Page 42 of Tennessee Trouble

“Y’all did what?” Lindee gasps, as we round a corner and turn onto a dirt road.

I nod, looking out the window at the train depot, all done up like it’s still the early 1900s, a long line of tourists waiting on the next train. They look out of place in their everyday clothes against such a historical backdrop, but there is a charm to it that you can’t help but smile at.

As we start to climb the hill, I launch into the history of Hickory Hills, telling Lindee all about Augustus and Llewellyn Hayes, the ancestors of my best friend. If it weren’t for the two young blacksmiths and their rifles back in the mid-1800s, Hickory Hills probably would have faded into oblivion like many other small, rural towns. Milo’s dad prefers to downplay the family history of supporting the Confederate army during the Civil War—understandably—but that was still the catalyst for the massive Fortune 500 company that Hayes Industries is today and for keeping our small town thriving.

“Still a far cry from brothels and bootlegging,” I joke as we crest the top of the hill.

“Trouble Town lived up to its name,” Lindee comments, giving me a wink.

Slipping the Jeep into park, she turns and smiles at me, her face as bright as the sun.

“We’re here.”

“Where’s here?”

Lindee waggles her eyebrows and then turns to get out of the Jeep. I follow her lead, still waiting on an answer to my question.

She’s quiet though, as if I should somehow just know. The thing is, we’re on a hill. The view is nice, sure, but I can’t imagine that’s why she brought me here. Nor why we’re walking down a small path toward the other side of the hill. None of this makes sense.

Until I see it.

An old, white church stands off to the side, probably two hundred yards from a train platform. Large windows with green shutters line the side of the building, giving it an old, rustic charm. Catching my breath, I take it all in—the architecture, the craftmanship, and the beautiful brass bell up in the open-air steeple. There’s something so majestic about it, making you want to stare at it for hours, the lush field around it making the white glimmer in the sunlight.

“Is that…”

“Welcome to Abernathy Congregational Church, as the Murray family calls it. Back when it was actually a church and Reverend Abernathy was preaching here, it would have just been the town church. At least until Josiah Whitfield moved in, building what is now Trouble Baptist. This church was originally built all the way up here, rather than closer to town, so that all the miners who were living in the barracks had access.”

Slipping her hand in mine, she squeezes, looking up at me, those rich hazel eyes perfectly framed by her glasses. “C’mon.”

Keeping my eyes glued to the church, I let her guide me, trying to think of all the questions I said I would ask if I got the chance. There is so much of this brand’s story and history that has made me wonder the truth behind it all.

“Tell me, Luna…what’s the real story?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, stopping just in front of the church. The line to get inside forms to our right, moving slowly as people enter the building.

“The tale about Gil and Fergus using this church to brew, the local reverend letting them as a quiet payback to the preacher who moved in and stole his congregation.”

Lindee purses her lips together, pink tingeing her cheeks. “That is the real story. Sorta.”

Ha, I knew it.

“Trouble Town was a thriving mining community, complete with a fancy railroad, saloons, and a brothel.” She giggles, gesturing toward the train platform and back toward town. “Reverend Abernathy had been the preacher here for years, and lived over in a small house on the other side of the train.”

I look over that way, my gaze catching a glimpse of a sign that says The Common Table, my mind doing the work to figure out that must be what used to be the parsonage.

“Then, in the early 1900s, a young, charismatic preacher named Josiah Whitfield moved to town, preaching temperance and the evils of booze and wild women. He built a new church, much closer to downtown, and people were taken with him. More and more started to attend Whitfield’s congregation, leaving Reverend Abernathy with a dwindling population each Sunday. No one is exactly sure how it came to pass, but once Prohibition was in full swing, Reverend Abernathy offered the basement of this church to my great-grandfather Gil and his younger brother, Fergus, as a place to hide their operation. He’s the reason it all survived.”

A soft breeze blows past us, whipping a stray strand of blonde hair into Lindee’s face, tangling in her black-framed glasses. Reaching over, I loop my finger around it, sweeping it off her face and tucking it behind her ear. The move is easy, gentle, and feels as natural as breathing. Like it’s something I do every day.

The pink in her cheeks deepens. Looking away, toward the backside of the church, Lindee shifts, and I can feel the heat from her body waft toward me. Letting out a sigh, she scoots around me, heading toward the entrance of the church.

“The reverend was a big supporter of the brothers, helping Fergus with things while Gil was off fighting in the war. He was also apparently a big fan of ’shine himself, hence naming it after him. It’s hard to know if the reason he let them set up here was because he was trying to prove a point to the new guy in town, or if it was simply because he wanted some behind the scenes access.”

“Payback is a much better story.”

“It is. My mother is a PR powerhouse and was in charge of all the branding and history and everything until she retired last year, and she took the story and weaved it into an unforgettable tale. She’s also the one who took the abandoned church and turned it into a museum.”

“Different than the archives?”