Page 76 of In These Hills

A group of men passed by the window outside, headed for the office.

“Payroll time.” Mr. Coburn reached for the pouch. “How about I stay with you today. And next week you’re on your own.”

“Sounds fair.”

He introduced her to each man, but the line moved so fast she barely managed to stuff envelopes with the bills Dodge handed her. She’d never match names to faces—except the three Hacketts. Brothers, surely, judging by their similar arrogance.

The shortest sauntered up with a grin that told Josephine everything she needed to know about him.

“And just who might you be, sweet little missy?”

Mr. Coburn stepped forward. “Micah, take your pay and move on.”

“I’m just being friendly.” Micah’s gaze slid to Josephine. “Mrs. Josephine Dunham, ain’t it?” He laughed and his three brothers joined in. The implication was clear—they’d heard the rumor.

Mr. Coburn looked ready to come around the desk, but Josephine beat him to it.

“Yes, Mr. Hackett,” she said evenly, checking his name in the ledger and handing him the envelope. She was tempted to ask him if he needed help counting, but when she met his eyes she saw Clay Darden’s instead—and a chill went through her.

She looked past him. “Next.”

The last of the men cleared, then another group arrived, followed by women—young as late teens to older women, all from the bottling house. Conversation came more easily with them.

What didn’t escape Josephine was how nearly every one of them—regardless of age—looked at Dodge Coburn with open admiration, some even with a touch of longing. Either he didn’t notice, or he chose not to. “True North,” Miss Mary had said, and Josephine was beginning to see it.

With only two envelopes left—his and hers—Mr. Coburn closed the door, his expression somber.

“Thank you for not engaging with Micah Hackett.”

“I considered it.”

“I could tell. The Hacketts are a hotheaded lot. Cross one and you’ve crossed them all.”

“Men like that are walking advertisements for why God made women—and gave them more discernment.”

“Don’t hold back now,” he said, his tone dry. “Say what you mean.”

She smiled. “Perhaps I should have held that back.”

“No, ma’am. Always say what you think with me. Whether you think I’ll like it or not.”

She tilted her head. “Well, you’d better brace yourself. I do have opinions.”

“That,” he said, counting bills into her envelope, “I have never doubted.” He handed it to her. “Congratulations on your first official earnings.”

She stared at the money, an odd sourness rising knowing her earnings were tied to the successful sale of liquor.

Mr. Coburn tucked a thick wad of bills into his own envelope, returned the pouch to the safe, and locked it. Through the window, Josephine spotted Mr. Daniel coming back.

Dodge must have seen him, too. He grabbed his hat from the coat-rack. “Have a good day, Mrs. Dunham.” And went out to meet him.

They rounded the office building and headed uphill toward the outbuildings, their easy camaraderie obvious, as was their mutual respect.

Josephine returned to the invoices.

The mail arrived soon after, including two letters from new vendors—one in Nashville, the other Chattanooga—now carrying Jack Daniel whiskey. Both expressed an earnest desire to come to Lynchburg to see the distillery and to meet “the esteemed Mr. Jack Daniel himself.”

She stared at the letters, unsettled. The distillery was making a name for itself, exactly what she didn’t need. And she was helping it happen.