Chapter 4
The Winze County Mills
Now let me tell you about Morgan and Shelby Martin.
Shelby come from South Carolina money. Old money. She was a Bass before she married Morgan Martin, and her people had already picked out the sort of beau they figured she ought to have. Morgan weren’t him.
Didn’t matter none.
Morgan loaded that girl up and took off for Copperhill, Tennessee, and they got themselves married anyway.
Now Shelby was sweet as pie, but she had a stubborn streak a mile wide.
She told Morgan, “You ain’t getting no babies outta me till we own land.”
Well, Morgan knew better than to argue with Shelby when she’d made up her mind.
Before long he’d patched things up with his daddy. The old man helped him get a mill started over in Winze. Truth be told, Morgan’s father financed near the whole thing.
Sweet Mrs. Shelby didn’t know one blessed thing about that arrangement.
See, when you’re raised with old money, you don’t spend much time worrying over what things cost. Shelby would just tell Morgan something she’d taken a shine to.
“I sure do fancy one of them.”
Morgan would grin and say, “Give me about six months.”
Or maybe it’d be a year.
She’d nod, smile, and wait.
He was the workin’est man you ever laid eyes on.
She was the wantin’est woman in the whole valley.
Funny thing was, they suited each other just fine.
Even when times got lean, they loved each other true.
They ended up with three boys and one little girl, and before long the Martins became one of the foundations of Winze.
They were givers, too.
Not the braggy kind.
You know how some folks want everybody counting what they dropped in the collection plate?
That weren’t the Martins.
Matter of fact, most everybody figured they were tighter than bark on a tree. Some thought they should be more generous to the church giving, being that money for building the church went mostly to Morgan’s pocket ’cause he owned the saw mill too.
What the gossips didn’t know was that back when the mill was brand new and struggling, it was Big Jim who had quietly footed most of the money to keep it afloat. Shelby eventually found out about it. She never forgot it, and she felt a deep, quiet obligation to the preacher for saving their livelihood.
Big Jim never did preach on it, though.
Now this all happened after the courthouse burned.
The old deed books had gone up with it, and that stirred up no end of trouble. A few miners got to fussing over where property lines had been. If it hadn’t been for Big Jim and Judge Collins settling folks down, there might’ve been real fighting.
Everybody finally agreed on one thing.
The next courthouse was gonna be brick.
It’d have a few jail cells, an assessor’s office, and enough room for the town to grow into.
For weeks they’d been telling everybody collection day was coming.
Folks didn’t have much.
Miners didn’t.
Farmers didn’t.
But everybody aimed to give something.
The man they hired to make the bricks was Henry Daniel.
Now some of y’all listening to this story might enjoy knowing Henry Daniel was the same great-great-grandpa to a fellow still living today over in Milledgeville, Georgia, by the name of Levi Mathew Daniel.
That young man is mighty proud of his grandpappy’s bricks.
And I’d say his grandpappy would be mighty proud to know that courthouse is still standing.
Now…
Where was I?
Oh yeah.
Morgan sent word for the preacher to meet him down at the mill.
When Big Jim got there, the two men shook hands and wandered down between the grist mill and Morgan’s sawmill, settling onto a couple of benches Morgan had knocked together near the river’s edge. The water done most of the talking while men figured out what needed saying. The sawmill would’ve made a tidy profit if Winze built another wooden courthouse, but Morgan never mentioned that.
The day before the collection, Morgan Martin bent Pastor Big Jim’s ear.
“Pastor,” Morgan said, “Winze can’t afford to grow a new courthouse right now. We got more people than money. This fire just come along at the wrong time.”
Big Jim smiled easy.
“I reckon the Good Lord’ll provide. He always has.”
“That’s true enough,” Morgan said. “But the way I see it, folks that have oughta give. Lord’s been mighty good to me and mine, too.”
That made Big Jim lean back a little.
“Shelby sent me.”
Now that surprised the preacher.
Morgan chuckled.
“She said if I’d come offer to pay whatever the people can’t come up with, she’d go two whole years without asking for a single extra. She’s not one to usually notice how ends get met. But, she’s seen enough to figure you’ve been helpin’ pert near ever’body in the county. And she minds how you carried this mill when we were starting out.”
Big Jim blinked, looking out over the rushing river. “I won’t tell a soul, Morgan.”
“I know you won’t, Pastor.”
Morgan let that hang in the air a spell. Both men studied each other, and for the first time in a long time, the heavy line across Big Jim’s brow seemed to ease.
Then Morgan spoke again.
“I figure I’ll save money in the long run anyhow, seeing as Shelby’s doing the sacrificing. That woman’s always wanting something.”
He grinned.
“But I ain’t blind neither. I see what’s happening around this church, and I know how much of your own coin you’ve been quietly pouring into this valley. It’s a mighty big load for one man to shoulder, Jim.”
He leaned forward, dropping the formalities.
“You pass that plate tomorrow. Let folks give what they can with pride. Then, you just send me the bill for whatever is left over. You ain’t carrying this whole county by yourself anymore.”
He stood up and brushed the sawdust off his britches.
“And keep Henry Daniel on contract. Pay him only for bricks delivered. Henry’s an honest man, but I believe in cash on the barrel.”
Big Jim let out a long breath, a deep, grateful smile finally breaking across his face. The weight on his shoulders felt a whole lot lighter.
“You’re doing an awful lot of assuming about me there, Morgan.”
Morgan smiled right back, his eyes steady and knowing.
“Maybe.”
Then he tipped his hat.
“But you ain’t denying. And you ain’t alone, neither.”