Chapter 8

Sunday evenings were quiet on Marryat Island. After supper, in the cool of approaching dusk, I wandered down to the island and stepped into one of the rowboats tied up to the dock. It bobbed gently under my weight as I sat on the seat between the oars. I lowered my chin to the palms of my hands and drifted into thoughts about Marcus.

We’d danced till the end, till the band laid down their instruments and everyone headed toward home. We danced for three hours thinking only minutes had gone by, and then he walked me to the lodge and said good-night. I wondered whether that was what it was to be in love. Was it being so thoroughly happy that the joy seemed unbreakable?

Never having been in love, I didn’t know. And I wasn’t sure I was going to find out, because I didn’t know whether the night was a one-time affair or whether I’d see Marcus Wiant again. He was unfailingly polite and a proper gentleman, thanking me for a good time and then letting me go with neither a kiss nor a promise of anything more to come. The kiss I was relieved to do without, but I would have liked to know whether he might come around another time.

So lost was I to thought, I didn’t hear the footsteps on the dock, nor see anyone approach till someone said, “If you’re taking that thing out, you might want to find someone to go with you.”

Startled, I looked up to find Jones standing over me, his safari hat pulled down over his brow, its long strap dangling low beneath his chin. He wore dark glasses, a long-sleeved button-up shirt, and a pair of cotton slacks, minus the suspenders. His startlingly white feet were bare. I looked from him, to the river, and back again. “Well,” I said, “I don’t guess I was planning on taking it out.”

“Then why are you sitting in it?”

Why indeed? Because it seemed a good place to think about Marcus? I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “Does someone need it?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“I enjoy rowing the river in the evenings, if that’s all right with you.”

“Well, of course it’s all right with me,” I said testily, “but there are plenty of other boats.” I waved a hand at them to prove my point.

“I like this one.”

I sighed, started to stand. “All right. You can have it.”

“No, don’t get out.”

“Don’t get out?”

“Just move up to the bow and let me sit there.”

I hesitated a moment. “You mean, you want me to go with you?”

“Don’t you like boats?”

“Sure I do.”

“Then sit down.”

I moved to the bow and sat down. For one brief moment I wondered what Marcus would think if he saw me out on the river in a boat with Jones, but I dismissed the thought. Jones was my cousin, after all. My cousin of a sort, anyway.

Jones untied the rope anchoring the boat to the dock. He stepped in and settled onto the seat I had just vacated. “I can get more exercise if I have somebody weighing down the boat,” he said.

“Oh.” So that was it. “Well, I’m glad I can help out by being your dead weight.”

He nodded, as though I was serious. Fastening the oars into the oarlocks, he pushed us away from the dock and began to row. Because I was at the front of the boat, he was sitting with his back to me, as if I weren’t there at all. If he’d told me to sit on the other end of the boat, we’d have at least been facing each other, though perhaps that wasn’t how he wanted it.

For several minutes he moved us along at a generous clip. I watched, mesmerized as the oars dipped in and out of the river. Every time they came up, they dripped great pearls of river water before they quickly sank down again. Their sweeping motion formed small whirlpools that circled momentarily on the surface of the water before drifting off and dying out. I dipped one hand over the side of the boat and let it linger in the water; my fingers cut a small wake into the river.

“This is really nice,” I said, “being out here like this.”

He didn’t answer. After a time he rowed less vigorously, and we moved at a more leisurely pace down a long stretch of river. I hugged my knees and breathed deeply of the cool air. I watched as a trio of sparrows soared on an upward draft. I searched the sky for the first sign of stars, but it was too early yet for anything other than a translucent hint of the moon.

We slowed down enough that we were overtaken by a couple of punts, flat-bottom boats with square-cut bows. Each was navigated by a man standing on the deck of the stern, pushing the boat along with a pole. The men wore unseasonably warm jackets and tweed caps, and in the hull of both boats were several wooden boxes labeled castor oil.

As they passed us, one of the men touched the brim of his cap and gave a nod in greeting. Jones nodded in return. I watched as the punts moved on down the river ahead of us.

In an attempt at conversation, as heaven knew Jones wasn’t very good at it, I said, “Now where do you suppose they’re going?”

Jones pushed his hat back a notch and looked over his shoulder after the two boats. “The Little Miami meets up with the Ohio River not too far from here,” he said. “That’s probably where they’re headed.”

“Funny that they’re taking a bunch of castor oil down the Ohio River.”

Jones turned again to look at me. I couldn’t see his eyes, but somehow I sensed they held amusement. My suspicions were confirmed when he shook his head and laughed. “Castor oil, nothing,” he muttered. “They’re hauling moonshine.”

For a moment I was speechless. I frowned and wondered whether I had heard him right. “Moonshine?”

“Sure. People like them are up and down this river all the time.”

It can’t be, I thought. This was Ohio, after all, birthplace of the Temperance Movement. I knew. I had done the research. I had won first place in the essay contest. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Don’t they know moonshine is illegal?”

Jones laughed again, louder this time. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not kidding, Jones. I can’t believe they’re hauling that stuff right out here in the open. They could be arrested and go to prison. They should be arrested.”

“Yeah? And who’s going to turn them in? You?”

I drew back. I didn’t know how to respond. “You mean, nobody does anything about it? Nobody tries to shut down the stills?”

“And just what would people drink if they shut down the stills?”

“But that’s the point! People shouldn’t be drinking anything at all. Aren’t there any Prohibition agents around here?”

“Of course not. There aren’t enough agents for the big cities, let alone a little Podunk town like Mercy. Anyway, it’s a losing battle. There’s stills all over the county. Too many to count.”

“But Prohibition is the law!”

“A stupid law, itching to be broken.”

“It’s not a stupid law. It’s one law that makes completely good sense.”

“And who are you? Carrie Nation? You go around with an axe chopping up saloons?”

“Maybe I would if there were any saloons to chop up!”

“Well, there aren’t. They’ve all gone underground and turned themselves into speakeasies and blind pigs. And believe me, someone like you would never get in.”

“I wouldn’t want to get in! I don’t believe in drinking. All it does is ruin people’s lives.”

He stared at me a moment, brows turned down, nostrils flaring. “I guess Cyrus forgot to tell me you were a saint.”

“You don’t need to be sarcastic just because I believe in obeying the law. But then, I wouldn’t drink even if the country were wet again. It’s just a sin, plain and simple, and it leads to no good.”

“You’re all-fired sure about that, are you?”

I lifted my chin. “I am.”

“And how do you know so much about it?”

I thought about Cassandra. I thought about the drunks down at the St. Paul Mission. I thought about the gangsters that wreaked havoc, killing each other and even innocent bystanders over the selling of illegal booze. “I’ve seen it,” I said. “I’ve seen what it does to people. But folks keep on drinking because other people, terrible people, keep on making illegal liquor and selling it.”

“Now hold on just one minute there, St. Eve,” Jones spat out. He pulled the oars into the boat and turned around on the seat to face me. “I’d wager those two men who just went by aren’t terrible people. I’d wager they’re not bad people at all. They’re just a couple of men trying to feed their families, and they got no other way to do it except to sell spirits to people who want an occasional drink. If it’s between making moonshine and letting their kids starve, they’re right to choose moonshine, and you’re wrong to judge them.”

Looking away, I could taste the disgust at the back of my throat like something sour. “There are other ways to make a living,” I said.

“It’s not all that easy, especially now, times being what they are.”

“The times being what they are isn’t an excuse to do what’s wrong. If everybody would obey the law and work together, I’m sure we’d be able to find jobs for everyone. Or at least make sure no one goes hungry. People don’t have to resort to crime to stay alive.”

“Selling liquor wouldn’t be a crime if we got rid of the law. Then people could just go about their business and take care of their families.”

“But it’s the law and—”

“You sound like that man who said he believes the law can regulate morality and make upstanding citizens out of everybody.”

“His name is Volstead, and that’s right, I do agree with him. If people acted decent and nobody drank, this country would be a whole lot better off.”

He looked at me a long time. Finally he said, “You mean, if everybody was as perfect as you, this country would be a whole lot better off.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but that’s what you meant.” He sighed, turned around on the seat, and took up the oars. “You’ve got a lot to learn about being human, missy,” he concluded.

My mouth dropped open. How dare he admonish me when the law was on my side? I was glad he had turned his back to me again, because that way he couldn’t see my tears of frustration as we rowed toward home.