Keeping Secrets

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Charlene Schweicher stood inside a huge closet in the yellow Victorian gingerbread house she’d inherited from her grandparents. She lifted the candle to see better, contemplating the rows and rows of glass bottles before her. Each shelf was neatly labeled by date and tagged with the recipe. The oranges and reds and yellows varied by the fruits added to the bottles of liquor, each containing finished whiskey but soaking fruits and sugars to create a unique beverage. She selected four jars and placed them into a wicker basket, stepped into the hall, and blew out the candle.

Her blue denim coveralls were clean but smoky from the earlier liquor run. Charlie didn’t care what anyone thought about her choice of clothing; the pants were most practical for the work. She also didn’t care what anyone thought of her occupation as a moonshiner. It paid the bills, and then some. When she first arrived from eastern Pennsylvania, she had shelter but was penniless. Belle suggested the liquor business as it was easily started, and then Belle bought everything Charlie could brew to use in the saloon. Even after she eventually inherited the family glass business and a mountain of cash, Charlie continued the brewing because it was fun and she loved to experiment with the recipes.

Charlie didn’t have time to change before her appointment with Belle. And as much as she loved Belle, you did not keep her waiting. She tied her wild red curls into a loose ponytail and headed out the back door, her boots clomping on the wooden floor.

She skipped down her back steps and across the side yard to the three-story building next door. The outside upper porch was empty this time of day. She climbed the rear porch, pushed the solid door, and marched to the second room on the left. She tapped on the door twice, then once, then twice.

Belle’s voice rang out, “Come on in.”

Charlie twisted the brass knob and spied her friend hunched over papers at her desk. Belle Hepscott was fifty if she was a day, with dark hair swirled loosely on top of her head and the latest style silk dress. She looked every bit the aristocrat’s wife, but she was a single businesswoman, as independent as she was beautiful. She ran a saloon and a high-end brothel. Other more delicate terms could be used, but it was what it was.

Belle’s spacious room doubled as a sitting area. Her overstuffed bed was on the far side near the windows. Dark red floor-to-ceiling drapes covered the glass. Belle worked at the rolltop desk on the near wall, next to the cold fireplace, a hurricane lamp shining down onto the paperwork. A couch sat in the middle of the room; the arms had carvings of ducks in the wood. Floor lamps with long fringe stood at either end. In the front was a small table, with two stuffed chairs across. A rocking chair in the far corner had a basket of fabric in the seat, needlework inside.

While Belle finished, Charlie lined up the bottles on the credenza and took out shot glasses from the side cupboard. She then perched on the side chair and waited.

With a twitch, Belle removed her reading glasses and laid them on the papers. She turned and stood. “My dear, I do apologize for my delay. Do tell what all this is about.”

“These are some concoctions I’ve been aging. I wanted you to try them and see if they’re ready or need a tweak or two. Try to guess what they are.” Charlie opened the first golden-colored jar. “This is my personal favorite.”

Belle lifted the glass and considered the color. “I feel like I’m at a French wine tasting.” She sniffed the liquid, then took a sip, swirling it in her mouth before swallowing. She held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. Peach, but more. It’s almost a cobbler in a glass. It’s wonderful. How did you make it?”

Charlie winked. “Even if you take a shine to it, a brewer never shares recipes. You’d have to take the secret to the grave!” she teased, even though the leather notebook with every detail was carelessly left on a shelf in the closet.

Belle laughed and touched Charlie on the arm. “Well, for God’s sake, do not reveal anything to me. I haven’t got that much time left to begin with.”

“You are ridiculous. You will, no doubt, live longer than any of us.” Charlie opened the second pinkish jar. “This one may be obvious, as well.”

Belle repeated the steps, first peering at the liquid, then sniffing and tasting. She pulled the glass away and studied the contents. “Maybe I need a palate cleanser.” She took another sip. “No, I just do not care for this. It has a sharp undertone.”

Charlie frowned. “Just as I suspected. The strawberry is dominated by the rhubarb. Do you think more time would help?”

Belle shook her head. “You know I hate rhubarb. Try this on the boys up front.” She touched the light red jar. “What’s in this?”

“This one is the most unusual, but it’s quite pretty, I think.” Charlie twisted open the lid, and a peppermint scent spread across the room.

Belle snatched a glass and filled it partway, then sipped. “Oh, this is wonderful. It would be delightful at a winter holiday party. I can’t wait for Christmas!”

Charlie laughed. “Noted. The final sample will disappoint then, I’m afraid.” She corked the other bottle and then opened the last container. She tipped the dark red liquor into the shot glass and sampled it herself first. “I think this is about right. It hadn’t aged enough last time.”

Belle took the glass from Charlie. “It is quite a lovely shade.” She sipped. “And now this is my favorite. Cherry. I do believe you could sell this as an elixir from a wagon cart like a gypsy.”

“You don’t mean it!” Charlie stood and twirled around the room, snapping her fingers in the air as if she had castanets. “This dance would be better in a long skirt.”

“Yes, I noticed your breeches. Getting a little brave, aren’t you, cooking in the daylight?” Belle reached into a side cabinet and took out a larger glass. “Hit me with a full glass of the cherry.”

“I had an unexpected opportunity to get a deal on a wagon of corn.” Charlie obliged the request and then tipped a bit of water into the glass to cut the liquor. “Shall I get some cheese?”

“Oh, no, just some crackers, please.” Belle sat back and enjoyed her drink. “I wonder if you remember my brother Peter’s children. His son, Jeremy, and daughter, Elizabeth, are interested in a visit.”

Charlie sat back down, sliding the plate of crackers to Belle. “Did Peter have a change of heart?”

“Possibly, but I expect not. The children seem to need some help. I think it would annoy him, so I wonder if you agree I should send for them.” Belle took a long drink. “This really is quite good. It reminds me of brandy it’s so smooth.”

“You know I hate to rile things up, honestly, but Peter is wrong about you. Do you think the children have been influenced by him?”

Belle nodded. “I believe so. This leads me to think it must be important or they wouldn’t dare to ask.”

Charlie collected the jars. “Do you think now is a good time to see the boys at the bar?”

Belle finished her glass. She waved a hand. “Of course.”

Charlie reached over and hugged Belle. “Thank you, my dear.” She headed out and down the hall.

Belle reread and considered the letter in her hands, the tone dark and urgent. Elizabeth usually wrote every few weeks but talked of the weather and other bland topics. Belle’s brother Peter had moved west to expand his pasture range for his growing horse operation. His wife died from a fever or something, and Belle was certain Peter blamed himself. People got sick in a fine mansion, as well as a tumble-down shack. And people died. When your maker called you home, it was your time. Had it really been five years? Maybe it was seven. She missed seeing the children. Well, they certainly weren’t children any longer.

Belle picked up the crystal decanter from her side table, pulled the stopper, and poured herself a double scotch. She had read about the fighting in the northern part of Missouri in the paper. Not surprising that there were raiders. Men tended to take whatever they wanted if they could get away with it. Peter could have stayed right here in Kentucky, but he had bigger aims. That beady-eyed possum always did think big. She took a sip from her glass. He might lose everything he had from the greed of going bigger. He and his religious holier than thou s**t. She sipped again, smiling. She went big herself. It must be the Hepscott way.

She reread the letter again. What did Elizabeth mean by “to help her nephew?” How eloquent did you have to be to shoot a gun, for goodness sakes? Jeremy surely had outgrown the stuttering by now.

Belle took out a cigar, her private pleasure. She neatly cut off the end and lit the tobacco with a match from a silver box. She could hear the stomping to the music down the hall. Business was good. She took a long drag and blew out the smoke. Life was what you made it to be. She took out her pen set and spritzed a piece of paper with perfume. When it dried, she completed her thoughts.

Dearest Elizabeth,

I hope these lines find you well. I am dreadfully sorry to hear of the troubles in your area. I am glad no harm was done to your family or the ranch. I am also very pleased to hear that you are interested in a holiday. Please find enclosed the money for your tickets to our fair town of Fitchburg. I would be delighted to host you and your sweet brother as long as you should care to visit. I am awaiting your arrival.

Always with Love,

Aunt Belle

She opened her safe box, took out some bills, and slipped them into the envelope with the letter. She put out the cigar in a crystal dish and headed down the hall to the saloon. The tables were mostly full, and her son, Johnny, the bartender, was moving quickly from one end of the bar to the other. The ladies of the house roamed the parlor, some no doubt already occupied upstairs. She took another sweeping look and headed back to her room. A good mechanic didn’t need to watch every click of a well-oiled machine, and she intended to let the machine do the work.