the glass and looks her straight in the eyes. “My boys? They was real lucky you come along when you did. I thank you.”
That night, Sue opens the door of her father’s study. The lamps are turned low and soft carols play on his radio.
“Dad?”
Mr. Stephenson glances around and motions for her to join him. A tall man, he stands in front of the blazing hearth, his slender frame sharply silhouetted against the flames, and Sue realizes with a sudden pang that his shoulders have begun to stoop. His hair is completely white now and age spots blotch the back of his hands. She knows that her parents delayed having children until several years into marriage, but seeing him clearly like this makes her aware that he is no longer young. Is indeed well into middle age.
“Finished decorating the tree?”
Sue closes the door and smiles at him. “You know Mother and Zell. They’re still making sure every strand of tinsel’s just so. Poor Ash. He just wants to sling it on in clumps.”
“Wise man,” her father says, crossing to his desk.
“Wise?”
“How do you think I’ve gotten out of having to drape tinsel one strand at a time all these years? If you do something badly, your wife won’t expect you to do it well. She’ll just decide you’re hopeless and do it herself.”
“Someone should tell Ash.” She pulls a chair up near his. “Can I ask you something, Dad?”
His eyes twinkle behind his smudged glasses. “Has saying no ever stopped you?”
“I’m serious.” She lifts his glasses from his face, breathes on the lenses, and begins to polish them with a clean handkerchief from her pocket.
Her father massages the bridge of his nose and leans back in his chair. “Very well then. Seriously.”
“Tell me about Kezzie Knott.”
“Knott? Why do you ask about him?”
Eyes on her task, Sue says, “He was one of the musicians at the dance Saturday night. They said he’d been in prison and Brix Junior said you were his attorney.”
“So?”
“Brix Junior says he’s a moonshiner. Is he?”
Mr. Stephenson shrugs. “Probably, but that’s not what sent him to prison. He was charged with tax evasion. He owned a little crossroads store out from Cotton Grove and he was buying a lot more sugar than he could prove he sold in the store.” A small smile appears at the corner of his mouth. “I believe the store is no longer in his name.”
“But he owns it?”
“Not that anyone can prove.”
“Brix Junior said you got him released early.”
He nods and his smile disappears. “His wife died and there was no one else to take care of his children. I was able to persuade the authorities that he wasn’t a danger to society.”
Sue holds his glasses up to the light, polishes away a final smudge, and hands them back. “Brix Junior says he asked about buying Grandmother’s farm.”
“I didn’t realize Brix Junior was so interested in Knott’s business,” Mr. Stephenson says as he settles his glasses into place. “Why are you?”
“No reason. I just wondered why he wasn’t drafted. Making moonshine isn’t exactly a vital industry, is it?”
He chuckles. “Depends on who you ask.” When he sees that she isn’t smiling, he says, “He had too many people dependent on him, honey. A widowed mother who was dying, a wife, and five or six little boys.”
“ Five or six? Are you serious?”
“You said you wanted me to be. Last I heard, there were actually eight. All boys. He married young and they started making babies right away.”
“Kept her barefoot and pregnant?” Her scornful voice turns to pity. “That poor woman.”
“Hard to know what goes on between a husband and wife,” her father says mildly. “Could be that’s what she wanted.”
Something in his tone makes her wonder if he was the one who put off having a family, or was it her mother?
“Did you want a son, Dad?” she asks.
“Now, Sue—”
“Someone to come into the firm with you like Brix Junior?”
He
That night, Sue opens the door of her father’s study. The lamps are turned low and soft carols play on his radio.
“Dad?”
Mr. Stephenson glances around and motions for her to join him. A tall man, he stands in front of the blazing hearth, his slender frame sharply silhouetted against the flames, and Sue realizes with a sudden pang that his shoulders have begun to stoop. His hair is completely white now and age spots blotch the back of his hands. She knows that her parents delayed having children until several years into marriage, but seeing him clearly like this makes her aware that he is no longer young. Is indeed well into middle age.
“Finished decorating the tree?”
Sue closes the door and smiles at him. “You know Mother and Zell. They’re still making sure every strand of tinsel’s just so. Poor Ash. He just wants to sling it on in clumps.”
“Wise man,” her father says, crossing to his desk.
“Wise?”
“How do you think I’ve gotten out of having to drape tinsel one strand at a time all these years? If you do something badly, your wife won’t expect you to do it well. She’ll just decide you’re hopeless and do it herself.”
“Someone should tell Ash.” She pulls a chair up near his. “Can I ask you something, Dad?”
His eyes twinkle behind his smudged glasses. “Has saying no ever stopped you?”
“I’m serious.” She lifts his glasses from his face, breathes on the lenses, and begins to polish them with a clean handkerchief from her pocket.
Her father massages the bridge of his nose and leans back in his chair. “Very well then. Seriously.”
“Tell me about Kezzie Knott.”
“Knott? Why do you ask about him?”
Eyes on her task, Sue says, “He was one of the musicians at the dance Saturday night. They said he’d been in prison and Brix Junior said you were his attorney.”
“So?”
“Brix Junior says he’s a moonshiner. Is he?”
Mr. Stephenson shrugs. “Probably, but that’s not what sent him to prison. He was charged with tax evasion. He owned a little crossroads store out from Cotton Grove and he was buying a lot more sugar than he could prove he sold in the store.” A small smile appears at the corner of his mouth. “I believe the store is no longer in his name.”
“But he owns it?”
“Not that anyone can prove.”
“Brix Junior said you got him released early.”
He nods and his smile disappears. “His wife died and there was no one else to take care of his children. I was able to persuade the authorities that he wasn’t a danger to society.”
Sue holds his glasses up to the light, polishes away a final smudge, and hands them back. “Brix Junior says he asked about buying Grandmother’s farm.”
“I didn’t realize Brix Junior was so interested in Knott’s business,” Mr. Stephenson says as he settles his glasses into place. “Why are you?”
“No reason. I just wondered why he wasn’t drafted. Making moonshine isn’t exactly a vital industry, is it?”
He chuckles. “Depends on who you ask.” When he sees that she isn’t smiling, he says, “He had too many people dependent on him, honey. A widowed mother who was dying, a wife, and five or six little boys.”
“ Five or six? Are you serious?”
“You said you wanted me to be. Last I heard, there were actually eight. All boys. He married young and they started making babies right away.”
“Kept her barefoot and pregnant?” Her scornful voice turns to pity. “That poor woman.”
“Hard to know what goes on between a husband and wife,” her father says mildly. “Could be that’s what she wanted.”
Something in his tone makes her wonder if he was the one who put off having a family, or was it her mother?
“Did you want a son, Dad?” she asks.
“Now, Sue—”
“Someone to come into the firm with you like Brix Junior?”
He
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