Page 42 of In These Hills

“Lying is not one of your gifts, Mrs. Dunham. But your determination to hone that talent only makes matters worse. So I’m going to ask you one more time—”

Josephine cringed. “I refused the offer because I didn’t realize he owned a distillery. I thought it was . . . another sort of business.”

Miss Mary stilled. “And you object to working in a distillery because . . .”

“Because I am opposed to drinking, ma’am. I’ve seen the misery it brings. Especially to women and children.”

Miss Mary studied her. “And I reckon you know my stance on it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Daniel made me aware of that fact.”

“And I reckon you’re wondering why I’d send you there.”

“I might have,” Josephine admitted. “If I hadn’t learned how scarce jobs are in Lynchburg. At least for someone like me.” She lowered her gaze. “You knew I needed work, and you knew he needed a bookkeeper.”

“That’s precisely why I sent you, Mrs. Dunham. You have skills Jack Daniel sorely needs. And his business, while not to my personal taste, provides for dozens of families. Folks take pride in their work there, and the place is growing, which means Lynchburg will be the better for it.” She frowned. “Didn’t you see the shingle hanging out front on the porch?”

“Yes, but it says Jack Daniel D-I-S-T.” Embarrassed, Josephine looked away. “I took that to mean distributors.”

Miss Mary snorted then laughed outright. “Jack Daniel Distributors? Oh glory be . . .” She nudged Calla. “Our dear Uncle Jack for sure distributes, doesn’t he?”

Calla smiled faintly, eyes on the chicken, not a trace of burnt on it. “Yes, ma’am, he sure do. Now that’s the last of the meat. The mashed taters are ready, too. I’ll get the apples and fried okra dished up.”

“Hands down, Calla Lilly, you’re the best cook in Moore County,” Miss Mary added matter-of-factly. “And I’m blessed to have you.”

Calla’s smile softened, and the name Miss Mary had used—Calla Lilly—didn’t go unnoticed. About to comment on the beauty of it, Josephine felt Miss Mary’s gaze.

“So,” Miss Mary continued. “What’s your plan to secure that job?”

“I’ll be there first thing in the morning to ask Mr. Daniel to reconsider.”

Miss Mary nodded. “My guess is Uncle Jack’ll be tickled to see you coming. Though he’s likely to have a bit of fun with you on the front end.”

“After our meeting this morning, that’s not hard to imagine.”

Miss Mary yanked the rope on the bell and the already-familiar clang echoed throughout the house, announcing to tenants and any guests waiting on the front porch that supper was about to be served.

Miss Mary glanced at the bowl of steaming potatoes mounded high, a generous dollop of butter pooling in the center. “Mrs. Gibbs isn’t able to help us tonight. Would you carry those potatoes in? No serving. Just set them down and—”

“Quickly back away before destroying anything else?” Josephine finished for her.

Miss Mary’s eyes lit. “I wasn’t going to say that, but yes. Exactly.”

Josephine followed Miss Mary’s lead and placed the potatoes on the table then turned to go.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, madam,” a gentleman seated at the end said, his attention moving over Josephine’s face. His accent pegged him as a Northerner. “Are you new to town?”

“This is Mrs. Dunham,” Miss Mary cut in. “She’s helping us out for a while.” Miss Mary’s fleeting look in Josephine’s direction held a world of private meaning. “Mr. Prince is one of our favorite tax revenuers who stays with us pretty regular. The revenuers make sure our dear Uncle Jack is keeping things on the right side of the law.”

“So far.” Mr. Prince paused overlong as he looked around the table. “The man has never given us cause to question. But we’re watching close as a hawk on a bunny in case he ever does.”

Everyone laughed at his joke, Josephine included, and Mr. Prince beamed with somewhat awkward pleasure at their response. She couldn’t say what, but something in his demeanor struck her as a little odd. Not threatening. Just a little off-center, perhaps. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Prince.”

“Welcome to Miss Mary’s,” a middle-aged gentleman sitting down beside Mr. Prince chimed in. “I’m Mr. Tom Motlow, president of Farmers Bank here in Lynchburg.”

Josephine gave a tilt of her head. “I admired that building today, sir, as I passed through town.”

“Why thank you kindly, ma’am. If we can be of service in any way with your financial dealings, please let me know.”