I ended up in the Department of Lost Things when I went to file a claim, so I didn't get to claim anything, but I did find my retainer. Too bad it doesn't fit anymore.
The chickens were fussin' again. Maggie was gonna drown Samson if he killed another one, no matter how often Beth argued that it was just a cat's nature and he'd only done it twice. But Maggie's patience was wearing thin these days. The past few years had been real tough for them all, but especially for her.
Beth headed out the side door to check on the coop when the bright lights of an automobile swept across the yard. It was a rarity to see one this far out from the city, so she snuck around the house to see who might be calling this late at night driving one of those things.
Two lawmen were standing on the porch, waiting for her father to open the door. She overheard them tell him that they were deputies looking for a bootlegger who escaped apprehension earlier. Beth hurried to the chicken coop and stepped inside the little darkened room.
"Hide in the corner as best you can," she hissed into the shadows. "I'll do what I can to keep them from lookin' too hard."
She thought she saw something move further into the darkness, but it could've been her imagination. Nevertheless, she stood there, humming a little tune as the chickens quieted down. No sooner had the last hen settled when the door swung open, causing a ruckus in the small space.
Worried that the flurry of feathers wasn't enough to hide the stranger from the lantern's light, she moved towards the door. "Who's there?"
"Sorry to frighten you, miss," said one of the deputies, taking off his hat. "I'm Deputy Grimes, this is Deputy Walsh. I don't wanna alarm you, but we believe there's a suspected criminal somewhere nearby, so why don't we get you back in the house where it's safe?"
"A criminal? Here?" She widened her eyes and tried to look surprised. "Golly, I been in here since just after supper tendin' to Bluebell. She ain't laid in a couple days."
"Since supper?" he asked. She nodded. "How long you think that's been?"
"Couple of hours, maybe."
"He's not here. Check the barn," he said to the other lawman. He turned to her, putting his hat back on. "Miss, you go straight to that house, alright? We'll let your family know when it's safe to come out."
"Yes, sir." She breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away. When he was out of earshot, she whispered into the darkness. "I'll ring the bell to let you know when they've skedaddled. Have you eaten yet?"
The responding grunt let her know she wasn't just talking to herself.
"Go on out to the barn soon as you're able. I'll bring some dinner up to the hayloft." She hesitated at the door, wondering if she was making a horrible mistake. It wasn't like her to be so reckless as to help some bootlegger she didn't even know. "By the way, my name's Beth."
"Daryl," said a voice from the shadows. "Daryl Dixon."
She smiled and slid out the door, making her way to the house by the light of the full moon.
o)O(o
Daryl stepped out of the shed when the noise of the motor from the sheriffs' car had faded away. That girl hadn't rung the bell yet, but he wasn't planning on stickin' around. Most likely, she'd forgotten her promise or had changed her mind and was tucked away in bed, all that golden hair spread out on her pillow.
He headed towards the woods, sparing a passing glance at the big red barn. Merle was gonna have his hide for messin' up this run. Weren't his fault the coppers was waitin' for him. Them back roads was supposed to be safe, but it looked like somebody had tipped them off.
The faint ring of a bell made him pause. She remembered. The distance to the barn was about the same distance to the trees. And she had promised to bring him some food. It'd be nice to eat somethin' that didn't come from a can or that he hadn't caught and cooked himself.
His feet decided to follow his stomach towards the barn instead of the safety of the woods, like his head was tellin' him. He ain't never had kindness from strangers. Hell, he ain't never had kindness from folk he knew. Not for free, anyways. Someone always wanted somethin' from him. Even his own brother, Merle, only kept him around because he didn't trust nobody else to watch out for him when he got drunk off his own product.
Daryl climbed the ladder to the hayloft and found a spot in the shadows where he could keep an eye on the entrance in case someone besides her showed up. Stupid thing was, he wasn't even sure he wanted her to. As long as she didn't, he knew what kind of person she was, same kind he'd dealt with his whole life. If she did, well, he didn't know what to make of her then.
She walked in, carrying a Mason jar in one hand and a napkin-covered plate in the other. "Daryl, you in here?"
"Up here," he said, leaning over the side so she could see him. The smell of fried chicken wafted from the plate, and his mouth started to water. "Need some help?"
She passed the plate up to him and scurried up the ladder. "Sorry it's gone cold. I had to make sure Daddy wasn't gonna come out here and take a look for hisself before goin' to bed."
Daryl was too busy shovelin' food in his mouth to answer. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a flaky biscuit. All of it saturated with the rich flavor of butter. He was in heaven.
"I brought you some silverware." She stood over him, holding out the utensils with a slightly disgusted look on her face that she was trying desperately to hide. He wiped his hands on the napkin and grabbed them from her. "Lemonade, too. Made it fresh this morning."
He took the jar, more cordially this time, and unscrewed the top. He took a sip, savoring the taste as the cool, sweet liquid washed over his tongue and slid down his throat. She eyed him warily as she sat down across from him on the floor.
"So, you're a bootlegger, huh? My granddaddy used to make his own moonshine." She smiled, probably more at ease now that he was using his knife and fork like a proper person. Her eyes drifted to the open loft doors, and the moon bathed her skin in a milky white glow. "But that was back when we still had the peach orchards. Acres and acres of 'em. Them revenuers came by and said we owed taxes on all the alcohol he sold. But granddaddy was a true Confederate and didn't think much of havin' to pay the Union for a war they started."
"What happened to him?"
"Things got violent. Daddy made him leave. Had to sell off a bunch of land to cover the fines." Despite the sadness of her words, she was still smilin'. It made no sense. "Daddy'd kill you if he knew a moonshiner were up here."
"I suspect he'd kill me just for bein' up here with his daughter," he said, shaking his head. "How old are you, anyways? Meal like that, you should be some farmer's wife with a passel of kids."
"Nineteen." She looked down at her hands while she fiddled with a piece of hay. "Maggie and I aren't the most marriageable girls in town on account of what happened with granddaddy and the lack of a suitable dowry to make up for the embarrassment of bein' related to the Greene family."
"Guys 'round here must be as blind as they are stupid." He'd have sold his soul to be married to a girl like her. She was kind and sweet, pretty as an angel. And he was gonna have dreams about that fried chicken for the rest of his life.
"Who says I wanna be married?" she said, thrusting her chin in the air. "Maybe I'm plannin' on goin' to the city and joinin' the Suffragettes."
"What you wanna vote for? There ain't no laws you gotta worry about." He was certain that there was no surer way to chaos than lettin' womenfolk have a say in politics. Ladies couldn't even decide what to wear of an evening, much less how to run a country.
"Well, I for one, wouldn't make it illegal to buy or sell alcohol." Her eyes were fierce, and she had a little frown on her face. It was kinda fun seein' her all riled up. "Making it illegal just makes it even more dangerous. And if the tax had been reasonable enough, we wouldn't have lost so much."
"I'm sorry," he said. He'd lived on the edge of the law for as long as he could remember, but her family obviously had a different history with moonshine than his. "It's not right, what happened to your farm."
"Nothin' I can do to change it now," she said, shrugging her shoulders. Her smile was back, though, as if her outburst had never happened.
"So, you gonna run away to the city and become a modern woman?" He imagined her in one of those dresses he'd heard of, the ones that went all the way up to a woman's knees. Suddenly, it was real difficult to swallow. "Be a shame to cut off all that pretty hair."
"Maybe I won't be that modern." Her hand grasped the bottom of her thick braid, playing with the end. He wanted to loosen that ribbon and run his hands through her hair, but it wouldn't be proper. That was something only a husband could do. "What about you? You seem the right age to have sown all your wild oats by now. Is there a Mrs. Dixon tendin' the still, waitin' for you to come home?"
"If there was, I wouldn't be sittin' here with you." Now that he'd started imaginin' things, his mind didn't wanna stop. The thought of her smilin' at him with a babe in her arms and another one on the way made his heart sore with longing. "Guess I just never found the right girl who made me wanna settle down. 'Least I never met one willing to put up with my criminal ways."
"I'm sure she's out there," she said, smiling brightly. "Don't give up hope."
He'd never had cause to hope for anything before. Now, he'd been given the answer to a prayer he never made. Which gave him an idea. "Which church you go to on Sunday?"
"First Baptist over on Magnolia." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I think Maggie has a crush on that foreign boy the pastor brought back from his spell as a missionary. Can you imagine my sister datin' an Oriental?"
Well, that definitely narrowed it down. He'd been worried because he wasn't exactly a God-fearing man, and he usually spent his Sundays resting, the way the Good Lord intended. Finding her church wouldn't be to hard, 'cause how many churches had a Chinaman as one of its members? "I can't rightly say that I could, considerin' I've never met your sister." She ducked her head in embarrassment. "But maybe I can meet her on Sunday? After Church?"
"I'd like that." Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him. His tongue darted across his suddenly dry lips, and he wondered what it would be like to taste hers. Would she be sweet, like the lemonade? Juicy and firm, like the chicken? Maybe she'd leave a warm taste in his mouth, like the rich, creaminess of butter. Everything seemed possible beneath the moonlight.
He pulled back, not realizing that his body had leaned into her. Scooping up the plate and jar, he stood up. "It's getting late, I should probably go." Their hands touched as he handed her the used dishes. He let his hand linger next to hers as he spoke. "Thank you for your kindness. I would've been a goner if it weren't for you."
"You're welcome, Daryl Dixon." He loved the way his name sounded in her mouth.
"Miss Beth," he said, nervously looking anywhere but her face, "would you mind if I asked your daddy's permission to court you?"
He watched her feet move towards him, but it still took him by surprise when he felt her soft lips brush his cheek. "I'd like that. Very much."
His eyes drifted to her face with its endless smile and big, bright eyes. He wondered what color they were and whether they'd sparkle as much in the sunlight as they did under the starlight. "I'll see you Sunday, then?"
She nodded, and then made her way to the ladder, glancing over her shoulder at him one last time before she left the barn. He smiled to himself in the darkness, his thoughts already on Sunday. Merle was gonna laugh his ass off, seeing Daryl dressed in his—
Shit!
How the hell was he gonna tell Merle that the last run had gone bad? Or that he was done runnin' hooch? Or that he was lookin' to get handcuffed to some doll?
He pressed his hand to the spot where she'd kissed him. It didn't matter what Merle thought. Didn't matter what her daddy thought, neither. He was gonna make that girl his wife, come hell or high water.