Page 103 of In These Hills

Sighing, he kissed her head again. “It’s not wrong for you to feel this way, Bethie. Or to have those thoughts.”

“Sure feels like it. Feels like, if she could know what I’m thinking, she’d reckon I don’t love her anymore.”

She shuddered as fresh tears came.

“Come here, sweetie.” He pulled her into his lap. A couple of workers walking by the cabin looked over then changed course, giving them a wider berth. “Honey, I don’t know everything about the hereafter but I do know this . . . That Bible in there on the table beside the fireplace . . . the one she always read to you from?”

Bethie nodded even as he realized that was an area he’d fallen short in, both in his vow to Kathleen and in his care of Bethie, and he determined right then to change that. To read from it with her like his sister had done.

“God says in there that we’ll be with him when we die. So your mama is with Jesus. There’s no doubt about that. And I firmly believe that people who have trusted him and then have passed on into the next life . . . they see things more clearly from that side than we do from ours. So don’t you worry one whit about your mama thinking you don’t love her because you wish you could stop hurting from missing her so badly. She understands that, Bethie. Nobody likes to hurt, honey. And it’s natural to want the pain to stop. But there’s no getting around it.” A sad smile came to him. “Sometimes we have to go through a storm to get to the sunshine.”

She pulled away slightly and peered up. “Mama always said that.”

“Yes, she did. And she was right.”

Bethie didn’t say anything for a minute, then leaned close again. “Do you think we’ll stay here forever, Uncle Dodge?”

The sadness in her voice tugged at him and his eyes watered. He looked toward the hills in the near distance, wishing he knew the answer to that question. Because, in all honesty, he asked that same question, too. He wished the two of them could start over again somewhere. Far away from the memories. A place where Bethie wouldn’t be raised smack dab in the middle of a distillery. Where she wouldn’t be reminded at every turn that her mother was never coming back.

He was grateful for his job and that word was spreading about Uncle Jack’s Old No. 7, and that the business was growing, but there was still a restlessness in him. And he feared there always would be.

Bethie had asked a similar question of Josephine last night, however inappropriately phrased the first time, and he thought of Josephine’s answer. She hadn’t hesitated to say no, that she wouldn’t be staying in Lynchburg forever, as though she already had a plan in place to leave. That news saddened him.

Feeling Bethie’s attention, he gave her a little hug. “I don’t know if we’ll stay here forever, sweetie. But would staying here be such a bad thing? I mean, we have a good life here, right?”

“Yeah, we do,” she finally said, her hollow tone reflecting his own melancholy.

Hoping their outing would cheer her up, he rose. “You about ready to go? I told Mrs. Dunham we’d pick her up around now.”

“Just let me grab my .22 and my satchel. And some of the jerky in case we get hungry.”

“Get your jacket too. Looks like rain.”

Dodge had loaded things up earlier and noticed Jessie seated on the wagon bench, panting and watching his every move. “Don’t worry, girl. You’re going.”

She barked and wagged her tail.

Bethie hurried back out. “Okay, I’m ready!”

Dodge took the rifle, satchel, and bag of jerky from her. Then stared.

“What?”

“Your jacket?”

“I couldn’t find it. But I’ll be fine.”

Dodge didn’t move.

She huffed a sigh that—had he not known how badly she was hurting inside—he would’ve corrected. As it was, he let it go, and she trudged back upstairs into the cabin.

Jessie whined, her focus on the bag of jerky. Dodge gave her head a rub and pulled out a piece. He bit some off and tossed it to her. She went for it and missed—a rare occurrence—and it fell beneath the bench. Jessie started to jump down to get it but Bethie’s satchel and gun blocked her way.

“Okay, girl, we don’t let good jerky go to waste. Not when it’s got Old No. 7 baked in.” He climbed up and moved Bethie’s satchel and rifle to the back bed then leaned down. He’d made a fresh batch of jerky a few days ago, and he never ate it now but what he didn’t think about Josephine and that trip with her from Tullahoma.

And she’d recently asked him for the recipe. If the woman only knew . . .

He felt around for the piece of jerky, couldn’t find it, so finally peered beneath the seat. Something shiny between two floorboards caught his eye. He got down on his knees for a better look. Seeing the bit of meat, he fed it to Jessie, then tried to pry the object free.