The sun had been up for three hours when Jesse arrived at the sawmill. Abel stood at the gate waiting.
“You finally going to take me up on offering you a job here?” Jesse said.
He’d been after his brother to sign on for years. Abel, however, had said repeatedly that he didn’t want to give up mountain living. He spoke the words in a way that hinted that perhaps Jesse had betrayed his heritage somehow, had turned his back on his people, and thrown in with the flatlanders and all their evil ways. Jesse let the implication slide. He’d done his part, lived the life, made his mark and wished to move on. Since the war and the concurrent two years of influenza pandemic, he’d said, the world was a changed place. There were moments in time when the world pivoted and set off in a new direction. You either turned with it or you found yourself wandering off lost and alone. The old mountain and its culture had run out of time and place.
Jesse felt no allegiance to a way of life that kept its people poor and ignorant. Civilization would come to the mountain and, sooner or later, its folks would yield or die. Even now, younger men were drifting to the nearby cities and towns and some even farther to places like Baltimore and Pittsburgh. The mountain had played out. You couldn’t farm the land, timber the hills, or harvest the forest. Only Prohibition and moonshine remained a source of income and that was no longer a winked-at-and-only-occasionally-interdicted pastime. It was a federal offense and, increasingly, revenue agents were raiding stills. That, in turn, had brought violence and occasional bloodshed back to the hills. Abel should not allow himself to get caught up in it, Jesse said. But there was no reasoning with his brother. He allowed that what Jesse said might be near to true, but Big Tom McAdoo still headed the family and, even though he might be old and not functioning too good anymore, he was the leader and his still and those of the uncles, cousins, and relatives of various denominations continued to provide an income beyond anything they could earn anywhere else. Besides, who would want to be beholden to some boss?
It appeared Abel still felt that way. “Nope, I ain’t come to saw no wood for you, Jesse. Listen, I been thinking about Pa and who musta done him in.”
“You got us a lead on the one-eyed man?”
“No, that ain’t going to happen. He’s in the wind, for a certain. But listen. Remember, this had to happen ten year ago, right? So, who would have been the likely person to come after any of us? It had to be—”
“Don’t you even say them words, Abel. If you think about starting up that old ‘us and them’ talk, I will personally pop you one in the chops.”
“Jesse, it had to be a LeBrun, and you know it.”
“I don’t know it, and neither do you. I ain’t even going to think about it. We been down the road a time or two and I ain’t about to go there again. You ought not, either.”
“Well, you may not want to. I figured you’d say that, but I come down here to tell you I aim to have me a look-see. Just so you know and won’t be surprised, especially when I come up with the who of it.”
“Abel…Okay, I can’t talk no sense into you. Mighta could once, but not no more. Just you walk soft and be careful. Things might have cooled a mite on the mountain, but there is still some mighty short fuses on both sides and it don’t take much to set someone off. You better think twice before you go and point your finger at someone ’fore you have one hundred percent proof they done anything a-tall.”
Jesse turned to go. He loved his brother and wanted more than anything in the world for him to come down off the mountain and find his way in this new world the big war had made. But Abel was stuck in a time long over and marching down a road that led nowhere, and Jesse could not get through to him. He could only hope the lights would come on someday before it was too late.
Henry Sturgis loitered by the office door.
“How-do, Henry, ain’t you got something you’re supposed to be doing ’bout now?”
“All under control. Say, is it true R.G. is thinking about selling the mill?”
“I reckon it’s a maybe, for sure.”
“You interested?”
“I’m considering it, yep. There is a few particulars that have me worried, though.”
“So, you haven’t made an offer?”
“What? An offer? Naw, too soon for that. See, there’s the debt thing and—”
“Well, sure enough, nobody wants a big debt, but this mill is humming and, according to you, more orders are coming in all the time. Put some money into upgrading the machinery and such, and this could be a gold mine.”
“Well, you might have got ahold of something there, Henry. Like I said, thinking about it some.”
“Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t waste too much time at that. Somebody will find out about it and whip that old carpet out from under your feet.”
“Thank you, Henry. I’ll keep that in mind.”
So the word was out. Did R.G. plant that in hopes of drawing a buyer out of the woodpile? If Serena had it pegged right, R.G. might be up to dumping a heap of debt and getting out from under with a pretty nice payday. Or Henry could have got the good end of the stick and be onto something. Bradford had his opinion and it plumbed up with Henry’s. So, what was Jesse, or maybe Serena, actually, missing?
He stepped into the office. R.G. was at his desk. Jesse couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn that before R.G.’s face took on its wore-out, sickly look, it had a bright-as-a-button expression on it. Now if that were true…
“Morning, R.G. You feeling better today?”
“Fair to middling, Jesse. There is a mess of paper on the desk that needs looking at. I just ain’t got the gumption to handle it. Can you sort it out? I think we got us another batch of orders from the Southern Furniture Co. Ever since old Oscar Bolick switched from upholstering buggy seats and backs to furniture, he and us been making real money. And it’s not just his Southern Furniture Company. North Carolina seems about to make itself the furniture capital of the whole U S of A. Anyway, he’s asking for chestnut and cherry. Them others seem mostly set on oak.”
More R.G. bamboozling? Jesse knew he should be careful, but there wasn’t any doubt about the mill was doing itself a land office business. “This here about comes closest I ever seen to the Oklahoma Land Rush, only for good furniture wood, R.G.”
“Business is good, Jesse. Money is there, if you know how to jump in on the moment, if you know what I mean.”
Jess reckoned he did.