Hiding The Truth

Barn Dance

"Are y'all ready to dance?" Andra gestured toward the gymnasium. "It looks like a real crush in there. I could do without the crowds, but Lydia and I have been practicing our steps for the square dances absolutely forever. I can hardly wait to try them out with a real caller."

"Your wish is my command," Bill winked, whirling her onto the floor.

Any fool could see the connection between the couple, Lydia thought. Andra looked at the schoolteacher with shining eyes, and Bill was so solicitous of her, it made Lydia's throat clench with feeling. She really hoped everything worked out for her gentle friend and that the Organization's plans wouldn't interfere in the budding relationship.

"Shall we?" Doug offered his arm and together they stepped forward into the swirl of bright skirts and flashing feet.

The tune changed and the caller introduced a complicated dance involving changing partners every few steps. Lydia, and all the women, were passed from hand to hand at a breathless pace. She was having too much fun to be put off by the poorer dancers' foibles, though she knew her insteps and toes would be bruised and aching by the end of the night. Somehow she and Doug had ended up in different formations on opposite sides of the dance floor when the next song began, though she found herself in a four-square with Andra and Bill. The man across from her was a stranger, but no matter. That was the nature of a public square dance.

The stranger was a good dancer, light on his feet, limber, and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye when he looked at Lydia, but not so much as a hint of impropriety in his touch. Lydia felt herself entirely relax through the forms, following him as they danced "chicken in the bread pan" and "log cabin" and "fire on the mountain" and "do-si-do." Every time the women switched partners with the caller's commands, Bill found some smooth, sneaky way to spin Lydia back across the square to the lanky, muscular man with the pale blue eyes and recaptured Andra, who smiled at him with utter adoration. Lydia didn't mind. She could dance the night away with a partner like this. He was dressed nicely, his dark-wash jeans pressed into perfect creases, a crisply ironed red and blue checkered shirt, a carefully folded white handkerchief peeking out from the pocket. A shiny white braided leather bolo tie with a chunky turquoise closure and jaunty fringes completed the ensemble.

"Why sir," she joked, "I do believe you must have been around a dance floor a time or two."

"Maybe once't or twice't," he grinned. He had a thick rural accent with a hill-country twang in his voice.

Oh. She thought, a bit deflated. A farm boy. That was a shame. Well, it wasn't like she was going to elope with him. It was just a dance, after all, and she was all but engaged to Doug, wasn't she?

The stranger was a good dancer, light on his feet, limber, and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye when he looked at Lydia, but not so much as a hint of impropriety in his touch. Lydia felt herself entirely relax through the forms, following him as they danced "chicken in the bread pan" and "log cabin" and "fire on the mountain" and "do-si-do." Every time the women switched partners with the caller's commands, Bill found some smooth, sneaky way to spin Lydia back across the square to the lanky, muscular man with the pale blue eyes and recaptured Andra, who smiled at him with utter adoration. Lydia didn't mind. She could dance the night away with a partner like this. He was dressed nicely, his dark-wash jeans pressed into perfect creases, a crisply ironed red and blue checkered shirt, a carefully folded white handkerchief peeking out from the pocket. A shiny white braided leather bolo tie with a chunky turquoise closure and jaunty fringes completed the ensemble.

"Why sir," she joked, "I do believe you must have been around a dance floor a time or two."

"Maybe once't or twice't," he grinned. He had a thick rural accent with a hill-country twang in his voice.

Oh. She thought, a bit deflated. A farm boy. That was a shame. Well, it wasn't like she was going to elope with him. It was just a dance, after all, and she was all but engaged to Doug, wasn't she?

The next formation involved a larger group and Doug finally made his way back around the room to pair with her. When the caller reached "swing your partner round and round" he nearly missed the timing. The next call was "cross the river" and again, he was out of rhythm. By the time they made it back to their original position, he had crushed Lydia's toes twice, stumbled once, and nearly dropped her on a dip.

"Shall we take some air?" She suggested, partly hoping to find out what was going on with him, but mostly trying to save face among the other dancers. And maybe give Doug a break to get his act together.

"Maybe just some punch," he said, steering her toward the back of the room. The stranger was waiting in the refreshment line, snickering and cutting up with four or five other men who had come to the event without dates. When they saw Doug, they all glared at him in unison, as if by some unseen signal.

"What in the world?" Lydia asked under her breath, making a slight indication with her chin.

"Bootleggers."

She gave him a blank look, not understanding.

"Moonshiners. Distillers." He clarified.

"Prohibition ended years ago... why would anyone still be manufacturing illegal whiskey?" She sounded incredulous.

The last thing Doug expected was naïveté from smart, sophisticated Lydia. "Can't get a license. Don't want to pay taxes. Some of them like the thrill. Who knows?"

"Wild." She said.

"I saw you dancing with one of them." He noted.

"He's a good dancer." She sounded almost wistful.

Doug lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "Normally I wouldn't encourage you to associate with backwoods trash, but... the Organization could use intel on their operation as a bargaining chip with the local revenue agency if you can get any."

Backwoods trash? She thought, now indignant and ready to talk to the man just to spite her suave, overdressed boyfriend. She had been "backwoods trash" only a few years ago! Is that what he thought of her brothers? Her brother Art was now a veterinarian. Zeke... well, she didn't know exactly what he did for a living, but he certainly seemed to be making plenty of money doing it. Her sister Susie was the treasurer at the Mineral County Mine! What about all his talk about brilliant minds coming from small towns throughout the South?

It was their turn in line, the moonshiners just ahead of them. The couple took the cool glasses of frosty sherbet punch and moved out of the way for the next patrons, Lydia shuffling slightly sideways into a milling group of resting dancers while Doug excused himself to the men's room.

"Yer boyfrand's a jackass." The blue eyed smuggler commented, winking.

"Excuse me?" She turned up her nose at him.

"He's all dandied up in a suit. He cain't dance worth a sheeit. And he done left your pretty self all alone in this hullabaloo." He counted off on his fingers.

"Oh, my friends are still dancing," she defended. "I'm sure I can hold my own at the refreshment table."

"I'm sure you can, but it ain't right." He carried on. "Wouldn't want you to 'associate with any backwoods trash.'" He stood ramrod straight when he said it, defiance radiating off him.

"Oh, you heard that," she blushed. Then she said something unexpected even to herself. "It's a good thing I don't see any 'backwoods trash' hanging around, then, isn't it?" Good grief, she told herself. Get a grip on yourself. Was she flirting with him? With a moonshiner?

"Good to know," his weird, pale eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he offered his hand.