Moths, Moonshine and Other Things that Leave Holes
written by: Adele Evershed
@AdLibby1
Bertha squashed the plum moth with the back of her wooden spoon and said a quick prayer to Mother Nature for forgiveness. Before she could scoop up the sticky mess, a bell tinkled softly, letting her know someone had entered her shop. Wiping her hands on her pinny, she hurried into what had once been her front parlor. In the dusty light, Recia Whitt seemed as insubstantial as a spirit. When she saw Bertha, Recia pulled her threadbare coat tightly over her watermelon belly. Bertha chewed her lip as she tried to remember if this new baby would be number nine or ten for the Whitt clan. Smiling, she opened her arms to the young woman, saying, “How are y’all?” Recia put down the empty can of soup she’d been holding and looked up. Her face glimmered like foxfire in the gloom, and as Bertha moved behind the planks of wood that served as a makeshift counter, she saw that one of Recia’s eyes was as black as the coal that Appalachia was famous for.
“Hi, Miss Bertha,” Recia said; her voice was as slender as the Kentucky bluegrass growing outside Bertha’s home grocery. “I’m right sorry to bother y’all.” Bertha clicked her tongue and said, “Now then, Recia, ain’t no bother. I was fixin’ to make some coffee. Can I interest you in a cup?” Recia looked startled as if she’d never been offered a kindness in her life, and Bertha reflected that might well have been true. When she received no reply, Bertha continued, “I had me a craving for some Apple Stack Cake. I know what y’all be thinking, Christmas is aways away, but who knows if my old bones will see another, and Ginny Tate dropped off some windfall apples as payment for her flour so…” Bertha let her words trail off. Recia bit her nail and said, “That’s mighty kind of you, Miss Bertha, but I need to be getting back. Nellie is watching the little uns. I just need some soup beans for supper tonight. Our Billie-Bob trapped a boomer, so I’m making a stew. You see, my Bobby’s got a day of work helping Joe-Joe round up his hogs for market, and he’ll be mighty hungry when he gits back.” Recia seemed to sag as if speaking so much had deflated her. Bertha nodded and took out the pinto beans. As she scooped the beans into Recia’s empty can she said, “When’s the bairn due, Recia?” Recia shrugged and said, “Oh, Miss Bertha, I ain’t rightly sure. You’re a Granny woman, so maybe you can tell me?” Bertha cocked her eyebrow and placed a ruddy hand on Recia’s baby bump. “Well, by the feels of you, I’d say a couple of months. Now, when you feel that first pain or you pop your waters, you send someone to get me straight away. Do you understand?” Recia’s cheeks flushed and she said, “Thank you, Miss Bertha, but since Ma died, I’ve birthed my last two bairns with no help. I’ll be grand.”
Bertha knew Recia would not be able to pay her or any midwife, so she would more than likely give birth with only eleven-year-old Nellie to help her. Having felt the baby, Bertha knew it would probably be a breach birth. Not wanting to panic the girl, she said, “Recia, when my Ma and I washed up here, your Ma took us under her wing. She showed us where to find ramp and wild chestnuts and how to trap rabbits and other varmin so we wouldn’t starve. If you think I’m not going to help you birth this whelp, think again. Now make sure you send Nellie to get me, or your Ma will be rising from her grave to haunt me.”
Recia gave a watery smile and said, ‘Yes, Ma’am. How much do I owe you for the beans?” Bertha waved her hand and said, “Git, one of your brood to bring me some wild berries next time they go blackberrying for my moonshine. It’s my secret ingredient.” Recia nodded and said, “Don’t you worry none, Miss Bertha, your secret is safe with me,” she put the tin in her poke and made to leave. “Now, just you slow down a minute. I’ll wrap you up some cake for your little ‘uns. You’ll be saving me from myself. Otherwise, I’d eat the lot.”
Bertha disappeared into her kitchen. After wrapping the still-warm cake in paper, she took some of her moonshine, added a wing from the plum moth, and muttered a spell her mother had passed down.
“Here you go,” Bertha said as she gave Recia the cake and bottle. “I know Bobby will appreciate a little of my moonshine. Folks call it magic for healing what ails you.” Bertha watched from her window as Recia swayed down the path. Recia lived in a blind house, a shack with no windows, and Bertha shivered as she remembered the darkness of the first shack she had lived in with her mother when they arrived to live in Appalachia. Bertha was grateful that her Ma’s knowledge of ‘simples,’ the medicinal herbs that grew on the mountain, and her spells had meant they could save enough money to buy a house with the luxury of windows.
Bertha had been adding spells to her moonshine for years. Every time a woman was battered, she’d bring a bottle of her Ole Smokin Hooch for the man who had done the beating. Everyone thought the name came from the knockout punch the moonshine delivered, but Bertha had named it because the man who imbibed it would end up getting smoked. Depending on which ingredients Bertha added, smoking could be suffering a beating themselves or something much worse. Bertha smiled at the thought of Bobby getting his just desserts that night.
- Moths, Moonshine and Other Things that Leave Holes - January 14, 2025
- Smoke and Mirrors - September 12, 2024
- Moving On - June 22, 2024
