Free Fields of Fire by Carol Caldwell Page A

you, you don’t have to come with me. I can find my way.”
    “Nay, I’ll be fine.” She needed to be there, to see his reactions to everything—and to discourage his doubts and suspicions, and hopefully, stay one step ahead of him until she could answer some of her own questions.
    “Let me tell Margaret, and we’ll be off.” She scurried from the parlor towards the double doors beyond the staircase.
    He followed her back as far as the entryway. “I’ll wait for you outdoors.”
    * * * *
    Jalene started at the beginning. First, they visited the malt house where controlled germination and drying took place. She introduced Taylor to Tom, who continued working despite the shut-down, saying it made no sense to let good barley go to waste. They watched Tom on the malting floor as he turned over the barley with wooden implements, to prevent the bottom layers of grain from being smothered. Next, she took Taylor to the mash house where he could see how the ground malt was mixed with warm water in a large cylindrical container. She explained that the liquid, or wort, that was drained off here would be used in fermentation.
    Since both fermentation and distillation took place in the mash house as well, she simply led him along from one process to the next. She explained how, in the large circular fermentation tanks, the added yeast would convert the malt sugar to alcohol. The resulting wash would be heated in the stills to separate the alcohol from the water. The final clear liquid would be stored in oak casks for maturation.
    She studied Taylor, who was busy taking in his surroundings. She knew he must have understood all about the process of making whiskey, considering he worked for the Revenue Service investigating distilleries. Yet, he asked questions and politely listened to her at each stage of the tour. Unable to tell though, what his impressions were of the distillery so far, she finally asked him point blankly, “What do you think?”
    “Everything seems to be in order,” he replied, serious and businesslike. “Also, it’s one of the cleanest operations I’ve ever seen. But it’s odd to view a distillery that has been shut down. The quiet gives one an eerie feeling.”
    She flashed him a smile, beaming with pride at his comments. “I’m glad you find it so, and I understand what you mean about it being quiet. Usually the distillery is operating.” She sighed in despair. “Come, I’ll take you to the storehouse.”
    They crossed the yard to a white oblong building with a lean-to roof. Baskets of flowers lined the short walk up to the threshold, commemorating the place of James’s death. She turned from the sight and covered her mouth with one hand to smother a sob. She was touched that the workers had done this because they cared so much for James.
    He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Sorry. Had I known they ... Why don’t you go back to the house? I’ll go inside alone.”
    “It’s all right. Truly.” She smeared the tears on her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I have to accept it. I can’t hide from this forever.”
    Poised and ready now, she walked to the door and unlatched it. It creaked as it swung wide, allowing the daylight to illuminate the casks stacked along the opposite wall. The familiar smell of damp earth and whiskey assailed her. She stepped inside and reached for a lantern that sat on a wooden table located by the door. After she lit the lamp and adjusted the wick, she moved further inside and raised the lantern so Taylor could see more of the storehouse. She watched him study the neat rows of oak barrels stacked almost to the ceiling and down the length of the room. When she turned to lead the way, he stopped her.
    “Wait,” he said, taking command. “Before we continue, let me check that the remaining casks are secure.” He took the lantern from her and raised it above and below the end brace that supported the stack of barrels in the first row nearest the ceiling.