feet. Mrs. O’Sullivan did the same. They turned toward the sound, and Ivy started running.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I
shmael and Galen both streaked past her on bareback as she ran toward home. Ivy held the stitch in her side and forged ahead. By the time she reached the clearing, Josh McCain and three of his men had arrived, as well.

The lean-to was gone. Its logs littered the area and burned like torches. Parts of the still lay strewn about, most of them sparking. A ball of flames consumed the mule cart Pa had used for storing the full jugs. Dried leaves crackled and blew in the wind that continued to fan the flames higher.

Pa wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and their mule was missing, too.

“Mind the horses!” Josh shouted at Ivy as he shoved the reins into her hands.

Ivy managed to drag the horses over to the rope Ishy used to hang food. It took every last bit of her strength to tie them all.

The area filled with acrid dark gray smoke. Ivy strained to see what was going on. The men hollered at one another. As he had before, Ishy used their shovel to scoop dirt over the flames to extinguish them. Ivy longed to go help, but she didn’t dare leave the horses.

Just as thick as the smoke, fear and sadness blanketed her.
Pa’s
done it now. He’s blown up the works, and Mr. O’Sullivan’s gonna be hoppin’
mad. He’ll drive us from his land, and we won’t have nothing at all to take
with us this time
.

It took forever, but the men finally had matters under control. Galen O’Sullivan stomped up to Ishy and roared something at him. Ivy couldn’t make out the exact words, but that didn’t much matter. Another feller went over and told them something. Mr. O’Sullivan and Ishy both turned and looked at her.

Mr. O’Sullivan shoved back some of his hair and said something more.

Ivy didn’t want her brother to suffer alone. Pa ought to step up and be a man. Seeing as he wasn’t, Ivy determined the horses were calming down, so she went to stand by her brother’s side.

Ishy clamped a hand around her waist and dragged her up tight against his side. He was trying to protect her from his boss’s wrath, but Ivy wouldn’t allow it. She pushed away and faced him. “Soon as Pa comes back, we’ll be gone.”

Galen O’Sullivan looked at her, then next at Ishy, and clamped his mouth shut.

Ishy yanked her back to his side.

“Yore nice shirt is burnt,” she blurted out.

“Sis—” “I—” Ishy covered her mouth with his other hand. “You gotta listen to me.”

She nodded, and he took his hand away.

“Pa ain’t comin’ back.”

“Well?” Galen looked around the small circle of men in the pastor’s parlor.

“It’s a difficult situation,” the pastor said slowly.

“We’ve looked at the situation from a dozen different angles, but nothing is clear.” Galen finally sat down.

Rick Maltby, the only attorney around, folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “Let me get this straight: The Grubbs are illegal squatters—”

“
Were
illegal squatters.” Galen wanted to be scrupulously honest. “I came to an agreement with them.”

The sheriff shook his head. “It’s cut and dried as far as I see. Those people operated an illegal still.”

“They didn’t; their father did,” Galen clarified.

“The twins knew about the still, and the girl was growing corn for it.” The sheriff bashed his fist into his open palm. “That implicates her, if not her brother.”

“Galen told us their crop was just now ready for harvest.” Maltby pinched his lower lip and tugged on it thoughtfully. “It could be argued that Ivy Grubb didn’t support her father’s illegal enterprise.”

Galen wasn’t sure whether Rick truly felt he could support such an argument or if he was trying to nettle the sheriff. The two of them had been at odds ever since they discovered one supported Breckinridge while the other voted for Lincoln.

Josh frowned. “Where did Mr. Grubb get the corn and sugar for the whiskey he’s been producing?”

“I’d like to know that myself.” The sheriff leaned forward. “We’ve had a rash of thefts recently. The thefts began around the time the Grubbs arrived. If they’re not guilty, then I suspect whoever was supplying the corn and sugar might have been financing his partnership with what he stole.”

“We can ask Ishmael. He might be able to tell you who it is.” Galen heaved a sigh. “He’s worked hard for me.”

“Their father died.” Pastor Dawes spoke in a quiet voice, and Galen couldn’t tell whether he’d muted his voice because of compassion for Ishmael and Ivy or because he knew Galen would be sensitive about the subject of death. The minister added, “Their loss seems like punishment enough.”

“O’Sullivan gave them jobs.” The sheriff stood and paced back and forth. “The thanks they gave for all of his generosity was to practically set fire to the whole farm with a still!”

“Galen can’t do everything.” Josh leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “The farm alone is more work than he can handle. Add on the Pony relay and it’s far too much. Ishmael is a hard-working man. More than once, Galen’s said he’s a godsend.” “God isn’t in the habit of sending moonshiners to act as His agents,” the sheriff snapped.

“The Almighty’s used anyone or anything He chose,” the pastor countered. “He used the harlot Rahab to help the children of Israel, and Balaam’s donkey spoke.”

“Ishmael and Ivy have almost no knowledge at all regarding the Lord.” Galen rubbed his hand across his forehead.

“Then we’re making a huge mistake.” Pastor Dawes drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “We’re measuring the Grubbs against Christian values and standards. Especially if they’ve had no training, they’ve lived merely to survive and couldn’t see past each day’s challenges.”

“What they did was illegal,” the sheriff gritted out.

“Christian values are the cornerstone of our legal system.” Maltby stuck out his hands and moved them up and down as if he were comparing the weight of two items. “Justice and mercy have to be balanced. Someone who’s come from the backwoods and never stepped foot in a church—such a man deserves consideration.”

“From what I see,” Pastor Dawes said slowly, “there are two issues at hand. The first is whether the Grubb twins should be brought up on legal charges.”

The sheriff scowled. “Most of the evidence of the still probably burned, so I might not be able to indict the Grubbs. Even if I bring them in, Maltby here is soft-hearted and sounds like he’ll find any loophole he can to get them off.”

Maltby nodded.

Pastor Dawes faced Galen. “Then the other issue is, what is to become of the Grubbs?”

“Ride ’em out of town,” the sheriff asserted. “The faster, the better.”

“I thought that yesterday when we were fighting the fire,” Galen confessed. “Then they found out their father was dead. I realized my original response was spiteful, yet vengeance belongs to God.”

Maltby spoke up. “That doesn’t mean you’re supposed to turn the other cheek and keep them here.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said I can agree with.” The sheriff scowled at Galen. “They’ve deceived you already. How can you be sure your mother and little brothers are safe?”

“Ishmael and Ivy Grubb are raw, but they’re not dangerous in the least.”

“Josh, you’ve met them,” Maltby said. “What’s your opinion?”

“Ishmael’s a hard worker. He’s respectful of Mrs. O’Sullivan and good to the boys.”

The sheriff hadn’t stopped pacing. He wheeled around. “And Ivy?”

“Backward,” Galen said, “but we can’t hold that against her.”

“Ruth and Laney have spent time with Ivy.” Josh straightened up. “Their impression is that she worked herself silly and got nothing but grief from her father.”

“Pa don’t thank Ivy’s worth much, her bein’ a gal.”
Ishmael’s words echoed in Galen’s mind.
“Pa got hisself a rare bad temper… . It shames
me to admit it, but he’s dreadful hard on her.”

“There’s a difference between pitying someone and begging for trouble,” the sheriff said, staring at Galen.

“You asked us for our counsel.” Pastor Dawes looked at each of them in turn. “Since the legalities—” “Illegalities,” the sheriff muttered.

“Are a matter that won’t need to be addressed,” the pastor said as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “what you have to do is determine whether to allow the Grubb twins to remain on the farm or ask them to leave. We started out this meeting with prayer and asked for wisdom. We’ll be ending it the same way. You don’t have to account to any of us for the choice you make. It’s between you and God.”

“Not exactly.” The sheriff cleared his throat. “If I find out either of the Grubbs is behind the robberies, you could be accused of harboring criminals.”

Josh scoffed, “That’s absurd.”

“Actually, it’s true.” Maltby shifted uncomfortably. “Because you know Ishmael and Ivy’s character is questionable, and it’s been ascertained that the thefts coincided with their arrival, you could be viewed as an accomplice of sorts if they’re implicated in any way.”

“Mark my words,” the sheriff said, smashing his fist into his other hand again, “you’re courting trouble if you keep them on.”

After they closed in prayer, Galen stopped at Lester’s mercantile to pick up Ma. They stayed silent the whole way home.
Lord,
what am I to do?

“What are those?” Ma asked as they pulled up close to the house, pointing to a dozen or so odd ridges in the earth.

Galen helped her down, then followed the marks around to the far side of the house. The woodpile was much larger than it had been that morning. Most of the new wood was charred on one surface. Etched into the dirt in front of the pile were two stark words:
Sorry Boss
.

Ivy refused to look off to the side where the men had buried Pa yesternoon. All things considered, they’d been downright civil, digging a hole and such. Ishy hadn’t let her see Pa. He’d taken the worst of their three blankets and wrapped Pa in it. Mr. O’Sullivan offered to say a prayer, but Ivy refused. It didn’t seem right, talkin’ to God over the grave of a man who insisted He didn’t exist.

Pa was gone but Muley had returned. Ivy walked alongside the beast, gripping the rope halter tighter than ever, letting the stiff hemp fibers dig into her palm. It didn’t banish the memory of the soft dirt she’d held for a moment before dropping it into the grave.

“Anywhar you wanna go in particular?”

Ishmael’s question made her look over Mule’s head. Ivy merely shrugged.

“Up till now we always headed west. Could be we should go south. Winter’s a-comin’, so we’d be ten kinds of fools to aim for somewhar cold.”

“You gotta point.” They continued on. Birds sang as if everything in the world was good. The only other sound was the dull scraping of the travois Ishy had fashioned out of their tent. By sheer luck, the tent hadn’t caught fire. The meager belongings Ivy could salvage comprised two bundles on the travois.